Happiness is …

Posted on January 17, 2012 by Katherine Baldwin

… far too enormous a subject for me to broach in a single blog post but I read something the other day that struck a chord and I thought it was worth sharing here – particularly as my last blog post was bordering on the slightly unhappy, or at least the start of it.

Pondering what I wrote the other day makes me realise how unreliable my feelings are, which is something I touched on in that post. They go up and down like the Big Dipper at Blackpool Pleasure Beach, which, for those of you who’ve never had the opportunity to visit the Riviera of the North, has to be one of the best fairground rides ever – or at least it was when I was 10 years old. It’s definitely worth remembering that my feelings are often like a roller coaster and if I let them control me – rather than simply acknowledging them and then letting them pass – I’ll be in for a bumpy ride.

 

But returning to happiness, I came across a short extract from the book The Happiness Hypothesis by Jonathon Haidt that made a lot of sense to me. He talks about happiness being neither outside or inside us, but rather a combination of both. Happiness, he says, is relational.

Happiness is ...

Haidt writes: “The final version of the Happiness Hypothesis is that happiness comes from between. Happiness is not something you can find, acquire or achieve directly. You have to get the conditions right, and then wait. Some of these conditions are within you. Other conditions require relationships to things beyond you …. People need love, work, and a connection to something larger. It is worth striving to get the right relationships between yourself and others, between yourself and work, and between yourself and something larger than yourself. If you get these relationships right, a sense of purpose will emerge.”

 

 

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Mind games

Posted on January 13, 2012 by Katherine Baldwin

Have you ever achieved something and then, not long after, decided it wasn’t good enough, or it wasn’t quite right, or you should have done it differently?

Welcome to my world.

Despite the many messages of support and gratitude from friends and strangers in response to my Daily Mail article on binge eating yesterday, I woke up this morning with a head filled with ‘should haves’. I should have written it for a broadsheet so the longer story made it in rather than a shortened version and so my style was left completely intact (not sure this happens in any publication, but still). I should have donned a more demure dress rather than the shocking red so I looked more like the intelligent journalist I like to think I am. I should have taken a break before ploughing into another Mail article shortly after my first … the list goes on.

But this kind of thinking is precisely what got me into this mess in the first place – ‘mess’ meaning the binge eating and starving, the low self-esteem and patterns of control, compliance and perfectionism, the over-working, over-stressing and tiresome rounds of self-criticism.

Of course, it all comes down to ego, to what people think of me and the image of myself I want to project to the world. Ego can sound like a dirty word sometimes but really – at least in my case – it’s born out of low self-worth. I want everyone to think my work is brilliant and that I’m a smart, competent woman because, at times, I struggle to think so myself. As I blogged yesterday, self-esteem is indeed an inside job and I know that – but that knowledge doesn’t stop me from slipping back into old, unhealthy thought patterns.

At least now, though, I have the awareness, the tools and the capacity to fight back. So today, I’m reminding myself that IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT ME! That a door opened and I walked through it – hastily and fearfully, perhaps, but I walked through it all the same. That no matter the platform, the style of writing, the length of article or the colour of the dress, my story may have resonated with others and prompted them to come out of hiding and seek help. And that the paper that published the piece has a massive circulation and a huge online presence and therefore a big impact nationwide. I believe there’s a purpose to my writing and if I can just get out of my own way, I can get on with it.

The bottom line is that I deserve to accept my work is good enough, or I’ll end up back where I started. And as a dear friend just reminded me, ‘those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter’.

This morning’s mind games have reminded me of a book I have on my shelf called Mind Over Mood. Maybe I’ll finish reading it and perhaps put some of its suggestions into practice. In the meantime, though, I’ll get on with my day, remember to be grateful and remember that this head of mine, with its erratic moods and negative thought patterns, isn’t always my best friend, and that I can counter my fluctuating feelings with constant, steady faith. Old habits die hard but it’s possible to form new ones.

As an aside, I’d been pondering what I wrote in yesterday’s blog and wanted to add something – my perfectionism, perhaps, or just my sensitivity and attention to detail. I wrote that ”we all struggle with the same issues, we just have different coping mechanisms”. What I meant is that we all – or many of us, I realise I can’t speak for everyone – struggle with similar issues like emotional pain, emptiness, hurt, loss, rejection, abandonment, low self-esteem and so on. Of course, some of us have more traumatic stories than others and I wouldn’t want to imply that wasn’t the case. I just think that fundamentally, at the core, our issues are similar. They just manifest themselves differently on the surface.

Peaks and valleys

Finally, I read something yesterday that I really enjoyed. It was in The Language of Letting Go, by Melody Beattie, a daily meditation book I’ve mentioned before on this blog. It really spoke to me about extremes of thinking and behaviour and how it sometimes takes us a while to find the middle ground:

“Today, I will be gentle with myself, understanding that sometimes to reach the middle ground of balance, I need to explore the peaks and valleys. Sometimes, the only way I can extricate myself from a valley is to jump high enough to land on a peak, and then slowly ease myself down.”

Posted in codependency, Eating disorders, Faith, Perfectionism, Positive thinking, Self-Acceptance, Women, Work | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

A time and a place for healing

Posted on January 12, 2012 by Katherine Baldwin

I’d never have imagined that the pages of the Daily Mail would turn out to be a source of healing or a medium through which to challenge some of my most ingrained, self-defeating behaviours. But it seems, to my surprise, that they have.

My overeating story is published today in the Mail’s Femail Magazine section and online: Confessions of a binge eater: She travelled the world with premiers and presidents, but Katherine Baldwin hid a shaming secret… . And the Baby Goggles feature, about the perils of dating to the rhythm of the biological clock, went in just after Christmas.

Writing these two stories, particularly today’s piece, and seeing them edited and published next to my photo has taken me on a journey I’d never have expected.

As I worked on the overeating story, I looked back at photos of me as a slim schoolgirl who in her pre-teen and early teenage years restricted her food intake to try to stay thin. And then I saw photos of me in my later teens and early 20s when I was bigger and painfully self-conscious. The switch flipped from under-eating to overeating around 16 – unfortunately some of these details were cut from the story due to space. I went on an exchange holiday to Spain and was desperately lonely and felt so out of place and different to the other girls. I binged for three weeks on white bread layered with chocolate spread (I’d never come across chocolate spread before!). On that short holiday, I learned to stuff down my feelings with food. I came home noticeably larger and was mortified, especially when people commented – and they did. And that’s when the weight battle began.

Writing the story brought up a lot of sadness, around what I can sometimes see as ‘the wasted years’ – the years I was overweight and disliked the way I looked, the years I self-harmed with food and other behaviours without really knowing what I was doing. As I wrote, I also spoke to some family members about those years for the first time and that brought up sadness too, for everyone involved, but also, I hope, some healing.

I wonder why so many of us keep things secret from our loved ones and why so many families struggle to speak the truth to each other. And I wonder why we hide what we think are our deepest failings when really we are all the same – we all struggle with the same issues, we just have different coping mechanisms. Working through our past and finding healing definitely isn’t about blaming the parents – our behaviours and addictions span the generations. Our parents had their own challenging childhoods and adapted accordingly. We all have, I believe, an emotional and spiritual hole that we try to fill with whatever we choose – food, drink, relationships, work etc – until we find some internal or God-given peace. For some of us, it takes longer to find that peace and we have to go to extremes before we do so. I’m not saying I’ve ‘arrived’ but I do have times of peace now as well as periods of self-acceptance. I believe that’s on offer to everyone.

Of course, what was missing from the story – partly also due to space – was the fact those years I was overeating and living a life of extremes were also filled with amazing friendships and relationships, exhilarating work, foreign adventures, laughter and fun. I was rereading an old diary recently about my solo travels around Australia, New Zealand, Fiji, the United States and Mexico in my early 20s. Yes, I was rather reckless – driven at times by low self-esteem and a thirst for adrenalin – but there were a lot of amazing experiences in those pages too. I was brave and daring. I made friends at the drop of a hat, saw a lot of the world and lived for eight years in Latin America, immersed in that incredible, colourful, music- and life-filled culture. So there are two sides to every story and there isn’t always space to tell both.

Of course, being 40 and single and wondering whether I’ll have a family (this is where the Baby Goggles story comes in), it’s easy to label the years of bingeing and body obsession as ‘wasted’. If I hadn’t had my eating problems and the low self-worth, control and perfectionism that lay at their root, perhaps I’d have managed to settle down sooner. But although I can slip into that thinking, I know it’s not helpful. What is helpful is to celebrate the journey, with all its ups and downs, and to feel grateful for my recovery and everything I have in my life today.

And I can see, now I’ve shed the necessary tears and gained some healing, that those years weren’t wasted. There’s a purpose to everything and if I can combine my love and talent for writing with sharing a message that will help other women and men come out of hiding, seek help and perhaps begin their recovery at a younger age than I did, then that’s incredibly worthwhile.

As it says in the Bible – and I don’t think you necessarily need a faith to appreciate the sentiment in these verses – “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans, 8 v 28) and “I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten” (Joel, 2, v 25).

Writing these two stories and getting them published has also challenged some of my most deep-seated and self-defeating behaviours: my perfectionism, my control, my fear of what other people think and my negative thinking around my work, my achievements and my body. Imagine someone who’s had body issues for as long as she can remember ending up in a national newspaper photographed in a sleeveless dress. And imagine crafting every single word of the story to perfection (my idea of it, that is) and then having that story cut almost in half due to space, even if it was done judiciously.

But I’m still here, breathing deeply, congratulating myself on my courage, accepting I’m not in charge and understanding that I don’t need everyone to like me or approve of me in order to feel good about myself.

Self-esteem – it’s an inside job.

Life is good: One of my many adventures - on safari in Kenya

Posted in Body Image, Eating disorders, Faith, Perfectionism, Self-Acceptance, Spirituality, Women | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Chronic satisfaction

Posted on January 4, 2012 by Katherine Baldwin

2012 - it has a nice ring to it

It’s been a while since I’ve made New Year’s resolutions – and I’m not just talking about the last 12 months. I don’t think I’ve made any for a few years. I decided some time ago to lay off the ‘resolutions’ because mine were always so punishing.

They generally involved losing weight, improving my body shape and turning myself into an Elle Macpherson lookalike by my birthday in March. Needless to say, I never kept to that last one and I rarely kept to the others. Or they were about achieving this or that by a certain date – and I’d be very unforgiving if I failed. I guess my resolutions just weren’t very loving.

I also think that by focusing on my New Year plans, I can forget that every day is a new day and provides an opportunity to start afresh. I can start afresh on January 4th or 5th just as easily as on January 1st.

That said, I think having visions or goals and writing them down at the start of the year is a good thing. But I prefer to call them visions and goals, rather than resolutions. Resolutions to me sounds so harsh, so definitive. And as we know, we generally don’t keep them much beyond mid-January.

Visions sounds more gentle, and it leaves plenty of room for manoeuvre. Although I guess I don’t want to leave too much room for manoeuvre in case I get lost along the way. It comes down to finding the right balance – between setting my sights on what I’d like to happen this year and taking the steps to make it happen, but then relaxing once I’ve taken that action and surrendering the outcome. As I also wrote in my last post, it seems doors generally open where they’re supposed to and at the right time.

So what would I like to see happen? Well, this year – and this day for that matter – I’d like to take more risks, go easier on myself and worry a little less about what other people think. I’d also like to dance more – I’ve decided I don’t need to wait to get invited on Strictly Come Dancing to wear a sparkly dress and be whisked around a ballroom. I’m sure I can find somewhere in London to do that! And I’d like to continue with my singing lessons (I’ve only had one) and develop some form of regular meditation that works for me – my anxiety often keeps me awake at night and that’s something I’d love to change.

In my work, I’d like to build on what I’ve started, finding outlets to write honestly and from my heart about issues that affect women, and men of course, but mostly women. I’m dreaming of a column in a newspaper or magazine. I’d also like to put in place better boundaries around my work – so I make sure I have times when I switch off from emails or from generating story ideas and really put my feet up. I think those times are called holidays! I’ve found taking holidays quite tricky as a freelancer but I’d like to work on that this year.

And finally – I’m sure there’s a lot more I could think of but this is enough for now – I’d like to improve my satisfaction levels. I watched the Woody Allen film Vicky Cristina Barcelona the other day and really enjoyed it but there was one particular moment that really hit home. It was the bit when Maria Elena, played by Penelope Cruz, tells Cristina, played by Scarlett Johanssen, that she suffers from “chronic dissatisfaction”. Cristina has just decided to end her ménage à trois with Maria Elena and Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem) because she’s tired of it, or bored of it, or thinks there’s something else out there for her, something more exciting or fulfilling. Maria Elena yells at her and diagnoses her problem as chronic dissatisfaction, as never being content with her lot.

Now, I imagine Cristina maybe could find a more satisfying arrangement than sharing her fella with another woman but, putting that aside, I can definitely relate to the idea of chronic dissatisfaction and the sense there must always be something better out there. Whether it’s moving from one country to another or ending one relationship and starting another or going to one party or holiday destination and thinking I’d be better off at the other, I’ve often struggled to find peace where I am. Of course, I’m so much better than I was years ago but sometimes my restlessness or my disquiet returns. I’m constantly looking to the future for the next best thing or over my shoulder at whatever I’ve left behind.

So what I’m aiming for this year is chronic satisfaction. I’d like – as much as possible – to remember to be grateful for who I am, where I am or what I’m doing. I’d like to make decisions and choices without second-guessing them and without thinking about what I might be missing elsewhere. I’d like to say to myself more often, “In this moment, I have everything I need to be happy”, and really mean it. When my mind wanders off into some fantasy land, past or future, where everything is better than today, I’d like to remind it gently to come back and take a long, appreciative glance at the present moment.

For some reason, the image of a big oak tree comes to mind. It has long roots that keep it stable and stop it from swaying in the wind. Its trunk is planted firmly on the floor and is solid all the way through. I guess, for me, satisfaction comes from feeling grounded and feeling sure of who I am and where I’m heading, so I’m not tossed around in the wind of other people’s opinions or by the endless choices and possibilities that come my way.

Living in a state of chronic satisfaction, however, is not going to be easy. I’ve had many years of feeling the opposite and old habits die hard, but I think it’s a good vision for me to have for 2012 – there’s plenty of room for manoeuvre, but it’s something to aim for all the same.

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A healthy dose of self-belief

Posted on December 29, 2011 by Katherine Baldwin

I’ve learned quite a lot this year but maybe the most important thing I’ve learned is that when we have a gut instinct, a vision or an idea that nags at us and doesn’t go away, it’s wise to act on it, no matter how scared we may feel or how crazy it may seem.

I had an idea this year that I wanted to write from my heart about issues that affect women and create a platform where we could share our life experiences and wisdom to encourage and inspire each other. And it seems – slowly and perhaps not in quite the way I’d have imagined – that vision is taking shape.

It all began in March on the eve of Lent. I stayed up most of the night, obsessed by an idea to start a blog based around body image and self-acceptance. The thought came to me in a burst of anger and frustration after I realised that I – like many other women and indeed some men – had spent much of my life criticising the way I look, grimacing in the mirror and poking and prodding at the bits of me I’d decided I didn’t like. I was almost 40 and I’d had it. So I decided that instead of giving up chocolate, crisps or bread for the 40-day Lenten period, I would abstain from negative thoughts about my appearance instead. And I would blog about my progress every day.

I spent most of March 9th clumsily designing a site and setting up a Twitter feed – despite being technologically challenged – and, with a fair amount of terror, I sent my blog live that afternoon. The result was Just As I Am – An Experiment in Self Acceptance, 40 days of writing about my battle against negative thoughts about my body, appearance and achievements and highlighting individuals and organisations that were promoting healthier body image and trying to stem a worrying rise in eating disorders, self-hate and self-harm.

Of course, there were times I thought I was a little unhinged – pouring my musings onto the page and into the ether and laying bare my hang-ups and neuroses for all to see. But I loved writing so honestly, without censure, and I felt so passionate about the subject matter that I couldn’t stay away from my blog.

My Lenten experiment took me through my 40th birthday and another idea was born: this website, From Forty With Love. Once again, it was one of those visions that kept me awake at night, with a mixture of excitement, adrenalin and fear. But I did it anyway. I put together a rudimentary site and continued to do what I had discovered I did quite well and with relative ease – write from my heart. Since then, I’ve blogged here about loneliness, relationships, singledom, childlessness, fertility, self-care, acceptance, trust, faith, death, loss, love and a lot more.

And I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. There’s something so liberating about writing freely, without having to comply to someone else’s agenda or be watered down or spiced up by editing. As the American writer Tennessee Williams said, ‘If the writing is honest it cannot be separated from the man who wrote it’ – or woman in this case. I’ve also loved the fact that a number of people have said they’ve liked what I’ve written or been encouraged by it. Over time, however, I came to realise that my blog was an easy way out. I hated picking up the phone to editors to “sell” my story ideas – I was a journalist and a writer, not a saleswoman. With blogging, I didn’t have to sell, I just wrote, albeit with a limited audience and no income.

But it hasn’t been in vain. It’s given me a platform to develop this style of writing and to showcase it to the limited number of editors I’ve contacted. And it’s earned me some guest blogging opportunities as well as a few magazine and newspaper commissions – which brings me to today.

Through my blog, I’ve met (either in person or virtually) some fabulous women who are following their passions, pursuing their dreams or using their talents to inspire others. One of those is Jody Day of Gateway Women, an organisation that supports would-be mothers or post-fertile women and helps them embrace their ‘childfree’ lives. And it was via a guest blog I wrote on Jody’s site, The Power of Testimony, that the Daily Mail asked me to write a piece about dating with baby goggles on – the trap I and other would-be mothers fall into when we’re aware of our biological clock ticking. Today, that piece appears in the paper – Baby goggles syndrome. Of course, I can’t write unedited there as I can here – but I still hope it serves a purpose: to remind me and anyone else in a similar position that we’d be best to date with the baby goggles off and that trying to control the future or live in it is futile and not the route to peace and contentment.

Beyond the specifics of that piece, however, what this whole blogging experience this year has shown me is that if we’re passionate about something, it’s best to pursue it, despite our fears.

I knew I was passionate about blogging and writing for and about women back in the summer of 2010. I put together a life collage out of magazine cuttings during a trip to Mozambique and the words ‘blogging’ and ‘women’ featured on the front page – along with other dreams for my future, a dog and a mountain bike safari in Africa.

So, listening to our instincts and following our dreams – even if our own internal critic or our more sensible friends tell us we’re foolish – seems to be the right way to go. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say. And often, if we’re following our passions and being true to ourselves, doors open where we never expected them to before. Work becomes less of a battle and more of a flow.

I’m not quite there yet – but that’s the goal for 2012.

I’ll end with a quote by the late Japanese psychiatrist Shoma Morita, which I came across thanks to Jody. I think it’s relevant to a lot of us who dream big but often get in the way of ourselves: “Give up on yourself. Begin taking positive action now while being neurotic or imperfect or a procrastinator or unhealthy or lazy or any other label by which you inaccurately describe yourself. Go ahead and be the best imperfect person you can be, and get started on those things you want to accomplish before you die.”

 

 

Posted in Body Image, Creativity, Self-Acceptance, Trust, Uncategorized, Women, Work | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Love is all you need

Posted on December 28, 2011 by Katherine Baldwin

Love is all you need

“All you need is love, love. Love is all you need.”

I thought today’s blog title was fitting, partly because I’ve just spent a few days in Liverpool – birthplace of the Fab Four – and partly because I’ve given and received a lot of love over the past week or so, having spent Christmas with my family and been to my Grandad’s funeral.

And then, just before I started writing, they played the very same Beatles’ hit on the radio. Serendipity.

So, where to start? Christmas always gets me pondering life, family, love, loneliness and other big questions. But combined with the funeral of my 99-year-old Grandad (on December 20th), it really got me thinking this year.

As Amanda Platell wrote in a pre-Christmas Daily Mail column, “Christmas is when being childless hurts the most”, the festive season does tend to remind me that I don’t have my own partner or offspring to buy presents for, cook roast dinners for or spend the holidays with. Like many of my forty-something single friends, I headed back to my Mum’s and spent Christmas with my brother’s children – loving it, but feeling a bit of an anomaly. Surely by now I should have my own family rather than be returning to my original one or tagging along with my brother’s? Surely by now I should be doing the food shopping and cooking instead of just the eating and washing up?

On top of that, the death of my grandad – who left behind children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren – got me musing about whether I’d ever manage to produce such a brood, or whether my particular branch of the family tree would stop with me. As I wrote in my last post, losing a loved one, and especially a parent or grandparent, inevitably prompts us to ponder the life cycle.

These are all valid and quite poignant questions that no doubt I’ll continue to ask myself, on and off, until I have a definitive answer one way or another. But what I also realised over the festive season was that, whatever happens, there will always be love. Even if I don’t have my own children, there are plenty of people in my family and beyond I can give love to and receive love from, as I did over the past few weeks. In particular, I can try to be a great aunty to my nephews, as my mum’s sister was and still is to me.

And then there are my friends, which we singletons perhaps have more of, or at least see more of, than our married pals. What was lovely at my Grandad’s funeral was the fact the church was packed – not just with family but with neighbours, friends and acquaintances, from young children to his 90-year-old best mate. He was well loved.

In fact, love was on display everywhere, even on a wet, grey December day in Anfield. When we took the funeral flowers to my Nana’s grave where my Grandad’s ashes will also be left, I took a look at the other headstones nearby with all their messages of love and at the relatives who were visiting those they had lost. And I felt moved to go and say ‘Merry Chistmas’ to my own Dad at his grave. Losing loved ones does indeed hurt and we feel it acutely at Christmas, but, as the saying goes, ”Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’

So, as I wrote on this blog a while back, I’ve concluded that love, actually, is all around. Maybe sometimes we just need to remind ourselves that it’s there – perhaps not always in the shape or form we would like it to be, but it’s there all the same.

Love - it comes in different shaped packages

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Loss and the life cycle

Posted on December 14, 2011 by Katherine Baldwin

My dear old Grandad passed away on Friday. He was 99, eight weeks short of his 100th birthday and his telegram from the Queen. He was quite a man – incredibly resilient – and it was a real feat to live so long. I’d love to write reams about him but he was also very humble and private so it’d be wrong to say too much. I’m sure he’d be shocked by the fact that people bare their souls on the Internet these days (or maybe it’s just his granddaughter who does that!).

All I’ll say, however, is that I’m pleased there’s a little bit of him in me. I’m not quite sure which bit that is. His persistence and determination perhaps? I know I have those characteristics in me but often my fear, low self-esteem and negative-thinking hijack them. Maybe I have a small piece of his sporting ability, or a bit of his faith, his courage, his Liverpudlian sense of humour, or his reserve (I can be reserved when the mood takes me). Or maybe I share some of that resilience that got him to such a ripe old age.

Whatever bit it is, it’s comforting to know that he lives on – in his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren and the children that are to come. And that thought, somehow, inspires me to do my best, to live a life worthy of those who’ve gone before me, of those who gave me their genes, if that doesn’t sound too grandiose.

Nevertheless, there’s still that inevitable feeling of loss, even if his time had come. Sometimes I think I feel the loss more acutely because my family is very small and because I don’t have children of my own. Maybe it’s egotistical to think about continuing the family line but, as has been said many times before by people much more eloquent than me, death – and particularly of a parent or grandparent – reminds us of our own mortality. And I think if we’re single and childless/childfree, it prompts us to think about the life cycle and what – if anything – we’ll leave behind.

Loss, of course, also triggers memories of other losses and in my case, of the loss of my Dad. I initially thought it wrong to allow those memories to come back and get mixed up with the present-day ones. But then I realised that it’s all part of the natural grieving process. Yes, if it’s hysterical, it’s likely to be historical, but grief today is bound to trigger grief from our past and I believe it’s important to unlock the doors again if feelings are pushing against them, crying to get out. I let them out, and it seemed to be the right thing to do.

But thinking about death, loss, the life cycle and what we leave behind has got me musing on motherhood again, despite my decision to call off the search for a partner and father for my prospective children. Don’t worry. I’m not going to muse for too long – I’ve got a life to lead – but it’s inevitable that these thoughts would come back.

Nor is the article I’m in the middle of writing and researching helping to keep the motherhood thoughts at bay. Speaking to women about the biological clock, their anxieties around whether they’ll have children or their acceptance that they won’t (I’m still looking for anecdotes) has brought it all back. I even had a browse on an Internet dating site – in the interests of research, of course – and was amazed at all the seemingly pleasant, apparently functional, potential dates out there. So my search is still off – but I’m not saying for how long!

The setting sun

And finally, I would have put a photo of my dear old Grandad here but in deference to his private nature, I’ve chosen a picture of a setting sun off the coast of Cyprus instead. It doesn’t have any particular relevance to his life – except perhaps for the fact that he loved swimming – I just liked the photograph and what it represents.

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An appeal for anecdotes

Posted on December 9, 2011 by Katherine Baldwin

Just a quick post today with an appeal to my lovely readers for some anecdotes. I’m working on a potential newspaper article and I’m looking for some input from women who are approaching the end of their fertile window, who still hope to have children of their own and who are out there dating or can remember how it was for them when they were dating at this age.

How does it feel? Do you feel panicked? Do you hear your biological clock ticking very loudly? Do you look at every man as though he could be a father to your future children? Do you bring up the issue of babies on the first or second date or have you found a way to relax and trust it’ll work out if it’s meant to be?

Maybe you’ve mastered the art of coolness when it comes to dating. Maybe you’ve managed to forget your age and your decreasing fertility and have learned how to enjoy your dates without those added pressures. Or maybe you’ve found the perfect way to bring up the baby issue without it sounding too heavy.

And you don’t have to be 40 or over to fit into this category. Maybe your in your mid- to late 30s but are aware that time is of the essence. Nor do you have to be dating, necessarily. Maybe you’re in a relationship, you know you want children but your partner isn’t sure. Do you wait? Do you stay? Do you go?

Finally, just to broaden it out a little more, nor do you have to be female! I’d love to hear how men cope in these situations. Does the mention of babies on the first few dates freak you out? Do you run a mile? Or do you take it in your stride, knowing it’s likely to come up if you’re dating a woman in her late 30s, early 40s. Or maybe you’re the one who wants children and you’ve tried to bring it up on dates, only for the woman to freeze and suggest you might be getting ahead of yourself.

All stories and anecdotes are welcome – funny ones, serious ones, sad ones. Please pass my blog link onto anyone you think might be able to oblige. And comments can remain anonymous, whatever you prefer. Feel free to either share below, get in touch via Facebook or email me at info{at}katherinebaldwin.com

Thank you!

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Finding my voice

Posted on December 7, 2011 by Katherine Baldwin

Next stop: X-Factor?

I’ve written before about finding my voice, about learning to speak up for myself, to say my truth and state my needs. I’m learning to do this in my relationships, both professional and personal. But I’m excited to say I’m about to take the concept of finding my voice to a whole new level.

I went for my first one-on-one singing lesson last night. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do for quite a while. I love singing but I’ve never thought I was very good at it. That’s partly because I was told I wasn’t very good at it when I was quite young and I’ve held onto that for many years.

I’m sure my dear Dad didn’t mean any harm and was just poking fun at me, but I remember very clearly when he said, in a playful tone: “Katherine’s really good at most things, but, bless her, she can’t sing” or something along those lines. At least that’s how I remember it. Fair enough. I was good at sports, captain of lacrosse and netball, prefect, head girl and good at my studies – all part of the over-achieving I’ve written about before. To be talented in music or good at singing as well would have been a lot to ask. But as many of us know, children take things to heart, even when they’re said in jest.

I assumed, therefore, that the musical talent had stayed with the male side of the family. My late Dad was a semi-professional musician – a guitar and banjo player and singer and a founding member of the Merseysippi Jazz Band, Britain’s longest standing jazz group. My brother went on to learn the guitar and sing in bands. My Mum, however, always described herself as tone deaf and I assumed I was too.

But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I’ve always loved singing karaoke – although I generally do a duet so I can hide behind my partner’s better voice – and in recent years, I’ve loved singing out in church and at carol concerts.

But my attempts to join choirs haven’t been very successful. On my first visit to a choir, I actually ended up in tears in the toilets. I couldn’t reach the notes, I couldn’t sing in harmony and I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I felt embarrassed, ashamed even. But my tearful reaction was rather extreme, which reminds me of the idea that ‘if it’s hysterical, it’s probably historical‘. In other words, my exaggerated reaction to my inability to sing in public likely brought back a lot of shame around my singing voice from my past.

My second visit to a different choir was less traumatic but it still wasn’t enjoyable. I didn’t have the confidence to sing out and I was afraid of sounding ridiculous.

But I’m not giving up! I’ve just decided that I need a little assistance. Hence the lessons.

So, in my first lesson last night, I discovered I’m not a terrible singer (unless the teacher was being kind to me!) but I don’t know how to control my voice, it’s never developed and I struggle with my breathing. I also learned that my posture – my slightly lopsided frame as a result of a long-standing ankle injury and lower-back pain – is affecting my ability to sing. And I discovered that I might actually be a soprano, not an alto as I’d assumed. That’s interesting for someone who’s always shied away from the high notes. My teacher suggested that maybe, as a child, I had a “wild” voice, which is why I may have sounded tone deaf to my Dad. But people with wild voices often end up to be very good singers if their voices are developed and trained, or so my teacher says.

I sang two songs last night so she could gauge my voice. I chose my favourite hymn “How Great Thou Art” – sung in the following clip by Elvis Presley. My rendition was a little different, but Elvis’ version really makes me smile:

I also sang Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest Love of All” – a little slushy perhaps but I love the power of her voice and the lyrics seemed rather appropriate, given my decision to pursue my singing is part of a process of increasing self-love and self-care. To quote Whitney, “The greatest love of all is easy to achieve. Learning to love yourself, it is the greatest love of all.”

I admit I fancy myself as a bit of a Whitney Houston!

So what next? Well, more lessons, lots of practice and back to Pilates and the gym to try to resolve my postural problems. Fortunately, though, my singing teacher wisely suggested that I took some time to think about whether I was ready to give the time and commitment required to progress with my singing. As time and commitment are two things I struggle with, I was pleased she’d encouraged me to think about it. But she also observed that I seemed very determined – and I am! So I’ve decided to spend some time in the next few weeks trying to get some routine in place around my exercise/Pilates classes and then start the singing lessons in earnest early in the New Year.

A new year, a new voice!

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Doing things differently

Posted on November 28, 2011 by Katherine Baldwin

According to Albert Einstein, the definition of insanity is “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Making the same mistakes and getting the same results has been a bit of a theme of my life. Now, that may sound a little harsh and I don’t mean it in a non-loving way. After all, I’m getting a lot better at accepting myself as I am. But the truth is I have, on occasion, repeated the same behaviours – knowingly or unknowingly – and they’ve had the same, sometimes painful consequences. For example, I’ve overeaten to anaesthetise feelings of sadness, anger or fear but I’ve only ended up feeling worse. Or I’ve got into romantic relationships I knew weren’t right for me or I wasn’t ready for, only to have to go through the pain of getting out of them. Or I’ve procrastinated over my work, left everything until the last minute and ended up suffering for it.

But the good news is the opposite can also be true. That is, if we do things differently to how we’ve always done them we end up with quite different results. Things can indeed change. That’s been my experience of the past few weeks.

I’m not long back from a two-week work trip to Mozambique and I’m pleased to say it was a completely different experience to previous trips and especially to my visit in June, which provoked mixed feelings. By the end of that week, I was exhausted, one of my eyelids was completely swollen because sleeplessness and stress had caused blepharitis – a common and rather annoying eye condition but one I’d never heard of before that week in Maputo – and I was feeling blue because I’d used sugar and excess food to try and offset my tiredness and cushion other uncomfortable feelings throughout the week (which, surprise surprise, hadn’t worked).

This time, however, things were different. Partly due to circumstances outside of my control but also, to a large measure, due to actions I took beforehand and during my time away to take care of myself and make sure I didn’t repeat the same mistakes as before. These actions included successfully negotiating with my employer to fly premium economy rather than economy so I could rest on the long, overnight journey; getting some sleeping tablets from the doctor for the overnight flights, and making sure I was staying in reasonable accommodation while I was there. I had my eye medication to hand in case the blepharitis returned and I also packed plenty of my favourite herbal tea bags just in case they weren’t available where I was going!

While I was away, I made sure I got plenty of rest and exercise – two things that help keep me sane and help me to resist the temptation of excess food or sugar to top up my energy levels. Of course, the different circumstances to my last trip also helped. As before, I was leading a journalism training course for Mozambican journalists but on this occasion, the course was held outside the capital on a beach in Bilene, a few hours up the coast from Maputo.

The lagoon at Bilene - good for my sanity

That beach was my salvation. I woke just before 6 am every morning, went for a walk on the white sand and swam in the salt-water lagoon that was right in front of the hotel. Then, as soon as my course finished, I got straight back into the lagoon to swim off the tension, to clear my head and to recoup lost energy. It’s amazing how expending energy in a positive way such as swimming actually gives us more energy – I love that! I felt rejuvenated and refreshed after my afternoon swim every day. And the very thought that I could dive into the sea after work helped me to avoid the sugary snacks that were on offer daily at 4 pm.

I also made sure I had two days of complete rest after the course before I started working again – researching a few stories I hope to publish. I spent those days of rest in a lovely hotel in Maputo, sleeping late, swimming in the pool and reading in the sunshine.

I also turned down a random invitation to dinner from a good-looking Portuguese businessman who noticed I was alone at the hotel. He’d suggested we share a bottle of wine but my intuition was telling me that wasn’t a good idea. Instead, I stayed in my room, relaxed and watched a movie. I was very proud of myself. And that decision I’d made a few weeks back to call off the search for a husband really helped me to say ‘No’. The previous year in Maputo, I’d accepted an invitation to dinner from a good-looking Israeli businessman who’d also noticed I was alone in the hotel and I ended up in a difficult situation and one I’d have rather avoided. Still, we learn from our mistakes and I’m pleased to say I think I’ve learned that accepting invitations to dinner from random male strangers in Maputo – when I’m alone and feeling a little tired and vulnerable – isn’t good for me. Repeat the same mistakes, get the same results. But do things differently, and the results can be quite different.

This time, then, I returned from Mozambique feeling pleased with how things had gone, proud of how I’d behaved, with my self esteem bolstered rather than depleted, feeling fit from all the exercise rather than sluggish because of the sugar and with my eyes free of that nasty condition.

It’s been a great reminder that I can do things differently and that things can change for the better.

Posted in Eating disorders, Health, Leisure, Self-Acceptance, Uncategorized, Women, Work | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments