Category: Big Thoughts

I made a difficult decision recently. It took ages, but as soon as I made it the air grew lighter and I could breathe again. Funny how we always say to trust our gut but end up ignoring it until it’s almost too late. Long (long) story short: I quit my job. 

Even writing that sentence gives me the jitters. Working class backgrounds tend to shout at us if we do something so rash. Plus, I feel guilty. Soon enough I’ll be able to move on from a job and an organisation I loved, and soon enough I’ll see that the transfer to a new company wasn’t going to work, no matter how hard I tried. Maybe I’ll see new pastures with new promise. But for now, I’m slowing down and releasing some of the pressure that comes from working in challenging criminal justice settings. Learning to breathe again is the thing.

And an odd quirk is helping. Wellness guides suggest various things at times of transition. I’ve tried getting up early (don’t like it), going for a run (sore knees), meditating (too quiet). But then I read about something called ‘grounding’. It’s the simplest thing: stand on the earth, preferably in bare feet, and ground yourself.

I scoffed, of course, and finished my coffee. But the image stuck in my head and I thought about it all day. I could picture my bare toes being tickled by fresh grass, while birds chirped happily in the trees above my head. My garden is small and a bit wild but it’s lovely. Maybe this was worth a try? So recently, with the arrival of spring, I’ve aimed to start each day (not too early, see above) by stepping out the back door and feeling the ground beneath my feet. The first day was a bust – sharp stones on my way to the grassy bit and generally too cold underfoot. This should have been expected. Rookie mistake. So next day I was better prepared: big slippers for the short journey from the door to the garden, and a warm cuppa in my hand. Much better! I slipped off the slippers and gingerly set my bare feet on the grass. It was cold and wet (dew? I hoped) but I took deep breaths and even a few steps. The birds were not singing. The cats were giving me funny looks. But I stuck it out. Soon enough, I ran back inside and found a pair of socks, apologising to my feet. Did this help? Did I feel grounded to Mother Earth?

This simple act has continued to place me on the earth at this point in time. I don’t get out there every day, and sometimes the vibe is all wrong (and let’s not even mention the headless shrew incident). But most days I make it a priority to take barefoot steps outside. The birds sometimes sing and even the cats look on with a sense of, if not approval, certainly something approaching it. Deep changes are taking place as I stand and look into the sky. As a middle-aged woman, I have felt invisible and I’ve spent many years in the background. I didn’t think I was allowed to take up space. But the feeling of standing with skin touching earth, reaching back to my shoe-less ancestors, has taught me that I am here. And it’s enough.

I’ve just hit send on a stressful email. Something has been an issue for years and recently raised its head again to remind me that I really don’t know how to fix it (other than turning back time and making better decisions). The topic is one that we still don’t really talk about, or certainly not with any honesty. It makes the world go round, yet very few of us understand how it works, and in a capitalist society we are under its thrall. Yes, it’s that dirty word: money.

Here’s my story. Once upon a time I received a health insurance payout (following the diagnosis of multiple sclerosis) and wanted to put plans in place for the future. We bought our dream campervan and we started up a small business. Hans the Van eventually carted us off for the Big Trip in 2018 – 361 days visiting 17 countries – a dream indeed, and one I’ll never forget. The Wee Tram was adorable, challenging, fun, stressful, and even though we had to wind the company up after five years, I’m still glad we did it. 

Other than that, I followed professional financial advice and put a large chunk into storage pods, an investment that seemed simple and safe at the time. You’re probably gasping in shock, or at the very least raising your eyebrows at this point, since stories have been hitting the headlines in the last couple of years, often involving people who have lost their savings through investments like this (or even their pension pots, a definite yikes). As the years progressed, it became clear that this was Not A Good Thing, and slowly, very slowly, I started to admit that my money was possibly gone. 

To add recent injury to old insult, my lovely job reading with people in criminal justice settings might be coming to an end soon. This is (unsurprisingly) also about money – funding, tenders, you know the voluntary sector drill. Losing my regular income (and work that I loved) wasn’t in my plan, so perhaps it’s no surprise that today’s email about financial issues is hitting hard. 

Along with the fear and anxiety about the future, though, sits a heavy sense of shame. I’ve always worked hard for a living, always known that money is precious and that not everyone has what they need to survive, never mind thrive. Working class backgrounds instil in us various things, ranging from pride to anxiety to a distinct lack of capacity to dream of something better. But money is also something about which we do not speak: don’t hang your dirty laundry out in public. Hence the arrival of shame. And its bedfellow, guilt. I feel guilty that I wasted a gift, that I didn’t talk about it for a long time, that I’m no longer in contact with the old friend who gave me the advice. Therefore, I’m also feeling sad. 

But the end of the story is still to come. This is a bump in the road and there are paths ahead that could hide all sorts of possibilities. It’s okay to lie down for a while and lick my wounds.

I still feel like I don’t know anything about money and how it works (school taught me nothing) but I am rich indeed – love is all.