Dear Readers,
Thanks for accepting the invitation to spend a few minutes with my writing today. I appreciate you’re busy, so it’s an honour that you chose me right now.
Since the hugely successful launch party that I hosted to celebrate my debut novel on September 12, I’ve been noticing some strong emotions in my body. There was elation. Then a huge sense of gratitude. This was soon followed by a sizeable slump.
And then something happened that I wasn’t expecting.
On Saturday night just past, after close to seven and a half years of not drinking alcohol, I was hit with the most almighty urge to get drunk.
It shocked me.
There I was, out walking my dog on a Saturday evening, noticing people dressed for a night out getting into Ubers to the sound of laughter, and all I had for company was a dog. Himself was on a rig somewhere in the Timor Sea, my kids were off out living their best lives with friends, and I felt like a loser.
That was when the urge to drink hit me.
It stopped me in my tracks. I literally froze. My heart rate increased. I was shaking. Then the tears came. I cried the whole way home, hoping I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew as I honestly didn’t know what might come out of my mouth.
I cannot remember the last time I felt such an urge – it’s been that long. So, it was good enough reason for me to reflect as soon as I got home.
I knew there was plenty of booze in the house. My kids are of drinking ages now and often have their friends over. Ordinarily, I don’t have a problem with this. In fact, I’m proud of my kids. They know how to drink responsibly, unlike their mother who learnt to drink to get drunk.
What did I do?
I made myself a chamomile tea while running a bath with Epsom salts. That feeling of relief as I slipped into the hot water was therapeutic. I felt the sadness and the urge slip away as my body relaxed. Then I took the time to reflect on and question what the hell had triggered those intense feelings.
As a counsellor, I’m aware of the impact extreme highs can have on the nervous system. I see it in my clients who get very excited when something amazing happens until reality kicks in and they must once again face the drudgery of day-to-day life.
And I’d had one hell of a high on September 12.
After years of dreaming about becoming a published author, I had launched my first novel surrounded by people who had come to my home specifically to celebrate it with me. There was flamenco, music, laughter, food, sangria and so much love and support.
And then everyone went home.
By the time the water had cooled the other night, I knew the answer.
I associated being alone with rejection.
The long-held beliefs from my younger years are still hiding in me somewhere and every so often I get a reminder. Rejection was such a huge part of my life when I was growing up. Eventually I embodied it.
For this reason, I never celebrated big birthdays. Apart from my wedding, I’ve never invited people to a party that had me as the centre of attention because I didn’t believe I deserved it. Instead, I have celebrated everyone else.
It was only when I turned 60 this year that I finally started to pick those beliefs apart.
I discovered something that has made me reconsider an idea I used to roll my eyes at.
You know how the whole concept of ‘manifesting’ became trendy in recent years? And many of us dismiss it as being far too woo-woo?
Well, I’ve started to wonder whether there might be something in it after all. Not in the sense that we can simply think about something hard enough and the universe will magically deliver it to our door. But I do think that what we believe about ourselves can shape what we allow into our lives, and what we expect from other people, how we interpret their behaviour and, perhaps most importantly, whether we allow ourselves to be seen.
For some crazy reason, at an unconscious level, I spent years believing other people would see the good in me that I was refusing to see in myself.
And maybe the biggest change has been realising that I have some responsibility for seeing it too.
It’s embarrassing to admit this. I’m sure many of you have already figured this truth out from a much younger age than me. But hey, it’s better late than never, right?
Today, I am manifesting that I am worthy.
If I’m alone, it’s because I choose to be, and doesn’t mean I have to be lonely. In fact, I love my own company a lot of the time. I simply adore the peace and quiet, along with the freedom to do exactly as I please. If I want company, I know where to find it.
Turning 60 gave me the opportunity to begin again. To manifest something new: a belief that I can be the person I’ve always wanted to be.
And I don’t just mean a published author – which by the way, I AM NOW, YAY!
I mean a person who is worthy, loved, capable of loving deeply and caring about the greater good.
Perhaps it’s no coincidence that this is also something I explored through Aoife in In a Different Light.
She too reaches later life carrying beliefs about herself that were formed when she was young – beliefs about her worth, what she deserved and what she should tolerate from other people. It is only when she looks back at the choices that she made and the experiences that shaped her that she begins to understand how profoundly those beliefs influenced the course of her life.
I created Aoife long before I turned 60, but lately I’ve found myself wondering whether, in writing her story, I was also trying to understand something about my own story.
There’s a reason I chose the words from Søren Kierkegaard to open In a Different Light.
‘Life must be lived forwards; but it can only be understood backwards.’
I understand them better now than I did when I chose them.
Over the last few days, while my nervous system settled, I pulled together some of the footage from my book launch into a short video. I thought I was simply creating something to share with those of you who couldn’t be there. But it has become something else too. It is as a reminder of how loved and supported I really am.
Watching it gives me goosebumps. For most of my life, I would never have dared to organise a celebration with myself at the centre of it.
At 60, I finally did.
Watch The Launch of In a Different Light.
This is why I wanted to share all of this with you. I wonder how many of us are still living, at least partly, according to the conclusions we reached about ourselves when we were far too young to know whether they were true.
That we’re not good enough. Not clever enough. Not likeable enough. Not worthy of being celebrated. That being alone means we’ve been rejected. That other people somehow have more right to take up space in the world than we do.
I’m discovering at 60 that those old beliefs can still make themselves heard.
But I’m also discovering something much more important.
I don’t have to believe them anymore.
Follow this link for details of how to obtain a copy of In a Different Light.
Thanks for being here.
Love,
Gill 💚
