Trust is my appointed word for 2021, and so far it has proven rather lean-able upon.

The thing is is that I have a tendency to stuffing every hole, every available and emerging space with a new project. It’s a tiring habit. I have now added a complete overhaul and rewrite of my professional website, more revisions of this and that, more continuing professional development courses, but not more time. I seem to like piling things on myself, squeezing out any activity that brings a satisfying sigh and a sense of here I am. Then behind all the stuffing holes and piling on is the added weight of expectation and self imposed deadlines, a shadow that never lets its eye off the calendar or the clock. No small wonder I end up in a scrubby knot of overwhelm. All self created. The blame lying prostrate at my feet.

Either I have a love of torture, a hang over from school and exams and authority figures – I have oft been described as driven – or this is a very will full and deliberate strategy to avoid (at all cost) any middle-aged dating and gluing myself with another…

I’ll wager it’s the latter.

So in January trust became a mantra. When I say the word out loud it sounds like downy feathers or a snake’s hypnotic hiss – it softens and calms, and the grasping thoughts fade away. I repeat it in the morning, and again before bed, and especially when I am tired and prey to regret. But January was still laden with challenge. There were battles over ‘homeschooling’ and battles over screen time, and here is where trust began to falter; in my ability to parent a child who is clearly pulling away. ‘Get out of my room,’ is her un-rallying cry with a dismissive flick of her hand, ‘I’m talking to my friends’. She is such a clever juggler of words. ‘I didn’t lie, I just decided not to tell you.’ There were tomes I wanted to read but instead I was back on the ‘how to parent’ manuals, fuelling myself with words such as limbic system, autonomy, boundaries, secrecy, experimentation; words I already knew but in need of that extra hand hold, that reassuring feeling of you’re-not-alone. After the pages were turned I felt a little less at sea, having more of a map, even if the lines are still faint and a little directionless. I trust she knows I will always love her, that I will be waiting in the wings, no matter the surprises these coming years bring.

This week was February half term. I had made specific plans and then I let them go. Instead, I followed my nose, found myself embarking upon a necessary tidy-up online. I have decided to let an old site (Older Mum) go as the yearly hosting fee no longer makes sense, and besides, I’m now in a different phase of life. I found myself hovering over the delete button of my other blog (Older Mum in a Muddle) too, or maybe it’s simply the case of deleting those posts I no longer like (or those I don’t want her to read). I have deleted Twitter accounts and Pinterest accounts and changed passwords galore. And in trusting this process I have shaken something off and allowed a new space to open. I began tidying up this blog and updating and adding pages, and then, hallelujah, I actually began working on my novel again…

…So trust has led me back to words.

This is my biggest leap of faith, to listen to the whisper of trust’s song; you mustn’t give up, you mustn’t give up, you mustn’t…