Doing the things you love - Vlogmas in Whitstable.

 This is a time of year when some people find the darker days quite hard.

By 3pm it is beginning to get dark and the sun only starts to show itself at 7am in the morning. Frequently, it is somewhat dark all day. And some people can feel quite low at this time. Some of us may have lost someone dear, had our heartbroken or had health challenges and the festive season seems to highlight these feelings. My wish for you is to be kind to yourself. Carve out time in your day to do what you love. Something which can give you a better feeling thought will make a difference, I promise. Aiming to look for the beauty around us is helpful, but sometimes it isn’t as easy as it sounds. And that is when you need to listen to your needs and take good care of yourself, whatever that looks like for you. I like to watch relaxing cinematic videos, overlaid by sweet music. If you need to reach out, please do.

In this video, I spent some time doing things I love. Making coffee. Writing. Going out to walk by the sea. Taking Jasmine for hot chocolate. I loved my day. Yes, it was very cold. But we loved it nonetheless.

How to feel less sad this Christmas

 Sometimes, things happen and you feel sad about it.

No doubt you know this is a part of life and that it's 'just one of those things' but how can you stop yourself from feeling so sad about it?

This Christmas, I am going through some 'empty nest' upsets. This year has changed so much this year, and I feel as though I don't even recognize myself right now. It's a very confusing time. My son won't be around the table this year for Christmas lunch and I can't help but think of it as the end of an era. Although, when he and his twin sister were little, I would lay in bed at night, with palpitations, grown from panic. What if something happened to me? How long would it be before someone knew? Would they starve? Would they be ok in dirty nappies? I used to panic so badly, that I ended up being tested for heart issues on three occasions in the emergency room. It was worry. So, I used to pray. "Please let me see them grow up." To be sad now, that he has grown up and flown the nest, seems contradictory. Instead, I will be glad of the times I do see him this Christmas, and be glad that my prayers were answered. I wish you a season of as little sadness as possible and I hope for some moments of joy for you too. 

Much love

Louise xoxo Reach out: lusherlifenutrition@gmail.com IG: www.instagram.com/lusher.life

How to do nothing.

 

Yesterday, work had been challenging. And then Mum’s ‘stuff’ became a challenge too. 

She has heart failure. The nurse came out to see her. They had asked me to be present as Mum needed another ECG. Getting her metal off was a challenge. So much jewellery. 

     “Is your bra underwired?” the nurse asked.

     “Don’t ask me, wouldn’t have a clue,” Mum replied. And she wouldn’t. She never seemed to know the features and benefits of a good bra. And it seems to not matter now. She’s 82. It matters if it has metal, which affects the ECG. It doesn’t really matter what her boobs look like, in the scheme of things. 

     The nurse was stressed. She was thirty minutes late. I was thankful she came at all. She was in my diary. But I can’t be sure of many things these days. My memory isn’t what it used to be. So, here we were, late, rushing and fumbling about in a house that felt like a sauna. 

     Nooks and cranny’s, a broken ECG machine, no internet, no phone signal, a sweaty nurse, an unhelpful Mum, and a daughter who was listing the symptoms, lack of symptoms and current sleeping pattern,

     “yes, that’s all fine. But I will ask symptoms in a little while,” she told me. 

 

     The armchair wasn’t squishy, like mine, but it was good enough to support my slump backwards, as I surrendered to the day. Sigh. What a day. My fringe covered the back of my hand as I rubbed my forehead.  Headache. Again.

     After an hour, and lots of handwriting, the nurse left. 

51 BPM. Slow again. 

90 spo2. Low again. 

     She blames the nail varnish, like most of them. But it’s been the same for 5 years, nail varnish or not. And, no, apparently, she doesn’t have COPD, despite her smoking history. 

     I refrain from mentioning that I’m taking my Doctorate in Health Sciences. They don’t like that. They would far rather I just randomly tapped into Dr Google and was a busy body know-it-all. 

     Okay. 

     Can’t be bothered to protest. Mum is happy enough. And apparently ready to go see Dad and my brother.  So, I have given up the fight, just a little.

     “I’ll just check your fridge Mum, then I’ll pop to see Harley.” Mum was happy with all of that. Her cup of ‘fuss’ was full.

 

Harley was so vocal. Going round in circles as if he had a couple of vodka and tonics. Twelve and a half now. Bless him. My heart melted as he asked me to stroke him, first in line, despite him being alone all morning. There and then, I decided we were going out. We both needed it. 

     I could work from Starbucks, and he could sit in the floor-to-ceiling window and watch the world, and other dogs, go by. Both of us were as excited as each other. 

     Americano. Water. He had first dibs on the water. That was so cute. An Instagram moment was my initial thought. Then I decided I would sit and hold him. Like a toddler, sitting on my lap. Since he couldn’t walk so well, his feet were dusty and black. I touched his paw. It flipped backwards and forwards in my hand as the joint acted as a hinge. I got lost in this moment, and flipped his paws about some more, smiling to myself and chatting quietly to him. My left hand reached into my bag and pulled out my Metaphysical book. I should read. I hadn’t worked enough. I set the book on the table and adjusted Harley’s position on my lap. His paws, somehow, ended up in the palm of my hand again. 

     This was most unusual, but I had an urge to sit with him, drink my coffee and flip his paws about. I could have squeezed him with my love. A happy moment. My dog, me, the coffee, doing nothing. 

 

 

Sometimes, doing unimportant things is the important thing.

 Finding Lou again.

 

We have all hidden a part of ourselves for the past 18 months. We had no choice. Yet a big part of me was nurtured into becoming the writer I’ve wanted to be since forever ago. And I loved that. 

 

Something wasn’t right, and I didn’t know what.

 

Something still might not be. But one thing is for sure, I have just found a missing piece of my puzzle. 

This last weekend was a time of music, dance, indulgent smiles. 

 

Sometimes, doing unimportant things is the important thing. 

 

What do we want from life? Happiness, freedom, enough-ness. And none of that comes from washing the dishes or doing the important things which we don’t really want to do. But it’s a catalyst into getting there.

 

You see, my life, just like yours, is full of things I don’t want to do. Being a carer, changing the bed, working when I want to nap. 

Take the first thing, being a carer. I don’t want to be a carer. I have always wanted a successful career; only one letter difference, add one E.

     “Well, she looked after you when you were little, now it’s payback time,” they say. That’s what they wrongly assume. 

Dad was the looker-after parent, mostly. Mum was always busy, smoking and reminding us that if we didn’t leave her alone while she ‘had a fag,’ she would end up in the funny farm. 

     “What, you wanna see me in the funny farm?” she would shout.

 

     “Well, you do it because she is your mum, and you love her,” they say. Again, wrongly assume. Those words have never been exchanged between me and my parents. Void, like the embrace, encouragement and pride. 

 

Holding on to that doesn’t serve me. Cracking on and just doing what needs to be done is the best way, by far. All while continuing my career. 

“You’ll need to bring her back on the 27^th to have her stitches removed.” I tapped my phone and checked my diary. 

Working. 

What now? 

Still haven’t figured that just yet, but I will. 

 

Scheduling the week isn’t something I like to do. But my productivity isn’t where it needs to be. 

I journal. 

I complain. 

I list:

Writing.

YouTube.

PhD.

Working at the university.

Hairdressing.

Mum.

Twins.

House.

Gym.

My health.

Hospital visits.

Property developing.

eBay mum and dads collectors’ items.

“I do need to be more positive and realise what an amazing life I really have. And it is. The YouTube thing feels all over the place – I’ll get up to date with it and focus on travel…” I continue to try and inspire and motivate myself, just as I do with others through my mentoring role. 

 

There truly is too much going on. And the items which can be removed from the list are the things that I am passionate about (which is likely why they are at the top of the list).

 

I watched a video on YouTube detailing getting from A to B. “Turn down anything that isn’t on that line from A to B.” A lightbulb went off. 

And it was inspirational. 

She is right. 

But turning those things down can sometimes prevent bills from being paid, we think. Writing this isn’t paying the bills, but it goes some way towards my clarity, which will. Does that make sense to you? Read over it again if it doesn’t. 

What do you love? For me, it’s writing and travel. Putting those two things together can absolutely work, even in loose terms. For instance, someone I follow has several strands to her business. She talks about the law of attraction, like me, and sells amazing necklaces which have inspirational quotes. Great! It works for her. Writing travel stories sounds like it could work, right? 

Finding Lou isn’t easy when there are commitments involving other people. But putting oneself first is of absolute necessity. Let’s start digging, find us, and our buried dreams. 

Please don't wish away our seasons.

 Please don’t wish away our seasons.

 

Evenings are darker, cosy. I’m focused. Lighting candles is cute as pie, but I don’t want summer over.

Why do we post online about ‘feeling autumnal’? 

So we can light pumpkin candles and film a home sense haul?

Next, it will be excitement bundled into soft white fairy lights on top of a decision to ‘real-tree or not to real-tree’. 

January, we speak of the most depressing days, darkness and eager wishing time away moods.  

Finally, crocuses, spring, sunbeams trying hard. We rejoice before heading to the shops for summer wear. My feet long for sand, all-inclusive cobblestones and free towel exchanges on the sunbeds. 

September, school is back, dew on the grass. 

November, frost, fireworks, bonfire-lit faces. 

 

Our seasons all bring joy. Embrace those moments, for all that they are. 

If we don’t know winter, we can’t know summer, if we don’t know joy, we can’t know sadness. Light and shade, ups and downs. Human experiences are defined by moments of wonder, surprise, newness. 

Let’s not wish away these precious seasons.