The One with the Festive Frustration

As I scroll through the blog posts I've written this year (of which there aren't many because, life), I can see that my signature theme has been, 'Frustration'. And yes, it needs a capital 'F'.

I'm sorry for putting you through this. I know that Frustration isn't a particularly compelling topic and that the sheer destructive energy of it may not be what you need in your life. Perhaps I should have been writing about something more palatable like contouring or stationery or cats.

But honestly? As a perimenopausal, AuDHD, mother of teens, that was never going to happen. If Frustration is the energy of the day then it's the energy of the blog post too. Simples.

Be honest, does the Frustration show?

I mean, I'm Frustrated about all kinds of things and much of the time I can move through it or attempt to let it go. Like all emotions, I guess it just wants to be felt. But it's also one of those emotions that really tells us something about our present story. Or at least the story we're telling ourselves. What are we Frustrated about? What is getting in the way of what? How and why do we want things to be different?

It's a bit like the Frustration I felt this time last year when, after moving into a new rented house with the Yardimci men, it had become blatantly obvious that there was no space for me to sit and write. And so began 'Project Shed of Dreams' where I worked like a maniac and pleaded with the Universe and had stern words with my bank account until a Shed of Dreams finally did materialise. You may have come with me on that journey on my social media platforms - it was a rocky road but it was worth it.

The Shed of Dreeeeeeeeeeeams

So in that instance, Frustration was a motivator. Kind of unpleasant, but still a motivator.

Obviously, still no writing has taken place, but if I got into the reasons why right now, I'd be taking you on a journey to Frustration Land in my Frustration wagon, playing Frustration FM on the stereo and snacking on Frustration Freddos all the way. And I just don't think either of us is ready for that.

I was at a beautiful arts event in my town the other weekend, manning my author stall and trying to keep the Frustration levels at bay. It was quite easy because I was in my element, talking about my books and all the other arty things going on. I got chatting with a lovely lady - let's call her Violet - who went off into a monologue (I am a bit of a monologue-magnet - never been able to figure out why) about how she was 74 years old and was only just now finding time to do the things she's always wanted to do and (this bit is key) not feel apologetic about it.

Me, with my stall, acting like I wasn't shook by what Violet just said

I need to point out that Violet was absolutely glowing and seemed to be living her best life so this is by no means a judgement of her. But the only bit I could hear, turning over and over in my head like an earworm, was: 'It's taken me until now and I'm 74.'

And there I was, a 47 year old woman myself (a mirror reflection of Violet's age), standing there feeling like I'd been struck in the heart. 74! Is that how long women have to wait until they can do what they like? Until they can glow and sparkle like Violet?

This statement of hers was by no means heard in isolation. Like Sherlock suddenly locked into his mind palace, I could see, hear and feel all the conversations I've ever had with other women - of many different ages, cultures, races and backgrounds - all about the ways in which they have been, or still are, unable to follow their dreams. Not that they were a bit tired, or couldn't be bothered, or were unsure. No. UNABLE.

Benedict isn't the only one with a Mind Palace

Suddenly the Frustration started making sense.

Of course, we all have limiting beliefs about ourselves and - with the right support - can work on our attitudes and shift our beliefs to help us move closer to our authentic selves. But I knew that a large part of the picture Violet was describing was circumstantial too. The circumstances of existing in an oppressive and harmful, yet widely accepted, system such as The Patriarchy.

I don't think I need to list here all the ways in which The Patriarchy robs women and gender-diverse people of their absolute right to live their best lives, and I also want to acknowledge that I have privilege working in many of my corners, but this moment with Violet was all I needed for the Frustration to rise into actual Rage.

Yes, that Rage might be because I'm hot off the back of watching Riot Women (an absolute televisual triumph that gave me as much pain as it did joy) . . .

Yes, that Rage might be because December is Silly Season when the expectations for women to ramp up their already gridlocked list of responsibilities is offensively palpable . . .

Yes, that Rage might be because we're nearing the end of the year where it's hard not to focus on all the things you haven't done whilst rebelling about making even the slightest of New Year's Resolutions because you know the system is rigged against you . . .

And yes, I know it's nearly Christmas and I KNOW it's impolite to feel anything but festive cheer right now. But I just can't. Not until the Frustration / Rage is given its moment.

I went for a harbour walk this morning. A stompy, I'm-not-taking-any-shit, don't-you-dare-get-in-my-way kind of harbour walk. I needed to feel my heart beat stronger, my breath work harder and may arthritic hips feel a glimmer of strength. So off I went.

Said harbour

I wanted to walk until the Rage started to simmer. I knew, from 47 years of experience, that I couldn't solve it with a simple walk. But I also knew that staying at home and forcing myself to do one of the things I hadn't yet had time for during the week would likely result in yet more Rage.

So it turns out that spending a bit of time under the winter sun, watching seals in the harbour, hearing waves ripple against pebbles and remembering what a BEAUTIFUL place I live in is really quite medicinal. I don't know why this continually surprises me but there you go.

On the way home I popped into a little boutique called 'Cobble Lane Trading' to see if I could spot any Christmas bits for the Lads (their stock of band t-shirts is EXCELLENT) and got chatting with the owner, Danny.

Maybe it was the simmered-down Rage (because it can be good for something, you know) but we started talking about not wasting time and just really going for what you want in life. It's mildly infuriating that he is of the male variety but I relished hearing him talk about his love for his shop and how it doesn't feel like coming to work because he enjoys it so much. He said something along the lines of . . . 'It's taken us millions of years to get here, to this moment, so we may as well do something with it.'

(Don't you just hate it when a man says something inspirational?)

So with Danny's stirring statement treading in my wake, I stamped up to another shop in town called 'Porridge'. You may have seen me speak about it in my recent Insta post, where I shared my love for a Christmas tree decoration they were selling in the shape of a shed. Just like my very own Shed of Dreams.

I mean, how lush?

I hadn't bought it at that point but right here, right now, having stomped around the harbour fuelled by Rage and realised that millions of years of evolution had brought me to this very moment, I was going to buy the goddamn shed decoration.

It was important.

I strode into the shop - a woman on a mission - and saw the owner tending to the very shelf where the decorations were kept. Before I could even get the words out of my mouth to enquire if they had any Shed of Dreams tree decorations left, I realised what he was doing . . . can you guess?

He was putting a 50% off sticker on it.

Now if that's not a metaphorical permission slip to follow my dreams, then I don't know what is.

I bought the decoration. Of course I bought the decoration. I'd like to say I came home, burst into my shed and started writing this blog post. However, there was a slightly longer than I would have liked interlude, which involved washing dishes, waking a teenager, folding and hanging laundry, sorting bins and writing a grocery list.

But still, I'm here now, in the Shed of Dreams, writing this post and wondering how it's going to land in the world. Will you let me know? I'm sure you will.

Tomorrow I'll put the Shed of Dreams on my Christmas Tree - which is a sentence I never thought I'd say. But it's funny, isn't it? The places Frustration can lead you.

Wishing you all a very merry Christmas as full of Festive Frustration as you can stand . . .

Go well,

Abi

xxx

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