Lockdown Guilt and Imposter Syndrome

As previously stated in my last blog: at the beginning of June I had a bit of a wobble. When I state a bit, I lied... I actually had quite a big one. Unusual for me. I haven’t felt that low in quite a few years and it was particularly disconcerting not to feel like I was going to pull out of it anytime soon. Perspective is everything and despite the fact that really, my situation isn’t really that bad; the wobble was very much needed. Quite rightly so, nothing of what I’m living had I signed up to: I’m living in another country with no support (I have the odd friend, but my existence here isn’t particularly the most social in the beginning, let alone after lockdown started! My own choice as I’m quite the introvert but also, my good friends are actually stuck in other countries waiting to return to Egypt!)  My husband is stuck in the back end of the Middle East with no way of returning, my parents confined to their house back in the UK and me stuck in between. For a few weeks even the animals were beginning to test my patience. I’ve taken on a lot with Cervantes, my street cat project. (I’ll write about his story another time.. let’s just say it’s not been particularly easy and he’s very time consuming.)

A few people at the time had suggested that I get one of the repatriation flights back, but they seem to miss the point that El Gouna is my home. This isn’t a holiday, this has been my home and my life for over four years - I cannot just jump ship back to the UK without consequences. My life here, my cats and my dog would still exist. It’s amazing how easily people just assume that I am still just on a giant holiday here. I guess perhaps you don’t really “get” it until you visit and realise that this is life. My life. 

I got through the wobble, obviously. I still credit the kayak as one of the things that grounded me. However, now I’m almost experiencing the opposite - Lockdown Guilt, with a pinch of enjoyment? I’m still stuck. Dan is still stuck until god know’s when, each month we promise ourselves and hope that the outcome will change and yet it seems to change for the worse at the moment. We were meant to have spent June together. Instead we just sit here and every day count the hours, chat about day to day annoyances with not much to report back on. I miss him something chronic, but I’m a lot more at ease with it now. Don’t get me wrong.. I hate every damn moment of it, but I can’t change it, all I can do it sit and support and try and keep positive. He has his own issues - mostly revolving stupidity of others, and major fallout thanks to being in a ridiculously poor country rifled in Corona, but that’s another story and not mine to tell. (I’d love to though, his anecdotes keep me in stitches for hours). 

I’ve started to revel in being here, doing my own thing and from that I’ve started to feel guilty. I don’t know if it’s the Endorphins or having a purpose, but my feelings have bucked up a lot. I’ve got deeply into exercise the past few weeks. The Twitter posse, mostly the running community have been a bit of a lifeline on top of the kayaking. Mel, Myrna, Paul, Chris, Darren et al... you’ve all been a major help to me. Your positivity, guidance (and jokes!)  have really kept me focused into challenging myself which is normally what I shy away from. I’ve somehow managed to do a full 180 degree turn, and using that misery against something positive. Now I just need to keep it up. I also have the added bonus that my brother, Neil is now a running addict. (Words I thought that I would NEVER write). He’s lost a tonne of weight, got fit and we have a promise of a half marathon together in 2021. Neil and I are particularly close and I’m beyond excited to be able to share this with him, I’m quite simply over the moon actually. I then in turn feel guilty for actually feeling positive in such a shoddy time - I know it’s all situational and people are suffering and then there’s me trotting along just happy to be doing the bits that I’m doing. The introspective, anxious mind will never just simply let me enjoy a moment, will it?

I joined something called Run Around the World - It’s a split team effort to try and “virtually” Run around the world over the whole of July. I chose Team North, (choices were the obvious East, West, South) the only time that I’ll ever be a Northerner but pretty much all of my friends were in this group already so it made sense. I’ve been running on a treadmill pretty much ever since. I also shall complete the Race to the Stones Marathon today. 42km in 6 days...not bad for a wannabe runner. 

I call myself a wannabe runner, as I definitely have a touch of Imposter Syndrome, I don’t “feel” like a runner. I’m not entirely sure what I’m meant to feel like to actually BE a runner. I feel like someone dabbling in it... but I guess at some point that will change and I’ll feel like I’m actually doing it as a choice and not as not as a force to push myself ( but isn’t that what running is about?) I feel a little daunted by the twitter running community, everyone seems too have amazing race photos, cracking heart and breathing rates and personal bests that I could only ever dream of, but I guess that comes with time. They’ve never been anything but kind and inclusive despite the fact I’m so ridiculously new to all of this. I just have moments of blind panic that I’m not really anything vs these running giants and I’m wasting people’s time. 

I’m running in constant heat either outside (rarely now it’s Summer) or inside at the gym (the air con is only on 25c!) so I’m hoping that this will bring me in good stead as and when the temperatures drop and I can pick up my pace a bit. I guess also, after all the years of being sick and constant illness I’ve never really thought I’d fall into the category of being an athelete of sorts. I don’t feel good enough to be that, despite the fact it’s obvious that somehow I’m finally able to push myself to run 10km, with the aim of much, much more. I always feel like I’m in the recovery stage, not out the other side - always expecting the next fall. I know you could argue that attitude can set me back, but after over 20 years of suffering you kind of just expect it. A psychologist somewhere could probably make wonders out of my mind set, but instead, for now, my musings are put down on my blog instead.

Maybe when I can finally enter proper races, in person and join Park Run back in the UK I might feel a little differently. It also probably doesn’t help that I’ve pretty much run out of running kit. I’m down to two pairs of shorts and one running top. Even my sports bras are beginning to give up the ghost. So if you see any selfies/ photos of me wearing a pink running top, I promise it gets washed every single day! I’m hopefully due a family visit in August, of which I’ve already ordered a tonne of new kit to their house to bring with them.

Anyway,  it’s now 5am and the sun is coming up. It was one of those mornings where sleep was lost on me. Time to get out, walk the dog and then go kill the rest of that marathon. Come on Summer, I’m ready for you so that we can start back to the new normal again. Chop chop.

New Beginnings

Right so that's it... After about four years of empty threats I've finally gone and done it.

My notice is handed in. My bags are (half) packed and I'm heading for sunnier climates very shortly. 

When I say sunnier climates, you all know I mean Egypt. Yes, Egypt. The place where everyone in the UK is claiming that is dangerous.  Believe me when I say that it's really not.

I'm quite sure I've got more chance of something happening to me in London when I visit. I've been motoring along the M20 at rush hour for well over the last year, day in and day out for work. I've seen tonnes of fatal crashes along the monotonous drive of every day life.

Not to be negative, but if my name is on the bullet at least it should be somewhere I am happy and doing something that I love rather than on a cold and wet UK motorway.

I'm not going to update this blog because I think the world wants to know what's going on, however, for the family and friends who know me and want to follow my new path and update on where I am; this is where I shall lead you to.

I shall also try and not bore you all to death with diving photos!!!



I'll be back in the next few months for a fleeting visit any who so it's not exactly like you're getting rid of me permanently.

See you all on the sunny side.

Jen

Setting the record straight

For anyone and everyone who knows me, you know I'm a Councillor. A Conservative Councillor. A Tory Councillor. A Blue Councillor. I could go on with this list, but the tagline starts getting a big more derogatory towards me, which I'm used to but I don't want to encourage it.

I've had my politics and values questioned recently. Admittedly, I question them myself all the time. I sometimes wonder why I do it but then I remember the bigger picture. I enjoy what I do. I like helping people, or trying to help people. I get passionate about what goes on locally. 

What has saddened me, is that I've discovered that recently I've been branded something that I'm not. When you put yourself in the limelight, you know you're bound to get a bit of negativity, especially if it's something so divisive as politics. But as much as I sit on the Conservative bench, I have never once claimed to be a "party politics" type of Councillor. I  involved myself in Council because I wanted to help the town that I know and love. I've never had a political agenda, or an aspiration past trying to get the right things for my area, and trying to help people with problems that need solving. To be completely honest, I'm quite happy to sit here on the back bench so long as I can have my say and represent the right views for the town and district. If I have an answer, I will give it. If I don't have an answer, I will get research the right information and get one.

I live and breathe Herne Bay. I was born here, and I've always tried to put everything I can back into the town. I've been doing that for years, and even after my time as a Councillor, I still will. 

Take what you want for my title, blast me all you like. I know I'm doing the right thing. 

The great thing about hitting a low...

.. is that there's always going to be a high afterwards. Well, I can hope can't I? Having one of "those" days this week. I'm not the negative type but I'm known for having "those" days every so often. I'm not actually on about PMT or women's problems when I refer to this all. So before you get freaked out, icky and leave my blog I'll explain; tis more of a bit of whinge on my blog but hey.. It's always good to talk!

This morning, I got to bed quite a bit past 2am after a busy night (No alcohol involved might I add) . Set my alarm late so that I could get that extra 20 minutes snooze time. I struggle to get out of bed most mornings. I'm quite vocal on the fact I LOVE my bed...but no oh no. ..7am.. Ker-ching! I'm awake, very crabby and knowing that I could get another hour's sleep is not helping the mood. From this moment on I just know life's going to side against me for the rest of the day. I might as well go to work a few minutes earlier, just because I can, then its over and done with. So up I get...  Dress for work. The normal routine.. A tired and grumpy Jen office bound. It's like a scene from Dawn of the Dead....uuuuurrgh.


I'd forgotten a few boxes of worky stuff in my other car so thought it would be clever to take the the DS for a run to offload it. What I'd forgotten was that my office keys are on Eric (The Proton's) set, so I soon to get to work burdened down with boxes to discover that my colleague is off for the day and I have no way of getting into the office. Yippee!


Well, now logic dictates that getting to and from Herne Bay to pick up my other keys would take about half an hour. My other colleagues were due about the same time so I made the executive decision to sit on the little wall beside the office and wait. In the meantime I discover that my phone is dead. I was going to charge it when I got into the office, but of course, that didn't work out... HUFF.. I can't even text! So now I'm locked out my office and unable to call the bossman to let him know where I am and why I'm not answering the damn office phone which I can hear ringing over and over on the other side of the wall. 


By now I'm about to commit homicide unless I get my caffeine fix. Parking had been difficult; I had to walk quite a way to the office. Couldn't be bothered to trudge the boxes back to the car so I head off down into the town in search of my drug of choice, laiden with said boxes. Only discover I left my debit card at home and the only change I have on me is a EURO!! ONE BLOODY EURO!! I grumpily trudge back up to my wall now in a stinking huff. Not knowing the time and half wanting to cry. (I know, I'm a drama queen).
I remember that I have my Ipod in my bag (Yippee!)  and discover that, once again, the battery has nearly failed (Blast!) . I write a sarcastic facebook status (as one does) and then that decides to give up on me too.


Sitting on the wall I contemplated life, space and the possibility of evil blue chickens. Then what feels like a day later, one of my colleagues turns up. I realise when I get into the office that she's actually running mega late so I wasn't going crazy.  So near enough an hour later I'm finally at my desk, cuddling my coffee mug and doing a fine Gollum impression "My Preeeeeeeecious". A few sips of caffiene heaven later I discover my internet is dead to the world. Fortunately it only lasts 20 minutes. I troubleshoot and work my IT magic only for my work email to go up the swanney.  Wonderful. Simply Wonderful.


The last of my woes on this fine Thursday morning.. I get up to make another drink to see weird whitish marks on my chair. I take a closer look to realise it had transferred from my skirt which now has a lovely pebble dash effect. Turns out that sitting on that wall, contemplating life wasn't so clever when it was covered in Seagull crap!


Happy Thursday everyone. This is my saga so far... I've officially given up on today. My bed is calling me. However, just remember what doesn't kill you can only make you stronger and hopefully my day will pick up! ;-) 

All about ME... Part 1.

Someone asked me to explain the history of my illness the other day. I don't know how I can compact this into a blog post without writing a whole essay.. It's quite a task! Gradual parts, I think, is the way forward. I didn't realise quite how much of it I blocked out my brain until I talked about it with my parents a little while ago. Hopefully it makes sense; here it goes:


Growing up; I was a bubbly blonde happy go lucky girl who took part in practically everything. I loved life and spent most my time at gymnastics, sea cadets, dance, cycling and tons of other things. I loved school, I was a normal kid who was rarely ill.


Age 10: I moved schools due to moving house. (Big Mistake of life No1.) I missed my friends chronically and for some reason I could not glue into this school whatsoever.


Age 11: I moved into a class where I didn't get on well with most of my class mates. I only had one friend (The wonderful Beth, who is still near and dear to me) and my teacher decided to put her into a different class to me. 


I got bullied, physically and mentally by a few girls in my class. One would even be as so bold to kick my legs on the way home from school despite walking back with my own mother.  I got sworn at, spat at and pretty much humiliated in front of my whole class on a regular occasion. Kids can be so cruel.  The reason? Because I spoke nicely. Supposedly I was too "posh" to fit in. I'm a very friendly and open person and it really got me down. I also got accused of stealing a (cheap and half used) lipstick by a girl who then spread the rumour through the whole year. I hated not being liked and for some reason I wasn't just disliked.. I was pretty much hated. Not that I was ever popular in my previous school but this was another level of loserdom. I didn't want to go to school any more; it was misery. I pretty much didn't want to be alive anymore. My family and Beth were about the only things keeping me going.


Not that I knew it for many years until being told by Great Ormond Street, but I'd actually contracted Glandular Fever through my brother at the same time. It all went downhill from there. The combination of the Kent Test (11+), being bullied badly and the GF my body started to cave in. I couldn't eat without being in pain, I lost so much weight and I physically couldn't get out of bed anymore. My body ached all over, my throat was sore, my glands were up and I could barely make it up the stairs at home without giving out half way up. It took forever for the doctors to diagnose me, a good year at least. Problem was ME/CFS, back then was non existent. Known as "Yuppie Flu" or "The Fakers Disease" If only!!


 Luckily my parents took me to a private physician out of pure desperateness and even luckier for us, he happened to be one of the leading doctors in the field of ME. He wrote to Great Ormond Street to get me on the list to see the specialist.. but that didn't happen till quite some time later.


In the meantime I'd passed my 11+ and had been accepted into a local all girl's Grammar School. (Not going to name names here) My parents were very proud of me bar the fact that I struggled with life. The new teachers had reassured my parents that I would be looked after and helped with my learning considering I struggled to concentrate for an hour without developing sickness and dizzyness. I lost count of the amount of times I'd fainted.. I'd just keel over at any given moment. Beleive me when I say, that school = Biggest Mistake of my Life. 


I spent the Summer in hospital.. about 7 weeks being "monitored". I had ECG's, blood tests and   practically every other test under the sun to see what was wrong with me. It was a boiling Summer and I'd be huddled up under fleece pajamas and hot water bottles. All a bit strange really. The doctors still couldn't figure it out although they had worked out I had developed at least one stomach ulcer. (No wonder I couldn't eat!!) I dropped down to well under 5 stone and spent pretty much most my time in bed, or in a wheelchair. By now I had such bad insomnia I was lucky to get 3 hours sleep a night. My poor parents; they were at their wit's end. 


I think that's enough for now. Considering that's only the first 2 years and my concentration is failing me. Don't pity me though; this story is what makes me who I am now. A walking, talking survivor who happens to know everything and anything about drugs :-)


Part Deux.. coming soon!

Don't take life too seriously; Nobody gets out alive any way.

I was on the phone to my mum this morning when it dawned on me that tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of my Grampy passing, and a week since I had to lose my beloved Cookie. Within seconds I was once again in flood of tears. (I must sound like an emotional screw up to all who read this after my last post!)


My mind cast back onto who I've lost; especially the few in the last few months too, namely my amazing Uncle John. I couldn't help the tears; it never gets any easier, does it? They go and yet we're the ones left behind in pain. I've never dealt with loss well. I hate the idea of not existing any more; which is hilarious really considering everyone technically is a drop in the ocean of life.. It's not exactly like we make the biggest impact.


It's days like this a few old sayings pop into my head: "Don't take life too seriously; nobody gets out alive any way" and it's oh so true. We're born, we die.. perhaps we should try to enjoy the little bit we have in between (Thank you for that one Max Heinze). 


The philosophy behind my thinking could go on for hours here; is life what you make it? Is everything set in stone? Have I made the right decisions so far or will I be destined to make more bad or good choices? Should I buy chocolate or bananas for breakfast? (Actually, that one's a given!) Then I realise I've sent my head into a spin with all of this and develop a headache. (This happens on a regular occasion, trust me.)

Isn't she fantastic?!

My Grandmother turned 90 last year. (There's exactly 64 years and a day between us) She's awesome for her age but she carries this air of sadness; She's lived a long an full life but she's watched so many pass and yet she's still here. She misses Gramps terribly but at least she has all of us around her for company.  To think that I'm just over quarter of her age makes me think there's a hell of a lot more out there still to do. The question is, what do I want next? How do I go about getting it? I guess I don't know what life has in store for me yet; I keep forgetting that life goes on and that I'm only 26.  


The one thing I have decided; Life is one big question and it never, ever gets an easier. (Especially if you're involved in politics!!!)


Live in the now; life is far too short to worry about what you did yesterday, or perhaps what might go wrong tomorrow as you may never get that chance to see it.


"Sh*t happens.. it's how you deal with it that counts" - Quote Jennie Edwards 2012.

Not so Hernia Bay?

Kudos to Mr Gerald McCarthy of Herne Bay..


He's been a very busy boy. After all ready successfully pulling off the First Official Herne Bay Zombie Crawl of 2011, he's all ready planning the 2012 route and has some even bigger and wilder plans! (I will obviously blog on this subject at a later date..  but very excited to be involved!)

In his spare time he's created this wonderful promo video for the town..It's been such a hit I've heard that the Council all ready want to use it in official promotion for the Summer. I love it; it just shows how perception can change with the right attitude.









It's wonderful to see that there are Bay residents who are so passionate about the town that they want to get involved. It's the positive things that got me involved with the town in the first place. I've always taken the attitude: if you can get involved locally and actually make a difference.. it makes every bit of effort worth it.


I always find it amazing that so many are so happy to snipe and moan when the town doesn't get enough positive coverage. The amount of names I've heard the Bay called over the years still astounds me, especially as I absolutely love living here. The sea, the fresh air, local business... What more could one want? I did the London life and I still ended up back at my favourite seaside residence.


It also astounds me furthermore that the people who are behind the negative comments never seem to want to get positively involved in perhaps changing the perception.


Well done Gerry, hopefully this will conjure more positive thinking and I look forward to working with you in the future!




NB: You can follow the progress of the 2012 Zombie Crawl on twitter: @hbzombiecrawl or look it up on Facebook!