A foster carer, a former priest and other super humans: A night to remember

Thursday, 14th of June

Hannah picked me up from home. We are heading to BySea cafe in Portswood. The next live storytelling event is about to start in a couple of hours and I’m a tiny bit nervous. But I can’t wait. Exhilarated.

I keep hearing this in my head. Somewhere in the desert there’s a forest…And an acre before us…

Today is going to be a special one, I can feel it. As soon as I’ve read about the speakers.

Hannah and I went early to set up. It was all done in less than half an hour, we even had time for a cup of tea and an enormous slice of cake. The portions at Bysea are huge.

Tea and cake, BySea Portswood

I’m a little nervous because Debs asked me to host tonight’s event, talk at the start, introduce the speakers and bring it all to an end after the last speaker.

I love chatting but I never spoke in front of an audience before. I guess I did if you count the short speech at the last year of primary school, when I was 12 (which my cousin wrote for me, she was 18 at the time and was just about to study pedagogy to become a prime school teacher, she always wrote beautifully) and about 3 years ago the eulogy at my aunt’s funeral which again my cousin wrote, but this time it was for her mum and I was reading it on her behalf. Hardest thing I had to do in my life ever. To the day.

But I never ever spoke in English in front of an audience.

I don’t get too stressed nowadays, not any more but I was still a bit anxious. And also excited.

What’s the worst it could happen? 

Just before 8pm.

The place is buzzing. Debs and Hannah were worried not many people will show up, there were a couple of other events on the same night, but the place is full.

Time to go up!

I don’t want to look at my notes much so I look around, at our guests, into their eyes.

God everyone is staring at me! Why?

You are talking to them you silly. You are the centre of the attention. They are supposed to look at and listen to you.

I panicked for a second and I forgot a couple of things I needed to say, it’s OK you can mention them late, so I went ahead and introduced our first speakers.

Jon and Chris.

(I struggled to find the right words that can capture the beauty of their story. I hope I did it justice).

A sweet couple,  Jon and Chris came up on stage, and read out loud their story in turns. The story of their beloved daughter Katie. From the little I learned about her through her parents, she must have been an amazing human being. Despite all the tough ‘challenges’ (I hate this word, it cannot capture the pain, the torture, physical, emotional and mental that one can experience) life through at her, disability, cancer, she was determined to live life to the full.

She lived on her own, she drove, she studied at University and although when she was first diagnosed with cancer she was given a few years to live, she lived 17 more years. She proved them wrong!

She was incredibly strong, brave and considerate until the very end. The night before she died she listened to her friend talking about her everyday problems and worries, although she was in terrible pain herself. That’s the kind of person she was.

Jon and Chris went on to talk about how they are dealing with their grief, after Katie passed away 18 months ago and how their faith helped them. A friend once told Jon how grief is like a circle, the circle is all about the loved one you lost and at the start, you are in the centre of the circle, you cannot see past the sadness and the chaos. But as time goes by, you get out of the circle and it gets smaller, you can see beyond it, but it’s always there. You learn how to live with it. (I hope I remember it correctly, I got emotional at this point, it reminded me of my aunt, her death and how each of us are coping with it, in different ways, two and a half years later).

They took up new hobbies, e.g. Jon went on a cooking training class so she can teach others how to cook and they still do things Katie liked, not to reminisce and feel sad, but because they enjoy them too.

By the time they were done, I was already in tears. But it was time to get up and introduce the next speaker. I was so emotional I forgot to thank them publicly, on the mic, after I’ve given them their ‘I shared my story’ badges. What an idiot!

Dominic

Next up it was Dominic. He started off with a poem (he had the smoothest, most beautiful voice, I hope he seriously considers my suggestion of him start doing podcasts)…

Breathing under water

I built my house by the sea.

Not on the sands, mind you;
not on the shifting sand.
And I built it of rock.

A strong house
by a strong sea.
And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.
Good neighbors.
Not that we spoke much.
We met in silences.
Respectful, keeping our distance,
but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.
Always, the fence of sand our barrier,
always, the sand between.

And then one day,
-and I still don’t know how it happened –
the sea came.
Without warning.

Without welcome, even
Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand like wine,
less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.
Slow, but coming.
Slow, but flowing like an open wound.
And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning and I thought of death.
And while I thought the sea crept higher, till it reached my door.
And I knew, then, there was neither flight, nor death, nor drowning.
That when the sea comes calling, you stop being neighbors,
Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance neighbors,
And you give your house for a coral castle,
And you learn to breathe underwater.

 

Sr. Carol Bieleck, RSCJ
from an unpublished work

Dominic’s life was full of ups and downs, a friend used to call him Forrest Gump. And by the end of his talk I understood why.

The strict, often cruel teachers at the boarding school he went to, put him down, repeatedly told him he ‘won’t amount to much’.

Later in life he discovered he’d like to become a priest. It wasn’t an easy ride, he couldn’t even afford to buy the essentials on the list he was given, and he’d often borrow from the church in Portswood.

Five years after he became a priest, he suddenly, fell in love. He gave up priesthood to marry the love of his life.

After that he dealt with redundancy ‘One day I was a chief operative for a charity, the next day I was down at the job centre’  and other hurdles that came his way over the years.

His message: Life is unpredictable, you never know what the next day will bring you, but life is also beautiful, and when you learn to breath underwater, to face everything without drowning or giving up, you build a deepest, most meaningful appreciation for life.

Sam

The third speaker, Sam lost his dad to cancer about two years ago.

He found it hard to process his grief, until he discovered open water swimming.  ‘Those fifteen minutes when swimming becomes automatic and you don’t have to think about moving your arms or your legs, those fifteen minutes of clarity of mind’.

When I heard this my mind went straight to meditation and how I feel when I do my yoga.

And just after I thought of that, surprisingly, Sam said ‘my friends told me when I described it to them, that’s similar to meditation’.

I kept thinking what was the one thing that helped me the most to overcome my grief three years ago. Writing. That’s what helped me. This blog. 

Sam started a website since, Sporting Heads, where he shares stories, similar to his of mental health benefits of sports and exercise.

Jenny (ft Annie)

The last speaker Jenny (with the help of her dear friend Annie who interviewed her) is a foster carer. She fostered 52 children in 13 years!!

Jen shared incredible anecdotes of her life as a foster carer. What came across strongly was Jen’s unconditional love and care for the children, despite everything that comes with fostering a child.

A little girl she fostered used to defecate every time someone compliment her. Every time someone said ‘Isn’t she lovely?’. She is now doing much better, thanks to Jen.

This is just one of the many stories she shared with us.

Jen wouldn’t be able to do what she does without her support network, her friends, her family, her husband and ten children, and the community.

It’s not always easy, actually it’s not easy full stop. Most children come from troubled families, some they’ve been neglected others have been abused, they often struggle emotionally and physically, but with Jen’s love, care and patience, they grow stronger.

Annie read as a letter from one of Jenny’s foster children. It was impossible not to tear up.

I could sit and listen to these two ladies all night.

What a great way to end this wonderful evening.

At the end I got the chance to chat to some of these wonderful humans.

I asked Dominic about the poem he recited and told me how he came across it. He read it in a friend’s book, an American priest and was actually written by a nun. He gave me a copy to take home. What a sweet man.

I had a great chat with Annie, who I found out earlier amongst a million other things she does, she runs Communicare, a Southampton mental health charity tackling loneliness and isolation, which I recently signed up as a volunteer. Superwoman!

I went home feeling inspired, touched, blessed, happy, honoured I got to introduce and hear the stories of these amazing people.

If you have a story to share, get in touch. Everyone has a story. We all have a story. And that’s what Touch is all about, share our stories, learn from each other, touch each other’s lives.

And if you get the chance, come along to one of the events. Intimate, inspirational, so beautifully simple, humanity at it’s best.

 

Namaste

Eleni

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Nostalgia…

It’s half past twelve, after midnight, Monday is here.

I can’t sleep. Typical. Listening to music, I let my thoughts travel far away, to Guatemala, to Shebz, back home, to my sisters and my family, to my brother Andi in London, to last week, to tomorrow, a brand new, busy, exciting week coming up…

Nostalgia

I’m feeling nostalgic. I love the world nostalgia, it comes from the Greek words nostos (νόστος)=return and  algos (ἄλγος)=pain. Aching, aching to return. Aching to go back when I lived on my own. I miss my cosy, little studio I decorated myself. With the sun shining through during the day and watching the beautiful sunrise in the evening. It was small but perfectly formed. And I had the best landlord ever.

My little home

I’ve been thinking long and hard how to put my thoughts in writing without coming across as mean and horrible. Well, maybe I am. After all Eleanor Shellstrop of the Good Place is my inspiration right now. Legend.

Image result for eleanor shellstrop memes

The story so far…

It’s been a month today since I’ve moved into a shared flat.

I  quickly got over the fact there is someone else listening to my music, hear me singing on my guitar, chatting with my friends, talking non-stop on Insta stories, my new obsession, or even smaller things that are surprisingly hard to get used to like going for a wee or number two or listen to my terrible singing when I have a shower. It wasn’t easy but I’m OK with it.

But I still can’t get used to it. I miss being on my own.

My flatmate has been really nice and friendly. Maybe too nice and friendly. He always offers to help, he even cooked for me, not the best cooking but I’m a harsh judge with all the chefs in the family and my love for food but he put music on and bought wine. What was that all about? Maybe a bit too much? Or am I just being Eleanor again?

Others would die for someone to offer help or cook for them but I don’t. I love my independence, doing things by myself. If I need help I’ll ask my friends.

When I come home after a long day I want to be on my own, unwind and do my yoga, write, read, draw, sing, play my guitar… The last thing I want is socialising.  If I feel the need to talk to someone, I’ll chat to my friends and my family or I’ll ask a friend to come over or I’ll go out and meet my friends.

I make friends all the time. I’ll chat to everyone. Every human is special, even the not so nice ones. But home it’s a different story for me. Home is where I relax, I create, I have fun, I cry, I laugh, is my shelter, my comfort. It’s me time. And I find it hard to adjust.

It took me two years to reach where I am today and it’s vital, essential for my mental health and wellbeing to have my own space.

I kept thinking it would be different if it wasn’t just the two of us. Or if I lived with a girl. Or a friend.

I understand that my flatmate is going through his own battle. He is still getting used to the new situation himself. He used to live with a loved one, not a stranger, so he is probably still learning himself, like I do.

I totally respect that. I want him to be well and happy. And that’s why I kept all this to myself until now. It’s hard to have such a sensitive conversation without ending up hurting the other person, I wouldn’t like to do that. Although, I’m painfully aware he may well be reading this.

It’s nothing personal. That’s just how I feel. I miss my little home. And my way of dealing with all of this is to write about it. Writing is my therapy.

What have I learned so far? 

My room is now my shelter, my castle, it’s bright and peaceful as a friend beautifully described it. The rest of the house is for sharing. So if I want to be on my own, my bedroom is my paradise. This is the only space is just mine.

My new home

I’m still unsure what the rules are when using the kitchen but I usually tend to cook when it’s free. I don’t want to be in his way.

I rarely use the living room anymore. I feel more comfortable eating in my room whilst I watch Friends or binge-watch a new series. Why make someone else watch what I want to watch?

The biggest lesson I’ve learnt is that having my own space is more important to me that I thought it’d be. But I’m doing all this for a reason. And I’ll stick to it for the next 5 months.

Now what?

It may get easier, it may not, although I’m hoping it will.

For now my room is my little comfort blanket, my hideaway, my creative hub and it’s enough, for now…

Namaste

Eleni

 

 

 

 

 

New beginnings-week 1: My first ever housemate.

I’ve never lived with complete strangers. I lived in student halls at Warwick Uni when I was 22 but that doesn’t really count. It was more of a communal, safe environment and I was not an ‘adult’ back then. I was still fearless and naive with ambitions and unrealistic dreams, like most youngsters fresh out of university.

I moved from living with my family, to student halls, to living with my ex-partner of seven years to living on my own for the last two years.

I may be biased because that’s my most recent experience, but I loved living on my own. Not from day one, but definitely over the last year. So moving in a shared flat was not because I wanted to, but purely for financial reasons.

I spent last week packing, a little bit every day and last Friday I moved out from my cute, cosy studio flat to a year old, bright, modern 2-bed flat, which came with a 32 year old guy.

All my belongings packed in boxes and bags

This year the move was smooth and uneventful (last year was a nightmare, alarms going off, lost my car keys, bruised knees for months, it was a disaster!) since I learned from my mistakes and saved money for a removal company. I’ll post more on that and what else I discovered over the last 10 days later this week.

It’s only been a couple of days and there is a lot to get used to. I don’t live on my own anymore so I can’t play the guitar at silly o’clock or put music really loud and I don’t know what the ‘social rules’ are when sharing a flat. Should I offer my ever so polite flatmate a cup of tea every time I make tea and he is around? Are we to cook on different times? Are we to become friends or keep stricter boundaries? I don’t really know the answer to these questions and I’m not sure he does either but I guess it will all fall into place. I’ve been talking to my brother in London and he is going through a similar situation right now. I’m glad it’s not just me trying to figure this out.

I still wonder whether I made the right decision, should I waited until a gal was looking for a flatmate instead of living with a guy? Should I went for more viewings, should picked a different area? At the end of the day, I made a decision and I won’t know if it was the right one until later, so I’m trying not to torture my mind.

It will take a while to have a good night’s sleep and feel like home, I still feel I’m a guest here and I will soon go back to my old home but we humans are incredible when it comes to adjusting to change. I’m sure it will soon feel as I’ve been here for years.

I love what I’ve done with my new room in just three days and with minimum spending. It makes a difference when I walk into my room every day and admire how beautiful it looks. I could have spent more money on getting a new bed and furniture and so on but it will all worth it in six months time when I finally repay my loan.

Although today is apparently Blue Monday, the most depressing day of the year (which is a marketing campaign by Sky Holidays based on a nonsensical, pseudo-scientific equation they made up), I don’t feel sad or depressed. I did briefly on Saturday, my first day at the new place where I felt lost and overwhelmed with all the changes but today I’m excited and terrified in equal measure of all the things yet to come.

Great things coming up I can’t wait to share them with you.

So here’s to new beginnings!

Eleni