Teen
IMPOSTER
In the midst of writing a new year post, it seemed harder and harder to think of how to start. a cold, grey January, ill health and fatigue, swamped the early days of the year; darkening the promised brightness of a new beginning. Surely everyone else was leaping into 2024 sparking joy. In the quiet times, melancholy can steal in, awareness of our pain can deepen, the newness unwrapped at Christmas, can feel packed away in the attic with the tree.
Joy is a flighty fairy. She lurks somewhere just out of reach sometimes, taunting us with promise. I know many of you like me, are immune suppressed, or arthritis sufferers and winter is hard on cold bones. Symptoms flare up, pain is worse and fatigue is constant . Christmas and busy-ness , winter activities and classes, pre festive feasts and the twinkling world around us keeps us distracted from the cooling days . In the strange space between Christmas and new year, the longed-for balm of pyjama days and nothing to do is long anticipated. And then when it arrives, it feels sort of odd, sort of empty ; devoid of routine and people , structure and momentum. Small ordinary things take longer. We are lethargic, days roll into one amorphous void and the light in the sky is often week and watery. If we are slowed down, the new year can start with a bit of a whimper rather than the fireworks we were promised.
In winter we tell visitors our garden has looked better, forgetting the vital process in place underneath which ensures another colourful spring. In contemplating our next blooms we forget to look back on the joys we were privileged to experience; the hidden work still to be undertaken every day to nurture ourselves and everyone else under our wing.
Almost everyone feels a sense of inadequacy in some shape or form, but at this time of year, the intensity of self judgement can get much harsher.
Do any of these feelings sound familiar?
*You just KNOW that everyone else is better at the activity in your group than you / has more real friendships with each other than you/ and probably talk about you when you leave…?
*Your home/ clothes/body are not as trendy/cool/ Insta ready as everyone else ?
*You must be unlikable, due to one or more bullies in your life telling you so ?
*You have achieved much to be proud of but it is never enough ?
*You only ever see your bad bits in the mirror ?
*You only remember who said they didn’t love you ?
*The future is the only place you can succeed ?
Sound familiar? Did you think it was just you ?
This morning I got up at five when my daughter decided the new puppy had kept her awake long enough, fed six animals, cleaned my house, made my apparently ‘sublime!’ mash, wrote this and another blog post, and I am still bashing myself on the head because I haven’t painted yet .
It’s definitely not just you
Our minds naturally veer towards our failures rather than our successes. In balance, having a sense of self-doubt can help a person assess their achievements and abilities, but too much self-doubt can adversely impact a person’s self-image.
This can lead to symptoms of distress known as imposter syndrome, which can affect the following aspect of a person’s life.
- a sense of being a fraud
- fear of being discovered
- difficulty internalizing our success
Being kinder to ourselves at this time of year is essential. Old feelings can resurface in the hibernation time; listen to them, let them go. The old adage of faking it ’til you make it is so true. January is the perfect time to take stock of all you achieved the previous year, appreciating your true self as you are in this very moment, and not a version of who you might be one day.
Speaking to, or writing to friends, even writing to yourself in a journal can help get annoying or lovely or frustrating ideas and worries into perspective. While they live in your head they have the nasty habit of growing out of proportion.
Connecting with others and sharing is vital for our mental health. Friends reflect us, shape us and make us aware of other’s lives and feelings. We get perspective. In early January I wrote a few letters to friends, sending out as much positivity as I could muster, pecking at the icy ground for news and thoughts. I love snail mail , the plop of an old fashioned hand written envelope in the mail box is lovely .
‘Thankyou for your letter, I think I have imposter syndrome‘ my friend said. ‘I needed to hear your words. Your letter made me realise I am loved , after not quite believing I deserved to be. (This woman is an awesome granny with a camper van) ‘I suddenly realised that I should start listening to more than just my own head..’
( And this person is one of MY HEROES!!)
We all think our friends have it sussed and they saunter about, feeling confident with their life laundry checked every day . But they are often as vulnerable and in need of support as we are. The tiny things we do for others can have a huge impact , reverberating ad-infinitum if given with grace and love.
Forget the future plans and vision board for a moment, sometimes we need to take time to appreciate where we are now and where we have been . There may be poetry to finish, cupboards to clear, Art to be sold, teenagers to organise, pets to feed , and operations to plan for , but for my family right here ; a year ago; none of our world existed!
For us, looking back, it has been a creative and chaotic journey between last year and now . Since we moved in at Easter our house has taken up most of the time, unearthing and unveiling new secrets, new plants, and stone floors and bringing colour to forgotten corners ..
This busy year had followed a very insular time, kept alive purely by faith and patience in making it happen. When your wardrobe is the car and your studio is your lap, things can only get better! A year ago many of the friends we have now were still strangers ! I am so pleased to be part of two amazing choirs – Rock Choir and Choir 86 and of course our wonderful Art groups ❤️
In between the painting, singing, teaching, and co-ordinating this crazy home, there’s a fur family to cuddle. The newest addition is 12 week old, Border Collie, Mabel❤️
The culmination of many many early mornings over the previous year; between drawing and writing, found me twiddling away creating a website. We are delighted to show you our fabulous new shop, where an ever growing range of unique cards and prints are now available to purchase.
Now of course the schedule revolves around nap times!
Last year enabled so many building blocks to be laid, embedding routines where there was change, a sense of permanence after re-rooting . New plants and friendships are budding as Imbolc looms; and words and marks are growing into a cohesive body of work in our new life in Devon. And yes, Even though those things are true, still there are days where it doesn’t feel real.
We all have a little imposter syndrome. I am still waiting to feel like a grown up, berating my body for what it can’t do; instead of applauding what it can. I, like you, will almost certainly feel like I didn’t do much today. Although in fairness I could win a prize for mopping up puppy wee.
What I am continually learning, is that nobody sees your life as you do, any more than you truly know how your face looks. All the greatness I am inspired by in friends, they waive off as normal or nothing, as I see the flash of their superhero capes under their jumpers.
Remember, the stranger in the street you feel judged by, is almost certainly plagued by their own self doubts. If today is grey, remember when it was sunny. It will be again.
Look back kindly, face forward gently.
Especially wonderful, amazing you.
Thank-you for your support and readership this year . May it be a kind and creative one, filled with friendship.
Love,
Liz at the Beach Hut🧚🏻♂️⭐️ xxx
Resolution
Happy New Year my friends ❤️
Oh Santa
Oh Santa !
Christmas smelled of burning coal when I was very small,
Curled beneath the eiderdown, shadows licked the wall.
A torch sat by the bedside, insurance just in case.
On Christmas eve, in fervent hope, to catch sight of his face.
Christmas smelt of spices rich, upon a Christmas Eve.
When darkness fell, and flames were lit, their festive scents I’d breathe
For this was where the magic was, when he'd be here quite soon.
A bell, a thump, a cloud of smoke; inside the living room.
I'd picture him amongst the stars, a map within his hands.
He’d plan his route with chimney pots as satnavs in each land
Wrapped in furs and jingling bells to sound his swooping flight
Pockets full of tasty treats grabbed for this long long night.
His cheeky rounded cheeks and his bristly fluffy beard,
His soft and round red tummy, never shrinking year on year.
In my childhood, Santa had no socks from Tk Maxx,
He didn't carry iphones and hair straighteners in his sacks.
He took delight in filling socks with oranges and sweeties.
And no-one mentioned tooth decay or early diabetes!
He ate enough mince pies to keep weightwatchers very rich,
But I could never see his tummy, pop a single stitch.
And if he drank the auburn whiskey nestled on each plate
Would Santa not be very drunk? Or least of all quite late?
Would he not muddle every present on each waiting hearth?
Creating chaos in his fluster. That would make me laugh.!
Perhaps this year he’ll go all hygge and mooch in his pyjamas
Leave the reindeer nuzzling hay and fly to the Bahamas
Hunker down with ready meals and strange but tasty gin
Watch the same old movies loudly, not let neighbours in.
For times can change for everyone, and sometimes we get tired
He has so much to do each year, despite the fakes he hires.
So maybe he can franchise, find a warehouse in each town,
And make TV appearances when funds are running down.
As crumbs are found, I hear the sound, of children young and old
Believing every detail, from the festive tales we’re told
Just close your eyes, remember all the feels of Christmas eve,
And how this world can still produce, some magic from its sleeve.
He'll maybe just decide to see the ones who see him too.
For magic only happens if you first believe in you.
However, he still does it, whether Amazon or sleigh
Keep back your inner grinch, keep things jolly for one day
Nothing truly wonderful can ever be explained.
Santa lives in all of us and needn’t ever change
Hang your hat on someone good, you might just be surprised,
And maybe you'll wake up to find a bite from your mince pie.
Liz
A very Merry Christmas from us at Liz at The Beach Hut xxx !
Being Mother
Softly she falls, a girl, tumbling, slow. Kissed by each glistening web as she goes. Paper her wings, diamonds her eyes, Gazing through leafy, blue glimpses of sky. Snatches of songs sound, time softly fades. Windows flung open as years are replayed. Sharper and brighter than ever they were, She is the mirror reflected in her. Clearer her senses, kinder her eyes: Shaking off each heavy, dusty disguise. Knowing herself as she knew all along, Venturing forward, with courage so strong. All that she searched such an age to unearth, She’s finding in places, not tied to her birth. Little by little each piece is restitched, A tapestry woven from every last wish. Skin may be loose now, hair not so bright; But here still, the child; trading dreams in the night. Little by little, she paints every stroke. Watching her fears, softly vanish, like smoke. Every sense woken, she’s watching her hands. Sculpting her future on firm golden sand. No longer falling but flying through space. Walking each step with her back to the race . LW
Steps
Once there was a staircase
Sad and green and old,
Years of feet trod wooden boards,
Furry, young and old.
Never ordinary,
A rainbow hid inside,
Steps in shades of yesterday,
One by one they dried.
Books crept from each corner,
Words to tempt and teach,
Ultimate the library,
Almost within reach.
Pots and brushes laboured,
Early every morn,
Stumbling feet avoided,
painting fast at dawn.
Best remembered teachings,
Fairies, knights and whales,
Comforting as always;
childhood bedtime tales.
Read by aunts and grandpas,
Gifts from loves long past,
Spines of books so vital,
Out of crates at last.
Now the stairs dress boldly,
Each an outfit smart,
Stop halfway and linger,
Step enchanted art.
Open up your memories,
Warm your sock-wrapped tread,
Climb a little further, soaking
all the books you’ve read..
xxxxxx
Birdcage
Take a rusty old birdcage found at the recycling. See it’s potential.
Sand away surface rust and dirt.
Lay a dust sheet under the birdcage. Use hard-wearing spray paint suitable for metal. Leave to dry between coats until both inside and out are covered.
Now for paper mache birds. You will need modroc plaster bandages, water, scissors, wire, newspaper, card, masking tape and a glue gun. (or you could just buy ready made model birds! )
Scrunching up a body from newspaper, attach a similar ball for the head with masking tape. Form a beak using tape too. Push wire through the body and out the other side to form legs, twisting the feet into however many toes you need.
Multi task building up layers of soaked modroc on your model, whilst simultaneously cuddling guinea pigs.
Some areas of your model might need tiny pieces of modroc.
Leave to dry and then begin layering coloured tissue paper with a mix of 50%water/50% pva brushed both under and over each layer)
Add more layers whilst learning your choir lines!
Paint details and textures with acrylic paint.
Don’t forget the feet!
Add lights and leaves to your birdcage.
Add feathers and more detail.
Leave to dry.
Add loops for hanging.
Glaze with modpodge varnish
Be unique.
If you can get your birds to stay in their cage please do put them there, sometimes though, they might just find their way back out again…
Caught you!
Not you as well. !!
Your birds will work equally well in and on your cage, lit up with your fairy lights.
Experiment with lights and greenery. Keeping any naked flame or hot bulbs away from plastic and paper.
Just don’t paper mache your guinea pigs xx
Happy Making!!
Come dine
Autumn is coming and we crave a space to read and think and dream
Only…….. That might take a little lateral thinking! In a dining room which has been a storage corridor since we moved in.
Although not everything in the house is ancient,
We had feeling that there was a pretty nice slate floor under the years of carpet goo and dirt.
Our lovely tiler Tom worked his way through several types of solvent, patiently scraping, pouring and scouring
Eventually using a solution of very hot water and steam to bring out the patina of the stone. These old quarry tiles are a beautifully random jigsaw puzzle and form the oldest floor in the house.
And finally, our neighbour helped bring some furniture in enabling our garage to start to breathe a sigh of relief!
Some pleasures are so simple!
Oh bowls how I’ve missed you!
It felt amazing to finally see the space as a room at last, with no boxes to trip over
What was once an old kitchen or maybe an entrance hall suddenly started to look like a dining room.
Initially furniture needed to settle, to see how the room would be used. It was felt that the amount of dark furniture overwhelmed the space and two huge leather reading chairs, unfortunately didn’t quite fit in the nook.
Old and new Autumn colours and Textures
Although in the evening, dark spaces can be cosy and warm, we needed more light in the room.
Permission to paint!
Some lighter furniture bounces the light in the space now.
Our little Book nook
The oldest books have found their ideal bookshelves .
Now, just to find a moment to read them all … ❤️
Factory settings
Factory settings
Could we go back to the manual please ?
Switch on the buttons from scratch,
Start from beginning, when shiny was new,
When my precious egg hadn’t hatched.
Back to the time before I was complete,
When your tiny hand was in mine;
Searching your soul for the ones that were lost,
Deep in my bones and in time.
Back to the pink and the talc and the night,
Back to the first days of school.
Back to the stories and dressing to match,
Back to when silly was cool.
Back to when simple distraction won through,
Chasing the tears from your mind.
Back to where, in open arms you would stay,
If ever the world felt unkind.
Monsters are clever, they’ll catchy you with ease;
weave through your still sleeping mind,
Tying in tangles your thoughts and your words,
And sculpting new masks less than kind.
Fear hangs it’s heavy cloak
Dark on our back,
Velvety, dark, deadly sad.
Unknown dementors their shadows loom large,
Stealing the thunder we had.
Black are your brambles,
Sharp are your thorns;
Poisons each bud God creates.
Loosen your grip with their tangles of vine,
Bend as your iron will, breaks.
My chest, once softly open,
Is struggling to breathe.
A cavern of boulders within
Though arrows are shot from your tongue not your bow,
Each one settles deep in my skin.
How will I know when to growl and to roar?
Splinter the night into shards.
When did the world slip it’s axis and drop?
Tripping you terribly hard.
Glimpses are fleeting
A momentary thing, letting me know you’re inside.
Precious as saffron,
As yellow as spring,
Turning you back with the tide.
Could we wipe out all the sadness and pain ?
All of the noise, all the rage.
Reset the monsters back safe in their lair,
Open a crisp, white new page.
Every new morning, sets up its own stage,
A theatre waiting for you.
Love keeps applauding your glow in the light,
Yearning to scream your next cue.
Time finds its basket, settles your paws,
blankets your worries and woes.
Barbed and unwieldy the forests you’ve grown,
scented and painted in rose.
Know I still see you,
Just as you are,
Just as you always will be.
Tiny and perfect and shouting your truth,
Holding your gaze up to me.
A N.Mother
Eat and bathe
Thank you for your patience of late. The mantra, eat * sleep * paint * repeat has played on a permanent loop for months. How did Summer arrive with such abandon? Rationing food supplies in favour of chalky, vintage colours, we have begun the transformation of this lovely house; a little faded in her glamour but still quite beautiful.
The first space to get a makeover was the kitchen. All else was chaos, but we could eat and have a space to get our minds clear for two minutes! Like the Forth Road bridge, it is very probable that once the house is complete, this room will need re-doing as it has taken knocks already from mucky workmen and a variety of renovation dirt! The floor is also on the list for the lottery win.
A much longed for bird-watching window, waiting for it’s new Morris blind.
Ah the joy of unpacking life’s luxuries and finding them!
Roses in one of the vintage French jugs on the kitchen windowsill.
Thanks to several bird feeders outside, washing up is a pleasure.
Finally gifts from Christmas past have made their way home
An improved, bright and functional kitchen space with lots of potential. Once the other rooms downstairs are finished too, there will be a dining room leading off this space and plates in plate cupboards and not cardboard boxes!
This is the bathroom, which already had a big personality and just required a re-paint and the addition of a long sleeper shelf, with filigree brackets for storage.
Plants and old glass bottles have settled well into corners in here, and echo the green of the huge trees outside.
Finished off with a hand-painted mural of wisteria and roses around the window.
Now, what to decorate next?
xxx