Archive for Personal

Look!

Another post from Lockdown UK. Here I am, dressed basically as I work from the sofa. I can’t remember when I last wore makeup. What’s the point? Thoughts that I suspect are familiar to many of us right now.

BUT I’ve just dyed my hair for the first time since last July – and I feel like Me again!

Every time, it’s a question. Do I bother? Is it finally time to let my natural hair show? Well, several inches of growth and once again, I’m reminded that I really don’t like it (not silver enough yet!).

I’ve always had issues with how I look. Always. From years of pageboy haircuts to years of braces, never really understanding what I looked good wearing and then being mocked for wearing what I liked…

Only as an adult did I really discover what felt good to/on me. I love colourful hair, but prefer goth style with splashes of bright. Pastels: NO. I have many leather jackets, which double as armour when in cities or crowded places. And of course, I have my Druid Drag of robe and cloak, plus relevant jewellery.

I’ve seen the extremes of lockdown life, with one group dressing up to play at home and make beautiful social media art. The other stays in comfortable clothing, makeup-free, minimal effort. I’m obviously the latter.

But this year, in Lockdown 3.0, I’ve become what feels like unhealthily insular. The ups and downs of mood haven’t helped, as I feel very self-aware when I go out, as well as not being able to exercise as much leaving me low. I don’t feel worthy of the effort; there’s no point, I can’t work miracles.

Recognising this may help to fix it. I’m slowly returning to ‘public’ work, which is a kick in the pants to sort myself out. I’m being inspired by those social media folks, friends and strangers, rather than overwhelmed by their skill.

Himself commented when I wore some jewellery the other day that it suited me. I took that thought and turned it around in my head: What is ‘me?’ Here, now, at this stage of life, with this shape and with practical needs?

A work in progress, as always. But returning my hair to its colourful best is a start (I’ll get the split ends sorted when I’m allowed again).

Writing this seems so vain in one sense, although I suspect it’s something many of us have thought about as we kick our heels at home. How playful can we be in such scary, mad times? Isn’t such a topic trivial? There’s bigger issues to worry about!

And yet self-care is high on the agenda, as we struggle to find what works in keeping us sane and moving.

I love seeing my friends dress up to go to the supermarket, or post cosy pictures with soft toys and hobbies. This is still who we are, even when we’re not putting on a Public Face for Work. I need to learn not to be ashamed of who I am, nor fear the mockery. I thought I’d got past that, but old demons resurface if given half a chance.

What am I doing? I’m exploring gently to see what pokes a head up from the ground this Spring.

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Light in the Dark

Today was not a good day.

But I did receive some advice that struck me, and which I would like to remember. I should try to ‘surround myself with things that make me happy.’

Even though we may have our own spaces, how consciously do we do this? Not random piles of Stuff, nor the minimalism of only keeping what gives us joy, but taking time to seek out soul-deep happy things in the moment – as medicine, solace, comfort, fuel to keep yourself moving forward.

The world is turning, things are changing, and I don’t know where we will end up. But for the first time in a while, I feel that I am seeing something to aim for, with the pulling back of self-care helping radiate outwards to larger work.

Tonight I sit, exhausted in body and spirit. I have soft knitting in my lap, colourful yarn gifted by fellow yarnies. A pup or a kitten may come by for a snuggle. A toy Jackalope sits nearby, sent from a friend miles away. Fire crackles in the hearth, and Himself prepares comforting food. Before bed, I will dip into a few pages of an excellent book.

Tomorrow, I will work on gifts for friends. Writing plans are germinating, throwing out tiny shoots of growth as characters begin to talk to me. Ritual ideas are also coming, as we near Imbolc, but also as I prepare a rite of Passing.

All of this while the country is locked down by illness. When we need companionship but cannot even touch family and friends – at least we have this technology to keep our shared spirits up. We have items with stories, that have come to us when needed.

We keep going through the winter months, and I am glad of being able to reach beyond that dark to the flame of happiness again.

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Farewell to This Year

It feels as if this is a moment we’ve all been working towards for so long. 2020 has been A Year unlike any other that we’ve known. Time itself has seemed tenuous and changeable, whether elastic or like wading through thick mud. Very little has been certain, day-to-day.

We’re stepping into a new calendar year with even more trepidation than usual, and (perhaps) greater awareness of the weight of what might lie ahead. But also with hope – because that is what keeps us moving on.

I rarely make New Year’s resolutions, as that’s always been a Samhain thing for me. But after some extremely fallow writing weeks, ideas have tapped on my brain to be noted and shared; maybe even looked back on next December.

Moving into 2021, I hope…

To keep rediscovering my strength. Ditto bravery. Fear and weakness can have their time, and then be overcome.

To explore my creativity. Be it fiction in places that I’ve not explored before, or new and intriguing skills. Also…

To allow myself to make mistakes. To mess up, trip up and then pick myself up. It’s all part of the journey. Blame and guilt are not helpful.

To keep speaking my truth, and digging deep when necessary to see what that means.

To allow myself to share more without shame.

To learn to love myself as I am, here and now.

To make and share my own personal magic.

To not give up.

Step, step, step…

Stay safe, friends. Thinking of you all. We’ll see each other again soon.

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Wishes at Samhain

Years ago, when I was a first-year University student in London, a friend and I travelled into the city to explore. Most of the day was spent in the magical otherworld of Camden Market, but then we decided to head out to Highgate Cemetery.

We were disorganised Goths, though, and in those pre-Internet days, had no way to check times… so when we arrived, it was closed.

To this day, I have never been closer to it than this:

Years later, I’m working at home during a time when the world seems utterly crazy, and I think back to that day.

I think of those people stuck at home due to lockdown – or physical illness, social anxiety, any number of social ills. 2020 has been a year of confusion and fear. Those innocent happy days have been a pleasant memory.

I find myself wondering if/how I can recreate such times. I’m older and (possibly) a bit wiser. The world is still out there. We must tread with more awareness, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

I’m pondering what I can do, if/how I can overcome the challenges of 2020.

Samhain is imminent, so this seems timely. ‘Pagan New Year’ means looking back, but also forward, for me. I feel – I hope – that I’m moving from what can I do to combine again with what do I want to do. And then how can I achieve that?

Those University days were lessons in themselves, as we tested our boundaries, away from home for the first time in a strange, new place. I feel as if we’re doing that again this year, but within the new confines of safety measures. This isn’t play; this is serious. We’re isolated for the sake of the wider community (and news reports show how difficult many people find that).

I’ve always been aware of the needs of others, often to the detriment of my own (that’s another story). Testing my own wants, putting toes into the water of ‘Yes, this is something that I genuinely would like to do’ seems revolutionary, and immensely freeing.

I’m actively battling the depression, armed with recent hospital treatment and backed my loving family and friends. I feel hopeful and determined. Even in this year like no other, steps can be taken to move forward.

I would like to go walking in the woods. To explore the secret places, down tiny roads and hidden tracks.

I would like to spend time with those past, in cemeteries or historic buildings. Perhaps the catacombs under Nottingham or the stone circles of Derbyshire Peaks.

I would like to find a decent camera to record these moments, and practice my photography to capture and share.

And back home, as the cold days draw in, I would like to explore my creativity. Maybe to design something with yarn, to actually learn to sew…

I would very much like to add more words to the beginnings of my fiction. To write, so that I can take up challenges that come my way.

I would like to not be scared to do. To be as nervous but excited as I was on that long-ago day. To see where my feet – and my mind – take me.

Let’s make our wishes on this 2020 Samhain. Apart, yet together across the technological community. A deep breath, acknowledgement of limits but still honouring our dreams.

What are We Doing?

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New Hope

So… an exciting Thing is happening regarding my mental health situation.

A while ago (pre-lockdown), my lovely Dr told me about some medical trials going on for those with ‘treatment-resistant depression.’ I appeared to meet the criteria, so she put my name forward.

This is the project – Brightmind (I keep wanting to call it Brightburn, but that’s a very different thing 😂).

I’ve had confirmation today that I’m pretty much their ideal candidate, and after the formal assessment next week (and MRI scan to check my brain), I can begin in early September.

I’ve kept this quiet until it was confirmed, and also because I should’ve started in February – but then the MRI machines became suddenly busy. The team at Nottingham University, working with QMC Hospital Nottingham, are super-keen to get working again, and their enthusiasm is really giving me hope.

Short version: this is like ECT (electro-convulsive therapy), but using magnets. So it’s not invasive at all and has shown a high rate of success. The last statistics I found showed 80% of improvement in patients, with the remainder showing no change. NO side-effects.

I’m hopeful. No guarantees, but any improvement is A Good Thing.

I will be updating on here, and possibly with videos as well. I’ve seen other folks on YouTube document such journeys, and their positive experiences have been a big factor in my going forward with this.

A Big Adventure is about to begin! Fingers – and everything else – crossed.

Also, before anyone says anything: yes, I’ve read ‘Firestarter’ and books like that. I promise to use any resulting superpowers for good. Including a clearer brain 😊

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Bricks

A YouTuber that I enjoy, Caddicarus, has been prefacing his lockdown videos over recent months by screaming ‘What is going on?!’ – because The World is Made of Bricks and he’s trapped at home. A (rather dark) comedy way to visualise his feelings about these crazy times.

And now, the world is slightly less Made of Bricks. We can go out! But after a visit to our nearest town a couple of weeks ago, we’re nowhere near back to Life Before just yet.

The feeling in the air was one of fear. Masks everywhere, I’m glad to say, and people doing what they could – I’ve yet to see any anger or nasty words, thank goodness. That feeling of tautness in the air, though, as if something bad (worse?) is about to happen…

The last few weeks have still been very difficult for me, health-wise. I hate talking about this really, as there’s always the voices in my head nagging away: ‘Oh, she’s off again. What NOW? You know people are probably sick to death of it by now. Why can’t you write something normal?’

These are absolutely all phrases that have been said to my face in the past, by the way. Which doesn’t help.

I’ve been wanting to write, but the words haven’t been coming. The World is Made of Bricks, and bricks aren’t very inspiring.

Then I think about this.

Years ago, there was a Handfasting where the couple used a brick as their wedding Stone, the symbolic foundation of their relationship. It was a brick that was part of the batch that had built their house.

Bricks are heavy, but they are stones crafted by us. So many people put tremendous emphasis on the importance of stones in magic, but those are usually of the sparkly crystal variety. Either way, stones have been taken from the earth that is where they’ve been formed, and brought to fulfil a purpose in our lives.

I write this in a room with exposed brick walls and floor. I can feel them beneath my feet right now. I loved this house for its natural floors, as I’d rather go barefoot given half a chance.

I’ve been feeling trapped during lockdown, and that feeling only worsened when I ventured out. I’ve heard people speaking of being ‘stuck at home’ as a time for reflection, and that’s fine, but humans are generally social creatures. We need to reach out sooner or later, if only to assure friends that we’re not actually dead or to go find food shopping.

The bricks overwhelming my mind aren’t safe places for me to hide. They’re crushing me, like a medieval torture. They’re preventing me from Doing, holding me in with the thoughts that tell me how much I should be doing, and how much I CAN’T do. This is hiding like a fairytale creature, in the dark of a cave, the opposite of what Summer should be.

The World is Made of Bricks, and turned upside down at the same time. Instead of being at my busiest, I feel as productive as a brick. I remember another reviewer describing how a story flowed as easily as a river of bricks (yes, that slowly). And yet…

People have been reaching out to me. I’ve been answering. Before I know it, conversations are being had – admittedly via internet Messenger applications, but I’m hearing how friends are doing, helping professionally or just sharing enthusiasm about a good book or knitting pattern.

This year has come crashing down, but we are slowly building it back up. The bricks might not look the same as they did before, but they are still the foundation stones to our world. No matter where we fall, the ground will be there to catch us. We can make our space what we need it to be. It just takes one brick at a time.

I’m still here. My inspiration is finding its way, peeking through holes in the wall, and I’m tremendously sorry for being so quiet. I’m doing what I can, when I can.

The world is changing and the new path isn’t clear yet. I can feel it trying to form beneath our feet. One step at a time, gently… gently…

Here’s that floor, and Fen, whose Gotcha Day it is today. Ten years ago, he came home with us as a tiny puppy. This is his room too, his safe space as much as it is mine. This is him right now, keeping an eye on me as I work. The bricks are cool on a hot August day.

We build our lives. Some parts are brighter or stronger than others, but we are still here. Some days that feels like a miracle, and I’m glad of how solid a fact it is.

Fen 7-8-20

P.S. I was also reminded as I wrote this of a song from years ago that I rather loved. It’s a Christian band, but take the meaning as you will. This is ‘Let it Be‘, by Superchick – a song about bricks.

Stay strong, my friends.

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Monday

I’ve never been sure what Real Druids (or Pagans, Witches or whatever) are supposed to do on a daily basis.

I’m sure you’ve seen memes involving Getafix or Gandalf. I rather like this one from Living Liminally:

druid meme2

Even that’s not been possible for most of this year, alas. Looking over my garden is kind of my limit for outdoor contact – or walking the dogs close to home. That’s something, and it’s more than many, I know.

Today I’m wondering what I should be doing, according to others. Because when I woke up, my brain decided to regale me with all of the demands made by others who clearly Know Better.

(They don’t. Some folks just love to critique based on a glimpse of the person they think they know.)

The softest target is my health. Lately this has been a real bone of contention, and apparently a problem for others as well as me.

Every time I post something about my health (read: my depression, anxiety, what have you), I feel bad. The voices gleefully squeal ‘Oh, she’s off again! What is it now? They don’t care, you know.’ Or, that biggest of guns: ‘She just wants attention.’

I don’t. I really don’t. I want to talk about how I’m feeling because every time I do, I get quiet messages telling me that being honest and up-front about it is helpful. I’m not actually whingeing; I’m striking a chord with someone stuck in their own dark hole.

A lot of what I do is invisible, thinking about it – meaning that it happens, but can’t easily be seen. Battling my illness. Working with energy, connecting with the world around, chatting to spirits or deity. Or – gasp! – writing.

Writing is sorting ideas somehow in your head, transmitting those coherently through my fingers onto this page. Broadly speaking.

But there’s also the jump to simply do the work. To get up, find the writing tool – laptop, pen and paper – and make the words happen. That can be as difficult as putting on running gear to head out of the door. Especially when feeling low, because the Brain wants to convince you that you can’t do it. You don’t need to. Nobody cares, anyway.

Shut up, f*ck off, I’m doing it.

A common piece of advice from writers is to Just Write. Neil Gaiman put it so well when he said something akin to ‘Put one word after another and keep going.’ Yep. Like running – one step, then another, repeat.

It is at once that simple and at the same time so much more difficult!

Here I am, then. Wittering on. Hoping that these words strike that note to inspire.

This Druid does indeed have Things to do today. They are Good Things. Reading through my students’ work; reading review books and preparing my ideas on them, answering messages – and seeing what happens as they day goes on! Last week, I worked on the upcoming issue of Pagan Dawn. New things come along all the time. Druid Life is interesting.

Normally at this time of year, I’d be so busy with public rituals, talks, camps and suchlike. This year is quiet, generally at home. But I’m still doing my best.

Try not to judge. It’s likely you can’t see everything about a person from just a glance or a Twitter status. Look deeper into the story if you’re interested; you might find something you like.

Let’s try to keep inspired, eh? Your story is just as valid as anyone’s. I’m telling my frustrating brain that today – now with an added topping of ‘Look, you wrote something! Not useless after all!’

Solidarity and love in these difficult times, my friends.

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Three Little Words

Words are not coming easily to me right now.

I have reviews to write. Articles. Email replies. I open the file and…

I know it’s not just me. Other friends have spoken of feeling ‘blocked’. I see books delayed, proofreading problems – even social media misunderstandings.

Lockdown may be sending us a little stir-crazy, and the mixed messages coming from those who profess to ‘lead’ us don’t help.

I’m writing this spontaneously, in the hope that it helps to provoke my inspiration, but also that it makes sense.

Words are the tools we use to convey how we feel, our intentions and thoughts. Some of us are more skilled than others, but if we take the time to truly listen to the voice of the writer, that sense of them can be found.

Sometimes, those ideas take more than 140 characters, or a small blurt of ‘Status Update’.

I like the idea of Twitter being the sound of sparrows yelling at each other in a hedge. Lots of noise, but you can probably determine a conversation thread if you listen hard enough. But it’s easy to be sidetracked or mis-hear.

There can be connotations you’re not aware of. A particular word may be unintentionally insulting. A phrase may be new to you, but tired and over-used to others.

A journalist friend recently said to me that the sentence ‘That’s a really good [or ‘excellent’] question’ is so often used by politicians, it virtually translates in the hearing, becoming ‘Now I’m going to talk about something entirely irrelevant.’ I used that sentence in an interview – and I sincerely meant it, because the question was good and new to me. But due to unknown overuse, the way it was received was far different from my intention.

I try to speak honestly, in my verbal words and my writing. Some readers assume I have ulterior motives, but usually I genuinely do just want people to see what’s on my mind! We hear so many soundbites and political doublespeak, it’s hard to discern what’s really meant.

Let’s take an example that we all know: ‘I love you.’ Sometimes easy to say, sometimes not. But familiar from books, movies, chit-chat or intense moments.

I’ve always found it hard to say. Because when I do, I want to mean it.

The first person who was not family that I said this to kicked me to the curb a week later. I think these words made him run, but who knows.

I’ve had alleged ‘friends’ say them to me, before doing things that no caring person would. ‘Love you, babe’ – then cattiness behind my back.

People now say them to me, and I know they mean it. But it’s hard to respond, because of the fear of what might come, based on past bad experiences.

I never want to do my dear friends a disservice, ever. Family can be more than blood, as modern folklore says.

Again, if I say it, I want to mean it – and for that meaning to be understood.

‘I love you’ means that I’ll run to help if called. I’ll provide what’s needed, from hugs to food parcels. It means you can be safe with me.

There’s levels of relationship, of course, but this is a powerful statement. I can’t say it frivolously. It hurts when those who’ve said it to me act as if it means nothing.

Words hold power. They are basic communication, but also deep magic and connection (why do you think it’s called ‘spell-ing’?). I would be so glad if we could speak our truth to each other and be heard, rather than twisting the words in midair to mean something entirely different…

I can’t guarantee that, though, can I? Because of those connotations and associations I mentioned above. The ones I don’t necessarily know about.

We can only do our best to convey meaning through these squiggles of sound, pixels or ink. We have to trust that those listening hear our intention.

And we have to act – and keep acting – to prove that our words are true. No matter if only one person is listening, or the whole world.

Our words can be powerful, or they can be meaningless.

I hope you understand.

I send you the love of a writer for those who read through to the end.

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(Lack of) Routine

Years ago, when I lived in London and was a Proper Commuter, I had a routine.

I would get up, have breakfast while watching BBC News (my boss would often ask me about it), then head off to the train and bus to the office. Twickenham to Southwark.

The day would zoom past, always frenetic and full with a laundry-list of tasks, then back home again to prepare tea and try to relax before doing it all again the next day.

Things started to change when I began to look at Druidry.

Instead of bussing from Waterloo to Southwark, I’d walk along the Thames Bank. It was beautiful, from the stories painted on the underpass to the wildlife alongside the Thames. This and the train journey, when I lost myself in a book, were my havens from the madness of the working day.

Then came lunch-hours, spent wandering the streets nearby. Blackfriars Bridge, St Pauls, Paternoster Square, up to Pudding Lane once. Or, if the boss was away, a quick zoom into the West End.

I grew to appreciate the spirit of London. I don’t think I ever became A Londoner, but I appreciated the history living alongside the brand new, modern world.

Life events began to move faster – and I was caught up in them. A literal move, Up North to Derbyshire. And I find myself here, now, working from home as a Professional Pagan, unable to go out much because of an international pandemic.

That escalated quickly!

I’ve been thinking about how that constant routine, which lasted for several years, changed so quickly. My current day is much less structured, working around what needs to be done more than sticking to a clock. Dogs need playing/walking, everyone needs food, household chores and Proper Work.

The latter, with the move to mostly online, can happen from the first few minutes of waking up into just before bed (not constantly, thank goodness!). But I never know what’s going to appear.

That, and my own illness, which sometimes forces me to throw any plans to the wind and take an Enforced Rest Day. In which priority work can be done, but no more. Sometimes not even that.

I’ve had to change my routine to be fantastically flexible, in a way that would have seemed unbelievably luxurious to my old commuter self. I get things done, but juggling more than listing.

No physical spoons? Reading review books. No mental spoons? Yarn work, or gentle rest and distraction until something pops up to grab my attention and allow me to focus.

And yes, a fair bit of guilt over not being able to do The List and be working constantly as I used to.

I had an external office for a while, which helped. I now have a little office area at home – but am typing this on my laptop on the sofa. Freedom is a wonderful thing.

A good part of life now is allowing myself to go with that flow, of seeing what is possible combined with what is necessary.

I see it in the world around. What we can do, what is needed. Everything is changing dramatically, and long overdue. We have to allow ourselves that change, to try new things and see what works best.

Because that old system did not work. Well, perhaps for a while, but it was wearing me to death. I have no doubt that it’s done the same for many others, and changes are now being made as the traditional office 9-5 is no longer as essential as it was made to seem.

We’re questioning the structures that we fall into, or which are placed upon us. We are tentatively – or fiercely! – trying our own ways. Demanding to be heard, asking ‘how about this’, and considering our own well-being over that of a faceless corporation or state.

I have no idea where this is going. But I know what it’s like to listen to that flow, to be brave enough to go with it. Sometimes I mourn for my lost job, helping others. Then I remember how it helped send me into a breakdown. I would not be here now if I hadn’t walked away.

So no shame. No regret. No guilt. Each day is bringing something new, and we’re slowly coming out of the Great Pause of 2020 having had time and space to consider what’s important. Already seeing the results.

Time for change again, folks. From Commuter to Community… Let’s work together, support each other and make things better.

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Labels and Stories

I stare at the blank screen.

So much is going on in the world. What right do I have to ask your time to read my words? But the words want to be spoken.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve loved words and their power. Sounds, shapes, feel in the mind… so amazing.

And then I remember learning to Shut Up. That my opinion was stupid, laughable or just not worth hearing. People whose opinion I cared about deliberately turned away.

So I learned to stay quiet, to keep the words hidden in notebooks and boxes. To hide my tears, frustration and anger as it seemed others were allowed to speak – but not me.

Now, years later, I write for a living (sort of). I place these words with care, knowing that they might be helpful, interesting or inspiring for some, boring, difficult or annoying for others. That’s ok. I can’t control how my words are understood.

But I can control what I say. Tone, phrasing… and the ultimate point of Why I am Writing This.

Recently, the world has gone up a stage in madness. I believe it was inevitable – we really are in a Change Is Needed place right now, and such times are fuelled with passions. I understand (insofar as I can) and agree.

But our little individual lives go on. We try to help in our own ways, standing with our communities and hopefully acting honourably and with truth. Which is kind of what brings me here today.

I’ve often spoken about labels. How they’re more useful for the viewer than than labelled themselves; ‘Druid’ means something entirely different, for example, to me and then to a random stranger happening upon my work.

I’m seeing labels being used as weapons, as pigeonholes to box folk in, as titles to escape. Negative associations can be tough to remove. I see ‘protestor’, ‘looter’, ‘revolutionary’ being bandied about in the news, but each of those has an individual name – and a unique story.

Sometimes it’s easier to label someone and move on. If you’re not really interested, that’s your choice. But this casual laziness (and disrespect) means that you lose the chance to engage with something more than just a word.

It’s Pride Month right now, and I’m seeing so many different debates about relevance, meaning, identity and so forth. I’m glad people are still talking, sharing those stories and exploring their identities.

I hear them often, my rainbow friends. I see the slight nervousness as they speak sometimes, as if expecting a blow, or at least verbal abuse. The sadness, and then the joy as I continue to listen. Such a simple act, and yet so powerful – and I am honoured to be part of their tales.

Recently, though, it’s not been so much ‘they’ – as in, another person or group. I’ve been feeling more and more that it’s ‘we.’ That this is something I’m absolutely part of.

Years ago, I remember an elderly family member almost spitting at the television, they were so angry. Stephen Fry was speaking, and I wanted to listen. But to my relative… ‘Ooh, it’s that queer again, isn’t it.’

I stared. I quietly asked ‘What?’ He poured some more vitriol on The Gays and the channel was changed for the sake of peace. I felt sick.

I don’t understand that attitude. I want to know the person before I react to an amorphous group. And for this, I am myself a negative: a ‘wishy-washy liberal’. I’ve had similar bile thrown my way for standing up for friends who are somehow the wrong gender, colour, sexuality, nationality.

So many of us are standing up right now to protest this treatment. I can’t believe it still happens, but it is and we must. WE. Including me.

Difficult discussions are being had. Words have their meanings subtly changed and reclaimed. Understandings are being challenged. Normative thinking… may actually be a myth. And for those invested in it, that hurts.

I do sincerely hope that we learn from what’s happening in these times. I hope that positive change is crafted. I do my best, from my own positive of (white, educated) privilege.

I want to raise my voice. I am afraid of the brickbats that may rain down in response… but that’s actually always been something lurking beneath everything I write. ‘Who does she think she is?’ ‘Crazy woman, nutter, New Ager…’

And the worst, the laziest, most contemptible, gaslighting and negating insult: ‘She’s just doing it for the attention.’

I write and speak my truth as best I can. I try to use the labels that are given to me, as well as intentionally claiming some. I prefer Priest, because even as a child, I knew I was more than an ‘-ess’ stuck like an afterthought onto a man’s word.

I am both Priest and Priestess. Author and authoress. But I’m aspiring for the one that needs no ‘-ess’ to be strong and still female: Queen.

I will keep exploring. I will do my best to stand, to listen to all the stories regardless of teller. I will work to maintain safe space for those who need it.

And I’m taking on a new label for myself that I feel is overdue. Sod The Fear of reactions.

This Pagan, Druid, white woman is also Queer. Actively standing.

Let’s all work to make our stories good ones, moving forward.

Much love, my friends.

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