My blog’s name in books

Spell out your blog's name, this is when you wish your blog had a shorter name, damn my wordiness! Then choose a book from your to read pile, shelf, or book case in my case, to represent each letter.

I'm Absolutely Fine! A Manual for Imperfect Women
Oi-Duck Billed Platypus
A Discovery of Witches
Growing Yourself Up
Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven
Art Matters: Because Your Imagination Can Change the World
Christmas Invasion, The
Long, Long Life of Trees, The

Book challenge #7

I was challenged by a friend via their blog with something that’s been doing the rounds: publish seven covers of books that I love; no explanation or reviews, just a picture of the cover. This can be interpreted as book covers that I love, or covers of books that I love. I've gone for the former as I think it's more interesting. So here are book covers I indelibly remember, though I love the books too! No surprise that all are from my childhood and adolescence, and I have gone for the cover I remember at the expense of a high quality image.

I’m meant to challenge someone else each day. So if you’re reading this, I’m challenging YOU.

Book challenge #6

I was challenged by a friend via their blog with something that’s been doing the rounds: publish seven covers of books that I love; no explanation or reviews, just a picture of the cover. This can be interpreted as book covers that I love, or covers of books that I love. I've gone for the former as I think it's more interesting. So here are book covers I indelibly remember, though I love the books too! No surprise that all are from my childhood and adolescence, and I have gone for the cover I remember at the expense of a high quality image.

I’m meant to challenge someone else each day. So if you’re reading this, I’m challenging YOU.

Book challenge #5

I was challenged by a friend via their blog with something that’s been doing the rounds: publish seven covers of books that I love; no explanation or reviews, just a picture of the cover. This can be interpreted as book covers that I love, or covers of books that I love. I've gone for the former as I think it's more interesting. So here are book covers I indelibly remember, though I love the books too! No surprise that all are from my childhood and adolescence, and I have gone for the cover I remember at the expense of a high quality image.

I’m meant to challenge someone else each day. So if you’re reading this, I’m challenging YOU.

Book challenge #4

I was challenged by a friend via their blog with something that’s been doing the rounds: publish seven covers of books that I love; no explanation or reviews, just a picture of the cover. This can be interpreted as book covers that I love, or covers of books that I love. I've gone for the former as I think it's more interesting. So here are book covers I indelibly remember, though I love the books too! No surprise that all are from my childhood and adolescence, and I have gone for the cover I remember at the expense of a high quality image.

I’m meant to challenge someone else each day. So if you’re reading this, I’m challenging YOU.

Book challenge #3

I was challenged by a friend via their blog with something that’s been doing the rounds: publish seven covers of books that I love; no explanation or reviews, just a picture of the cover. This can be interpreted as book covers that I love, or covers of books that I love. I've gone for the former as I think it's more interesting. So here are book covers I indelibly remember, though I love the books too! No surprise that all are from my childhood and adolescence, and I have gone for the cover I remember at the expense of a high quality image.

I’m meant to challenge someone else each day. So if you’re reading this, I’m challenging YOU.

Book challenge #2

I was challenged by a friend via their blog with something that’s been doing the rounds: publish seven covers of books that I love; no explanation or reviews, just a picture of the cover. This can be interpreted as book covers that I love, or covers of books that I love. I've gone for the former as I think it's more interesting. So here are book covers I indelibly remember, though I love the books too! No surprise that all are from my childhood and adolescence, and I have gone for the cover I remember at the expense of a high quality image.

I’m meant to challenge someone else each day. So if you’re reading this, I’m challenging YOU.

Book cover challenge #1

I was challenged by a friend via their blog with something that’s been doing the rounds: publish seven covers of books that I love; no explanation or reviews, just a picture of the cover. This can be interpreted as book covers that I love, or covers of books that I love. I've gone for the former as I think it's more interesting. So here are book covers I indelibly remember, though I love the books too! No surprise that all are from my childhood and adolescence, and I have gone for the cover I remember at the expense of a high quality image.

I’m meant to challenge someone else each day. So if you’re reading this, I’m challenging YOU.

Emotional whiplash

A rufous-tailed hummingbird

A few days off, using up annual leave, should have been relaxing, doing some chores, the kind of things you leave until you can't leave them anymore, but most of the time sitting around catching up on TV, reading books and sleeping in. But life didn't work out that way. Instead it started to move very fast, rather than the slow days I had planned.

When things happen so quickly, they not only fail to sink in, you find them difficult to comprehend. The head often can't process the events, but the heart can, the metaphorical heart that is. Where thoughts are running through your head, tumbling from one to the next in a spiral, trying to work out what has just happened or is happening, emotions are quietly leading on from each other, but at such a rate that it gives you, what I call, emotional whiplash. That has been my past few days or so.

Not only is life moving fast, but my heart is as well. It's like the beat of the hummingbirds' wings I saw on holiday in Costa Rica; their wings move so fast you can't see them and I can not only hear the hum of the wings and my heart, but see it; my vision can judder with each heartbeat, it's that powerful. Basically, my anxiety is ramping up as well, just what I didn't want when I'm trying to hold on to that holiday feeling. It's especially frustrating as the stress at work is about to increase for the start of term.

The cause is something that has been a long time coming and something I was given ample time to get used to, but it's happening all at once. We're moving. Our place had only been on the market less than a week and on one of my days off, we had a viewing, with me wrangling the visitors' kids. A day later, we had an offer. We then went on a second viewing of a property which is almost perfect for us, in location, room size and design, with the added bonus of a wonderful garden complete with fruit trees and a grape vine. Our offer on it has been accepted. In just over a week, we have put our property on the market, sold it and basically bought a property, mortgage notwithstanding. If life continues at this pace, we'll be moving in a couple of months at most. Not near enough time to prepare, physically and mentally, hence the emotional whiplash.

But I'm trying to put my CBT spin on it, that it's exciting, grown-up and a positive thing, which it clearly is. But tell that to the hummingbird in my chest, the large blue morpho butterflies in my stomach and to continue the Costa Rican metaphors, the howler monkeys in my brain, trying to drown out all other thoughts. They wake me up as well, just like on holiday, acting like a cruel alarm clock. I had panic attacks when I moved here for the first few weeks, waking my brother up in the middle of the night, the first time I've lived anywhere other than my childhood home, that I remember at least. Anyway, I'm keeping it under control, for now. I just have to deal with the uncertainty, or certainty to be more accurate. Anxiety thrives on it. Maintaining continuity is key. I can handle it. I just have to keep telling myself that!

Brain fog

The frog equivalent of fog

Or as I like to call it, my brain frog. Brain fog is a technical term, doctors use it to describe the feeling when you're trying to use your brain, but it's harder than usual: the mental equivalent of trying to walk through mud, or, as it says, thinking through a dense fog. Many of us experience brain fog without even realising it. When you're exhausted, drunk or hungover, you will have gone through brain fog. For me, it's when my vestibular problem hits, when the vertigo is so bad I can't think straight. My concentration is shot, that includes with my eyes, it takes a few more moments for something to sink in and, for me, it manifests the most when I speak. My brain frog is a literal frog in my throat, robbing me of my usual powers of speech. I can be a Mrs Malaprop at the best of times, but it gets worse when the brain fog manifests. My vocabulary gets more limited and the words just won't come out, or the wrong words do, usually ones that are very similar. That's why I call it my brain frog because, when I try to describe it to someone when I'm living with it, I invariably tend to say frog instead of fog.

For someone who reads a lot and prides themselves over their use of words, it's frustrating. For someone who usually thinks nineteen to the dozen and has a quick mind, it's horrible. For someone who's trying to write this blog post, it's almost impossible and takes ten times as long. Of all the symptoms of vertigo and the consequences, such as the lack of sleep which doesn't help in itself, the balance problems, the motion sickness, the nausea and the energy it saps from you just getting through the day, the brain fog is the worst as it makes you feel like you're not yourself anymore. It can last for hours and sometimes days, even after the main spinning sensations have gone, leaving you feeling hopeless.

There are ways of dealing with it, not least taking it easier, going slower, triple checking what you're doing, making notes and creating reminders. I rely on muscle memory, especially when I'm getting around, remembering routes, room numbers and people's names. So don't take it personally if I get your name wrong or don't say it at all. Mostly, you have to be kinder to yourself, like me forgiving myself for the little mistakes my anxiety usually berates me over and over again with and managing your own expectations of yourself. Chronic illness is difficult if you remember how you were before; you have to accept the fact that person is gone. So I have befriended my brain frog and have even become amused by it. It's a funny friend and one that is here to stay.

Isolation

This is the beginning of a short story that came to my mind after hearing about the great news that Gwrych Castle has been saved and no doubt inspired by the recent film of Pete's Dragon, as well as The Jungle Book for obvious reasons and the Viggo Mortensen film Captain Fantastic for less obvious reasons, plus documentaries on the Himalayas and cemented by my recent holiday in Costa Rica. Let me know what you think. I can send the rest of it to you if you feel it's worth continuing with...

Grwych Castle as I first saw it, through the trees

With each step, she cursed her parents’ final wishes. They had tried to help by spending their final days in the tower, when they realised how sick they were. But there were a few steps still to climb and she had to catch her breath on every second step. Perhaps bringing both of them together wasn't the best idea, even with the ramp she had set up. But it seemed fitting; they were hardly ever apart when they were alive and they should be the same in death. They even left her alone in the castle for days at a time while they went on their expeditions. However, the view at the top was worth it. Her father had forbidden her to ever climb the tower and, unusually for her, she hadn’t defied him. The tales her grandfather regaled her with had left an indelible impression. He deliberately told her when she was little of the dark history of the turret that reached higher than the canopy, the only one of their towers to do so. The vague memories of him, corrupted by time had only made the stories more potent. Many of the things he told her she didn’t believe, but some of the stories reeked with truth and had given her many a nightmare since. Her mother didn’t speak to her grandfather for a year after he told his only grandchild about the waterfall of blood cascading down the tower.

The breath caught in her throat again when she came out into the open, but for a different reason. The world spun around her, not from the vertigo of the sheer height she had attained, jungle life swinging through the trees had put paid to that, but from the spiralling staircase she had climbed, even at her slow pace. Leaning against the staircase roof, letting it take her weight, she took her bearings. This view she had seen before, from the tallest tree in the area, and her favourite, which grew just outside the castle walls. Even that was overshadowed by the tower, but only just as it peeped out of the trees. It was the only bit of the castle which was visible from above, as it was surrounded by vast dense rainforest. Fortunately, despite the airplanes which sporadically flew overhead, they had never been found. She had long since stopped fearing they would be discovered and now she was on her own, even less so.

Although they didn’t live in the Himalayas, the sky burial had always appealed to her parents. The vultures would have have competition where they lived though, so it would probably be a harpy eagle, monkey or jaguar, if it could make it up that high, that might do the honours instead. She dragged the white linen packages to the centre of the tower, pushed a lock of her mother’s unruly red hair, a more vibrant colour than her own diluted version, that had escaped back inside and waited until the sun went down before she left them alone. No thoughts or feelings entered her mind, no tears were shed and her body was relaxed as she sat there. Listening to the sounds of the rainforest with howler monkeys calling in the distance, watching the butterflies and hummingirds flit about the flowers occasionally tussling to have it all to themselves and watching the lizards hunt insects was a form of meditation. The fears of her complete isolation would come later, in the middle of the night when she woke up shaking under her own canopied shelter. The anxiety that had been suppressed during the long days and nights as she nursed them, only able to watch as they got sicker and sicker, would soon take over. She wasn’t used to it and barely knew what to do. So she ran and ran and ran until she reached the river and plunged in, the shock of the cold supplanting the shock of her grief. On her return, she looked up at the dark walls and considered her future by searching her past.

The castle was a ruin and only a few rooms were habitable, there were too few of them, their numbers dwindling over the years and generations, to return it to its former glory. She had always preferred to live outside anyway, with barely a roof over her head. It was miles to any other man-made structure; the pyramids they occasionally visited were deep in the jungle to the west, across the border to another country. The explorers who discovered those pyramids never found the castle hidden in the jungle, built by a Scottish family who fled their homeland after the battle of Culloden, foreseeing the loss of their heritage and proud national freedom. What possessed them to build a castle in a rainforest had been lost in the stories handed down by each generation. What was left was only a vague outline of trying to bring a bit of their old home to their new one. The local tribe were the sole people who knew they were there, but they keep their distance now, after an initial friendliness and trade of knowledge and supplies; when the building started, they never came by again. She occasionally sees them through the trees, but neither approaches the other. Although she knew she would have to when she came of age. Their actions to ensure they kept the bloodline going almost erupted into outright hostilities. Her father prevented that coming to pass.

A few days go by and the first vestiges of grief are breaking through the numbness that settled in, or she allowed to settle in, after the anxiety threatened to overwhelm her. Her sobbing wails attracted a few animals which she saw off easily and scared off a few more, which was more problematic as she was trying to catch them at the time to add to her food supplies. The future was becoming more oppressive, but the decision of what to do next seemed too large to make. It loomed over her, especially when she was trying to get to sleep. It couldn't be put off for much longer. Loneliness was not a problem, but isolation could be. Her independence worried her family at first, then they realised it was a blessing in disguise; dragging herself home after breaking her ankle in a bad fall silenced them. Dying alone was the thing that frightened her most; her parents had each other at the end, but she had no one.

So the next time she saw a tribesman, she stalked him. There was no need as she knew where their village was, but it was good practice. It was pointless all the same as he was too good of a tracker and hunter to not know she was there. But he hadn't counted on her training, handed down from generation to generation, provided by one of his ancestors no doubt. He tried to lose her a few times and at the last attempt, she let him think he'd succeeded and his complacency was his downfall. As the village appeared through the trees, a beautiful forest glade she had visited a few times in her curiosity, despite her father's warnings, she crouched down low and waited for nightfall, which always came suddenly.

Under the freedom of dark, her small figure crept past the guards and made its slow way to the chief's hut, using the various structures and other huts as cover. As expected, she was not accosted and burst in to see the chief, using surprise as her entry pass. Before anyone could grab her, her knife was at the chief's throat and the few people in the hut froze. Slowly she turned round and took them in. That was when she realised her mistake. The tribesmen she had thought she would have to fight off, before she could overpower the chief and force him to take her in; their code of honour stating that any great fighter would be welcomed into their village; were not there and in their place white people like her. The obvious leader who had until a moment ago been sitting down with the chief had startled into a standing position. A man behind him had a metal contraption with what looked like a telescope on the end; it was pointed at her and her immediate thought was she was in trouble. It wasn't what she feared, though it did look like a threatening weapon, but she was in trouble all the same. Before anyone could make a move, she barged past them, knocking what she would later learn was a camera out of the man's hands and fled.

Over the next few days, she cowered in the castle, doing the bare minimum as to upkeep, her previous forays had kept her food stocks at full capacity. All the while, she assumed she would be invaded. The defences were all set up, after extensive repairs due to lack of use. Nothing happened. The anticipation escalated her anxiety and when the invaders finally did arrive, they found her incapacitated in the middle of the castle courtyard. Anxiety turned to panic, the body she could always rely on failed her and her athletic legs had crumpled under her. A tribesman had clearly been persuaded to lead them there and when their eyes locked, they seemed to apologise. When she tried to stand to run away from them, she found that she could not move, her legs were locked in position, though her heart was pumping as if she were running a marathon. That was when the world swam in front of her eyes and when she could see again, she was being carried away. The scream that was developing in her throat got lodged and she struggled for breath. The limbs that had sealed her fate, came back to life and she flailed in the man's arms. He dropped her more in surprise than pain. There was no fight left in her, but her flight took her to her sanctuary. That was where they found her, asleep; the adrenalin that had gotten her there had caused her to crash out.

Common sense prevailed and they let her rest, only in favour of exploring the castle in wonder and complete bewilderment. The top of the tallest tower had been blocked up; she had left her parents up there and didn't look back. So there was no blundering into making a gruesome discovery. When they returned to find her waking up, they did make one blunder, cornering her in her safe haven under the canopy she had made herself. They soon learned their mistake with a few minor injuries, but when they had her pinned down, telling her to keep still, they almost let her go in shock, when she replied "I will nae give up." "You're Scottish!" The pale white of her skin may be suntanned and made less harsh over the generations, the strong Scottish blood watered down by successions of tribesmen and women, but the red of her hair was still clear to see and her accent was as broad as a true highlander.

When her mother had taken a local man to her bed, keeping him captive until she was sure she was with child, they were all astounded that he didn't immediately flee when he was freed, instead he stayed with them and became part of the family. She was the first of their family to be truly half Scottish and half tribesman. How they retained the red hair was a mystery even to them, but they were grateful for it. The accent was simpler to maintain. It was what saved her now and more importantly them. With the leader of their group on top of her and her struggling to get away, she almost missed it. But when she heard it, she suddenly stilled and peered through her hair at the man who had spoken. "Nae lassie, do not keep on so." His hair was black and his eyes blue, not the red and green of her own, but she recognised something of herself in him, beyond his accent which was softer than hers. His hand reached out for hers and she took it, letting him lift her up and into a strong hug which slowed her heart down and her racing thoughts. The anxiety about her future dissipated as with a few words and one action, she knew she was alone no more.

Holiday anxiety

Going on holiday causes me a great deal of anxiety. Don't get me wrong, I love travelling, seeing places, experiencing other cultures, being embedded in a new world. However, the going on holiday, that's an altogether different thing. First off, there's the anticipation. Our recent holiday to Costa Rica took months of discussions, much planning and it's a long flight. So there was a lot of time to think about it, the distance, the difference and the disturbance. For my previous big holiday to The Philippines, I tried to bury my head in the sand, which didn't work out, as it only caused more uncertainty; a week before I was having panic attacks and it was an exceptionally fraught journey. So I did the opposite with Costa Rica, reading two guidebooks cover to cover way in advance of booking anything other than the flights and involving myself totally. Knowledge helps as anxiety is all about uncertainty. So understanding what the place is like, reading up on it and knowing where we're staying and what we will be doing really helped and the result: no panic attacks at all.

A nicer way to travel: horse riding at Arenal

Then there's the actual travelling. Car journeys are tough and we've done some long car journeys: up to Scotland several times (8 hours), deepest Wales (6 hours) and all the way across Europe to Germany (days). I've only had panic attacks a few times on car journeys and they weren't about the car journey: bad weather where vehicles were aquaplaning all over the place; I was already having a panic attack and had been having them for days during my mini breakdown; and due to my balance problem causing me to feel like I was on rollercoaster and I'd just seen the final Harry Potter film at an old-fashioned cinema and it had messed with my head. Boat trips are worse because I get seasick, but I can handle it better as it's easier to combat it. Big boats like ferries are no problem as you can barely feel they're moving. With smaller boats, I just go to the front and watch the horizon, so no panic attacks there. It even gave me a indelibly memorable moment in The Philippines: I was alone at the front of the boat and a whole flock of flying fish just erupted before my eyes. But plane journeys, they've caused several panic attacks. I don't like being in situations I can't get out of easily, not enclosed spaces as such, things like lifts, caves, tunnels, planes, queues, even complicated clothing... The plane panic has got so bad, I've been physically sick and that was on a 4-hour flight. The Philippines took two flights of seven and then eight hours. I was dreadful on the first flight. On the second, I was simply exhausted. However on the flight to Costa Rica, a journey of almost 11 hours, I was fine, apart from a small blip after eating and when I was between films; I just have to keep my mind preoccupied.

I could never be as relaxed as a sloth, especially those at Toucan Rescue Ranch

I had prepared, taking: a book I was already really into and couldn't wait to find out what happened next and another book which was a romcom I had been itching to read; a puzzle book which occupies my mind like nothing else; music and noise cancelling cordless headphones including tracks explicitly designed to combat anxiety, so much so they advise you not to listen to it while driving or operating machinery; a pad of paper so I could get my thoughts down if I needed to; my notes on my book in case I wanted to do some actual writing; and my pills as an emotional crutch. I didn't need any of them; turns out, all I needed was the in-flight entertainment, being careful of what I watched, sticking to family films, comedies and light drama; I saw five films there and five on the way back: Early Man, Ferdinand, Peter Rabbit, Lady Bird and Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa on the way there and Peter Rabbit, Love, Simon, Blockers, I, Tonya and Isle of Dogs coming home. Yes, I watched Peter Rabbit twice, I just loved it so much, which was a surprise as I adore Beatrix Potter, heard bad things about it and probably wouldn't have seen it if not for the flight. I even found some wellbeing videos while investigating what was on offer: BA provides for their customers.

My bedroom on Tresco, in the Isles of Scilly

The other issue is I'm a complete and utter homebody. I like my own bed. In fact, there's only been one holiday where I've slept well and that's because the bed was amazing: Tresco in the Isles of Scilly. I can't sleep on anything that moves, or I can feel moving anyway, so planes are completely out, cars and smaller boats are problematic, but big ferries are fine. Because I was the last person to lock our front door and even though I did it in such a way as I would remember, using my left hand instead of my dominant right hand, I still spent the entire holiday in Costa Rica thinking I didn't lock the door. I had, obviously. But anxiety makes you believe you're an idiot!

I adapt very quickly and we were on holiday for three weeks. Three weeks is a long time and I didn't realise how much I'd adjusted until we got back. It’s enough time for the roadworks that were the bugbear of my daily commute to move elsewhere, for the goslings I see every day to become indistinguishable from their parents and for my team at work to change again. I could no longer overtake anyone on my bicycle, probably due to the lingering virus, rather than being unfit; we did a lot of walking. It's enough time for cobwebs to grow on my bicycle locks. It's enough time for the UK to get better weather than Costa Rica!

Some of the beaches were all but deserted, like this one in Montezuma, despite being beautiful

A strange thing happens when I'm on holiday: I don't get anxiety, not full-blown anxiety anyway, just your ordinary run-of-the-mill anxiety that most people experience, but not me. I was challenged, but my anxiety didn't take over like it usually does, even when I was ill having caught a horrible virus; being ill on holiday far from home is my worst nightmare; even when there was a massive thunderstorm for hours on end, even when we were driving roads with massive potholes (Great Britain has nothing on Costa Rica) along high roads with steep drops in the middle of nowhere. It helps that in The Philippines and Costa Rica, we were visiting family and I had my niece and nephew to concentrate on. Home is not a building, but the people you love. But it's happened on other holidays too. It's like being away from home is a holiday from the worries of daily life, a vacation from reality. I do things that I wouldn't normally do like going surfing when my balance problem should stop me, using an outdoor shower without thinking about the huge bugs and trying new food when I'm a picky eater. I'm trying to hold on to that now I'm home.

Me swimming with trout in a waterfall river

I won't be doing any night walks again though; we did ours from Monteverde, but you can do them from practically anywhere. It was a great experience; there are no pictures as my camera wasn't good enough, though we saw a sloth, kinkajou, armadillo, tarantula, snakes and many birds and insects. We got better photos on our own night walk in Arenal. But it's not something I'll be doing again. I probably wouldn't have booked it for myself, just like the surfing, and for the same reason: my balance problem. It's easy to see how being permanently off kilter would stop me from surfing, but you wouldn't think it would affect me walking around in the dark. However it's one of my biggest problems. We had torches, though when we had to turn them off to see a scorpion in UV light, I had to grab hold of someone for fear of falling over. There was an added complication. My niece wanted to hold my hand, so I spent practically the whole time with her, apart from when I got annoyed at her jumping over things and flashing her torch in my face, but she came back to me. This would normally be fine, but when I'm concentrating so hard to keep myself upright, having to look after her as well and fearing that if I go over, she'll go with me was difficult. However it did help with the anxiety, having someone else to focus on!

A red-eyed tree frog on our own night walk in Arenal

I must admit it’s difficult being back. Not for the usual reasons: tiredness but not jetlag, back to reality, back to work, back home and the football and Wimbledon being over. It’s for more subtle reasons, other than missing my family of course. When I open my curtains in the morning, it’s not a hummingbird I see but a pigeon, bunny rabbits not agoutis and the birds flying overhead are not vultures, but pigeons. Everywhere is yellow and dry rather than lush and green. In Costa Rica, everywhere is so full of life, wildlife, from birds to butterflies, from lizards to insects. I keep looking at tress moving, expecting to see a monkey and seeing a squirrel, looking at every bird expecting to see something interesting and listening out for rumblings in the sky in the afternoon. My alarm clock is my phone, not howler monkeys, thunderstorms or my niece creeping in to see if I’m awake. The fruit is smaller and less exotic. The potholes are smaller and less numerous.

Me with an owl butterfly at La PazWaterfall Gardens

However the holiday has changed my world view, more so than when I went to The Philippines and Bali, but less so than when I went to Tunisia as a teenager. Costa Rica, for all its wildlife, beauty and landscape, has made me grateful to live here, despite the politics, due to the health and safety (though we have gone too far), advanced infrastructure and less obvious poverty. It has taught me to look around more closely; you never know when you’re going to see a different bird, lizard or something interesting; to walk bare foot and to try new things like swim in a trout-filled river! Above all, I have returned with a renewed sense of confidence, though that has taken a knock as I was stuck in my glasses while waiting for my contact lenses to be redelivered. I'm proud of how well I coped. With that confidence comes an acceptance of unconditional love and friendship; my limpet of a niece didn’t want to spend all that time with me because I have a radiant personality, looked good or am witty, it was because I’m her “Auntie Sarwah.” So my experiences have lead me to an acceptance of who I am, to accept me for me, which is no small thing. I have made a resolution to take the holiday spirit and apply it to my anxiety. Let's see how I get on!

A mother and baby spider monkey, just because

Here are my reviews of the places we stayed, it's mostly about the animals I saw as I'm a nature-lover:

San Jose
The first place we stayed in was my brother's place near to San Jose. From there we visited three wonderful places, though I can also recommend Museo Nacional de Costa Rica in San Jose:

My brother's place

Zoo Ave
You will see wild animals in amongst the rescued ones. You will see animals you won't see anyway else, including a tapir (unless you're very lucky), peccary (unless you're very unlucky as they're dangerous) and pumas (to see a big cat is highly unlikely). You will see how we should always put wildlife before ourselves.

These squirrels were everywhere

La Paz Waterfall Gardens
Known for its waterfalls and its hummingbirds, my favourite part was the butterfly house. They also have sloths, toucans and poison frogs. You won't see one of their residents anywhere else, unless you're very very very lucky and that's a jaguar. The walk down to the waterfalls is actually quite easy, though it is a lot of steps and they'll bus you back up. However just sit by the hummingbird feeders by the entrance or down by the excellent restaurant and you'll marvel at the wonder of nature.

A jaguar at La Paz Waterfall Gardens

Toucan Rescue Ranch

One of the most memorable places I have ever visited. It may be named after the toucans, but they have lots of other animals including big cats like the ocelot, porcupines, raptors, parrots and most famously, sloths. If you want to see sloths up close, baby sloths and how a country should treat its wildlife, then this is the place for you. You will need to book a private tour and you will get an informative and passionate guide to show you round. It may be a tiny place, but it will occupy a huge space in your mind.

This is hard to see, but it's one of the lucky ones as it's at Toucan Rescue Ranch

Casa Frangipani, Montezuma
This was one of the standouts of the entire holiday and we almost didn't go; it was a last-minute change after our flight to Tortuguero was cancelled as the airline had a fatal crash and weren't flying. You will need to take a car ferry there, but it's worth it. We were high up, overlooking the coast so we could see the ocean and we were surrounded by rainforest. We saw more animals in the first day than we'd see staying next to a National Park! Vultures perched on a tree branch, howler monkeys including babies in the trees next to the pool we were swimming in, agoutis bounding around, hummingbirds flitting from flower to flower, flycatchers and other birds chirping from the canopy, leaf-cutter ants constantly marching in line and countless butterflies. The accommodation was nothing outstanding, but it had an amazing balcony, a roof terrace we never used and an outdoor shower only I used. Montezuma, the village nearby has a great Italian restaurant, a bohemian feel and incredible beaches just up the road. I can highly recommend the tidal pools and surfing beaches, where you'll see pelicans diving for fish. Beware, the roads are terrible.

The pool at Casa Frangipani

Club Del Mar, Jaco
On the way, stop off at the bridge over the Tárcoles River to see the crocodiles. We were in Jaco when I was ill, so I didn't explore much, mostly dosing and getting through two tissue boxes, but we saw an iguana climb the tree just outside our place on the first day and it proved to be a regular visitor, scarlet macaws flew over and fed from the trees by the resort's beach every morning and the butterflies again were amazing. The accommodation was the best we stayed in: spacious, comfortable and with superb facilities. The resort itself was fantastic with a great breakfast every day and excellent staff, a lovely pool and beach I didn't use complete with surfing lessons and a chilled-out atmosphere. Jaco is basically a strip of shops and your typical white sandy town beach, not that I'd know.

One of the residents at Club Del Mar lazing by the pool

La Posada, Manuel Antonio
Its location cannot be faulted as it's right next to the National Park entrance, but it's also its downfall because it's in a busy area with street sellers touting their wares all day; the bird whistle sellers were a particular annoyance. However I saw my first and only raccoon here, there were hummingbirds around, iguanas, lizards and giant insects. We never saw any monkeys or sloths though until we entered the park, including on the castaway-like beach which is a must. The staff were so helpful and welcoming, the pool was perfect for our needs and the accommodation was spacious and comfortable. We got a good breakfast every morning and there was a supermarket incredibly close and bars nearby. For the restaurants though, don't go down to the strip, get in the car and drive up to those overlooking the sea, such as El Avion which has an airplane in the middle of it! Do not stay here if you don't like touristy places, stay in Quepos a few miles away and do go on a river trip as the mangroves are very close; it was one of the highlights of our trip.

One of the sights on the mangrove boat tour: a capuchin monkey

Arco Iris, Monteverde, Santa Elena
It can get very hot, sunny and humid by the coast. In the cloud forest, it's colder and wetter, with weather just like an English Summer, except more humid and with regular thunderstorms. Santa Elena is a strange place, a town in the middle of nowhere, high up and with cloud forest all around. The wildlife in our hotel was almost nil, except the resident cats my nephew adored, but the breakfast was the best we had, full of locally sourced and grown ingredients, including on site. The emphasis here is on the environment, and the accommodation and resort reflected this. It was lovely, like alpine chalets and the town has everything you could need, though it can get very busy with its tourist shops. The local cloud forest we visited is easily accessible, but more about the trees than the wildlife, though we did see a coati, but in the car park!

A hummingbird in the cloud forest

Arenal Observatory Lodge, Arenal
For me, the best place we stayed in, saving it for last! The accommodation we had was a bit odd though, with the sink and toilet in separate rooms, but the shower was brilliant. The roads are shocking, but the place is stunning. We saw more bird life here than anywhere else, including a resident hummingbird right outside our lodge. There were also coatis, monkeys (both howler and spider monkeys), butterflies, frogs, geckos and my Dad saw a kinkajou. Nearby are numerous hot springs, if that's your thing. We went to Baldi as it has water slides and the lodge booked for us as we got a discount. The observatory has everything you need and were very helpful. The breakfast was fantastic and the views by the restaurant and bar are breathtaking of both the volcano and the lake. The grounds are extensive with hanging bridges, a swimming pool, massive jacuzzi, gardens, a waterfall and nature trails. Visiting the frog pond at night is a must. You can go horse riding and take advantage of their other activities. I could have stayed here forever just watching the changing landscape, exploring the trails and seeing some new creature every single day.

The swimming pool at Arenal and the volcano

A few tips about Costa Rica: if you're driving, get a 4x4; don't worry about power cuts or internet outages, they happen; always close the screens on windows and shutters otherwise you'll let the bugs in; revel in the wildlife, Costa Rica is a nature-lover's paradise; Don't spend all your time taking photos, some of my best memories are just sitting and watching the animals, my family and the world around me.

A crocodile chilling out by the bridge over the Tarcoles River

Inclusion: a personal revelation about why I'm a librarian

I've been hearing a lot about inclusion lately; the recent UXLibs IV conference in Sheffield has meant it's been a constant feature in my Twitter feed for a week and it's made me more attuned to it. I see it in the anniversary of Grenfell Tower, with the emphasis on community. I see it in many articles about the football World Cup in Russia due to the country's attitude towards LGBTQ people. Obviously, I see it in MeToo and TimesUp. I see it in much of the commentary about a certain president across the water from us. I was woken up to it close to home by the EU referendum, or more aptly the opposite of inclusion: exclusion. However as a middle class white female living in a developed country with free healthcare and education, I thought that I'm in a privileged position. But I haven't always been. It was in reading Christian's blog post of his UXLibs IV keynote, that I realised I haven't always been so privileged, that I have felt exclusion. For a long time in my life I was excluded and it has affected me ever since, in ways I'm just beginning to discover. It has lead me to search for groups, people and institutions that provide that sense of inclusion and community, for better or worse. I have a strong sense of loyalty to people and place. And it's why, even when I have been included, that I haven't felt the full force of that inclusion no matter how welcoming it is, because of the exclusion I felt at an impressionable time in my life. I work in a great library, among great people, in a great School for a great institution in a great city. I've probably been here longer than I should have been because I feel so included here. It was in reading this particular paragraph of Christian's that it hit me:

"I find the concept of belonging very important and very closely related to inclusion. I see belongingness as a fundamental emotional need for human beings to be an accepted member of a group: Could be a family, co-workers, religion, a football team or the UXlibs community. If you tell me you don’t need to belong I say you either a psychopath or a liar. We have a desire to belong and be a significant part of something that is greater than ourselves."
https://christianlauersen.net/2018/06/07/inclusion-and-belonging-in-libraries-and-beyond/

Exclusion and inclusion

One of my key drivers is to include others, to put others before myself and it's why being a librarian is an ideal job for me: libraries are open places, the best librarians are inclusive people and the library community is special to be part of because of their inclusivity.

That's the problem with the librarian stereotype; it's all about exclusion with the shhhing, the rules and the stern woman in a cardigan and haired pulled back into a bun. Librarians are usually the complete opposite; we try to be inclusive as we can get away with and UXLibs IV was designed to help us do that.

Libraries feel like safe places to me: havens and sanctuaries. I can relax in a library, feel at home and importantly be part of something, among my people! It happens when I walk into any library, an immediate sigh of relief. I should have thought about becoming a librarian sooner!

Alone in a library

WARNING: you might want to stop reading here as things get a bit personal from hereon in.

Here's a little history to explain. At primary school, a wonderful school; it wasn't their fault, they did all they could, all any school can; at the age of 10, I experienced my first sustained bullying. Up until then, I had a best friend and various groups of friends I hung around with. I went to their birthday parties and I was part of several groups, even the cool kids. I was basically included everywhere, apart from the boys of course! Afterwards, I only really had my best friend and this intense attachment broke our friendship up, but gradually over many years. I don't blame the others, it's the way schools are; one person gets singled out for being different; for me it was my glasses, intelligence and awkwardness; the others join in. I thought I had got away lightly as it was nothing particularly terrible as it was only really name calling and nothing physical. But thinking back, I should have realised it was the exclusion that was the worst thing; it's the worst thing about any bullying: the alienation, the loneliness and watching the world from the sidelines.

The grip of belonging

So where the bully lead, pretty much everyone else followed. They didn't bully me, they just excluded me, stopped inviting me to things, hanging around with me and finally, talking to me, apart from taking advantage of my intelligence to help with schoolwork, which I gladly gave them because at least they were paying attention to me! I was persona non grata. I was invisible. When my parents found out and alerted the school, things got a little better. But the damage to my relationships, forget friendships, with my classmates was irrevocable and they were never the same since. When we started secondary school, I hoped things would change, but they didn't, even with the bully in the other half of the school, so no chance of any classes with them; everyone had moved on.

That was the thing, the bully was one of my closest friends. I had recently gone to a sleepover round their house and not a group sleepover either. Then suddenly they turned on me. So it wasn't just the exclusion that was the problem, it was the withdrawal of inclusion. So for the rest of my life, throughout my friendships, professional relationships, let alone personal ones, I have always been on tenterhooks, not getting too close for fear of the future exclusion.

Standing out

It was only a year until secondary school, so I handled it by retreating to the library, the one place the bully wouldn't go and therefore find me. It's why libraries are the one place, apart from home and churches, where "my soul can rest".

I tried to move on, but I still saw the bully in the halls who'd take any chance they could to pick on me. When others saw, they caught on and it allowed various others to bully me. It was tacit permission to bully. I didn't help matters; my shyness, introversion and passivity stopped me from sticking up for myself. Friends I made came and went, often literally moving away, which didn't help my sense of abandonment. It wasn't until I was 16 that things got better, when I did my A-levels; I found a new group of friends, potential boyfriend and finally an identity of my own rather than just following what everyone else was doing in a desperate bid to belong, but then the anxiety and panic attacks hit.

Now I'm in the best place with my anxiety, realising the reasons behind my desire to be inclusive and actually using my intense aversion to exclusion for good and in my professional life, that can only be progress. My need to belong though, that is something I'm going to be working on for the rest of my life.

The Truth About Birthdays

You should be happy on your birthday, that's what everyone tells you, it's what the cards tell you in any case. Just like you should be merry at Christmas. It's true, there is more opportunity to be happy when it's your birthday, with the presents, food, family and friends. But all the reasons why are designed to make me anxious; the expectation when you unwrap a gift, enforced activities and being the centre of attention are too much pressure. There's also the food. I have an uneasy relationship with food; I had an eating disorder when I was a teenager and I am a picky eater, which makes menu decisions a lot easier! Luckily, this year, we had a takeaway at home as a treat, instead of going to a restaurant.

My favourite Beatrix Potter character in figurine form

No, birthdays are bittersweet. You think about who's not there to share it with you. My birthday is the same as my Dad's Mum who I don't remember, because I haven't seen her since I was one, her choice; she died relatively recently. My Mum's Mum, my beloved Granny, used to give me a Beatrix Potter figure every birthday. My family have continued the tradition. So I always think of those two ladies on my birthday every year. You think about birthdays past and what you've done in the last year, similar to New Year's. Obviously, you're happy you've made it through one more year in this world, but what have you done with it? Last year, I ticked something off my bucket list, visiting the Bronte's home: Haworth Parsonage. But I'm struggling to think of anything else of note since.

Haworth Parsonage

My nature is not inclined towards contentment. I'm always comparing myself to others, with myself. Contentment is lasting, happiness is momentary. For my birthday this year, it has been about living vicariously through others. I spent the actual day with my niece, taking her over the park and happiness was in witnessing hers, when she said "weeeeee" every time she went down the slide, somehow saying it differently each time. Happiness was in seeing how much she's developed since last I saw her. And happiness was in her sitting on my lap as I read her one of my favourite books at her age and her listening attentively. Children have a way of teaching you to live in the moment, just for a moment.

The next day, I watched a long-awaited film at the cinema, the third best escape after the ultimate reading a book and the second best watching a favourite TV series. It's been 19 films coming and I knew it would be bittersweet. Inside Out taught me that the brightest happiness comes hand-in-hand with sadness.

Me ready for the cinema: Loki dress, (Guardians of the) Galaxy leggings and Hulk socks

On the last day of my birthday long weekend, on the bank holiday, we carried on a growing tradition over the past few years of visiting a bluebell wood for my birthday. Bluebells are my favourite flower and they come out around my birthday, so it's perfect timing. Last year, it was Fountains Abbey. The first year, it was Waresley Wood. This year's wood wasn't the best, but it was where it hit me, why I love bluebells so much. It's not because bluebells, true English bluebells, not the Spanish literal usurpers, are actually purple; all blue flowers are actually purple to my eyes. It's not because they're melancholy, they way they hang down, unlike the Spanish whose bells are better balanced on either side. It's because they require solidity, security and stability; they only grow in older established woodland amidst long-lasting potentially ancient trees. I empathise with them as in order to grow, develop and bloom, I also need time, safety and strong foundations. I'm a real tree-hugger as it's a great way to feel grounded, essential for anyone with anxiety issues. Happiness for me is being part of nature. I like to feel something that was there before me and will be there after me. That's a good thing to remember on a birthday.

Bluebells

Uninvited guest

Oh, hello Anxiety. Not content to stay in the background then. I could do without you today, or maybe that's why you're here; teaching your peers is way more nerve-wracking than students. You have company; a head cold is just being kept at bay, the stomach is flaring up and the vertigo is stronger than usual. Yet that's done me a favour as they're all cancelling each other, sapping your power. But my body is trolling me, that's what I call it when it seems to be attempting to sabotage my life. My monthly visitor has come early, bringing with it its troublesome attendants, the worst being emotional vulnerability. Hence, you again Anxiety.

You're getting easier to live with though. That's the right term; I can live with you Anxiety. Anxiety can be managed. You don't suffer from it, fight or battle it, but live with it. And I more than managed today. I coped. I didn't let you Anxiety stop me. You didn't stop me from having breakfast despite the nausea and stomach issues. I didn't let you make me smaller, hunch over; I stood with my head held high. I didn't let you take over, filling my brain with what ifs, thinking about what could go wrong, catastrophising (technical term) so I end up believing it will all go wrong. No panic attacks this time. I got through it and a few years ago, I wouldn't have been able to say that.

You're uninvited and unnannounced Anxiety. Sometimes I leave the door ajar for you and receive your warning signs. But the door was firmly shut this time and you gave me no warning. So, while you're here Anxiety as an uninvited guest, you won't mind me ignoring you, but I will say goodbye when you go.

A daffodil for this Spring day

Holiday inspiration

Wales will always have a special place in my heart, as do most of the places we went to on holiday when I was a child: Cornwall, Tenerife and Scotland. My holiday didn't get off to the best of starts as I was ill when we went and had to have the last day before we left off work. I was feverish, which is good for the imagination and the first few days, I wrote something whenever I had the time. I've written a poem that has always eluded me, finally managing to describe what a panic attack feels like in a poem. I'm going to save it for the book though. I just want to share a few holiday moments here that have inspired me, either for the book, for other pieces or in terms of mental clarity.

Aberglasney house and gardens

The previous times we went to Wales were either in the Summer or the Autumn half term, this is the first time we've been in daffodil season and they were everywhere! I finally understand what Wordsworth meant when he described them as a golden host. They never fail to brighten any mood.

Blue morpho butterfly

There is nothing better than achieving something you have long strived to get, for me this holiday it was a photo of a blue morpho butterfly with its wings open. There was a butterfly house at the National Botanic Garden of Wales and one was very obliging. They're my favourite butterfly and epitomise the ephemeral in my eyes: delicate, beautiful, powerful, ethereal and all too fleeting. They also represent my state of mind!

Laugharne estuary

As I said in my previous post, Laugharne has a hold on me unlike any other place I've been to. Going back after 20 years, seeing a view we used to see every day was pure nostalgia and gave me a boost I will never forget. Other things I barely remember, but not that view; it's ingrained in my memory.

My parents outside Laugharne Castle

We finally made it inside Laugharne Castle, after the fourth time of trying! I took inspiration from one of the greats, Dylan Thomas, who stayed at the castle and famously made Laugharne his home. His deep connection with his sense of place strikes a deep chord.

A blurry photo of an otter at Laugharne Castle

A day after I bought a cuddly otter at the National Botanic Garden of Wales; I picked it up and just couldn't put it down again; I saw a real live otter! I call it strange foresight. It's my first one in the wild and it was one of the highlights of my holiday.

Laugharne gravestone poem

Creative inspiration can be found in the weirdest of places, for instance a churchyard where I found this gravestone poetry. It sums up my feelings of revisiting Laugharne and how much of an impact it has had on me. I would love for my eternal resting place to have such a view.

The Mumbles causeway and lighthouse

Finally, spending time with my parents, having them all to myself, was a treasure. Even if we were silent, just sitting in each other's company, it was special. Going to a place my Mum had always wanted to go to, seeing another's pleasure, there is no greater inspiration, nor motivation.