This year has been a rollercoaster for me. As an Aries, I thrive on excitement and adrenaline…but somehow the rush got a little too intense, even for a hyper Type A like me. I realised that I love challenges and change…but that you cannot underestimate the importance of those comforting constants in your life too. You need to feel grounded sometimes.

Being a childless divorcee can feel like a weightless state: on the one hand there’s a sense of freedom and lightness that come from knowing you only have yourself to look after day-to-day. I can live spontaneously, moment-to-moment. If I want to pack a bag and disappear at the drop of a hat, I will. I can (and do!) stay out dancing all night long, without having to pre-plan months in advance – or even make a phone call to say I’ll be late. Whatever!

However, when you don’t have a family you can also feel disconnected, unworthy, insignificant; shut out from a society that values parenting above any other role. Consequently, you’re like a balloon floating on the breeze…and sometimes you get caught on the branch of a tree. You realise you’re not invincible after all; balloons are fragile things.

Recently, I’ve had a series of challenges. It can be easy to think: “What are the chances of this (good thing) happening?” “Surely I won’t win this competition/get picked for this opportunity?” Why bother? What’s the point? Throughout my life, I’ve often defied the odds…but not always in a good way! What are the chances of being infertile? 1 in 7. I am an infertile woman. I defied the odds. What are the chances of IVF working? Well, only 25% on average per cycle…but after 3 cycles 75% of women have succeeded. I had 3 cycles. I did not succeed. Again, I defied the odds. I am now one of the 1.5 women in 10 who don’t have children. What percentage of women experience premature menopause? One in 100. Guess what? It was me. I was the one in 100.

So then I started thinking: “What were the chances of all those statistics going against me?” “How come I fell out of the Unlucky Tree and hit every branch on the way down?” But then I also said to myself: “Hang on. If the odds can go against you in a bad way, surely they can work in your favour too?” What if I start going about my life by trying to do things that I would not have thought possible before?

I started to put myself out there a bit more. Someone nominated me for a blog award, so I filled in the application. I was selected as a finalist…one of a handful of over 4000 entrants. (The awards are next month – wish me luck! .) Then I applied for various opportunities…and have been chosen by brands for lots of partnerships and exciting projects. I’m defying the odds – in a good way!

The point I’m trying to make with this blog is this: life is a game of snakes and ladders. Sometimes you are climbing that ladder, feeling fearless…and then you’re suddenly knocked off course, sliding down the back of a huge snake. Your confidence takes a hit. But just when you think you’re destined to be writhing in the snake pit forever, suddenly you’ll see a chink of light and someone will chuck you a rope ladder. Don’t give up. There will be tons of snakes…but there are just as many ladders. You just have to hang in there and keep playing the game.

When I think to myself: “Why me?” I also think: “Why not me?” And that goes for good things as well as bad. Why shouldn’t I be selected? I used to hear the expression “Your number’s up” as a negative statement: you’ve had it, game over. Now I think of that phrase in terms of being chosen or winning something. (The lottery maybe? That’d be nice.) So maybe this year my number will be up: I might win something; I’ll get chosen; it might be my turn. I’ve defied the odds before, in so many ways.

Perhaps I’ll be in the 1% again.

But this time in a good way.

(As I was writing this it also occurred to me: today is my birthday. I was once a sperm who defied the odds to get to the egg. The chances of that sperm being me were about one in 300 million. If you’re reading this, you’ve already defied the odds. Now get out there and keeping defying them. You got this!)

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (lifeabirdseyeview)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Your Number’s Up! appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

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Ahh, September: the start of a new school year. As January marks a new calendar year, time to take stock and outline your plans for the next twelve months, so September signifies new beginnings in academic terms.  I can clearly remember my own annual Back To School moments as though they were yesterday: the starchy new shirt, the too-big blazer (“you’ll grow into it”), the pleated grey skirt that I’d roll up at the waist in a desperate attempt to sassy-up the drab regulation attire.

The long, lazy days of summer would inevitably come juddering to a close, as parents up and down the land drew a collective sigh of relief that the constant bickering between siblings would at last be interspersed with peace, as we all trotted off in opposite directions to lessons. But before the great exodus back to class could begin, it was time to turn our attention towards preparing for the new year ahead; the obligatory shopping trip with mum to purchase shiny new shoes and the pristine pencil case which came to signify new beginnings.

Later, when I was due to start a new job or attend an important course, I’d make a similar pilgrimage to the shopping centre (albeit without my mother in tow) to coo over the stationery section: admiring the slinky lines of a sleek fountain pen, or the newness of a multipack of mini-highlighters.

Half the time I never actually used these new purchases; often just knowing my pristine satchel contained such gloriously useful items was enough to give me the confidence I needed on my nerve-racking first day. There’s something strangely therapeutic about caressing new writing implements, before carefully replacing them in their immaculate newly-purchased receptacle. The smell of a new pencil case still takes me back to the days of being a knock-kneed angsty tweenager; so evocative is that synthetic, plasticy aroma.

It’s more than the pencil case itself; what I really love about those new school supplies is what they stand for: a fresh new start. When you open the cover of a pure white notebook you get the sense that anything is possible. The future is not yet written. That blank page can be daunting: how will you fill it? It can also be exciting, as you wield the pen like a weapon; you are the master of your destiny, the hero of your story.

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When the clock struck midnight last New Year’s Eve, I had no idea that within a matter of months I’d be realising my long-supressed dream of writing, and that said writing would be read by other human beings. It would be published in a glossy magazine, and then weekly in an online newspaper. If someone had told me then that some of my articles would be read by thousands of people and shared worldwide, leading to podcasts and interviews, I’d have laughed out loud…before shrugging off such ridiculous claims with a dismissive flick of the wrist. Yet here I am, nine months on, doing just that, without having made any steps towards this point until mid-February this year. I can hardly believe my good fortune.

Instead of hitting my 40th birthday feeling past my prime, I unexpectedly found myself feeling newly invigorated, and excited for the future like never before. For the first time in a long time I feel in control of my destiny, as though all the tough times I experienced during my thirties were preparing me for this very moment.

My point? Never feel like it’s too late to do anything in life. Famous fashion designer Vera Wang designed her first dress at 40; Samuel L Jackson got his big break at 43. Morgan Freeman was 52 when he landed his first major role.


All the while your blood is pumping, your heart is beating and your thoughts are lucid, there is time.

If miraculous things can happen to little ol’ me, they can happen to you too. Your future is a crisp white page, just waiting to be written on. If you make a mistake, so what? Be bold, write in pen…that’s what Tippex was invented for.

So go out and buy some new pens and a pencil case, if that’s what it takes. Turn over the cover of that brand new notebook: it’s time to write a new chapter in your life story – the most exciting one yet…

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Happiness Is…A New Pencil Case appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

“Sheesh, you’re looking old today, girlfriend!” “You’ve really shoehorned yourself into those skinny jeans, eh fatty?”

“I wouldn’t bother applying for that job mate, you’d never get it.”

With friends like that, who needs enemies, huh? Only these are not the words of a two-faced mate, a frenemy who offers soothing words of support when we’re down whilst secretly feeling a certain frisson of Schadenfreude. Oh no, this is something far more harmful, crippling us on a daily basis. These are words we say to ourselves. The inner voice sabotaging our everyday actions, personal development and general happiness.

Of course it’s good to have an inner voice when it comes to conscience, intuition, instinct. You need to question the wisdom of your actions, have a quiet word with yourself now and again. But what if the inner dialogue between you and your party-pooper psyche becomes more of a battle of wills, a slanging match? One in which the running commentary of negativity often wins?

It’s time to pull yourself up.

It’s time to sprinkle salt on the slug of self-doubt.

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As women, we’re adept at cheerleading others, encouraging them through the peaks and troughs of life, whilst simultaneously wrestling our own inner critic. But in order to be at our best and get the most out of life, we need to cut ourselves some slack, body-slam that inner bitch and see the good in ourselves, too.

You know those days when everything’s going well and you’re buzzing with excitement – say, the last day at work before a long-awaited holiday? You’re smiling, the day flows, your mood is contagious and all is right in your world, the inner voice cheerfully humming along to your tune. Even the mounting pile in your in-tray or an irritated customer can’t shake your merriment.

Wouldn’t you love to bottle that lighter-than-air feeling to save for those dark days, the ones where you wake up to pelting rain with a stiff neck, a black mood and are telling yourself it’s going to be “one of those days” before you’ve even got past the front door?

With practise, I’m told, there is a way. The first part is awareness: recognising when you’re self-sabotaging, then consciously doing something positive to change your mindset, be it exercise, listening to uplifting music, meeting a friend, calling your mum (good old mum!) or immersing yourself in a hobby you’re passionate about (why do you think I write?).

There will always be tough days, but they will be far easier with a Tigger bouncing about in your head, rather than a downcast Eeyore. I know from personal experience that if you cannot love yourself, it will become nigh-on impossible to love anyone else: sadness permeates every pore, wrecking your health and ruining relationships. You’re constantly on the edge, a tightly coiled spring, and the smallest perceived slight will make you snap. It’s a miserable way to live.

So try telling yourself you can. Put yourself out there. If it doesn’t work, whatever it is, at least you tried. When you’re feeling happy in yourself, you have spare happiness to pass on. You really do get what you give. If you speak sharply to someone, it’s hardly surprising that you get the exact same tone back. If you’re calm, honest, humble, others respond in kind.

If someone compliments you, a simple “thanks!” will suffice. Don’t question it or deflect the praise by shrugging it off, embarrassed, babbling something to the contrary. Absorb it’s warmth like rays of summer sunshine on your face and use the energy that comes from it to spur you on.

Having accepted the compliment, pay it forward. If someone looks great, tell them. Praise someone for a job well done, or message someone you admire to let them know.  When you’re in a good mood, people are attracted to you, which in turn boosts you further.  All these little sparks of positive energy will have a cumulative effect until suddenly you find you have a fire in your belly, strong enough to grab life by the gonads once more.

Obviously I can only speak for women, but I’m not sure men suffer from such fun-numbing neuroses. Even with a paunch, balding and more wrinkles than a Shar-Pei puppy, they seem to look in the mirror and see a Greek god gazing adoringly back at them. It’s like they have reverse body dysmorphia.

Take Peter Stringfellow as a case in point, confidently strutting about in his micro-Speedos on the beach for the tabloids’ paps. I’m sure he hadn’t spent the preceding hour grabbing the flab and bemoaning his bod in the hotel mirror, before slipping on a cover-up and carefully positioning himself on the sunbed at the most flattering angle, stiff as a board as he imagines the other sun-worshippers silently judging him from behind their oversized sunnies.

The recent passing of the universally-loved  Mohammad Ali has thrown his amazing life back into the spotlight, his inspiring quotes cropping up all over the news and social media. The stand-out personality traits which fuelled his success were a) dogged self-belief coupled with b) a sparkling sense of humour; borderline hubris offset by an innate ability to laugh at himself.

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A couple of years ago, I’d split from my husband and partner of fifteen years, having endured years of unsuccessful fertility treatment and the accompanying sense of failure and self-loathing. Meanwhile my friends were in long-term relationships or married, almost all had children and I was 37 years old, separated and living alone for the first time in my life in an eerily silent house. I’d hit rock-bottom and my confidence was at an all-time low.

After a short period of licking my wounds, I knew I had to take action to change my situation. I got a tattoo in Latin, which says “Fortune Favours The Brave,” wrapped around my torso. A bit naff? Maybe. But whenever I wanted to wimp out, I saw the tattoo and it spurred me on, even just to do small things like go to the cinema or a restaurant alone. You can’t have that emblazoned on your bod then act like a pussy, eh?

I stepped down from a stressful role, took a sabbatical and went travelling around Thailand on my own. I threw myself into the dating scene after 15 years (which was a real eye-opener, let me tell you) and met a new man.

I returned to work in a lesser role, prioritising happiness over money, and volunteered helping children in Costa Rica. I started writing regularly and sharing it with you all, knowing that it would mean exposing my innermost thoughts to the world and the criticism that may entail, but it would be following my passion to write. I got an article published (the first I ever submitted) and have you, dear Reader, following my blog, for which I am extremely grateful. Thank you so much

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Of course, there are far braver souls than me out there. I’m not claiming to be some self-help guru, and believe me, I’m often riddled with self-doubt. But one thing I’ve learnt as I get older is that if you don’t believe in yourself, you can’t expect anyone else to. Furthermore, everyone else is far too busy worrying about their own shortcomings and daily dramas to take much notice of yours.

No one knows what the hell we’re doing here, everyone’s just winging it and trying to get through this thing we call “life” as best they can. None of us are getting out of this alive, so we may as well help each other along, try to realise our dreams and have as much fun as we can along the way.

They say “Life is a journey, not a destination.”

Amen to that.

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This article has also appeared at Huffington Post UK.

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Sprinkle Salt On The Slug Of Self Doubt appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.