Love From Your Cheerleader Self...

I love letters. I grew up in an era when you had pen pals (some of whom you'd never met) living in destinations as far flung as, er, France - which from Manchester actually is not, but seemed so to my 11 year old self. Back when you didn't text your mates in class, or snapchat them, or whatever, but passed old-school bits of paper back and forth down the rows or surreptitiously to others in the recipient's class in the hallways.

I still write letters to one friend in particular. Sure, we could SKYPE. We could use the phone. And sometimes we do and are reminded, as we try and wrangle our respective kids at the same time, why we don't and go back to letters.

Letters that now are written in several instalments as we add bit by bit in the three minutes we have free while one kid is on the loo and the other miraculously happy in the Jolly Jumper having forgotten momentarily it's a form of constraint and they actually hate it. I've usually got the latest letter I'm writing in my nappy bag. You know, for things like the holy grail of two kids asleep simultaneously in their car seats when I pull into the driveway. Because if that happens, I am not moving.

Despite the fact we're closer to 40 than 14, these letters are still written on Postman Pat/Care Bear paper, and get stickered, drawn on, coloured in and the like. Somehow, they always seem to arrive on the days I need them most too. Yep, I've a thing for letters.

So, when I saw that an exercise in the 'Declarations of You' book I'm working through was to write a letter to me, a year from now, I was keen to do it. Super keen.

It's not a new concept. I'm pretty sure I've made many classes of mine do it it some form or another. I even wrote a whole book about three girls getting the letters they'd written to themselves aged 16 as they turned 30. (Posted to them after all that time by their old English teacher who was clearly far more organised and invested than I ever was. Still, as Mary Ann Shaffer said, men [and presumably women and teachers] '...are more interesting in books than they are in real life.' And organised and remarkable no doubt). But until now, it wasn't an exercise I'd done myself. So the other day, I sat down and did just that.

The task was to write a letter to me this exact time next year all about what I'd achieved this year. To imagine my life in February 2019 and all the goodness that had happened to me. Now, to be honest, as a cynic, and feeling like achieving anything at the moment beyond 'keeping kids alive' is above and beyond, it wasn't an easy task to do. Not at first anyway.

When I sat down to write and all I could see were the hurdles. The lack of time, lack of sleep, lack of money and lack of knowhow to get the business to where I wanted to be. The lack of practical support on a day to day basis to allow me to step away, regroup and be the kind of mum I want to be - as opposed to the current sweary, slightly batshit one I am most of the time.

But, then I was guided back to my old beliefs. The ones I used to have when I had time to think about and the world in ways more profound than, 'is there a load in the washer that needs hanging up?'. I happened to flick back a couple of pages in the book and read an interview I'd skipped. In it, there were two phrases that resonated with me and allowed me to actually get on and write the letter. (Yes, I know, you shouldn't skip bits. But whatever, I'm short on time).

The first was: 'I am held in a mystery much larger than myself. [...] I am not alone; [...] the Universe is working with me on making my dreams come true'.

The second: 'I believe that my intentions are a powerful declaration both to myself and the Universe. Speaking them out loud [...] sets something in motion, a kind of wave of energy that I have to be ready to ride...'

These two extracts really stuck a chord. They were, are, exactly what I truly believe (honestly, I do, just under the Northern cynicism). They reminded me that if I actually dared to think it, to hope for it, to dream it, all on the way to maybe believing it, it might happen. Then, I was able to actually sit and write.

I congratulated myself on all the stuff I'd done, learnt, achieved. And I didn't stop there. I told myself that, in 2019 I needed to make sure I gave back too. To be more generous of spirit and energy and start to find again the path of connection I seem to have strayed from. Yeah - turns out when I get everything I want, I'm pretty generous. Go me ;)

Now, there's a huge part of me that believes, on the 5th February next year, when I read the letter, I'm going to just think - 'Well, yep. Bollocks all of that got done'. BUT, hey. I'm a work in progress and so is my life. And it felt good to tell myself I'd achieved some stuff. Even if, I actually haven't... Yet.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think there's a load of washing in the machine to go on the line.

#Post #Letters #Belief #SelfHelp