HERE we are again. The end of another year.
I feel, once again as if I’m about to promise to turn over a new leaf in the New Year.
Like when my stepfather would pull me into a side room and read my school report in silence as I watched for his response on tenterhooks.
I’m not much of a NYE person — my dad passed away on this day 27 years ago.
But there is intense pressure to “have the best time” when all I want to do is go to bed by 9pm and wake up tomorrow in the new year.
I will doubtless, again, vow to make positive changes — turn over that same old leaf and shape myself into a better person.
I don’t hold with New Year’s resolutions. They’re a load of old cobblers.
They’re pretentious and attention-seeking.
They are badges of honour people wear as part of their virtue-signalling.
The only time in my life I made one was when I promised to look at the price of vegetables before I took them to the till — so I didn’t go crazy in the veg department.
And I couldn’t even stick to that very long.
I can’t stand the New Year dieters. The dry Januaries.
The smokers who have quit and love to hector everyone else about their virtuosity.
Let’s face it, no one wants to start a diet in January, the grimmest month of the year.
And why would you want to give up booze for that cold, miserable month when the days are still cold and dark?
I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t give up smoking or drinking.
But maybe wait until March when the struggle will not be quite as insurmountable.
Having said all that, as we entered 2022, we had hoped for brighter times after two years of pandemic and lockdowns.
There was no way any of us could have predicted the relentless misery that’s come our way this year.
So, surely 2023 will bring better times?
I don’t mind admitting this year has been very challenging on a personal front.
Lots of domestic changes in my life which have rocked the boat.
Some of it was to be expected — like another Ungrateful leaving home.
Other things were impossible to anticipate.
And by the time I was done with the navel-gazing, I looked up only to find that the world around me was also falling apart.
It only served to compound my own issues.
I’ve been on a journey of discovery the past couple of years — trying to work out what I want out of life as a 55-year-old woman whose children are nearly all grown up, where my domestic role has diminished and my original family has transformed.
Then there have been the hormones, which have thankfully now begun to loosen their grip on my anxiety, my emotions and general state of mind.
There is a lot of negative talk about this stage a woman my age has to endure.
I’ve been very much part of that conversation but I feel like I’m now entering a new phase which brings more clarity.
I have a greater sense of purpose and direction.
I feel wiser and freer because I’m finally establishing a new relationship with myself.
Discovering what it is I want but more importantly what it is I actually need.
This newfound lucidity ironically comes from a greater impatience with people who waste my time.
But on the flipside, I’ve developed a greater tolerance for people who are different to me.
It’s like the status quo deep in my soul is being shaken up.
I’ve developed more fearlessness than I ever possessed, perhaps because I’m less concerned about pleasing others.
All of us take a different amount of time to discover ourselves and my journey has been a marathon.
This does not mean I’ve reached my destination.
I shall not be marching into 2023 with certainty thinking I’m the cock of the walk.
But rather, I shall tiptoe in, armed with the knowledge and the dignity I’ve had to sweep up from the floor over the past couple of years, and I will try to put my newfound wisdom into practice.
One thing is for sure, I’m determined to establish stronger boundaries around me — and, this time, to stick to them.
I’m starting to know how I would like my life to pan out and it’s been really useful to have spent the last two years in the wilderness of singledom.
It’s not always made for comfortable reflection but you learn nothing from only ever succeeding, right?
There have been times when the wheels have come off.
When my emotions were in tatters and I felt fractured and unable to go on.
When my focus and stability lost their way.
When parts of my heart were broken and the pieces fell by the wayside.
But in a glorious act of defiance I made a superb purchase in the run-up to Christmas – a hot glue gun.
So, the first thing I’m going to do tonight is to glue myself together and then I will be ready to take on 2023.
And I hope I can make it a good one.
And you, too, dear, loyal readers.
A WOMAN has caused a stir – a furious debate on one of these mums’ forums – by having the audacity to admit that she might only shower two or three times a week.
She has two young children so maybe time is not always on her side. We’ve all been there.
People called her disgusting and said she must stink.
But her defence was that showering more than that was wasteful.
And she’s right, of course, although I know how much you Brits love a bath.
You have a tradition of wallowing in your own dirt while using up a ton or two of water.
Showering is much more economical and surely better for hygiene.
But I was always told by my dad that we have essential oils on our skin, and it is good if we don’t constantly wash them off (this from a man whose idea of doing the laundry was to wear his shirts while he showered).
So I’m kinda with the “disgusting” woman who is a tad shower-shy.
I find showering a damn bore and time-consuming.
I don’t shower every day. And I still smell of roses.
IF YOU need a heart-warming story to round this year off, how about this?
Dutch-based supermarket Jumbo has created a Kletskassa – a special till queue for those customers who are not in a hurry and want to stop for a chat – in 200 of its stores.
In this fast-moving, sensory-overloaded world, this is a charming idea.
The run-up to Christmas was mayhem in the supermarkets, with clashing trolleys and people elbowing each other out of the way without consideration or pause for thought.
Especially for the older generation.
One of the great joys I have when going to my local supermarket is stopping to chat to people, smiling, taking time to help someone else and finding out a bit about their life.
It doesn’t take much, does it?
And I think if we all did it, we would not only slow ourselves down and make the world a bit nicer but we might actually make the whole food shopping experience a lot nicer.
And who’s not to say that your local Tesco or Waitrose isn’t going to become a new dating location? . .
THE bubbly and hilarious Josie Gibson, who shot to fame when she won Big Brother many moons ago, claims there is no room in her life for a man.
She told The Sun on Thursday that she intends to wait until her four-year-old son, Reggie, is 15 before she considers dating again.
By then, Josie will be 48, which is by no means over the hill, but it seems such a waste of a great woman who has so much to offer.
I respect and admire her dedication to her son.
But it brings the risk of stopping growing as a person in your own right.
And the longer you leave it, the harder it is to re-enter the world of dating.
Not to mention the fact everyone has needs and I can’t see how it will serve either Josie or her little cherub to remain a party of two.
Many of us do it, of course – we parent on our own and put our children first at every turn. I certainly have.
But I have now discovered it’s almost more challenging to reintegrate into a couple life because there is often resistance from those who are used to being at the top of the list of priorities – the Ungratefuls.
Dip your toe in the water, Josie. You’re a great catch.
AS if we needed to hear it officially, a new study has now established that women do, in fact, have more empathy than men.
It’s always been one of those anecdotal facts that women are often more understanding of the feelings of others.
We are presumed to be the softer sex and must therefore be nicer and kinder.
This is all flattering but it doesn’t come without problems. Because it has meant culturally we judge women more harshly.
If a woman commits a crime, is cruel to her children or is driven at work, we will mark her out as cold and heartless.
If a man did the same, we accept it is because that’s just how men are.
But there was a stand-out point in the study which was that there is a small decline in cognitive empathy as we get older.
Which tells me that we become grumpier and less patient with others as we age and maybe start to care less. That isn’t always a bad thing.
