How I reduced our rubbish to (almost) nothing (well about a 10th full every 3 weeks, but that's not so catchy!!).

This was a pilgrimage I took last year at Imbolc. I found using the energy of the rising spring was the right time to think about the new year and to let go of some of the things that were no longer serving me. 

I can very gratefully say, that I am now almost three years post hospital treatment for cancer. I’m healthy and I’m okay. I appear from the outside, perhaps, to be totally fine moving through life as before. However, this could not be further from the truth. Barely a day goes by when I don’t think about my cancer experience, often getting consumed by it. The thing that I’ve recently come to realise is that an illness, like this, is actually often initiatory. I have and I am going through a huge transformation, an initiation back into life and it looks like nothing’s happening from the outside. I have also found that there is little acknowledgement, understanding or support for this process. That’s not to say I’ve had no support, what it is to say, though, is that there has been no long term holding of my experience from the wider society. I haven’t been able to communicate this very well thus far, for I only just realised it myself thanks to reading ‘Descent and Rising’ by Carly Mountain. In this book Carly cleverly uses the ancient myth of Inanna alongside modern day real-life stories to show the descent into the underworld often felt by people including those who have illnesses. Up until this point, I simply thought something was wrong with me, that I was failing to recover emotionally.

So, this daily onslaught of emotions manifests for me in many ways. Mostly, it takes a lot of headspace, meaning not a lot left for anything else. It also takes a lot of energy as I try to hold the tension (a phrase I’m so grateful for from ‘Wild Power’ by Alexandra Pope and Sjarnie Hugo Wurlitzer) as I try to hold the enormity of my feelings, feel them, not shy away from them, acknowledge them and behold myself alongside functioning as a human being and as a mother. Emotions of anger, grief, sadness and guilt flow through me on a regular basis. I try to think of them as boats passing me on a river (a technique I learnt by attending a course run by Force Cancer Charity); I know they will go past and I won’t feel like that forever. But the boats can turn round quite quickly and sail back up the river, demanding constant attention.

Thankfully, my cancer-related fatigue stopped around the end of 2021, this level of fatigue is another thing not widely understood in our society. It was debilitating making it almost impossible to look after my children. However, the fatigue was replaced with being tired almost all the time. There’s a difference in that the fatigue never got better with rest but the tiredness can sometimes be eased. Fast forward to June 2023 (when I wrote this blog post), quite a considerable time has passed but I’m tired a lot of the time. I can’t plan much, I wouldn’t feel safe driving for more than about 30 minutes, I have to base my days around the essential tasks and by that I simply mean ensuring we are fed and clothed. In between this I rest. 

A hard learnt thing is rest. It also takes up so much energy to deconstruct the capitalist norms I’ve internalised about my value being linked to productivity. Rest is not simply stopping, the mind needs to be stilled as well. This relearning to rest takes a lot of headspace and energy. I’ve recently read ‘Wise Power’, another excellent book by Alexandra Pope and Sjarnie Hugo Wurlitzer and learnt the term ‘snudging’ which is what I now base my days around, doing just enough to get by (whilst being aware I miss people’s birthdays, lose touch with friends, stay partly in the underworld as there isn’t enough energy to emerge and this in turn creates grief which takes so much energy). This is hard, extremely painful, overwhelming and lonely work for me, however, I now can see it as an initiatory process with gold at the end. I’ve stripped back so much of my life as I entered the underworld and I’m now slowly finding new, boundaried ways of emerging. 

I feel, to be honest, that I’ll rise just in time to hit another initiatory process, menopause. At aged 44 when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, menopause seemed a long way off, not even remotely on the horizon, now aged 47 it’s within sight. Maybe, I’m already in it (I’m taking oestrogen suppressing medication so I could be), almost everything written in ‘Wise Power’ a book about menopause sings to my experience but this could be because the initiation I'm experiencing is archetypally like other initiatory processes. I would say, for sure, that trying to recover emotionally from cancer merges with perimenopause, a lack of energy having my oestrogen (medically) supressed along with parenting without a village. It’s a difficult mix. However, on the surface, in some respects, I carry on with everyday life: I wash the clothes, hang them to dry, do some work (though not what I was doing before), pick up the kids, make packed lunches, clear up after dinner etc. But this is just snudging, doing enough to get by whilst trying to trust that being in this unknown is okay, that I will fully emerge back into life, a new life, a much more authentic life with more ease and joy. I get glimpses but, of course, it’s not the linear process we have been taught to expect. 

This is hidden work going on, not just for me, but for others experiencing illness, the initiation into parenthood, menopause and other initiatory processes. But in the hiding, wider understanding is lost. But in the telling, the teller/the sharer, puts their vulnerability in the hands of others, unless they can simply behold themselves. So, that leaves me to enquire can I see myself clearly enough, can I say this is who I am and how I am for the greater good of the wider society gaining some understanding and for me being my authentic self? Or do I just leave this as a file on my laptop, gathering metaphorical dust as the risk of being vulnerable is too big right now?

 

Well, the dust gathered for six months, I recently received a PTSD diagnosis related to my cancer experience and I snudged my way to this point. I decided to share this now in case anyone else is in need of the strategy of snudging but also to say this is me, this is how it is. This is my truth.

 

 

 

Are you like me, obsessively watching your smart meter and despairing at how quickly the cost of electricity and gas goes up throughout the day? Energy prices rising (despite the energy price cap they are still likely to be more than last winter) and the mercury dropping certainly doesn’t help. With a long time to wait until the balmy (or at least warmer) days of summer coupled with the cost of living crisis, how can we keep warm without breaking the bank?

 

Sitting here on a chilly November morning with no heating currently on in my house, one easy, and I know a bit obvious tip, is to dress warmly. Layers really help in trapping air and insulating your body. I also have a blanket to hand and will pop that over me when I’m stationary, maybe watching TV or whilst working from home. It makes sense, to heat yourself first, rather than trying to heat whole rooms or houses. In addition to layers of clothing and blankets, hot water bottles, hand warmers and electric blankets can all keep you toasty and cosy when you are relaxing, or perhaps like me, working from home.

 

This, of course, is not enough but is a starting point. Once you put your central heating on, the cost to you and our planet in terms of carbon emissions really ramps up. So, what’s the most energy efficient way to run your heating? Firstly, turn the thermostat down! The average is set at 23°C which is actually the temperature of a warm summers day; T-shirt weather in fact. For every degree you turn your thermostat down you should reduce your bills by about 10%. You probably won’t even notice a degree difference in terms of temperature. For some people, who are less mobile or unwell, they may need to keep the temperature higher but for many turning the thermostat down and adding a layer of clothing is possible.

 

Other really simple things include shutting doors. I am the door police in my household, forever asking for doors to be shut! It really makes a difference to the warmth of the room. Draught excluders placed at the bottom of doors help too. Simply make one with old tights, filled with worn out or odd socks (though you could just wear the socks, who cares if they’re odd?). Also, shutting your curtains when it’s dark is another free way to save energy.

 

So, you’ve warmed up yourself, turned down your thermostat and done some simple things to insulate your house and reduce draughts, what about how long to have your heating on? Again, this may vary depending on an individual’s health and mobility. However, if you are active, getting up in the morning and going out to work or out and about it is more energy efficient to heat your home when you need it, i.e. when it is cold rather than to leave it on constantly on a lower setting. So, set it to go on in the morning, before you get up, then make sure it’s off before you leave the house. Then set it to come on in the evening but off at night when you are in bed. Obviously, there may be other times when you need it on, so pop it on to warm the house up if you need to but don’t leave it on constantly. My husband and I both work from home and we follow these ideas but still get cold when doing things like writing this newspaper column! We might put the heating on to take the chill off, say at lunchtime, drink lots of hot cups of tea and get up and do something active between the sedentary tasks sat at a computer.

 

These are just a few simple ideas. However, if they’re not enough and you are struggling to pay your energy bills you may be eligible for financial assistance. The government offers a range of benefits, grants, and schemes to help people pay their energy bills. You can find more information on the GOV.UK website.

 

As I’m writing I can feel my sock and slipper clad feet getting a bit chilly so time to shut the laptop, get up and get a warm snack. Mug of tomato soup anyone?

It’s the end of 2023 and this is what I’ve done: As the year began and people celebrated with “Happy New Years!”, fireworks and revelling, I was tucked up in bed all cosy and warm with the intention of doing things my way from now on! New Year, to me, is not a new start, it’s simply the continuation of winter and winter means rest and dreaming, tending to the seeds; for in the dark they are nourished and will germinate. I held fast when others were starting the new year with intention. I just started it slow. As January ended and the Celtic festival of Imbolc took place in February I planted these seeds and set some intentions to grow throughout the spring and summer.

 

My Intentions:

I will connect with nature and I will listen both to the natural world and to myself. I will live an authentic life and follow my instincts, leaning in to whether something is a clear “Yes” or “No”. I will act for people and the web of life. I will nourish my heart and soul.

It was one of those ‘it was meant to be moments’, I was sat in a park for the summer meeting of Mother’s Who Make , talking about a recent online course I’d been doing when, due to that, someone else mentioned how much she thinks I’d like the Write on Changemakers Facebook group. So, once home, I joined the group and the following day a post appeared at the top of my newsfeed about the last remaining place on their retreat. It sounded perfect and I knew, if I wanted to go I’d need to push myself out of my comfort zone and act fast!

 So, I secured my place, got on with the rest of the summer holiday and when September arrived it was time to start thinking about the retreat! Looking at the programme which included: campfires, foraged nettle soup and solo writing on a beach, I knew I’d made a good decision and pushed the thought that I’d have to write whilst there out of my mind!

 I arranged train travel and took the slow route up one side of the Exe estuary and back down the other until I got to the nearby town of Totnes where I had arranged a pick-up. Somebody I didn't know giving me a lift set up the tone for the entire weekend, which was a literal and metaphorical 'picking up' as well as warm, friendly and inclusive. 

 We arrived at Slapton and found our way to meet up with facilitator’s Max and Sophie, hugs aplenty between those who knew each other and those who didn’t before I was shown to my room, a dormitory, just like school residentials, all to myself! I knew I’d need some space and that’s what I had with a choice of bunk beds and no one to look after all weekend. I was happy and nervous all at once! I started making up my bed and laying out a few things, so that this room felt like home, and I could hear noise coming from the corridor, it was the rooms being ‘shaken out’ and I was asked if I wanted this for my room too of which I agreed and, at that point, decided to just go with the weekend and be open to what might happen.

 6pm was our first writing session. What I loved so much was the consent-based approach to this and all parts of the retreat. I could have chosen not to attend the session; I could have attended but not written anything. This was all clearly and explicitly explained and made me think of all the other times when it was the opposite (almost every work and educational setting I’ve ever been in). On reflection, I thought that really, I could have made this choice many times in the past, but I hadn’t, I’d always gone along with what I was asked, usually without much question. This says a lot about our culture, the coercive relationships and the being the ‘good girl’, ‘people- pleaser’ that I had clearly internalised.

Anyway, back to the retreat. The writing provocation was “Who are you and why are you here?”. This seemed like an easy enough, yet still potentially juicy question. So, I returned to my room got out my new notebook, especially for the retreat (new to me, but once belonging to a member of my household, still with their drawing on the cover) and wrote. Just wrote whatever was in my head until there was no more. Then stopped. Had a bit of a rest and joined the others for dinner.

 A shared dinner of mushroom risotto, which happens to be one of my favourites but whatever it was I know I’d feel so grateful to turn up and just eat! No buying of food, preparing of food, laying the table, gathering people; just a plate, knife, fork and glass to wash-up at the end. Bliss!

 I didn’t know most people, so, I sat and chatted to whoever happened to be sat with me at the table. Such fabulous, amazing people brought together through an interest in writing and a desire to make changes in whatever way they were called to. I chatted through dinner and was only just ready for the evening session. A circle around a campfire (if you wanted to attend, of course). We were going to have the opportunity to introduce ourselves, so I ripped out the pages I’d written on in my notebook, put on a warm jumper, coat and a hat and headed out into the dark.

The privilege of being here, first thing on a Monday morning. The emptiness. The people have gone: the day-trippers, the picnickers, sandcastle makers and sun-bathers. Those from the human world that remain are the hardy swimmers, the determined joggers, the forced out by their hound dog-walkers and me. We’re here to embrace the season, not fair-weather seaside goers. We are here, present and alive. This is a privilege not available to all and for some, even local people like me, the journey here has been long. This freedom and joy have been preceded by pain and an awakening. The transformation is here, I step into it, into an authentic life. I have felt all the feelings, I have leant into them and let them sit with me and walk with me in this place. As the world turns and autumn is with us, I embrace it, thank goodness there is some certainty. The emptiness of the beach reminds me of my need for solitude, I think, but no it’s not that its authenticity. Not to be in the crowd but to be discerning and be with those who nourish me. It’s okay to be part of the few not the masses.

 

The tide is high, smoothing the sand and blurring the edges. This season is washing away what no longer serves me. I see it going out to sea. The sky is grey, filled with clouds as if from a watercolour palette. Grey and white smudged together into one. The sea mirrors the sky, as always, a liquid silver. In this grey I acknowledge the work I have done facing my darkness, my shadow side. I know this contrasts with the warmth in my life and I am grateful. Then all of a sudden, the light bursts through the clouds and the grey turns to blue, the most perfect of perfect sky blues. The clouds break up into fluffy cotton wool and the sun is so bright I can no longer look. But I trust it is there and always has been.

 

Life can be like this; starting the working week on a beach, tasting the sweet jam and being filled with awe and wonder. What is autumn teaching you?

Monday morning can't be bothered to have a shower but don't want to stink! Quick wash of armpits over the sink. Bar of soap is all that's needed. If you know me, you'll know I quit those stupid plastic wash scrunchies years ago! Thank goodness for that, it's not just plastic I've saved, maybe I've saved my life too. As quick a wash as it was, it still detected a lump! Am I sure? Is it definitely there? There's definitely something, very small, but something. Clothes thrown on and out the door on the school run. Day carries on. School pick-up before I know it and then a drive to Exeter. The kids need clothes, but the Coronavirus rate is rising. A second wave is on its way so better to go now.

 

Tuesday decide to ignore the lump. I did prod and poke quite a bit yesterday. Perhaps I made it inflamed, bigger than it really was. Carry on regardless.

 

Wednesday, back from school run. Really must just check that lump. In bathroom, bra off. Arm down, nothing. Arm up, there it is. It's real, it's there. Husband working from home. Mention the lump as the kettle boils to set up the working day with a warming cuppa. We talk about it. He's concerned, I'm worried. He has a feel, and he can feel it too. Shit!

 

I need to see a doctor. I don't want to see a doctor, but I must, this is not a time for hesitation. I phone the surgery. The phone is answered by a machine, stock answer but now it explains about what to do if you have symptoms of Coronavirus. I start crying and put the phone down. Perhaps making an appointment via the website will be easier. It's possible but you have to go into the surgery (which is not advised due to Covid) to get a pin number to access online services. I'll have to phone. I listen to the pre-recorded message. I don't cry. I wait patiently in the queue. I'm currently in position 3 in the queue! I wait. I’m still in position 3 in the queue, position 2, position 1. Eventually I get through. I ask to see a doctor. I'm told, due to Covid, I can't see a doctor, but I can have an online appointment in 6 weeks. I do not simply say okay and make an appointment. Never do that. Say, just say, why you need to see a doctor NOW. "I've got a breast lump." I've got her attention. She still can't make an appointment I have to speak to the duty doctor. I hope the doctor rings before the kids are home. I hope the doctor doesn’t ring when I'm doing the school run. He rings just before I need to leave for school. So lovely and sympathetic, he's sorry I've got a lump. Now I'm worried, a doctor saying he's sorry that's got to be a bad sign. Appointment booked for the next day.

 

Sat in the waiting room, socially distanced from others I try not to cry all over my face mask. I was told by the duty doctor that it's extremely likely I'll be sent to the breast clinic. I am. I'm told by the GP nine in ten people who are referred are fine. Good odds but what about the 10% who aren't?

 

I wait for the post and the appointment to come through. It's quick. I'm told it should be and it's no need to worry. I have to go alone, due to Covid. I'm told to expect a long wait, that I could be there for four hours. I take a picnic, a book and a flask! I sit in the waiting room filling in a form asking me when my last period was and what family history of breast cancer I've got. I try to fill it in without anyone else seeing, despite the social distancing, it's embarrassing. This is surgical outpatients. I wonder what everyone else is here for, I hope they aren't Covid positive. Five minutes pass. I'm called in. I haven't finished my form. I'm asked to change into a weird gown. It's like a cape with velcro at the front but in thin, worn-looking, hospital fabric. I hide my bra under my pile of clothes which I place on top of my bag. You don't know if someone with the virus might have sat on this chair before me. The doctor asks me where the lump is. He examines me. He tells me where to go for my mammogram and ultrasound. He says it's unlikely, but I might need a biopsy. I know I won't as I've come to be told everything is ok. I get dressed. I'm given a brown envelope to take with me and I'm told to take the horrible gown. As I carry my coat, I try to hide the gown underneath, so embarrassing. I head in the vague direction I was told. This place is confusing. I find the stairs and head upstairs. At the top I wonder which way to go? Someone notices me and points me in the direction of the breast clinic. How does she know where I need to go? Is it written on my face? Are my boobs still out? A quick check confirms not! Ah the envelope clearly states: "Breast Clinic", embarrassing.

 

I get to the reception. I'm asked if my reusable face mask contains a filter. It doesn't. I'm asked to wear a single-use medical mask. I sit in the waiting room. A man waits too. His partner appears after being seen. She's older than me and wears a head scarf. I'm not supposed to be here. This is not the place for me. I've just got to have these two tests then I'll be out of here.

 

After a few minutes I'm taken into a changing room and asked to change back into the robe and to place my bag and clothes into a shopping basket. Once ready I wait and then I'm taken into a dimly lit room and asked to remove my robe. I stand, topless, and I'm told the mammogram will squash my breasts and that it's a bit uncomfortable. I stand near the machine, and I'm told to lean myself into it. "Not on your tip toes" I'm told. I try again. "Not on your tip toes". My breasts are squashed, I'm asked to stand in various positions as I'm squashed and photographed again and again. I remember this'll nearly be over. I'll soon be told everything's fine, and I can restart my life.

 

I put the robe back on and carry my shopping basket to a corridor where I sit. Along the corridor is a different older woman. She looks like she's been here before. I feel sorry for her. I'll soon be out of here! I go into another room. Lie on my side. Explain where the lump is. The doctor/nurse/I really don't know what her exact job is, though she seems nice and tells me her name, can't find the lump (good sign I think). I find it for her. She puts the familiar jelly stuff I remember from pregnancy scans and presses on my boob. Almost done, I think. However, she keeps pressing and harder (or so it seems). I know something is wrong. In what seems like a few seconds, but I'm sure is longer, I'm having a biopsy. I cry, endless tears. I say it's because I'm a big wimp (which is true) but it's also because I know this is serious. First a local anaesthetic, then another needle, which as it's removing some of my breast tissue sounds like a stapler. I'm warned of the sound in advance. I'm not in pain but I cry. She says this isn't necessarily bad news. A nurse dresses my wound. She's kind. I'm given a piece of paper telling me how to look after the wound once I get home. I'm taken back to the changing room and told to go back to the previous department. I cry. I remove my face mask whilst it's safe to do so. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose on my hankie. I secure it inside a plastic bag in my handbag and sanitise my hands. I get dressed and leave. I'm disorientated and can't remember the way back. No one offered to show me the way, no one notices me. I wonder how long I could go missing walking along this seemingly endless corridor before someone starts looking for me? I’m not even sure why I have to go back as I've been told I'll be given an appointment to get the results.

 

I find my way. I sit for a few minutes before being called in. It's constantly hard to fully hear what's said through the face mask of the person speaking but I'm sure he just said it's very likely to be bad news. I check "So you're saying it's very likely to be cancer?"

"Yes" he replies. I'm confused. He's got it wrong. I'm here to be told everything's fine. Perhaps he muddled me up with someone else. I cry. He says nothing. I ask about the risk to my sister and daughter's. He answers. I remember silence as I continue to cry. He gets a nurse and leaves. She sits with me. She says to let it all out and continue to cry and then it'll all be okay. I know it won't. I get a tissue and try to mop up the tears. She says they see lots of people here and that I'm in great hands, or words to that affect. She asks about my children. I think about telling them I have cancer. She says it's nearly half term. A half term that's now been ruined. I decide to leave. This sitting here crying is not helping, I've got to drive myself home. She compliments me on my top as I put my coat on. As I leave she says have a nice day.

 

 

If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know the diagnosis was breast cancer and you’ll also know I’m now free of cancer (physically, though the emotional healing is still a challenge). I’m sharing this here to encourage other people to check their breasts and to react quickly if you find something unusual:

• A lump or swelling  in the breast, upper chest or armpit
• A change to the skin , such as puckering or dimpling
• A change in the colour of the breast  – the breast may look red or inflamed
• A nipple change , for example it has become pulled in (inverted)
• Rash or crusting around the nipple
• Unusual liquid (discharge) from either nipple
• Changes in size or shape of the breast

I didn’t check regularly but I did react quickly, which may well have saved my life.

I recently went on a writing retreat and this question was the initial writing provocation. I'm wondering if any of this resonates with you? I'd love to hear your answer to the question x 

Hi, I’m Sarah: a writer, teacher and mother. I’m inspired to make this beautiful planet a better place. For me, this works in three simple ways. Firstly, the planet - we share it with every single other living creature but humans have become dominant and are destroying it at the cost of destabilising conditions for all of us. I am on a journey to become as eco-friendly as possible, making small changes (and hopefully inspiring others) that add up to a big difference. I’m also inspired by the wonders of nature everyday: the wildflowers blooming in my garden, the wood pigeon swooping overhead and a stunning sunset. So remarkable.

Secondly, children – of course, they can be inspiring in their own right - but I’m inspired to interact with them in a respectful and gentle way. Rewards and sanctions are gone in our house and we operate as a democracy where everyone gets an equal say. As parents we only step in when it’s a health and safety issue. If only mainstream education was like this! That’s one of the reasons I have currently opted out of my previous role as a primary school teacher and instead ‘teach’ through talks, posts and my Changemaker membership (supporting members on their own eco-friendly journey).

Thirdly, self-care which I’m aware should be first – I’m working on that one! I’m slowly learning to reject the patriarchal, capitalist system that has told me my only worth is my productivity. I’m ensuring I have rest, charting and living in sync with my menstrual cycle and the Earth’s seasons.

My book ’52 Tips To Reduce Waste’ is available through my website: https://www.rhubarbandrunnerbeans.co.uk/

Check out Karin's amazing nature-inspired art @karin_borland_art  including my guest poston her Instagram account.