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The Cat who Walks by Herself

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  I met this cat during a Lockdown walk. It was welcome company and followed me determinedly for a few minutes until I stopped and petted it.  I love most animals (horses are beautiful but they freak me out for some reason) but cats are very special to me. I love dogs too but there's something about cats, especially when an unknown one is affectionate. Dogs can't help themselves... cats are picky.  As an early reader, I encountered Rudyard Kipling's Cat who Walks by Himself when I was about 6 and was immediately drawn in by the strong character. I see now that it mirrored how I felt about my family. I was the youngest by a long way, very emotionally immature, and was overly attached to Mum despite the fact that it was often an uncomfortable relationship. Yet I hankered after being that self-sufficient Cat. About that time I met Ethel, an old lady (actually the exact age I am now) just along the road. Friends introduced us when I needed drying out by her fire after a snow-re
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Why it matters...

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Serious question. If a friend tells you you’re wonderful, do you believe them, mentally brush it off or somewhere in between? Just happened to me again and as I’m unMasking now, I’ve realised I’ve never believed it. But that possibly they meant it. I realise I've probably been taking a dim view of myself... (see photo) Since I wrote that this morning, someone else (one of my daughters) has said exactly the same thing. So now I'm struggling with the idea that just maybe I am genuinely perceived as wonderful rather than it just being a matter of People Being Nice. That doesn't sit easily with me. When I was 9 someone took a photo of me having a tantrum - aka meltdown - and I cannot erase the image from my memory. Back then, photos arrived weeks later from the chemist's and I remember the family looking through and laughing when they got to the one of me with a wildly distorted face, enraged that someone could belittle me by taking a photo when I was completely out of cont
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Angst and Decs...

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I did it! I have cleaned my house (a bit) and this morning I have decorated the Christmas Tree. Well - still tinsel to go, but still. It's looking good. Alexa helped with a hefty dose of Mariah Carey and Michael Bublé and she's just reached Fairytale of New York. The picture on the right was a slip of the phone as I snapped a new bauble, but I love it because it sums up exactly how Christmas feels for me. Light, colour, excitement and - a whirl of mental and emotional confusion. Probably because I'm working hard on the unMasking, I've had more memories than usual pop up this year. Emotions I've not been aware of are clamouring for attention and although I'm incredibly busy, I'm trying to give them respectful space. So I'm being tapped on the shoulder by people who are missing and I can't send a card to. Hugs which were not quite long and strong enough to last for a lifetime (mine) of absence (theirs). Dear friends, parents, a brother and then - in so
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The Comfort of Clutter...

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I have an unexpected restful Sunday today - the snow has fallen heavily enough to lead to Church being cancelled, and I am not needed for my stewarding duties beyond having made some phone calls to make sure people know we're closed. So today is the PERFECT opportunity to get the house ready for Christmas. It so happens, though, that one of my strongest ND traits is a paralysis when it comes to housework. If you don't experience Executive Dysfunction, let me explain. This isn't a lazy putting-off of  tasks. It isn't me thinking I'll do it later.  It's me despairingly looking at what needs doing, willing my legs to move and my head to get into gear. It's me spotting something I meant to pick up 2 weeks ago, still there in the corner of the room. And when I make the effort, it's like a horse stubbornly refusing a jump. It's not being overly dramatic to say that sometimes I physically cannot tidy a room. There's something in my head which just... st
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The Loneliness of the Long-Distance ND

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People who know me socially would be amazed at how lonely I often feel. It amazes me too! I am a genuine reach-out-in-welcome, life and soul, gets everyone laughing type. And that's how I am usually seen, I think. A few years ago I tentatively messaged someone I thought I knew from Edinburgh University in 1978. I mentioned that I thought he might have forgotten me. This was his reply: How could I forget somebody who could do an impersonation of a potato being chipped? ( And yes. I had forgotten I ever did that...) So it isn't that I can't socialise. And yet... In the middle of a crowd, even in situations where I'm leading a group or contributing to a meeting, there is a sense of being behind a glass wall. Looking back I see how it affected me as a teenager and how that has had a knock-on effect throughout my life. This is why I'm checking whether I may have a label. Just because it really helps to have a reason for this. It helps to know why I have so often fallen
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Neurospirituality...?

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I see life through a spiritual lens. This isn't a choice, I always have. As a tiny child with no religious input, I used to hide in corners and wait for Something to Happen. I remember curling up and lying in one spot for hours, expecting to see Fairies. Had I known about angels back then, I would have been watching for them. As I grew a bit older I tried to pray although I wasn't sure who or what to. I mentioned before that I now realise God was my Hyperfocus. Quite a good choice as half a century on there is still plenty to think about.  I have no interest in prescribing what others should think or believe. I respect the views of everyone. I can't prove anything I believe in so why should I think it has more merit than anybody else's faith? (Okay, I do find Flat Earthers... intriguing, shall we say... but then I have known plenty of Christians who have proudly held bizarre beliefs which they wouldn't allow to be challenged, so...) The more I think about neurodiver
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Water in my soul - overwhelm

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I took this picture a few years ago when much of Derbyshire was underwater. I was driving along a very damp lane, glanced to my right and did a double-take. Floods both fascinate and terrify me. I've always had a love-hate relationship with water. I can sit by the sea for hours listening to the waves whispering their secrets to the shoreline. I used to love swimming until the recurrent ear infections became too much (no, ear plugs didn't seem to help).  But there's something about water. In the Sixties and Seventies we drove to my Granny's every other week, and I vividly remember Mum pointing up at the banks of the Ouse (or maybe the Don?) which towered over the road in the low-lying flatlands and say, "If that gave way we'd all be dead!" Every time we went along that road I would freeze with terror, willing the banks not to give way. Whenever there are floods in the UK I am drawn to the pictures but feel that same terror inside.  Yesterday I was driving a
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