Peace in a Pod

Sport is religion. And just like actual faith-based institutions, participation levels vary across the board. Some people are band-wagoneers - they buy into the buzz about the town the day of an important match, yet couldn’t name a player on the field. Others are lapsed or never practiced to begin with - these folks probably think PSG refers to some type of ointment. But, for people such as myself, sport is something that breathes life into the deepest core of our beings, no matter if it is a loss or a victory from which we are reeling. In this post I’m going to riff on this theme some more, but with regard to the experience of the spectator as opposed to the player or the athlete, since I would know very little about that (much to the dismay of my former inter-county-hurler father, of course). First off, sport is emotional as hell (which is quite ironic since the consumption of sport is primarily viewed as a male or masculine activity. Bizarre then that watching an event both live an...

(When it came to writing about teacher-bashing, I laboured over what tone to take, or to whom I ought to be addressing myself. The subject matter, which pertains to my career and therefore my entire sense of self, has incited in me a whole host of emotions, including and not limited to anger, frustration, annoyance, shame, and sadness. Then I thought, actually, I am not making myself smaller for other people's sense of comfort while it is my profession that is being ridiculed on social media and in casual conversations by people who have never been in my shoes. Last week's blog talked of leaning into discomfort, which in this case is my fear of putting people’s noses out of joint or ‘sounding like a martyr’, because by embracing the pain and awkwardness that comes with being vulnerable, I choose to let my true self be seen, and that is my aim today.) I didn’t always want to be a teacher. Infact, the idea repulsed me, and I eye-rolled at anyone for whom teaching was part of th...

I know I said from the outset with this blog that I never intend to present myself as an all-knowing, all-seeing, omnipotent being who has all the answers to life’s problems (disclaimer: no such person exists). But this is really and truly the first piece I have written where I am acknowledging from the get-go that I grapple hugely with the issue I’m about to discuss, and I don't just mean a 'general' struggle - I'm talking about the actual present. Today’s topic is: having awkward conversations. The minute you read that, I guarantee a chill went down your spine. And why wouldn’t it? Humans HATE having awkward discussions. Our palms go sweaty at the mere thought of it. Our hearts race, our mouths go dry, our breathing becomes shallow. Some of us (ahem, me) are almost on the verge of tears before we’ve even begun. Why is this? I am currently reading ‘Daring Greatly’ by Brené Brown, gifted to me at Christmas by a good friend. Brown is a shame- and vulnerability-researche...