Peace in a Pod

This week’s post will be short and sweet as it merely serves as a jumping-off point for a self-care practice worthy of your time: the art of journaling. Keeping a daily journal need not be as huge and as scary as novel-writing, and in fact, it needn’t even be daily. No-one is asking you to draft 20,000 words by the end of the month. Think of journaling as another tool in your self-care kit that allows for deeper discovery, reflection and expression, which I will explore later. Not only this, but there are actually physical health benefits linked to regular journaling, such as decreased stress, a strengthened immune system and even a reduction in asthma symptoms . So what about the mental and emotional perks of journaling? Personally, from a very young age, my more difficult thoughts felt all confusing and tangled up in my mind until the moment I got them down on paper and I could actually see them for what they were and therefore understand them better. I truly cannot count the amount...

(I would like to preface this opinion piece by stating simply that: this is my opinion, on what is clearly a sensitive and nuanced issue, and it is subject to change as I change. My intention is never to preach, to hurt, or to make anyone feel bad, and I hope I can address this particular topic with sensitivity and respect. After you read this blog post, I would be more than happy to engage in conversation with you should you wish to discuss any point in further detail.) The idea for this post was sparked by a conversation I had recently with a group of friends in which the topic of cosmetic surgery was mentioned. Not gonna lie - I was a bit taken aback as the conversation continued and I discovered just how polarised our opinions were. I personally don’t feel any draw towards lip fillers, Botox or anything of the sort, but I support bodily autonomy and everyone’s right to choose. That said, it made me wonder why we as a society are so taken up with physical appearance and what this fi...

I do not remember a time in my life when I wasn’t a fan of lists. As a child I listed everything from my favourite S Club 7 and Spice Girls hits, career aspirations, and possible names for future pets. Lists are joy. They log ideas, tasks, and feelings, give us a sense of what is important, and motivate us to action. They give structure to everything, and without becoming completely consumed by them, they can make life so much easier and more enjoyable. Before we get to the art of list-writing, let me take you down my own path of personal experience with lists. I cannot remember exactly when I started using to-do lists on a regular basis but I think it may have been later secondary school. There was so much work to keep track of, especially in the Leaving Cert, that to try and manage it without some sort of to-do list seemed impossible to me. These lists were sporadic in nature, penned during a spare few minutes before class, and usually contained no more than 7 items. Each item was so...

Let me run a hypothetical by you, and see if you relate. For a period of time (can be a number of days to a couple of weeks), you just don’t feel yourself, you don’t feel good, things are stressful, and it’s like you’re running on empty. You have a working knowledge of well-being and what you should do in order to get yourself out of the rut you’re in - a walk, a DMC with a close friend, reducing your screen time, lighting a candle and doing some meditation - but for whatever reason, the thoughts of doing those things are enough to give you hives, despite knowing how beneficial these acts of self-care are. We speaking the same language? For the past few weeks, I found myself feeling quite low. Nothing too serious, thankfully, but all the same just not my contented self. School was more stressful than usual, my disillusion with the seemingly never-ending lockdown and COVID was growing, and there has been such horrifying, saddening news in the media of late too, and it just felt like, ra...

To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure if I felt up to writing a piece this week. In recent times I have allowed myself to post fortnightly rather than the usual weekly, as is the case when life gets a bit busy, but almost a whole 2 weeks had passed and I found myself inwardly groaning at the fact I needed to come up with something, anything, for a blog post this week. And funnily enough, that prickly reluctance I felt gnawing away at me to produce something provoked, in itself, a whole load of questions. Questions like, “Who am I doing this for?” “Why can’t I just say no to things?” “Am I burning the candle at both ends?” Now, no-one is holding a gun to my head when it comes to this blog; I want to do it. It fulfils me, as I'm sure your profession and hobbies do you, despite the time and effort they require. Striking this balance can be so hard. I’m sure at least one of those questions mentioned above resonates with you, reader, and your own personal and professional struggles of late...

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...