family

Sometimes it all feels too much

| skwarepegrowndhole

Today was supposed to be a study day – my research for my doctorate is done, so I just (!!) need to spend the next 18 months writing it all up. I had the whole day planned. Quick coffee with my Mum, then home to study. I managed the coffee part ok, but then I came home and doom scrolled about all the horrible things that are going on in the world at the moment. Reading and then writing about education policy seems so trivial when I look at all the things wrong with the world, from all the news coming out of the US to climate change to so many people struggling. Why am I spending time writing about education when I could be researching other things or helping other people?

With classical music blaring through my headphones, I thought about the amazing young people who took part in my research and told me their stories, and I realised that this does matter. It is so important that their stories are told, and that people involved in education and (hopefully) education policy makers read my research when it’s finally done, and that it makes a difference.

My research isn’t about changing the world, it’s about making ripples. If my research touches one person and makes them think and change how they teach – or how they think about teaching – then they make another person’s day a bit better, and so it goes on. The ripples from my research will spread far and wide.

That’s something that I will hold on to as I inevitably doom scroll again later today. In our day to day lives, we cannot change the world, and it’s so tempting, when it all feels too much, to want to hide away, to wonder ‘what’s the point?’. We can make ripples of hope and of community. When I walked the dogs earlier, I passed an older man who was walking slowly trying not to slip in the snow and slush, so I paused, smiled, and said good morning. He looked up, and smiled back, so I smiled at the next person (while trying to keep my dogs under control and stop them jumping up), and they smiled back. My parents walk their dog on a similar route each day, and often stop to chat to the people they pass.

Smiling or saying good morning might not change the day of the person you speak to, but it’s not going to harm them. Holding open a door, letting someone go in front of you, saying thank you to waiting staff – small, seemingly insignificant gestures that just might lift someone.

When it all feels a bit too much, reach out, be kind and show everyone that there is still good in the world.

When the nest isn’t empty…..

| skwarepegrowndhole

At this time of year, social media seems to be full of teens going off to university and parents & carers dropping off and then going back to an empty house. As I drove to work this morning, I was moved by a dad’s words about his daughter going to a university 3 hours away next weekend. It’s a very emotional time for them, and for us.

However, it can also be very emotional when your teen’s friends are all going off to university and they aren’t, for whatever reason. It can be very emotional when your friends are all talking about how they are going to fill their evenings now their teens are at uni, and yours is in their bedroom not knowing what they are going to do next. We’ve been there, and it’s tough. We’ve watched friends miss their children as they leave for uni, and then move on to a new era of their lives, while ours seems to carry on as before, but now we have a lost teen who isn’t sure what’s next. If any of you are in this position, you will find a way, and so will they.

Our eldest didn’t go to uni at 18, and took 2 years out. He tried at 20, but it wasn’t for him, and then he went to uni in lockdown and thrived, and now he’s a teacher. I didn’t go to uni til I was 26, and that was the best thing for me at the right time. Had I gone at 18, I wouldn’t have done a course I loved, and I wouldn’t be where I am now.

University isn’t for everyone, either. There are apprenticeships, jobs, training, travel – and there is time to pause and make the right decision.

Not all who go to university live in. Our youngest went to a local uni, and was planning to live in halls and come home regularly, but it quickly became apparent that living away from home wasn’t for him. He commutes from home, he’s saved money and he’s happy – and that’s what matters.

We all develop and grow at different rates. We all have our own path to walk, and we need to let our teens do what’s right for them. It can be hard if we have an empty teen’s room and a quiet house, but it can also be hard if their friends have all moved away and they’re still there. We can feel sad when we have an empty nest, but it can be sad if we feel our young person has been left behind – but they will find their way, and they will be ok, we just need to give them time and listen and sit with them when they want us to.

Echoes

| skwarepegrowndhole

Even though our babies are now adults, we haven’t really felt any empty nests. Our eldest took an extended gap year, then commuted to university, and moved out 5 months before getting married. When he moved out, we were working at the same school, so I still saw him every day, and they live about a mile or two from us, so we see lots of him and his fabulous wife. Our youngest went to university 2 years ago, and although the initial plan had been to spend some time at uni and some time at home, it quickly became apparent that commuting from home would be better for his mental health, as well as his bank balance. Our children may be in their 20s, but there had been no empty nest emotions…..until Cornwall.

We got back from a fabulous 3 generational holiday to Cornwall. We went down with our youngest, our eldest and his wife joined us later on day 1, and then my parents trained down and had a week with us from day 6. We did some things all together, somethings just the two of us, somethings with us splitting into groups and going in different directions. It was a relaxing well needed break.

On the last day, my parents and our eldest and his wife had left early, so it was the three of us for a day of pottering around Padstow until late afternoon when we were going to head back up the M5 to home. We holiday in the seven bays area, and for about 12 years, we holidayed in Harlyn Bay. We stayed in a flat that was a 5 minute walk from the beach, so we would pack a picnic and head down to the bay, spend a few hours beach combing, swimming, surfing and building sandcastles. We had a ‘spot’ that we used to go back to each year, near the top of the beach where we could let wetsuits and swimwear dry on a rocky outcrop. I have so many pictures of sandcastles, slate monoliths and henges that we used to build each year, and I can track the years with the beach tent(s) that we had to take for toddlers napping and for getting changed and hiding from the rain – or seagulls. So many memories on this fantastic little beach. But times change, and flats get sold, and little children grow into bigger children and then adults who want different adventures.

We now stay on the other side of Trevose Head, and we haven’t been on Harlyn beach since 2021. On our last day of this year’s holiday, we went to see what the new pub that has replaced the Harlyn Inn was like. We arrived a little early, so I left them waiting by the pub, and went for a walk on the beach.

I cannot express how emotional it was. It’s not our little beach any more – there are new families now, the age we were when we started holidaying here with little children. No one was in ‘our spot’ but weather and seasons shape the beach, and our spot didn’t look quite like it used to. I retraced the steps we used to take, where slate meets sandstone that can catch your feet when the tide is in. I walked through the sea pools that the tide leaves on its way out. I looked out at the children and teenagers body boarding in the waves, and I saw echoes.

I saw the echoes of us when we had little ones, and when we had bigger ones, and when we had teens that wanted to go into the sea by themselves. I saw us dragging body boards through the shallows. I saw us waiting for the tide to go out so we could go and look at the rock pools.

I hadn’t felt an empty nest until I stood on our beach, in our spot and saw that all we have now is memories – fantastic memories – but our babies are grown up, and seeing and feeling the echoes of the amazing summers we had with them on this little beach in Cornwall moved me far more than I could have imagined.

For those of you reading this with little ones, or bigger ones, or nieces and nephews or grandchildren, breathe it in. Laugh at the sandy foot prints, take photos with your mind, and then, one day, you too can go back and smile at the echoes that are left behind.