Mindset – Life is a rollercoaster

On my own

Various pictures of Emma Charlesworth and her family from 2005 to present.

It’s probably no surprise that the title of this blog is linked to Les Misérables. For someone who at the start of 2024 said “I don’t really feel the need to see it again,” it’s somehow become part of my life. I didn’t envisage when I made this statement that I’d be seeing it in London, Aberdeen, Manchester and Abu Dhabi. I certainly didn’t envisage that I’d be watching my daughter in the one of the lead roles. And of course. None of the songs are triggering or make me cry. Nope. Not even one.

The local production which my daughter was in recently involved an intense two-week rehearsal schedule. The venue for these rehearsals was about a five-minute drive from where Mr C used to work. The irony was not lost on me. There was me getting up at 4:30am so that I could drive to a local train station, get an early train into work and leave the office early to pick her up. Meanwhile, my mum and stepdad had to drop her on those days so that she could get there. And then on the days I wasn’t in the office, I did both drop off and pick up. I don’t begrudge this in the slightest, I’m her mum and I knew that her anxiety wouldn’t cope with her getting the train, but it still felt like a military mission to organise. All the while knowing that if I wasn’t a widow, this wouldn’t have been the case. Mr C could have done the drop off and pick up on his way to and from work. Again. Pure conjecture and speculation because I don’t actually know where he’d be working, but the crux of the matter is this. It wouldn’t have been solely down to me to orchestrate all of the running around.

My daughter was phenomenal. No other word for it. Even if I wasn’t a particular fan of watching her be a prostitute. Or the moment when she died, and they covered her with a sheet. Her being cast as Fantine was never going to be an easy watch! But I don’t really have the words to articulate just how proud and emotional I felt watching her. Seeing her living her best life on that stage. I could only begin to imagine just what her dad would have felt seeing her up there. And I know he was playing heavily on her mind during the performances too. There was an issue with her microphone during one of the shows that I wasn’t watching, and I got a little voice note from her saying how much she wanted a dad hug. Our everyday lives continue to be impacted by his death. Her dad wasn’t there to scoop her up at the end of that show and give her that hug. Missing him at those really important moments.

And as well as missing him and running round like a loon, it was during this rehearsal schedule that I received my first ever speeding ticket. I knew I was running a little bit late that morning but hadn’t realised I was going fractionally over the speed limit. I completely own it. I was the one driving that morning and I must have just taken my eye off the ball for a split second. But as I sat there reading the letter that was sent out, it made me stop and think. Was this actually a metaphor for me to slow down a little bit in life more generally?

I’ve lost count recently of how many times I’ve heard “you’re doing too much” and “I don’t know how you do it.” But as I’ve felt so often since my late husband died, I don’t really feel I have a choice. I can’t sit back and do nothing just because he died. I still have to work and commute to an office three days a week, I have bills to pay. I still have to raise our child. I still have to do the housework, finances and all that comes with being a homeowner. Yes. I could just focus on these aspects of my life but why should I? Why shouldn’t I try to forge a life and map out a future for me?

You see, this is the other thought that is regularly crossing my mind. I’m rapidly approaching a time when I’m going to be on my own. Change is coming and I have to start thinking about my future as ‘Emma’ rather than ‘Mum’ and planning for it. My daughter starts Year 11 when she returns to school in September and will be taking GCSEs in 2026. If all goes to plan, she’ll be leaving school following this to go to college. After that, there’ll be the next phase in her life, and she’ll in theory be heading off to do a degree. And what happens to me then? If all I’ve done is work and raise her, what do I then do in 2028? Both of these would be a heck of an achievement in themselves given all we’ve been through; I don’t deny that; but I can’t help but feel I need to future proof my life too.

Granted. When it comes to futureproofing, there might have been an easier and less demanding way to do this. But I have to do it in a way that works for me and by doing something I’m passionate about. I was absolutely honoured to have been appointed as a Trustee for Widowed and Young in July and I’m looking forward to seeing what I can achieve in this role. In December 2023 I said I was going to write a book and that has now been written. I have been working with the team at Softwood Books to bring this to life and I’m excited to see what this brings. But both of these require my time and energy. Which is why I can see why people tell me I’m doing too much. In a way I no doubt am. But it’s easy to say that when you haven’t been through what I have. When you haven’t had your future completely decimated.

Becoming a widow at the age of 39 wasn’t on the future plan when I was growing up. And that’s why I push myself. I’ve had one future ripped away from me. I can’t bear the thought of not having a new one to look forward to. For such a long time, the future was overwhelming. It scared me to look beyond the next day. But now I have to think about it. Because as my daughter starts to enter the next phase of her life, she’ll no longer need me in the same way she has. And then what becomes of me? It’s a thought that crosses my mind on such a regular basis. What happens to me? Empty nest syndrome is such a common feeling for millions of people but for me it’s going to hit that little bit differently. I really will be on my own when that happens.

Because I’ve recently been thinking about whether she and I are too co-dependent on each other. The circumstances regarding our bereavement no doubt forced us to be. In the first year after Mr C died, she was only in school for four months. No-one stepped foot inside our house for nearly three months after he died and even then, it was very minimal. I didn’t have to commute to London. We didn’t really have to navigate a social life. We became quite insular. It did pretty much feel like it was Team Charlesworth against the world. I think the two of us supported each other and held each other up in ways that we didn’t even realise we were doing. She became my sole reason for getting out of bed each day. I became her one constant in life. We’d both lost our other one constant, it was instinctive to cling to the one remaining.

I guess I’ve found myself being a lot more reflective this August than I normally would be. I hadn’t really realised why until I broke a little bit at work last week. I was feeling the strain of being a solo parent. Of juggling so much. Of not having that one person who could step in to pick up the slack when needed. For the first time in a very long time, I felt like a widow. That might sound daft given I’ve been living this life for five years now, but when you’re just living your life and you’ve become accustomed to living with grief every day, you sometimes forget to give yourself a little bit of kindness. Of remembering the magnitude of everything you’ve gone through and what’s led you to where you are in your life. I was so lucky that a colleague accompanied me for a walk to help me clear my head but when I said to her “what would have been my 20th wedding anniversary is fast approaching,” I heard my voice crack.

I haven’t really thought about just how significant this wedding anniversary was going to be. For the past few years, I’ve referred to the date as the anniversary of the day I became a Charlesworth. I’ve found it hard to refer to it as a wedding anniversary as I no longer feel married. I was. There is no denying it. I don’t want to. But I’m not married now. Every widow is different, but for me, I’m not married. I’m on my own. I’m widowed. Just writing that is hard. I battled with the phrase widow for a very long time. Now it’s a part of my identity.

This time 20 years ago I was just over two weeks away from getting married. While I didn’t know exactly what the future was going to look like, I had a pretty good idea. I never envisaged my husband dying in a global pandemic just over 14 years later. That being a widow would become a part of my identity. The Friday of the August Bank Holiday weekend in 2005 saw the start of my hen weekend celebrations. A night out in Maidstone before heading to Bournemouth for the rest of the weekend. Full of hope. Full of plans. Some realised. Others not.

I knew quite early on that I’d need to mark this anniversary. And so, I chose to think of a way to celebrate his life. To celebrate the marriage I did have. CharlieFest: Dress to Impress is how I decided to do that. To once again raise funds for the Intensive Care Unit at Medway Maritime Hospital. The unit who worked so tirelessly to care for him in the last three weeks of his life. Oh yes, did I forget to mention that I’m planning an event as well as working full time, becoming a Trustee and publishing a book? And I wonder why people tell me I do too much.

If I’m honest. This event has become like a second full time job. Even more so than the previous two I’ve held. Everything about this year has felt harder. The cost of living. The ticket sales. The raffle ticket sales. People not seeing my social media posts because of the algorithm. The posts in local Facebook groups which are left as pending. The organisation of it and unexpected changes. All of which take their toll. Those nagging thoughts that plague me have become a bit more prevalent over the past few weeks. Do people care less about what happened to us now? Are people sitting there thinking “dear god, is she still banging on about her dead husband?” I think back to the previous ones I’ve held and wonder if I asked for help more or if people offered their help more freely? Probably a combination of the two in all honesty. Lives move on. People are busy. With all I have going on, I just have to get things done when I can. And if I’m honest, there is something about this event that I feel even more responsible for. It feels even more personal. It’s not just a fundraising event in memory of my late husband. It’s also in memory of our marriage and everything we had.

I look at the current confirmed attendee list. It’s a very different list to the guest list for our wedding. People attending who never even met him. People not attending who were a huge part of his life and our married life. A sign of how times change. How lives move on. Again. I’ve wondered what the invite list would have looked like had we been hosting a 20th wedding anniversary party together. I’ll never know, but this is a prime example of something that affects me as a widow, and me alone. It comes back to that sentiment of being on my own. In so many ways, I am with my grief. I don’t for one second underestimate the impact of my late husband’s death on others, but how many other people are still having their day to day lives and routines impacted by it? How many others live with so many pertinent dates and reminders that only affect them? Who else said the words “til death do us part” only to have that become a reality far sooner than it should have been?

Yet as I have so many times since 2020, I can’t let myself dwell on thoughts like this. They don’t do me any favours. I had my moment last week. I didn’t ignore it or try to battle through it. I gave myself permission to feel how I was feeling. I joined a virtual Widowed and Young meeting to just vent with others who get it. It’s the first time for a while I’ve done that, be a member, be a widow and admit that this life is crap at times. I don’t have a bad life by any stretch of the imagination, but it is hard. And I knew that once I’d said out loud how I was feeling, I’d feel better. That’s exactly what happened.

So, for now, I’m going to focus on the positives. I’m going to look for the little glimmers. The memories of my hen do this weekend 20 years ago. The memories of my marriage. All we achieved during those 14 years.

The greatest achievement of all being our daughter. When I’ve had my moments questioning myself lately, she’s been the one to rationalise and talk sense into me. The one reminding me to focus on what we will achieve in two weeks to celebrate him and all that we had. All the donations made in his memory and the amount of money we’ve raised to help others in the last five years.

But above all else. She is the best reminder I have of the future. Because whatever my future entails, whatever I chose to do with it, however I choose to manage being on my own, the parenting and love we both gave her; and I’ve continued to do; has led her to the point of being able to plan her future and what comes next. She has so many exciting tomorrows ahead of her. And I hope I do too. As she herself sang in Les Misérables the other week:

“It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes.”

It’s okay not to be okay

Various images of Emma Charlesworth and quotes

Today is the last day of Mental Health Awareness Week, a week that the Mental Health Foundation has been leading since 2001 to bring the UK together to focus on getting good mental health. This year the theme is ‘community.’

It’s an interesting theme that isn’t it? Community makes you think of togetherness, of support and not being on your own, but in my opinion, the reality when it comes to mental health can be very different. Because despite all the great work that has been done over the past few years, mental health can still be a taboo subject. And not necessarily because of society but because of us as individuals. Since this day in 2018 when I made my first public post about a bout of counselling I’d been having to help me process depression and anxiety, I like to think that I’ve benefited from that honesty and the community around me. I’ve been an advocate for talking openly. Yet, towards the end of last year, I went the complete opposite. I stopped being open. I didn’t make use of the community around me. I pretty much struggled in silence.

And I completely know the reason for this. Because I felt like a failure. I’ve always been the sort of person to be a perfectionist and to just keep going, but in a way since my late husband died, I’ve felt a different sort of pressure. The pressure to be brave and strong. These are two words which have been used to describe me countless times. If I’d had a pound for every time I’ve seen them written about me or had them said to me, I probably wouldn’t need to work! I’ve said before that I don’t like the word brave but am coming to accept the word strong, but this has been to my detriment at times. I sometimes feel that f I’m so strong and an inspiration as people repeatedly tell me, how on earth am I meant to admit that I’m struggling, that I need help and that I just need to admit defeat for a while? In my head, I couldn’t let people down. I couldn’t fail at being a widow. I couldn’t let people see that grief was still having an effect over four years since my husband died. If I’m meant to give hope and inspiration to others, what would people think of me if they knew the reality?

But sadly, this was my reality. And I tried to hide from it and pretend it wasn’t, I really did. Yet for a myriad of reasons, towards the end of October, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hide for much longer. And so, I made a call to our Employee Assistance Programme. I’m so incredibly fortunate to have a service like this at my disposal and it’s something I’ve made use of in the past, so I had an inkling that I knew what was going to happen. As suspected, following my assessment, I was referred for therapy. But a different type of therapy to what I’d had in the past, I was being referred for EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) with CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy). I’d come across these acronyms through others in the Widowed and Young (WAY) community but didn’t really know that much about them. If I’m being perfectly honest, when I first read about EMDR, it sounded a bit kooky to me! How could this possibly work?! Yet I knew I had to give something a try, it was time to finally process the trauma that I went through in 2020. And other trauma from my life up until that point.

You see, deep down inside I know when my mental health has taken a dip. I find it very hard to concentrate. Work feels unmanageable. I have no enthusiasm to do anything. My temper is shorter. I can’t juggle as much as I usually do. Life simply feels too hard. I doom scroll because to do anything else feels pointless. I can see the dip in my mental health in my eyes. My whole demeanour changes. I looked back at a photo of me with a friend that I’d taken in August and was desperate to get back to looking like that. Desperate to see that sparkle and lightness in my eyes. I know the exact moment I realised I’d achieved this aim of mine, but that’s a topic of discussion for another blog.

Yet I pretty much kept all of this and how I was feeling to myself. Colleagues knew because of needing to juggle work and appointments. They’d been slowly watching me go downhill for a while, so when I told my line manager, she told me she’d already flagged that they needed to keep an eye on me. That is one community I’m incredibly lucky to have. Friday was another great example of that community when I spent time with our team on Hampstead Heath as part of the firm’s One Firm One Day. It was great to be outside in the fresh air for the day especially during Mental Health Awareness Week and I became the queen of brambles! As we had a drink afterwards, someone I’ve worked with for a very long time commented that I looked lovely and snapped a pic. It’s one of the ones in the collage above. I looked at it and was reminded once again just how far I’ve come these past nine months.

Anyway. I digress. Back to November. My daughter knew that things weren’t great and I was back in therapy because I want her to feel comfortable talking about mental health and understand that therapy is not a bad thing. A few friends knew, a couple mainly because they’d been sat with me in a prosecco bar while I was crying (classy I’m sure you’ll admit) but I just didn’t feel capable of telling lots of people. It felt exhausting to do so.

And exhaustion is one of the reasons I made that call. My overthinking was off the scale. I’d struggled to sleep again. I’d wake up repeatedly. I would wake up just as exhausted as when I’d gone to bed. Sleep did nothing for me. I was stuck in what felt like an endless loop of being awake and feeling exhausted while all the while knowing the same would happen the following day because it wouldn’t matter whether I got one hours sleep or five, it made no difference. So, I just didn’t need anything else that would add to this exhaustion.

But at all points remember, I can’t give in to this exhaustion. I’m a solo parent, there is no-one else to help with the parenting. The constant juggling of who’ll do the school runs, the dance runs while maintaining a house, working full time, managing finances and trying to live is relentless. Especially when you’re doing all you can to keep yourself busy rather than face what you’re going through. So, I just kept going. I didn’t make the most of the community around me, because it just felt easier to do things myself rather than explain. I didn’t want to discuss what had led to me to reach this point. The realisations I’d had about my life and my behaviour. In a way I felt a little embarrassed that I hadn’t actually realised what I’d been doing. But that’s been my grief journey for you. I lived for so long in “survival” mode. Then I went into “I must live” mode. And then I realised I had to find a middle ground. Somewhere between surviving and running myself into the ground.

I had my first few sessions of therapy and found them absolutely exhausting. Oh good, more exhaustion to add on top. I was so, so tired. This is when I had to rely on another community. The WAY community. I’m on the rota for the New Member Zooms but simply found that the thought of hosting these on a day that I’d had therapy was too much. I had to ask for support to swap sessions. I had to be sensible and look after me. I then dropped a note on the WhatsApp group with other WAY Members that we formed after the AGM last year. I’d been trying to plan something and had just found that I didn’t have the headspace, so felt the need to apologise. Understandably this was an apology that I didn’t really need to make. Everyone got it. And when I admitted that I’d felt like a failure but had since had a word with myself, I was met with comments along the lines of that was good because if I hadn’t had that word, they would have done!

I relaxed into the fact I was back into therapy; I was vulnerable and honest in those sessions. So much came out that I didn’t realise I’d buried and never really processed. The actual EMDR began later than initially planned, but sometimes life just throws different things at you that throws things off course. You can’t really plan for anything. Yet in the run up to this, I started making little changes myself. I started saying no to people. I started to slow down. Christmas 2024 is a prime example of this. For the first time in my life, I spent the day in Christmas PJs. My daughter and I didn’t go anywhere. We didn’t have anyone to us. I cooked for the first time on Christmas Day making the most of Aunt Bessie. I just didn’t need pressure. I didn’t need expectations. This wasn’t about anyone else; this was about doing what I needed. Potentially selfish, but sometimes in life you just have to be. Equally I didn’t over-plan. I didn’t fill our weekends. I sent my therapist some photos of my calendar from August through to October last year vs. the photos of January to February. The difference was palpable. I was beginning to finally feel comfortable to be at home again. Being at home a lot of the time stopped being a trigger and making me feel like I was back living in lockdown when my world fell apart. I was finally starting to realise that I didn’t have to fill my time and always say yes to people in case if I didn’t, they stopped liking me or died.

This is a bold statement, but over the course of the next few months, EMDR* gradually changed my life. I sometimes wondered what people would have thought if they could have seen me sat there for an hour a week, with my eyes shut and just tapping the tops of my arms (my sessions were virtual and so this was the technique used). Things that previously would have caused me untold stress and been difficult to manage no longer were. Some of which had been the case for over 10 years. I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t understand it. I still don’t understand how it works, but it has certainly worked for me. I’m in the position now that I will happily talk about the last six months and my mental health. I can reflect on it in a way I couldn’t do at the start of November. Next week sees my final session and I’m not scared about this. It’s time for me to implement all I’ve learnt on my own.

Yet the past few months haven’t been complete smooth sailing. I completely struggled in March. I would find myself asleep on the sofa at 8pm. The exhaustion crept back in. They say the body keeps score and knows key dates and this certainly felt the case for me this year. The five-year anniversary of my husband dying was very difficult. I can’t pretend otherwise. It would be churlish to do so. But for the first time since he fell ill and died, both my daughter and I have been in therapy at the same time. Because in March I gave her no choice but to go back. Again. A myriad of reasons led to me making this decision for her. But at no point did I think she was a failure. At no point did I think she’d let me down. I knew it was what she needed to help her work through so very much. Funny isn’t it? I can be completely objective about therapy for others, yet when it comes to me, I still put way too much pressure on myself.

But fortunately, she grounds me. Another one of the photos in the collage was a selfie taken exactly one month after my late husband died during Mental Health Awareness Week in 2020. Like I say. I talk about mental health with my daughter so openly. She is way more in tune with mental health than I was at her age. Recently after a fairly hectic day, she simply said to me “you seem stressed, what’s wrong?” And thus began an honest and open conversation about my day and how I was feeling. Similarly, when I said I’d been wondering whether to write a blog to mark Mental Health Awareness Week but wasn’t sure whether I’d have anything to say, she simply gave me a look and said I’d have plenty, after all I could also talk about her. The fact she’s growing up with this attitude fills me with hope for her future, maybe, just maybe she won’t feel like a failure if she ends up needing therapy as she gets older. That she’ll learn to trust and lean on the community around her. That she’ll be comfortable being honest, open and vulnerable.

After all. Vulnerability is a superpower. Imagine just how much more powerful we’d be as a community if we leaned into this a teeny bit more.

*It goes without saying that this is my personal experience of EMDR and CBT. I am not an expert on these therapies and cannot provide advice on them.

19th April 2025

The words Dear Charlie are written in white on a black background.

I cannot believe that somehow we’ve made it to five years of living without you. The memory of 19th April 2020 and the weeks leading up to it will never leave me. It still feels beyond surreal. I suspect it always will.

I want to start by saying I’m sorry I lost your wedding ring in 2023. To this day I don’t know how or where that happened. I certainly didn’t anticipate going viral on social media because of it though. But that’s what I’ve learnt these past five years. Expect the unexpected. Don’t try to plan too much. I live in hope that one day I might be reunited with the ring. You were always a blinking nightmare with it anyway, it’s a wonder you hadn’t lost it in the near 15 years you wore it! But I don’t feel losing it diminishes our marriage or the love we had. Your dad said “The ring is in your heart. The band is only a symbol” and he was right. I stopped wearing my engagement and wedding rings relatively soon after you died, there was no big ceremony about it. It was just my hands were so dry after all the washing and the anti-bac I was using. I wore your ashes ring on that finger for a long time, but gradually moved that too. It’s funny the things we do subconsciously.

Anyway. I don’t know the last time I wrote to you. I talk to you a lot of the time though. Heck. Sometimes I even shout at you. Usually at Christmas when I’m lugging the 4,000 boxes in and out of the loft. But throughout the year too. I’ll often pop to the Memorial Bench to get your opinion on things. Fortunate really that nobody can listen to those chats. And I’ve not yet been struck down by lightening so I’ll assume you’re ok with everything. But there’s some things that I’ve never said out loud. Or written. Today feels like the most apposite day to say them.

I know that we spoke to you via Skype on the day you died. I’ve always wondered if you could hear us on that day. I pray you could. I pray that you heard me telling you how much you were loved by so many people. How proud everyone was of you. That you heard me apologise that I couldn’t have kept you safe from the virus. Granted, as time has gone by I’ve accepted that I did all I could to get you the medical help and intervention that you needed. I wasn’t in control of you falling ill, to this day I have no idea where you contracted it from. How COVID-19 entered our world and stole you from us. I don’t think about it anymore, it ate away at me for so long but there really is nothing I could have done that would have changed it. I wish with everything I have that I could have done but this was out of my power.

When I made the announcements via message and on social media that you’d died, I said you’d lost your battle. But the truth is you didn’t lose a battle. You were fighting an enemy that didn’t play fair. Because that virus was indiscriminate with its victims. It just took whoever it wanted to. And I know that you battled so very, very hard Charlie. You fought it for four weeks from coming down with your temperature. You gave it everything you had. You tried to come home to us. But in the end, it was just too strong. One thing you weren’t though was weak. Not at all. I know you mustered all the strength you had to walk down the stairs to the waiting ambulance. I know you did this for our little girl. For her to not see you being carried out of our house. Thank you for doing this for her. I will be eternally grateful that her last image of seeing her father physically is of him having his head held high and showing strength. She needed that to help carry her through.

I’m so very proud of how she’s coped with losing you Charlie. I know you would be too. I’m not entirely sure where I would be without her. It’s dubious I’d still be standing. She’s been absolutely incredible. No 10-year-old child should have gone through what she has. She shouldn’t be growing up without her father. But she’s adjusted. Or should that be adjusting? I don’t know if she’ll ever really come to terms with it, how can she? You are going to miss so many special and important occasions, I know that she will be missing you and thinking of you on each and every one of them. As will I. As will so many other people.

It makes my heart swell at how loved you still are. How I still get messages from people that something they’ve done has made them think of you. Even people who may have only met you once or twice. Your impact and legacy on the world hasn’t been forgotten. I doubt it ever will be. I said I didn’t want you to be a number or statistic of the pandemic, it’s not been easy but somehow through my writing and all the fundraising we’ve done, you’re not. Five years on and people still talk about you. That’s pretty good going don’t you think?

By no means am I taking full credit for this. Family and friends continue to keep your memory alive. They, like me, go to your Memorial Bench for a chat. They leave you cans of beer (I do wonder if this is why a bin was mysteriously put up next to the bench last year!) They still share photos and memories of you. The community that came together at last year’s CharlieFest said it all. The people in that room were there because of you. I might have organised it, but they were there because of you. I doubt you’d have ever expected it. If anyone could have told you what was going to happen following your death, I’m pretty sure you’d have said “give over” and rolled your eyes. You always were so humble and unassuming. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not turning you into a saint and saying you were perfect, I’ve not gone delusional in my grief, but you were a good man. A decent human being.

It’s why I struggled for so long with why you were chosen as a victim of that virus. Why so many good people lost their lives as a result of it. I know you’d have said that it was your time (yes, I do remember that heated discussion just a few weeks before you fell ill about losing people ahead of their time!) but it still didn’t make sense. But that’s the thing with death isn’t it? I think of some of the other losses I’ve experienced since you died, none of them have really made sense. Another COVID-19 death, a tragic accident, a symptomless condition. All young people. All people taken too soon. Yes, you may eye roll at that statement, but to my mind they were. I like to think that you’re up there having a beer or a glass of red with them. Probably despairing at me a tad with one of them. But I also hope that you’ve managed to have a cuddle with your nanny. Family and friends were always so important to you, I can’t imagine that has changed.

You’d have been so grateful and appreciative for the family and friends who have helped hold us up since your death. The kindness that has been shown to us. I suspect you’d have been as surprised as I was at the people who did show up for us, the people who didn’t know how to support us, the people who are no longer in our lives as predominantly and the new people who have come in. I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep all the relationships the same as when you were alive. But this was something else that was outside of my control. I know people needed me to be but I was never the villain in this story, I was simply heartbroken and lost. A woman trying to find her way in her new life, one that she should never have been living. A woman simply trying to do the right thing by you and her daughter. I had no energy to give to other people. I had no fight left in me. It became easier to let people go than have to explain myself or fight for them to stay.

You see for so long Charlie, I was simply trying to survive. I had to focus on our daughter. Not even me so much. Her. She was and is my number one priority. We didn’t really live. We just went through the motions. We had to put all our efforts into survival. It sounds remarkably simple to put that in words. To say all we had to do was survive. But it wasn’t. It really bloody wasn’t. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I wish someone could have given me a manual. Who knows whether I’d have believed it or paid attention to it, however. You know me. Always know best right?

Yet I haven’t really known best. I haven’t really known how to climb and survive this insurmountable grief mountain. I’d never been an adult without you. I hadn’t anticipated needing to become one at the age of 39. I don’t know whether I’ve done everything right these past five years. Yet I know I wouldn’t change anything I’ve done though. Because every decision I’ve made, l’ve done so with the emotions and information I had available at the time. Overthinking has probably become my trademark, but sometimes I have just had to trust my gut. Without overthinking. I did it the day you died when I was given the heartbreaking decision of saying goodbye to you in person but only if I then isolated away from our daughter. That was a split second gut decision. I know you’d have agreed it was the right one to stay with her and not see you. So I have tried to remember that. I regularly ask myself “what would Charlie say?” and “what would Charlie do?” when I face tricky situations. I try to listen to you still, you’ve become that voice in my head now that I look to for guidance.

As I write this, I can see the look on your face and the sarcastic “hmmm, really?” Okay. I admit. I didn’t ask myself what you would do when I chose the kitchen and conservatory floors, I know you’d have hated them! I also didn’t ask myself what you’d have done when booking six Jason Donovan gigs on the same tour. “It’s the same setlist Em, it’s the same show, what is the point?” might have been the polite version of what you’d have said. But I’ve very much needed these dates these past few months, I underestimated just how hard the fifth anniversary was going to hit me. I hope you don’t begrudge me the things that make me smile and bring me joy, it’s all part of discovering me and who I am. I feel the same about the people who are in my life now, I hope you don’t begrudge me moving forwards and making new friends. That you appreciate what they’ve offered me, what they’ve taught me and introduced me to. The juxtaposition that people have come into my life only because you’re no longer in it messes with my head at times. I often wonder what you would think of them. I’m sure you’d approve. But most of all, I hope you don’t begrudge me living again. It’s taken me such a long time to be able to do so. I truly do feel that you’d want me to do this. You wouldn’t have wanted your death to be the thing that destroyed me or our daughter, of that I’m sure.

It’s why I’ve tried to be brave and push myself out of my comfort zone. Our trip to the West Coast of the USA last year is a prime example of that and also showed how much of a part of our lives you continue to be. You and I had always planned that trip for my 40th and so we finally did it. The guide on the boat when whale watching asked who had good karma because of the incredible pods of orcas we were seeing. I don’t believe it was karma. I believe it was you. To show how proud of us you were for making that trip. The trip to Crystal River and swimming with the manatees when we went to Florida in 2022 that you’d always wanted to do. I owe it to you to do these things. To do the things you’d always wanted to do (within reason though obviously!)

But just on the living again. I’m sorry that I haven’t been as frugal as you probably would have wanted me to be. That I’ve made crazy decisions. But Charlie, for such a long time, I was so scared. Scared to not do things. Scared to not seize opportunities. Scared of my life ending too. Scared to say no to things. Scared to say no to people in case something happened to them. But my fear is slowly abating now. I don’t know if it will ever completely go, but it’s definitely abating. For the first time in about five years, I feel as though I’m on an even keel again. That I’m actually in control. I can’t promise there won’t still be the odd crazy decision, but I think I’m likely to be more measured about things now. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully.

I don’t really know what is going to come next. At times the scriptwriters seem to be having a bit of a laugh when it comes to my story. But I think you’d like the person I’m becoming. The version of Emma in her 40s is very different to the version of her in her 20s and 30s. She’s probably the person you always wanted her to be. It’s ironic that I’ve probably only become this person because of all I’ve gone through these past five years. Of what I’ve learnt about me. But I think you’d quite like that in a way, it shows the impact you’re still having. And I hope you’ll continue to watch over us. That you’ll continue to make your presence felt. For everyone who knew and loved you. I’m not the only one who has felt you still around, an energy and a soul as great as yours was always going to leave a mark on this world.

What I do know is that we’re entering a period of change. Her first lead role in a show. GCSEs. Leaving school. Where we’ll live. Possibly moving house. My career. It all feels pretty daunting to be making these decisions without you. To be second guessing myself that I’m doing “the right thing.” But we’re back to that trusting of the gut again aren’t we? I have to trust myself that I know what is best for Team Charlesworth. Both as individuals and as a team. And if I get it wrong? Well, then we’ll just learn. You once found a quote you liked that included the line “you will never lose, you will either win or learn.” That’s how I have to look at life now. We’ve already lost so much, something good and positive has got to come out of it for both her and I now. We need to start winning. So, I need to grasp life with both hands and learn from it. It’s simply all I can do. It’s all any of us can do really.

I don’t know when I’ll next write to you Charlie. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking of you. That you won’t still be a massive part of my life. Of our daughter’s life. Photos of you are still up at home. That won’t ever change. I promise you that. But I do need to continue being just Emma now. I need to not be Charlie and Emma. It’s time. You understand that. I know you do. I know how proud of me you are for all I’ve done to get me to this point. The hours I’ve spent in therapy. The tears I’ve shed. The trauma I’ve processed. The clawing myself back from rock bottom. Thank you for loving me and giving me the strength I needed to be able to do all of this without you. To work out a way of living as a young widow and solo parent. I wouldn’t be the woman I am now without all you taught me and the love you gave me for two decades.

I miss you Charlie. I love you Charlie.

After all this time? Always.

You will be ok

Happy Birthday.

Right now, it doesn’t feel like your birthday. You’re living in the middle of a global pandemic. Your husband was taken by ambulance after a panic 999 call in the early hours of this morning. Your 10-year-old daughter asked you if her daddy was going to be ok and you honestly couldn’t tell her yes. Because he has fallen prey to this pandemic which isn’t selective with its victims. You’re trying to juggle 1,001 things right now and don’t know which way is up. You’re going through a vast array of emotions.

But. It is still your birthday. You need to cling to that. Later today your daughter is going to save your birthday for you. She is going to make you open your cards and presents. She is going to put 39 candles in your cake. She is going to do a video call with members of your family to get them to sing Happy Birthday to you. And don’t forget. This morning you fried an egg for the first time in your life and cooked a bacon and egg sandwich because it’s your birthday. That sandwich represented hope, and you need to remember that. Because hope is everything. It is the one thing that is going to get you through what lies ahead.

The next three weeks are going to be some of the most challenging and difficult weeks of your life. The rollercoaster you’re now on is going to be a heck of a ride. But the theme of a rollercoaster is going to play a huge part in your life. Keep it in mind. You’re going to be reliant on phone calls for updates about your husband. You’re only going to be able to see him via Skype calls. You’re going to have some of the most heartbreaking conversations with your daughter. You’re going to face impossible decisions. I simply can’t pretend any of this is going to be easy. It’s not. But. You’re also going to smile during the next three weeks. Tomorrow Jason Donovan is going to be on Gary Barlow’s Crooner Sessions. He’ll start following you on Twitter. You’re going to be the recipient of so much kindness from so many people. You’ll feel overwhelmed by it all.

And then. On 19^th April, your entire life as you know it will be over. You won’t start using the term on this day, but you’ll become a 39-year-old widow. Your husband will die without you by his side and with the amazing NHS staff holding his hand. You and your daughter will be watching a film when you get the call to say this has happened, but you’ll never be able to agree on which film it was. Shock, quite probably. You’ll very quickly go into survival mode. You’ll think about everyone else because it’s too painful to actually think about what this means for you. The pain is merely too great for you to process. You can’t. And you won’t be able to for a very long time.

You’ll physically and metaphorically need picking up. You’ll struggle to get up off the sofa. You’ll fall apart on the kitchen floor when you realise you’ve got food in the cupboard you won’t eat. You’ll shed more tears than you physically thought possibly. You’ll plan a funeral in a pandemic and be asked questions about it that you simply have no answer to. You’ll struggle with the concept of how to return to work, be a mother and juggle your life. You won’t really think about what you as Emma will need. As an individual and person in her own right. You’ve never been an adult on your own. Who even are you without him? Again, you’ll hide from this because you don’t have the answer.

Your mental health is going to suffer in a way you’d have never thought possible. You’re going to find yourself hitting rock bottom on more than one occasion. Sadly, this isn’t the only shock bereavement you’re going to face. I can’t bear to tell you the other person you’re going to lose, mainly because I’m still trying to make sense of it. There is genuinely no logic as to who lives and who dies. But when that day does come, take advantage of the people who are now able to hold you. Who can wrap you in their arms, make you feel safe and just let you cry. You’re going to understand just how important physical contact is in grief. It’s not something you’re going to be able to receive when your husband first dies. Or for a number of months. The world isn’t allowing it. But when you can get those hugs again, soak them up. They are going to help you. More than you realise.

The trauma you’re experiencing today and over the next few weeks isn’t going to be something you can keep buried forever. You’re going to spend a huge amount of time in therapy. And while I don’t want to scare you, this isn’t going to be in the first year or so. You’ll have some later this year, then in 2022 which will last for just over a year and then you’ll start having EMDR towards the end of 2024 going into 2025. The latter will scare you when you first make the call and are told you need it. You’ll feel you’re a failure. You’ll feel you’re letting people down. You won’t tell many people. You’ll have spent just over four years with everyone telling you how brave and strong you’re. That you’re an inspiration. To admit you still need help will feel alien. But, let me promise you this now. That bout of therapy is going to completely change things for you. It is going to help you process so very much. Not just to do with the trauma of losing your husband, but parts of your life you’ve just learnt to live with and accepted as being your life. You’ll start to feel like a different person. Your mindset will shift. It’s going to take a lot of getting used to, but my goodness Emma, it’s going to be beyond worth it.

This all sounds very doom and gloom doesn’t it? If you’re still reading at this point, I imagine there is a sense of trepidation. Wondering whether you’re ever going to really laugh, smile or be happy again. Hand on my heart, you will. You’ll feel guilty to begin with, because how you can possibly enjoy life given what’s happened? You’re going to have amazing opportunities that are only afforded to you because of what’s happened. That will make you feel guilty. New people are going to come into your life. People who are currently part of your life will no longer be so. Or if they are, it will be on a different footing. Please don’t worry about this. Life and your experiences will change you. But you have to survive this however you can. For you. For your daughter. Don’t be afraid to trust your gut instinct. Do you.

Because you’re pretty phenomenal. It’s going to take you just under five years to reach this conclusion, but without question you are. Those people that call you brave and strong? They’re right. You are. You won’t ever accept that you’re brave, after all, you haven’t chosen this life have you? But my word are you strong. You’ve had to be. You’ve shown so much strength. You’ll get out of bed every single day. You’ll continue to show up. Even on those days when you don’t want to.

But more than that. You’re going to achieve a heck of a lot in his memory and that will help others. For a long time, you’re going to tell people that you’re just doing what anyone would do in this situation. But not everyone would. Because not everyone is you. You’re going to install a Memorial Bench so that your husband can continue to be a part of your daughter’s birthday traditions. You’re going to sort out renovations on the house and finally get it finished. You’re going to come up with initiatives that will see you raise over £15,000 for various charities (and that’s only up to March 2025). You’re going to launch a blog called Life is a rollercoaster (told you not to forget about a rollercoaster, didn’t I?) It will go on to win an award in 2023. You’re going to write a book and start investigating the best way to get this published. You’re going to appear on various podcasts, TV programmes, in magazines and newspapers. You’re going to become an Ambassador for the charity Widowed and Young.

Yet the biggest achievement from your perspective won’t be any of this. It is going to be the moment you look at photos and see the twinkle and sparkle in your eyes again. It will take years to return. But it does return. Some might call them giddy eyes. More than ever, your eyes are going to be the window to your soul. And until you’re you again, they are going to show your pain. You will look at photos over the next couple of years and think you’re looking better. You are in a way. But it will only be as you approach your fifth birthday since your world fell apart, that you’ll be able to see just how much the grief and pain affected you physically. Not just mentally. Grief and pain will change you. But you’re going to learn to walk alongside them. In a way, they’re going to become your friends. Because they’re a constant reminder of the love you had. The love you still have.

And while I don’t want to give too many spoilers, mainly because you won’t believe some of them anyway, I do want to give you a little sneak peek into some of the other things that are going to come your way over the next five years. You’re going to have so much fun and laughter with a variety of people. You’re going to meet incredible people through the charity Widowed and Young. You’re going to watch your daughter receive coaching from Jac Yarrow (yes, that guy you saw play Joseph last year). You’re going to get a marriage proposal from Jason Donovan. You’re going to travel across the country to meet a random woman off Twitter because of that Aussie who is going to become one of the best people in your life. You’re going to be adopted by a Northern family. You’re going to get your middle out with a two-piece outfit, on more than one occasion. You’re going to go viral on social media. You’re going to get a dog. You’re going to take your daughter on holidays overseas. You’re going to fluke a free business class upgrade the first time you take her abroad. You’re going to brave driving abroad and find that you quite like it, even if you’re given a scary American muscle car. You’re going to grow your hair and go blonde. You’re going to change your role and teams at work.

I know being told this about your future sounds completely and utterly unthinkable right now. But please believe me when I say you did everything you could in this unimaginable situation you’ve found yourself in over the last week or so. There is nothing more you could have done or that would have changed the outcome. I know right now you can only really focus on today. And maybe even only the next hour. Anything beyond that and especially the future is unfathomable. That’s ok. Just focus on that for now. It’s the right thing to do. Stay in your pyjamas. Eat cake and brownies for breakfast. Just do what you need to do each day. For you. For your daughter. She ultimately is going to save you. She’s incredible. She’s the reason you’ll fight as hard as you do. Without her, it would have been very easy for you to give up. But she needs you. She loves you. And while you’re going to clash and have exceptionally tough times, the bond and relationship that you’re going to have is going to be unbreakable. Team Charlesworth is about to become pretty formidable.

As I sit here and think about the fact the world is still turning, that you’re lucky enough to be celebrating another birthday and you’re privileged to be growing older, I’ve realised something.

Pretty phenomenal? Scrap that.

Emma Charlesworth you are phenomenal.

Simple as that. I’m so exceptionally proud of you. I didn’t know you had it in you to be able to survive this on 30th March 2020. I didn’t have the self-belief. You’re going to watch a film in February 2025 that contains the line “it’s not enough to survive, you’ve got to live.” And that’s what you’re going to do over the next five years Emma. You’re going to live again. Not just survive, you’re going to live. You’re going to thrive. Against all the odds. Against the most unimaginable backdrop.

These words are the best present I can give you today. The reassurance, knowledge and encouragement that you need. That I wish someone could have given me on this day five years ago.

Emma Charlesworth, you will be ok. I promise. Focus on these four words. Please.

You. Will. Be. Ok.

Finding your WAY

Various photos from the Widowed and Young AGM 2024

It’s been a few months since I last wrote a blog. Life has been busy lately, we’ve had a fab summer and while I have been busy writing, it’s been for something completely different to my blog. And I always said I’d only write when I had something to say, I never had the intention of blogging just for the sake of it.

But a lot has been whirring in my mind since last weekend. You see, last weekend was the 2024 Widowed and Young AGM. This was the third AGM I have attended and once again, I trekked across the country to be there, this time to Crewe. It’s always a bit daunting getting in the car and driving quite a way by yourself, Mr C was always the one out of the two of us who did most of the driving, but there is always something reassuring about knowing you’re driving to spend the weekend with people who “get it.”

Yet, this was the first AGM where I headed off feeling slightly nervous about it. You see, I knew that Emma, my comfort blanket at these events wasn’t going to be able to make it until late on the Friday evening. So, I was going to have to go to the Volunteer’s Meeting and dinner without her. It might sound odd, I’ve been volunteering and an Ambassador for WAY for three and a half years now, have met numerous other volunteers and members of WAY at various events, but that thought of walking into a room by myself still feels me with a little bit of dread. I’m still not really used to being on my own.

Traffic delays meant I was slightly late to the Volunteer’s Meeting. Fortunately, Emma was on hand for me to ring to ask her to let them know! But being late also meant that I didn’t have a chance to get nervous and scared about walking in on my own, the meeting had already started when I arrived and so I just had to thrown myself into it and the initial icebreaker challenge. Within moments, I was wondering why I’d been feeling nervous. There were familiar faces for me to talk to and also new faces who I quickly got to know. It’s one of the weirdest situations really, we’re only in that room together because of one commonality, we have all experienced the loss of a partner before our 51^st birthday yet somehow that almost feels secondary once you start talking to others. My team won one of the other challenges and we were presented with a bag of Heroes, an apt prize if I ever saw one! I then joined other members for a history tour of Crewe Hall Hotel and Spa, the hotel we were staying in, a really beautiful and fascinating place and then I trundled back to my room to get ready for dinner.

Once again, the nerves kicked in. Dinner was at 8pm and while there were messages on the Facebook page about meeting for a drink earlier, I started feeling apprehensive again. What if I went down and wouldn’t have anyone to talk to? What if people I didn’t know started to talk to me about my widowhood experience, did I really want to talk about it? What if, what if, what if…? The question that we really shouldn’t ask ourselves, but we always do. Worst case scenario planning, and I am very, very good at it! I snuck into dinner just before 8pm, not revealing to anyone the feelings I was having and instantly started talking to people. Again, some I’d met before but others I hadn’t. Conversation was easy and free flowing. If I’m honest, I knew it would be and I was berating myself in my head for the fears I’d been having leading up to it.

Emma had messaged to tell me the time she would be arriving and despite feeling tired, I knew I needed to wait up to see her. I suspected both of us would need the reassuring hug from each other, her because of the long drive and to help quell a number of anxieties she was feeling, me because I was also experiencing anxieties and just wanted a hug from someone who knows me well. I think we both clung on a little bit too tight when she did arrive. But that’s the power of connection through tragedy, sometimes you don’t even need to say how you’re feeling for someone else to just instinctively know.

The following morning was the AGM itself. A chance for us to learn more about the work of the charity over the previous year and plans going forward. But it always kicks off with an icebreaker challenge, there was a lot at stake with this one, I’d been on the winning table in 2023 and felt I had a title to protect! This year we needed to build the tallest swan, the swan being synonymous with WAY. There were other people on our table who had been on the same table and therefore victorious last year, but there were also some people who were new faces. Straight away we all got to work and after some potentially contentious entries, I’m delighted to report that my table was once again victorious. The winning sashes were instantly put on. The prosecco opened a short while later (it was early after all). The smiles and the laughter evident for all to see.

That continued throughout the day. Yes. There were some challenging moments. Hearing from a speaker who is also a member of WAY and hearing her story can’t help but make you reflect on your own experience and how you’ve come to be in a room full of people who have faced similar heartbreak. But as we all went off to the breakout sessions, me experiencing my first Soundbath and then candle making, I couldn’t help but think about just how important weekends and occasions like this have become to me.

Those thoughts continued as we headed to the spa for a swim and time in the sauna and steam room. Emma and I chatting and putting the world to rights. Catching up with others and making plans for the evening dinner dance. It was just so ridiculously easy and comfortable. As we headed to dinner, posh frock on (any excuse to wear a posh frock!) I knew I’d be in for a fab evening. I was proven right. I was once again victorious in a game of Heads and Tails and another box of Heroes came my way. I introduced someone I had met the day before and someone I had met last year to Tequila Rose, I’m nothing if not generous. We tried to see how many of us we could squeeze into a Photo Booth to take a photo of the victorious winning icebreaker challenge table (the answer is eight people). Some of us crying with laughter at the most ridiculous and surreal conversations we were having. Some of us crying because the emotion had got a bit much being relatively new to WAY and widowhood. I instinctively went over and gave a hug to someone because I could just see that they needed it and if I’ve learnt anything, it’s just how powerful a hug can be at the right time. Some of us catching up and chatting, I spent a lot of time talking to someone I had met last year, we’ve continued to message over the past year but despite the fact we’ve now only seen each other twice in a year, it felt so normal and like old friends talking. At one point I and another volunteer were asked how long we’d known each other, I looked at my watch, did the maths and responded “about 29 hours” to be promptly told that it was as though we’d known each other a lot longer than that. I think a lot of that came down to the very warped sense of humour we both have!

And I noticed that while I was having these conversations, I wasn’t as solely reliant on Emma as I had been in previous years. Yes, I was so relieved to have my comfort blanket back and to know she was there, but we both were having conversations with others and finding our way. Together but also on our own. As I’ve had to do with the rest of my life since becoming eligible to join WAY almost four and a half years ago. Emma runs courses and is passionate about talking about growing around your grief, and I truly believe that this is what so many of us in the room have done or are in the process of doing. It’s different timing for everyone, no grief journey is the same, but we are all doing it. Anyone walking past that room and seeing the smiles, laughter and dancing wouldn’t have had a clue behind the heartbreaking reason that has brought us all together. They’d have just seen a group of people having a good evening. And after all the heartbreak and tears we’ve experienced, that can only be a good thing.

As we checked out of the hotel the next morning, I knew there was one more than I needed to do before I headed home. I needed to brave doing something else on my own. Finding my way to revisit a special place. Just me. Not with Emma or my WAY friends. Not my family. Just me. I was a short drive away from the castle that my nan spent five years living in while she was evacuated. The last time I visited it my family were all together. My grandad and my late husband were still alive. Alzheimer’s hadn’t taken hold of my nan. As I walked around taking photos and videos to show her when I next see her, I couldn’t help but think about how much my life has changed since that last visit. I sat on my own, had a coffee, did some writing and just spent time as me, as Emma.

It hit me that the same day four and half years ago was the day that Mr C experienced his first symptom of COVID-19. The tears fell and I found myself crying for a lot of the journey home. For what I’ve lost. The pain I’ve gone through. The hurt that has come into my life. But I also cried for the good in my life. The people who are only in it because of what I’ve gone through. Everything my daughter and I have been able to achieve in the face of such adversity. The hope we have for the future. The plans we have. It’s the most bittersweet of situations. I’d give everything I have for my late husband to still be here, but I know that’s impossible. And so, I just have to focus on what I do have.

Those of us who formed a close bond last weekend are now part of a WhatsApp group. It’s been quite active this week. Plans being made. Support being given. Conversations that one might say are classic examples of levity. I’ve had to find a new life and a new way since the pandemic turned my world upside down in 2020, but I just know that there is still a future for me, good times ahead and new friends to be made. I owe a lot of that to WAY. It’s one of the reasons my latest fundraising is raising money for the charity. It’s my way of both showcasing Mr C’s photography while also giving back to the charity that has done so much for me.

Because what WAY has shown me most of all is that it is possible to find your way in this new life I’ve found myself in and that you can go on. It’s why I intend to live my life to the full as the best way of honouring my late husband. As the quote on the candle I made last weekend from Elvis Presley says “What’s the good of reaching 90, if you waste 89?”

I am the one thing in life I can control

Pictures of Emma Charlesworth taken during a photoshoot

So. The control freak is writing about control again. But this time it’s with a different perspective. Because she’s starting to realise that she can’t control and plan for everything. That she needs to just live life in the moment and stop the planning for all eventualities. Although, please don’t worry dear reader, I was still sat down writing a holiday itinerary the other evening!

I also want to mention that for the last two years we’ve seen Hamilton shortly before the anniversary of my late husband’s death and the blogs I’ve written for those anniversaries have been inspired by songs from it. But we were fortunate to win TodayTix lottery tickets so saw it in December last year too. The song “Wait for it” is the inspiration for this blog and title. It’s been going round in my head since we saw it then. Because it’s true. I am the one thing in life I can control. And on days like today I think about this even more.

You see, today is a particularly poignant day for me. It marks two years since I was told I was heading for a nervous breakdown if I didn’t stop. It marks one year since I took my daughter to the doctor because of her anxiety. February is also full of reminders and flashbacks to this time four years ago. What was to become our final full normal month as a family of three. I don’t believe things like this will ever leave me.

I last wrote about being in control in April 2022. Two months after the nervous breakdown comment was made. Two months after I was signed off work and was approaching the day I would return. At a time when I was trying to regain the control that I’d lost on 16 March 2020 when we were suddenly all told to work from home and my world felt like it had been flipped on its head. I felt like I was starting to take back control “one tip run at a time.” I said at the time “But I know that life will always throw challenges my way. I just need to make sure my mind is as strong as it can be to cope with them.” This last week has shown me that on that point, I’m making great inroads.

Just over a week ago, I received some disappointing news. Something that had been hanging over my head for just under two months hadn’t worked out the way I’d wanted it to. It hurt. It was triggering. Because it brought to the fore the feeling that I try to bury a lot of the time. That I am on my own. That I am the sole person responsible for mine and my daughter’s financial security and future. Almost as soon as I’d had the news I dropped my daughter off to go to the theatre for her birthday and then I came home to an empty house. The silence was deafening. The lack of anyone to put the kettle on for me. The lack of anyone to put their arms around me and reassure me that everything was going to be ok. I broke down on a phone call. It all felt too much for me. I took the dog for a walk to get out of the house. I just needed air and to breathe. To take stock a little bit.

But then I was reminded that while I am on my own, I’m not alone. Supportive messages started. Offers to come and keep me company came in. The amazing people that I’m so fortunate to have around me were there for me once again. I know just how lucky I am to have them. And I don’t take any of them for granted. I allowed myself the opportunity to wallow for a little bit, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, but then I started to look for the positives. I put myself in control. Truth be told it actually scared me a little bit how quickly I was able to do this. Because it’s not who I am. It’s not what I do. I’ve never been that person that bounces back ridiculously quickly. I overthink. I try to plan ahead for problems that are years away. A prime example happened when my stepdad was making the Father of the Bride speech at the first wedding we’d been to since my late husband died. I ran out of the hall having a panic attack because I didn’t know who was going to give my daughter away. “She’s 11, I don’t think we really need to worry about it just yet” was my sister’s brutally honest response. Which, to be fair, I needed. She was right. My daughter might not get married, yet here I was trying to take control and plan for something that might never happen. Because it’s what I do.

Or rather. It’s what I did. I think I first noticed the change in me during that period in 2022. When I booked our “F**k It week” because life is too short and we were just going to do things because we could. I booked activities with a few days’ notice. I lived for the moment and for enjoyment. But, if I’m being honest, it probably just was for a week. I wasn’t really brave enough to go beyond this too much. I needed the stability and security of being the person I’d always been to keep me going. To help me get through life.

But that person is changing. I know she is. I feel it in a way I haven’t really felt before. When my world imploded, when I became a widow and solo parent at the age of 39, all I wanted to do was survive. I had nothing else. If we got through an hour, a day, a week or a month that was enough for me. I remember writing a Facebook post a month after my late husband died that said “This whole experience has irrevocably changed our lives. It’ll continue to do so. But I won’t let it define us or who we become.” Did I really believe we could do this when I wrote it? Or was I trying to take back some control? I’ll never know.

But in August last year, I knew I was taking control of my life again. I mentioned in my New Years Eve blog that I’d done a boudoir photoshoot with Style Photography. This for me was one of the most empowering things I’ve ever done. Because it made me see myself through different eyes. The one thing I told the photographer that I wanted to come through in the photos was the fact that I was taking control of my life again. Now. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t completely overthought in the run up to that day. I took way more outfits than I needed because I wasn’t sure what might work. I felt the most uncomfortable I’d ever felt for a lot of the session. But as I was having my hair and make up done, I remember saying “I’ve stopped dying my hair dark, because I’ve realised that getting grey hair is a sign of growing old and that’s a privilege.” Yet while I had this bravado approach, the second the photographer started it ebbed away. I felt I was being such a rubbish model! As much as I’d dictated the photos I wanted in a way to show me taking back control, I didn’t actually feel it or think I’d like them.

A few weeks later I went back to view them. One of me was on the big screen when I sat down. Yet. I didn’t realise it was me. I was in shock. As we went through all the photos, I repeatedly asked if they’d been photoshopped. I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. And then we got to the one Mr C would have called the money shot. The one that completely and utterly showed me taking back control of my life. It was exactly what I wanted. It gave me probably the biggest confidence boost I’d had since becoming a widow. As I reflect on this now, I am so grateful for what it gave me. I won the shoot after I saw a competition and entered on a whim. There we go again. Not overthinking, just chancing something. It was beyond empowering. To think that you’re a really rubbish model. To think you’re not being any good at something and then to see the output. To know that that really is you. That at the age of 42 you’ve pushed yourself to do something so far out of your comfort zone. And you like the outcome. I’ve shown these photos to a number of people now. I am so, so proud of them. And while I won’t share some of the more risqué ones publicly because, quite frankly, my daughter will never speak to me again, the collage in this blog are all from that shoot.

And since that day I’ve probably been on a bit of a trajectory. When the world went a little bit mad and threw so much at me in 24 hours just before Christmas, I responded with levity (new favourite word). I didn’t overthink at the fact that things I had no control over were happening to me. I just responded to them in the best way I know how. Similarly, when I had a burst pipe at 10pm one Saturday evening in January, I didn’t cry. I just got on with it. It needed dealing with, so I dealt with it and moved on. No debate. No stress.

The recent news I received could have pushed me one of two ways. I know that. But I’ve controlled how I’ve responded to it. I’ve looked at it from a ridiculously pragmatic perspective (once I got past the tears!) I’m in control of what comes next. It’s made me realise that I need to make changes. That my mindset is changing. That I don’t need to plan for all eventualities, because, let’s face it, they may not happen anyway. What matters in life is how I play the hand that is dealt to me. How I respond to all the challenges that come my way. The example I set to my daughter on how to deal with adversity. They are the only things that I really need to be in control of. Life will happen to me whether I like it or not, and I have absolutely no control over it. My husband dying is a prime example of that. As the song says:

Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints
It takes and it takes and it takes
And we keep living anyway
We rise and we fall and we break
And we make our mistakes

We’ve fallen and we’ve broken. My god have we done that. It makes me so emotional to think about this day two years ago. But it also makes me so, so proud. I was at the bottom of a very deep and dark pit. I was, essentially, at rock bottom with what felt like no way to get back up again. It’s not been pretty, I’ll admit, but I’ve clawed my way back from the despair. I’ve had no choice. Likewise, when I think about this day last year and my daughter, it makes me emotional. But so, so proud. She has also clawed her way back from despair. I couldn’t have ever imagined writing a blog like this on either of those days. We’ve had to go through what we’ve gone through to make us the people we are today. I hate that in a way. But it’s true. Yet now is our time to rise. Now is the time to look forward and think about what next. Change doesn’t scare me in the way it once did. Because we’ve been through the most unimaginable change and sadness in our lives, yet we don’t, and I refuse to let us, live a sad life. And if change is going to continue helping us, maybe it’s time to start embracing that and letting go of the control a bit more. Who knows where this trajectory will take me. I refuse to be defined by being a widow. I’m me. And I like the person I am. I’m proud of her. There is no-one like me. As the chorus says:

I am the one thing in life I can control
I am inimitable
I am an original

Be Thankful

It was on this day three years ago, that a text message from a six-year-old changed my life. That might sound fairly dramatic, but that message really did have a massive impact on me and how I look at life. There isn’t a chance that she’d even remember it, but I do.

For those of you that follow my personal accounts on social media, you’ll know that every day I post something which includes this: #BeThankful. I try to find one thing a day that I’m thankful for, no matter what my day might have been like. It’s something that I started doing in 2019 and has now become a part of my everyday life.

In my previous blog on my mental health, I wrote about how 2018 was the lowest I’d ever been mentally. I was at rock bottom. It took me a lot of time and effort to claw my way back to feeling like I could survive and cope with life again. But the start of 2019 suddenly saw stress building again. Within the space of 24 hours my sister and I went from the euphoria of seeing Boyzone and me catching Ronan Keating’s hat to being in disarray at care for my nan. As my rollercoaster life started to dip and the stress started, I could feel myself slipping back into old ways. What I was most comfortable doing. It was so easy to focus on all the negative in my life.

But I knew that I couldn’t go back to how I’d felt in 2018. I knew that I had to do something that would stop me just focusing on the negative and try to change my mindset. I wasn’t entirely sure what I could do but then in amongst the stress, I mentioned to Mr C about something good that had happened that day. It was like an epiphany. In that moment, I decided that no matter how hard my day had been I would find one thing a day to “Be Thankful” for and share it on Twitter. I tagged in some of my work colleagues to let them know what I was doing with an image that said “Be thankful for what you have. Be fearless for what you want.” I sort of figured that if I’d publicly said I was going to do it, that I’d be accountable for doing it. It was almost like a pressure that I put on myself to do this. But a good pressure. Yet when I made that first post, I had no idea whether I’d even be able to stick to it. I had no idea whether it would actually make the blindest bit of difference.

But over the next few months, it did make a difference. I started to realise that even on those days when there were a number of stresses that I could find something. Some days it was small such as cooking a meal for Mr C and not giving him food poisoning (oh how that one has come back to haunt me now!) the washing basket being empty, a nice walk or a good day at work with brilliant colleagues. Other days it might be something fairly big such as seeing a show and being thankful for it. It was starting to change my mindset. It was starting to change the way I looked at the world.

And then I reached 18 June 2019. I vividly remember this day. It was a particularly tough day at work. I’d been going through a particularly tough few weeks and it all culminated on this day. I left the office in tears. I wasn’t in a great place. I got home and said to Mr C that I wasn’t going to do my Be Thankful’s anymore. That there was just no point. That they were a complete waste of time. I was fed up of trying to find the positive even on days when there really, really wasn’t anything. I suspect I also yelled or cried at my sister over the phone. Because a little while later I got a text message from my six-year-old niece. I’ve added it to the image at the top of this blog. When I received it, I cried. Because on that ridiculously tough day, she reminded me that I was loved. She made me smile with her innocence. And she taught me an incredibly valuable lesson that day. That even when you might not realise it initially or feel it, there really is always, always something to be thankful for. She became the inspiration I needed. She spurred me on.

I didn’t know it at the time, but this would be the start of the next phase of the 2019 rollercoaster ride. I’d suspected that I was at a crossroads in my career at that point and that day in particular, cemented it for me. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going to go or what to do next. I thought back to some advice that has always stuck with me shared by a previous line manager “it’s your life, it’s your career, the only person who can change it is you.” After a lot of soul searching and external coaching, I made the move to a new role. I joined a fabulous team. I felt I’d finally found where I was meant to be. It put me back on the upward trajectory of my rollercoaster. This was the start of September 2019, just six months before my rollercoaster would completely dip again in a somewhat spectacular fashion that none of us would have seen coming.

It actually scares me now to reflect on this. Because a few weeks after I started my new role, Mr C and I were having a conversation in the car. I remember it like it was yesterday. I have no doubt that I always will. My tweet for the day was this ““Life feels settled” I said to Mr C today. “It’s like I’m in the calm before the storm.” Who knows if or when that storm will come but on day 230 I’m going to #BeThankful for the calm and all that brings.” I shared it with an image that said, “Be thankful for all you have, because you never know what might happen next!” Wow. It’s sort of hard to remember and contemplate a time in my life when I didn’t feel like I was living in a storm. Two weeks after I posted that tweet, we learnt there was a chance he could be made redundant. Three months later, he was. Six months later his first symptom of COVID-19 showed. Seven months later he was dead. Seems I was fairly prophetic with my calm before the storm statement. I blinking wish I hadn’t been.

But even after we had the news that he might be made redundant, I continued doing my daily Be Thankful’s. I ended up doing them for an entire year. They sort of became ingrained in me. Other people started to tell me they looked forward to seeing them and reminding themselves to look for something in their day. I remember someone telling me that she had tried to do a daily “Be Happy” but all it had really served to do was show her that she wasn’t happy. It’s interesting isn’t it? Because when we try to force ourselves to feel something, it becomes incredibly difficult to do. When we allow ourselves to feel something no matter what else might have happened and to help us breathe a little bit, it becomes far more natural. I don’t in any way claim to be a psychologist, but these conversations do make me stop and think about people, how we respond to situations and what helps our mindset.

And of course, I do remember overthinking it and asking people what I should do when my year was up. I hadn’t really had an idea of how long I’d do them for when I started, but a year felt like a good time to finish. And of course. The marketer in me did a nice little word cloud when that year was up. I queried if I should do a daily “Be Brave” (my sister started giving me ideas such as jumping out of a plane). But again. Had I gone down that route, it probably would have been prophetic. Who knew what I was about to face in my life. But I didn’t. Shortly before Mr C fell ill and I was getting fed up with all the doom and gloom on my timeline, I started doing the Be Thankful’s again. I invited other people to join me. One of the Twitter family started doing it, I believe she’s on day 823 now. I love seeing her daily tweets and knowing that someone else does this as well.

After I started them again in March 2020, I carried on doing them for a little while after he fell ill and then I stopped. It was just something else I didn’t need to be doing or thinking about. I had enough on my plate. And to be honest, I was completely struggling coming up with things in those ridiculously early days. It was bleak. It was hard work. No two ways about it. But it recently popped up on my Facebook memories that I did start doing them again in June 2020. I’d had the weirdest day where grief was getting me in every which way. Of course it was. My husband hadn’t been dead for two months, I don’t know why I expected anything else. I was up. I was down. I was up. I was down again. And then I managed to build a computer chair. I felt I was going to carry them on this time.

Except I know I didn’t. At some point I stopped doing them. I can’t tell you when and I can’t really tell you why, because I don’t actually know. Until 1 December 2021. I remember it because it was a day that felt like someone had flicked a switch. I spent a lot of the day in tears. Mr C absolutely loved Christmas and just seeing December on the calendar and knowing we were about to do our second Christmas without him tipped me over the edge. It felt that it was going to be harder than the one the previous year. I could feel the potential for me to spiral. So, I decided that I was going to return to an old faithful just for a month and see where it took me… I’m now on day 201 of this round of Be Thankful.

I’m so incredibly glad I started doing it again. Yes, there are days when it feels like a stretch to find something. But I always do. People always tell me that I’m so positive. I disagree. I don’t think I’m positive. I don’t pretend the tough times don’t happen. I don’t try to turn them into a positive. But what I am is a realist. And I try to find just the tiniest shred of hope and something to appreciate even on those tough days. About a month ago, that same niece of mine said “I’m proud of you” when I was talking about being nominated for an award for my blog. Again. Something so small at the end of a really long day, but the impact it had was immeasurable. Finding one thing that is good in a day is just something I have to do to help my mindset and help me survive the madness.

Because as the prints around my house remind me. There is always, always something to be thankful for. I don’t know why I ever forgot that really. The kindest and sweetest six-year-old taught me that three years ago. And I will forever be thankful to her that she did.

	Are you ready for Ch… on Out now: Is Daddy Going to Be…
	To Charlie – L… on On my own
	Sylvia on On my own
	Talk you down… on Suddenly you’re seeing me, jus…
	Talk you down… on It’s okay not to be okay