Tag: New Year

Goodbye 2024

Various photos of Emma and Rebekah Charlesworth taken in 2024

Discombobulating. Sometimes just one word can perfectly sum up your year. This for me is the word that works best for 2024. I’ve thought of some other ones, but the language might have been a teeny bit stronger than this. So, I’m sticking with this one. 

I ended my 2023 year end blog asking for one thing… “never tell me the odds.” Turns out once again I was right about not really knowing what 2024 would bring. I can’t sit here now and say it’s all been bad, there has been so much positive, but it’s not all been cupcakes and rainbows. I’d have been incredibly naïve to have expected it to be all truth be told. But I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever have a year that feels settled for the whole year. When I might be able to look back and not have a tear in my eye as I remember some parts of the year. If I’m honest, I’m not convinced it’s possible for this to ever happen. Because that’s life. It’s full of the good, the bad and the ugly. And I guess you could say that’s been the biggest thing to have come out of 2024. Beginning to accept this. And accepting that I have to change. 

But let’s start at the very beginning. For that is a very good place to start. A few days into 2024, I experienced a leak in my house. Leaks became a definite part of my 2024. But I handled it well. I just got on with it, didn’t cry and just dealt with the consequences. It felt like I’d turned a bit of a corner from when I’d had a leak when I went to Butlins just a few months prior. I was on the up. I was focusing on the positive. It felt good. My daughter had her birthday in January and a group of teenagers descended on my house one Friday night, doing karaoke and playing Just Dance. They then all went shopping the following day and I spent the day mooching around, making the most of time in the sales and just generally relaxing. 

I’d like to say that February was pretty non-descript, but I suspect that if I didn’t mention a certain thing that happened in February, my daughter would write a letter of complaint to me. For this was the month that she undertook some coaching with Jac Yarrow, a West End star who we had first seen play Joseph in 2019. Granted, I only took my daughter to see Joseph because Jason Donovan was in it… that’ll teach me! But as I sat outside my lounge door and listened to her sing I Dreamed A Dream from Les Misérables, I couldn’t have been prouder. I thought back to the same time the previous year. When she had just been referred for counselling to help her manage her anxiety and how there wouldn’t have been a hope in hell of her being able to do this. Something so unexpected, yet so rewarding. Who knew when that happened that Jac would be going into Les Misérables in 2024 and she’d get to watch him on stage doing what he does best. Or that she’d audition and sing I Dreamed A Dream at her school’s Winter Festival. I guess this is what I meant when I said, “never tell me the odds.”

And while I’m not necessarily going to go through every month in order, I couldn’t not mention March and April. This was when things really started to shift. When I started believing in myself a bit more. When I started breaking bad habits. Or at least attempting to. I began watching TV after my daughter went to bed. Something that had taken me nearly four years to do. I began life coaching sessions with Sheryl Findlay. I invested in me. One of the toughest decisions I’ve ever made, because, let’s face it, how many of us actually invest in ourselves? And then. At the end of March, I pushed myself completely out of my comfort zone. My daughter and I got on a plane to California to do the trip that my late husband and I had always planned for my 40th birthday. I can’t lie, in the run up to the holiday I just keep thinking “I don’t know, I’m making this up as I go” even though the laminated itinerary had been triple and quadruple checked. But I was beyond nervous. It was the first time I had taken my daughter overseas to somewhere I’d never been before. It was the first time I had ever driven abroad. I was scared. But as we picked up at our hire car in San Francisco and the customer services adviser said, “You need to go to level C for Charlie in the car park,” I knew we were going to be ok. I knew that our guardian angel was continuing to watch over us.

Admittedly, I think that guardian angel would have been slightly despairing on hearing my daughter say “what is that? It’s weird” when she looked at the car. Because much to my surprise, we were given a Dodge Challenger. A proper American muscle car. I had to take a deep breath. Here was I, never having driven abroad and about to drive at least 500 miles in a big, scary car. It was black which only made it look slightly meaner. If I’m honest, red would have been the only other colour to have. I sent photos to male friends back home, most of whom were despairing because they knew I wouldn’t have been driving it the way it deserved to be driven! But the main point here is that I did it. My daughter and I did it. Yes, there were difficult moments and arguments during the holiday, there were always going to be, but we also made memories and had such a lovely time. I was so proud of us. And as we went whale watching in Monterey Bay, I knew that my late husband was proud of us too. We saw incredible pods of orcas, so much so that the tour guide asked who on the boat had good karma because he rated it amongst his top three trips (and he’s been doing this trip for nine years with three tours a day). 

The 2024 CharlieFest in honour of Mr C’s 50th birthday year then took place, it had felt like the right time to host our next fundraising event. I was so nervous going into it, more nervous than I had been in 2022 because it felt like there was more at stake. This was going to be the one that determined whether I could sell tickets and do another one in the future. I needn’t have worried. We raised just over £2,500 for the Intensive Care Unit at Medway Hospital. It was once again humbling. And once again, I had an exceptionally proud mum moment when I watched my daughter duet with her father thanks to the magic of technology and the wonderful dedication and hard work of his band members. I’m not actually convinced there was a dry eye in the house. I couldn’t have asked for more from her or the day itself. Yet as we rapidly approached my late husband’s 50th, I got my first real inkling of how much grief is still affecting me. The struggle as we hit our fifth Fathers’ Day without him. The admitting that his 50th was affecting me way more than I’d anticipated it would and the need to take some time out of from work and reset for a little bit. I wish I’d learnt my lesson then. I wish I’d realised just how much I needed to make sure I continue to rest and reset. But I didn’t. 

As I continued to push myself and do so much over the summer, including watching my daughter perform in Disneyland Paris (yet another proud mum moment of 2024) and being terrified by Darth Vader while I was there, I could see from our calendar that life was going to get hectic as we went into the autumn. The calendar that was always full. The insane trips we went on under my mantra “life is too short.” It’s little wonder that at the end of October, everything came crashing down around me. The life that I’d been living simply became too much. I knew I had to make tough decisions. Why? Because I couldn’t keep it up anymore. I realised I’d essentially been playing a bizarre game of peekaboo with myself. Hiding from the truth. Constantly trying to keep busy because being at home triggers too much in me of being in lockdown when my world fell apart. Being scared to say no to people because I worry that they might not like me if I do or that they might die. Not realising that actually everything I joked about as being normal for my life was, in fact, me living with trauma and not knowing how to process it. 

After being mentally and physically exhausted due to not sleeping, possibly for the first time ever, I knew something had to give. No longer would my sister have been able to say, “she’s good in bed” because I’m a heavy sleeper and don’t move (though this is definitely the line that’s going on my online dating profile should I ever attempt this again). Instead, had she stayed with me she no doubt would have been saying “she fidgets, she talks in her sleep, she’s an absolute nightmare in bed.” I made a call. I was assessed. I was referred to a therapist. I haven’t told many people this. Mainly because I felt like a failure. I’d been so proud in a blog I wrote in October that my daughter and I hadn’t needed therapy this year, that I felt I’d be letting so many people down if I admitted it. 

Yet I’ve since had a word with myself and reminded myself that I’m not a failure. If I’m honest, I think I’m probably the strongest I’ve ever been right now. So much of that is down to all the work I did with Sheryl. Investing in myself in this way has paid such dividends. She helped me realise things I was holding back. She inspired me. She helped me plan my future and look at all I want to achieve. Gave me realistic ways I could do this. She did, in essence, become one of my biggest cheerleaders. And I simply cannot thank her enough. There is one particular project I spent a lot of the year working on which would never have happened without her and other friends believing in me. I hope that 2025 sees that come to fruition. 

But the trouble with being strong, is that in a way, you also become weak. Because you accept your vulnerabilities more. They’re your superpower but when you’re strong enough, you realise you need to process and accept everything that is holding you back. Everything that you’re scared of. You realise your own self-worth. What you deserve. What you need. From so many different aspects of your life. This has been the biggest learning curve of 2024 for me. That all the external fears and worries I have pale into insignificance really. That the biggest threat to me, is actually me. When it comes to me, I am the danger. By not being honest with myself and hiding from me. I need to become comfortable with just resetting. Of not pushing myself. Of doing what is right for me in the moment. Of not trying to do 1,000 things all the time out of fear. Of not trying to be the one who saves relationships. Of not trying to rescue situations out of fear and worry. People have hurt me this year. But I’ve realised that it says more about them than it does about me. And fundamentally, if they don’t come with me into 2025, that’s on them. It’s their loss. Because 2025 is the year when I start focusing on and looking after me and my daughter. 

I’m doing this not just for us, but for two other important people who were a huge part of my life and for over two decades tried to get me to slow down. One of these was my late husband. The other, a close friend of mine who unexpectedly died towards the end of this year. In one of our last conversations, I shared what I’ve written about in this blog, and I went into more detail about my overthinking. There was no judgement, they were simply staggered that they’d never realised this about me. That my propensity to do so much came from fear, and not because I’m just a nightmare who likes to keep busy. I mentioned earlier that I got my first real inkling of how much grief is still affecting me back in June, but in December this really hit home. Shock deaths are likely to do this, but I could never have envisaged how triggered I would be by this. And in a move which would have shocked them both, I stopped. I took time out from work. I sat at home. I didn’t try to be everything to everyone. I put me first. I said no to people. I didn’t make additional plans. Christmas Day saw my daughter and I sit in PJs, cuddle on the sofa, watch TV and just be. It was our simplest and most underrated Christmas ever. It was, in amongst all the sadness and memories of Christmases’ past, the perfect Christmas for us this year. 

I go into 2025 with a heavy heart. I would be lying to say otherwise. The five year anniversary of the pandemic and my husband’s death is looming. But I also go into it with hope. It’s what’s got me through the last five years. I know I’m doing all I can to become a better version of me over the next few months. I have a cunning plan for what I’m going to do to mark what would have been our 20th wedding anniversary. I hope that by the summer I really will be able to appreciate the simpler things in my life. The breeze winnowing through the grass. Splashing in puddles on a rainy day. Just sitting. The minor things that happen every day but give cause to be thankful for. 

But above all else, I’m looking forward to finally being comfortable being me. Deep down inside I know I’m pretty phenomenal. 2025 is when I want to be able to believe it. I just don’t know what else 2025 is going to bring. But that’s ok. It doesn’t scare me as much as it would have done a year ago. 

I already know that there are two words which will feature heavily in 2025: Jason. Excessive. As for the rest of it and what else 2025 will bring? Never tell me the odds. 

Goodbye 2023

Images from across 2023


2023 will be done in a matter of hours. I can’t help but feel I’ve sort of blinked and missed it. And when I look back, I don’t really know where to begin. I can safely say that on 1 January 2023 I did not envisage going viral on social media, being in two national newspapers and a local newspaper because of my love for Jason Donovan, writing an article that would appear in another national newspaper, being attacked by the Easter Bunny, getting a tattoo, feeding a tiger, winning an award for my blog, braving a boudoir photoshoot or getting my middle out at Butlins. Amongst a myriad of other experiences that have happened this year. I guess this is why people say never tell me the odds. Because, quite simply, if someone had told me the odds of any of this happening, I’d never have believed them and placed a bet expecting to make a fortune.

So. Where to start? Probably at the very beginning, because it’s a very good place to start. I did what I always do when I write a blog summarising my year, read the one I wrote this time last year. I ended last year saying “bring on 2023… If I’m honest, it’s a little scary feeling more in control because I wonder what I’m actually capable of. What comes next for Emma…” I think I felt ready for what was to come my way this year. I think I felt that I was the strongest I’d been for a long time.

But within a couple of weeks, change came my way. My daughter started a new chapter in her life and became a teenager. I was unprepared for just how this would make me feel. I cried a lot in the run up to it. I had to sit and write because it was the only way I knew how to articulate the feelings I had about her entering this phase without her dad. I think it was one of the very first blogs of mine that she read. It made her cry. I didn’t intend for this to happen, but apparently this is what my blogs do to people. But as we got through her birthday and I watched her at her birthday party, I couldn’t have been prouder. My baby became a beautiful teenager surrounded by a lovely group of friends and she smiled. My word did she have a big smile on her face. She looked happy and relaxed. I simply had no real way of knowing what was heading our way just a few weeks later.

Before writing this, I made sure she was comfortable with what I was going to write. Because it’s her story and not mine. This year essentially saw her hit rock bottom. No-one would have known or suspected if they’d seen her at that party. But a year to the day since I was told I was heading for a nervous breakdown and a doctor signed me off sick, I had to take her to the doctor. It resulted in her being referred for counselling which she was then in for a number of months. As a mother, it’s the hardest thing watching your child go through something and not being able to fix it. To know how difficult it was for her to talk to a counsellor but knowing that she absolutely needed to do this. Knowing how difficult it was to make herself vulnerable. To talk about her anxiety with a stranger. But she persevered and did this. If you’d have told me after that doctor’s appointment that just a few months later she’d be painting herself green and performing as Elphaba in her dance school’s summer show, I’d never have believed you. I just wouldn’t have been able to envisage her having the confidence and self-belief to do this. But this is exactly what she did. She smashed it. It felt like the biggest win ever to see the progress she had made. For someone who has been told she’s loquacious (yes, it’s perfectly acceptable to Google the meaning of this word, trust me, I had to) I am pretty lost for words when it comes to describing just how proud of her I am and how far she’s come.

But equally, I’m proud of me and how far I’ve come. Yes. Broken Emma has been a part of my 2023 but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You have to experience and live through the bad to be able to appreciate the good. I haven’t achieved all I wanted to this year. But I’ve still achieved a heck of a lot. I changed my role at work in January. I built a balloon arch and hosted our first big gathering without Mr C for the coronation. We’ve been on a fabulous holiday with friends which saw me shockingly wear a bikini and take photos of myself in it. We’ve been able to go to the theatre. We’ve had adventures with friends.

And all of this against a backdrop of a year that hasn’t been without challenge. It was never going to be. While the sun always shines on TV (come on, I grew up watching Neighbours, falling in love with Jason and believing the Australian sunshine!) that’s not real life. This has been the year myself and my daughter have fallen ill for the first time since I was widowed. The year the perimenopause has taken hold. The year the UK Covid-19 Inquiry started with many revelations coming out. A number of which sent me down a “what if?” path. Watching the programme Partygate was tough but something I needed to do. It’s been the year my nan went into a care home. Initially just for respite, but 11 months later she’s still there. It was the right decision for her. Yet leaving her that first night broke my heart. Caring for someone with Alzheimer’s is one of the toughest things you can do. Because you simply cannot explain to them what is going on. But she settled, there’s been some other health issues throughout the year but on the whole she’s been doing ok. And then, on 23 December, we got a call. She’d had a fall and was being taken by ambulance to A&E. I was on a train home from London having seen Harry Potter and the Cursed Child with my daughter. There’s talk of a magic train in that play, and by the time the night had finished I felt I’d been on a magic train on the way home that had taken me to a parallel universe! Because not only had Nan broken her wrist, but that night also saw me get stuck behind a car accident on my way home and needing the police to try to jump-start my car after the battery died resulting in me being awake for 24 hours straight. No sun shining on me that day!

Yet as hard as this night was and as much as the tears did come, it didn’t knock me as much as it might have done this time last year. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t cried in the hospital, not only because of what had happened to my nan but because I find being in A&E a challenge. It sends me down a path of wondering what Mr C’s experience in A&E was like. What machines beeped when he was there. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wake up after some sleep on Christmas Eve and cry some more. But I looked for the humour in what had happened. I saw the funny side. The fact that you literally can’t write my life at times. I joked in a Facebook post that if anyone had the police trying to jump-start my car on their bingo card for what happens next in my life, to mark it off. I’ve learnt this year that levity is the best way for me to cope. It’s what gets me through. I doubt that will ever change.

But more than that. I’m proud of me because I know I have an air of confidence, self belief and a sparkle in my eye that wasn’t there a year ago. A lot of that has come from that boudoir photoshoot I won with Style Photography in August. Prior to this I’d have always said that in my experience there’s no such thing as luck, but I do feel exceptionally lucky for that win and the fact it gave me something I didn’t know I needed. I suspect there is a whole other blog coming about this and what it taught me. But when you look at a photo of yourself and query whether it’s been photoshopped, you realise you’ve been looking at yourself through the wrong eyes for a very long time. I’ll never know whether it was this that led to me wearing a two piece at Butlins. In 42 years, I’d never worn anything like this. I’m still absolutely staggered I did. Again. I’d have got good odds on this at the start of 2023! However. I did also learn something else very valuable during that trip. Don’t go to Butlins for a Halloween weekend. There are zombies, scary clowns and people in all sorts of masks for example, Michael Myers, who completely freak me out (masks terrify me). It’s why next year we’re going in September!

Yet all joking aside. That weekend was another example of confidence. The phrase “she’s leaking” took on a whole new meaning when I was just sat in the back of the car crying on the way. That weekend came at the end of a particularly griefy week and my hot water cylinder leaking. I toyed with not going. So, to have turned that around to be out in 80s fancy dress on the first night and with my middle out on the second isn’t something I think I could have done a year ago. I feel so lucky and privileged to have my girls in my life who got me through that weekend. Equally I feel so privileged and grateful for all the opportunities that have come my way this year. For the new people who have come into my life. For what they’ve taught me. For the friends and family who continue to be such a major part of my life and support me and my daughter. Who help me to be able to go to work and live my life. And above all else. I feel so grateful to everyone who donated so that my daughter and I were able to donate another £2,020 in Mr C’s memory from the sales of calendars featuring his photos between The Big Cat Sanctuary and Medway Hospital ICU.

As I wrote this listening to my daughter on karaoke with one of her closest friends and I looked ahead to 2024, I did so with a smile on my face. For the first time in nearly four years, I feel a real sense of contentment. 2024 is already shaping up to be a busy one and one filled with emotion. Star Wars Day is going to be pretty special. It’ll see me mark 20 years at PwC, 15 years since learning we were expecting Miss C and the day the next CharlieFest will take place to raise funds for Medway Hospital ICU. And while we have other adventures planned, we also have Mr C’s 50th birthday looming. There’s going to be a number of emotions and triggers associated with that. But my daughter and I will deal with them together. It’s simply what we do.

As for what else 2024 will bring, who knows. I’m not even going to try to guess. All I can do is ask one thing… never tell me the odds.

Goodbye 2022

Photos from across 2022

Wow. 2022 is done. Pretty sure that’ll go down in my history as that was the year that was. A year that took so much. A year that gave so much. A year that made me look at the world differently. A year that feels like it could have been about 10 years in one in all honesty.

Before writing this, I read back the blog I wrote this time last year. I ended it with the phrase “I am good enough.” Funny. Within six weeks I wasn’t feeling this anymore. My world capitulated. I was signed off work sick. I was forced to stop. I was forced to really and truly look after me. I don’t doubt when I wrote that blog that I meant it, but now I just think I was still trying to convince myself. I’m not convinced now that I properly believed it.

But that’s how grief works. That’s how stress works. You think you’re ok. You think you’ve made progress. But it’s only when you look back at where you were that you realise that while you were ok and had made progress, it wasn’t nearly as much as you thought you’d made. I remember looking at a photo of from New Year’s Eve last year and saying that the smile reached my eyes and I wanted to hold on to that feeling. But again, that smile faded relatively quickly.

I honestly thought going into this year that I was a lot further ahead than I was. I didn’t realise the effect that stress was having on me. I didn’t realise that my emotional resilience simply isn’t as strong as it once was. I doubt it ever will be again. I’d spent 2021 adjusting to reality and trying so very hard to keep going, to keep things as they’d always been, that I didn’t think about what was best for me as I started to look for coping mechanisms for adjusting to my new life.

As I look back over this year, I realise that I spent a lot of 2022 looking for distraction techniques. I absolutely know that I did it. I gave so much of myself to others as a way of stopping me thinking about me and what I was distracting myself from. And for what? Were these the people messaging me on Christmas Day to wish a Merry Christmas? No. People who are willing to take and not give back aren’t really the people that someone like me needs. Plus I’ve learnt something invaluable in the last few months. Distraction only really works in the short term. It’s only really preventing the inevitable. You can only really jump from one distraction to another for a short amount of time. It’s quite tiring for this to be sustained.

But it’s fair to say that new people have become a big part of my life this year. In an odd sort of way, it’s easier talking to and being with these people. The people who didn’t know me before (my life genuinely feels marked by the timeline of before Mr C died and after). Yes, I talk about him with them. But it’s on my terms. I like and enjoy being with people that didn’t know him, that only know me and accept me for who I am now. This is no doubt incredibly selfish of me, but when you’re trying to work out who you are and find your way, you sometimes have to be selfish.

A perfect example is someone who has become an integral part of my life this year. I received a message recently because of a conversation they’d had about me. “I don’t think we’d have met if she hadn’t lost her husband, and I’d give anything for that to be the situation” was the phrase that hit home. Because that’s it. My life is now on a different trajectory. With different people. With a different outlook. With a different mentality. I hate “what ifs” but they’re all par for the course. They’re what mess with my head the most. If Mr C hadn’t have died, what would my life be like? Who would be in it? What experiences would I have had?

Online dating is a prime example of something I wouldn’t have entertained if he was still here. And after my small foray into it this year, I do still sort of like the idea and haven’t totally given up that one day in the future someone may care for me or love me again (damn those cheesy Christmas films I’ve been watching! Although if anyone knows a widower like Jude Law, please send him my way!) But someone else in my life is still not something Miss C is willing to entertain. And that’s perfectly understandable and something we’ll have to work through if the Jude Law widower appears. Right now though, she much prefers the idea of me being on my own forever and becoming a Crazy Cat Lady with nine cats. Touching really.

But even creating an online profile is something that a year ago I wouldn’t have felt capable of doing. It wasn’t on the agenda. I know I said this at the end of 2021: “I know as I go into 2022, my rollercoaster will inevitably dip at times. But I also know it will rise up too. Because I have plans. I have ambitions. I’m dreaming big. I have the best people around me. The hope and reality I’ve adjusted to in 2021 has taught me that I can get through and do anything if I really want to” but attempting to date wasn’t one of those plans. Damn those curveballs. And I also know I didn’t achieve as many of those ambitions as I wanted to because of curveballs and distraction techniques. But add those to your world capitulating within six weeks and it’s actually very hard to.

But I have achieved some of those plans. And so very much more. I’ve seen Jason (once or twice!), I’ve had weekends away and nights out with the girls, I’ve done a lot more as “Emma” (including meeting Ronan Keating, not sure my sister will forgive me if I don’t mention that!), I’ve been to Wales and Scotland for two Widowed and Young (WAY) events, my blog was nominated for the Helen Bailey Award, I’ve appeared on TV as part of the Kelsey Parker: Life After Tom documentary, I’ve participated in a 25 Tuesday’s with WAY Instagram Live, I’ve spoken on the panel at the launch of the UK Commission on Bereavement’s “Bereavement is everyone’s business” report, I’ve hosted a fundraising event in memory of Mr C raising £3,500 for Medway Hospital’s Critical Care unit, I’ve launched a 2023 calendar featuring his photos and I’ve joined my daughter on an Instagram live with Winston’s Wish.

And on Miss C. This hasn’t been an easy year for her. The secondary losses she’s adjusting to have felt worse this year. But as a pair, we’re getting there. We’re finding a rhythm. We can argue like cat and dog at times. But we keep going. My proudest moment of the year was watching her dance at Disneyland Paris with her dance school. I’d have paid a fortune just to see that smile again, but I didn’t need to. Her being able to perform gave her that. We’ve managed overseas trips together. Florida, Paris and New York. I’m not going to lie, there’s been tricky moments during all of these trips. But somehow, we get through them. We’ve got through so much worse, we’re still living with pain and we always will be, but our little rhythm is picking up a bit of pace.

And these trips are just some of the firsts we’ve had to do in 2022. Anyone that tells you all the firsts are done within the first year is wrong. Partly because we lost in a pandemic. This year has also seen us return to the theatre for the annual panto trip for Miss C’s birthday, we’ve seen Mr C’s football team for the first time at a charity match which raised money for WAY in his memory, Miss C did her first dance show since 2019, her first dance show Christmas party (where I incidentally performed a Street dance having started lessons in September, although I’m not sure she was as proud of me as I was of her in Paris!!!!), and a return to friends for their annual Christmas gathering.

Life has slowly, slowly returned to “normal” this year. Except it isn’t our normal. Our normal was with Mr C. But he’s not here anymore. I don’t actually know what our normal is. I don’t know if I ever will. I’ll always be a widow. My daughter will always be growing up without her father. In fact, I’ve repeatedly told her this hasn’t been a normal year. It’s exceptionally unlikely we’ll ever have a year filled with as much as we have this year. I think we’ve got one more theatre trip to do and then we’re finally caught up on rescheduled dates.

I know that 2023 will be very different. The theatre trips and days out will be less, the overseas trips won’t be able to happen as frequently, I’ve got to adjust to being a one salary household against a cost of living crisis and the return to normal activities. There’s going to be some tough decisions coming my way because of this. I know that. I’ve got decisions to make regarding my future career, in the short term, medium term and long term. Sacrifices are going to have to be made. Nearly three years since my late husband died, I’m now in a position where the world is open, costs are higher and life on my own is harder.

But. I will make these decisions. They feel a little overwhelming but I’ll make them. Because it’s what I do. I’m so exceptionally proud of 2022 and all I’ve achieved. But the thing I’m proud of most of all is the fact that I’m still standing. 11 months ago I was told I was heading for a nervous breakdown. It was one of the biggest wake up calls I’ve ever had to face. Something had to give. I had to stop. I had to look after me. It’s taken a hell of a lot of adjusting for me.

If I’m honest, it’s a little scary feeling more in control, because I wonder what I’m now actually capable of. What comes next for Emma? If I strip back the distraction techniques, the need to constantly be busy, the constant trying to find out who I am and the acceptance that I am not Wonder Woman, what can I achieve? I don’t know. It’s going to be exciting to find out so bring on 2023. Because if 2022 has taught me anything, it’s to remember the words to a song I say is my song and regularly tell myself:

“Don’t you know I’m still standing better than I ever did?

Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid

And I’m still standing after all this time.”