An Open Letter To The Engulfed Adult – Let’s Talk About Boundaries

“We adapt to fit the life with which we find ourselves”

Holding space for oneself when society and families have continually dismissed our feelings is a Radical Form of Healing. Today, I am using my blog to discuss something which holds great importance in my life: boundaries.

Boundaries come in many forms, be they physical barriers, internal or individual boundaries, or joint boundaries shared with a partner or a friend with which you share a mutual space. Weak or non-existent boundaries leave you feeling vulnerable and likely engulfed by relationships which should be overall positive. Boundaries, therefore, are key to ensuring that relationships are kept mutually respectful, supportive and caring. On the other hand, healthy boundaries will allow you to feel confident and understand what being treated well can look and feel like.

As time goes on, your boundaries may require updating. Perhaps the time you can give to others is much more limited after starting a new relationship or having a baby. Redefining your boundaries may mean swapping the belief “I want to please others” to “I value my time and want to keep some for myself.” “No” does not require an explanation, in any situation. Set the boundary, and know that that is enough.

Bear in mind that those close to you may not be fully supportive in your attempts to change. Especially if those close to you have volatile or narcissistic tendencies – examples may include being prone to emotional eruptions and child-like behaviour in the form of personal attacks or not showing responsibility for their actions. Food for thought – the only people who get upset about you setting boundaries are the people who were benefiting from you having none and someone failing to see how harmful or abusive their behaviour is does not excuse them from it or make it okay. They have been used to the old ways of doing things. As with any life change, extending boundaries has a price, and this may be losing acquaintances along the way. Of course, those relationships that are worth having will survive, and grow stronger. Above all else, it is important to remember that your story is allowed to change, as are your beliefs, your identity and your routine – this is healthy growth, and we adapt to fit the life with which we find ourselves. Maintaining consciousness in our relationships leads to a higher level of authenticity and creates strong foundations based on commitment and trust. And truly, no amount of ‘support’, ‘sacrifice’ or ‘generosity’ justifies someone treating you badly, even if that someone is a significant other or has been. As a somewhat decent example, I find scouring my social media networks and removing, or even blocking anyone I feel I do not have a connection with, or someone who is hindering my personal growth or a mutual growth that I share with somebody close to me – so, if anybody reading this feels offended by my choices, please understand that my behaviour is not personal to you, but that self-preservation is more important to me than potential emotional upheaval.

It is entirely normal to have things we don’t share with others – even with those we are closest to. Some things we wish to keep private, even if just for a short while. This is common in relationships with which weak or non-existent boundaries have been prevalent, where others feel in control of your individual actions. Remember, you are in control of every choice in your life. With whom you share your choices with is entirely your decision, and not the decision of anybody else, even those who you share joint past experiences with. It is important to remember, however, that there will be people in your life, especially those who have a large amount of your respect, who will be admonished in your choice-making and boundary creating, it is important to note here that people who do not respect you or your choices, will attack those who you respect – it is a form of horizontal bullying, and is a mechanism used when a person feels exposed or threatened, or like they have lost control. It’s really simple: the idea is that these personal attacks will make you question your choices and pave the way back into the potentially abusive relationship, it is a traditional form of gas-lighting and is, unfortunately, very common.

Once you have established strong, clear boundaries, people will give you more respect. This means you can be yourself to a greater extent, asking for what you really want and need without fear of judgement. Emotional manipulators will back off and in their place sustainable, loving relationships will thrive. It only takes one person in a situation to create new patterns, end potential generational trauma and release the idea of love as self-betrayal.

 

Signing off,

H. Xx

Christmas, cooking, and September cerebration

I am almost shocked that it is only 113 days until the big ‘C’.

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Okay, I promise not to mention it again until at least November – I’m just so excited. Not to mention that we have a plethora of birthdays between then and now, sprinkled with work trips abroad and mini-holidays, but I feel that if this final third of 2019 goes as quickly as the previous, I might not write another blog post until at least March (I’m not even going to apologise for lack of comms my end, I think it’s good to have a healthy level of enjoyment with all things that take work – jobs, blogs, projects, and the main cause of my burnout in all aspects of my life is my incessant need to prove myself better than how I feel – you know, my Mother always tells me ‘’life will always catch up to you”).  Not to mention, the end of the year always ends with my birthday. With that being said, do any other December Capricorns feel like they view all birthdays with the same lacklustre as theirs are greeted with? I’ve come to accept that my birthday will always be overshadowed by ‘is upstairs, thus my fervour for all things Christmas. But I love the run-up too.

There’s been such a nip in the air the past few days hasn’t there? Or am I just forcing myself to feel chilly so I can dust off my roll-neck jumpers? Or my ‘Velma sweaters’ as my man lovingly refers to them as. I’ve even began the annual search for some new Winter boots. I’ve seen some INCREDIBLE ones from Gucci, but I also remember that our bank account is regularly drained with all things dog and kitten (more on that later), and that our frivolous, child-less lifestyle means that £800 for some new kicks just cannot be justified *boo, hiss*. I do love the chunky, leather look this year – but someone says they look too much like his issued Alt-Bergs. I did, however, relent and buy a *few* autumnal scented candles from TK Maxx yesterday – even though a homemade pumpkin pie smells SO much better, I’m a sucker for the manufactured scent too. I’ve even dug out his winter fleeces to wear over some of my thinner tops, but await a telling-off for tucking in his prized Fjällräven fleece and, I pre-quote “ruining its tactical integrity”.

Anyway, more importantly, we finally added to our fur-brood. A few blog posts ago, I told you all about our visit to one of the RSPCA branches and our subsequent love-affair with a 7-year-old Torti. Well, that fell through quite significantly. We never got a call back, and can only assume it was because we told them we would be moving into SFA in the next couple of years, but were always planning to take her with us and her canine big sisters. But alas, fate was not on our side. I hope she did find a loving new home. She deserved it. Has anyone else had trouble with rehoming through the RSPCA? We have always run into some kind of trouble. Yet, all our animals are from rescues. Elsa the Pointer even made a journey from Madrid to our home – she’s yet to look back, I think all she remembers is her Dad picking her up and rocking her like a baby for the first time. Ah.

Long story short, we now have a dastardly magpie adolescent kitten called Freddie. He’s the perfect addition to our family, not only because he almost even-outs the gender divide (which the man LOVES by the way), but he helps you appreciate the small things in life. Literally. He’s only 17 weeks old, and only stands about 3 inches tall (oh, and already rules the roost). As I’m writing, he is trying incessantly to get my attention to let him outside for a charge around the garden after the dogs – he’s amazed by everything. So amazed, in fact, that he still hasn’t worked out how to scale the garden fence to get out, but I’m sure that will come soon. Right now, he’s still amazed by the ground and the world of insects which inhabit it.

Even more exciting news to tell you though, we’re going on our second holiday of the year next week. Well, I say holiday in the loosest sense of the term. I have a conference in Berlin next Friday, and we mutually decided how great it would be if J tagged along and we stayed a few extra days to take in the sights. Perhaps not many of you know that Ich spreche Deutsch, so Germany is always an easy option for travelling. Plus, Berlin is an entire world in and of itself and you’ve got to be a little boring yourself to ever get bored of visiting. Our hotel is perfectly situated and within walking distance of pretty much everything that we’re interested in seeing – and the Kurfürstendamm is a short tram journey away for holiday shopping. Or, if we’re feeling very bold, we could take the whole walk through Tiergarten and reward ourselves with Spaghettieis. Possibilities.

Then, next month I go away to Africa with work for the second time this year, which again, is super exciting. I love Africa. Those of you who didn’t go to primary school with me, won’t know that I actually used to live in what was a tiny suburb north of Durban called Umhlanga. So, every opportunity to re-visit the vast but beautiful continent is always received gratefully by me.

I try not to write in too much depth about J’s work and its “trips” but, suffice to say, he has been incredibly busy this year – which I hope will slow down sometime soon (doubt it!). I’m always in such awe of him professionally, he never moans about his work or having to go away, and I’m so happy that he enjoys his profession. I do, however, have to wonder why some of the forces operate the way that they do, i.e. backward in every and any sense of the word. I have started to give up pretending to understand the military, but I will never be silenced if I think that something is just flat-out ridiculous. Soz, J.

To date, my baking adventures have landed me straight into the metaphorical hands of our Queen, Nigella Lawson. I’ve always aspired to bake like her. I think she’s one of the greats. Last night, I stepped out of my comfort zone completely and made a honey pie (honey pie for my honey pie, get it?), and I even made the pastry from scratch. See recipe and piccies below!

 

For the pastry:

8oz plain flour

½ teaspoon fine sea salt (I use Sainsburys own)

125ml light and mild olive oil (I use Filippo Berio)

60ml full fat milk (I use Cravendale)

 

For the filling:

100g unsalted butter (melt this in a medium saucepan beforehand)

150g caster sugar (you can use granulated, but the crust will taste grittier)

1tbsp of cornmeal (quite hard to find – but I did find it on the international ingredients aisle)

1 teaspoon vanilla paste (I use Nielsen-Massey. You can substitute vanilla extract using the same measurements)

2 teaspoons salt

175ml runny honey (recipe calls for ‘good’ honey. I just use Sainsburys own Organic)

3 large eggs

150ml double cream

1 teaspoons apple cider vinegar (again, can be tricky to find – but a good ingredient to have to hand when baking)

 

1. Preheat the oven to 180°C/160°C Fan/gas mark 4/350°F and pop in a baking sheet at the same time.
2. Mix the flour, salt, oil and milk to form a rough, slightly damp, dough. You can do this by hand or at low speed in a mixer. I opted for a mixer.
3. Press over the base of a 1 x 23cm deep-sided) loose-bottomed flan tin and a little up the sides of the tin. Put into the freezer for at least 40 minutes, until the crust has hardened.
4. In a clean mixing bowl, add the melted butter. Mix in the sugar, cornmeal, salt and vanilla paste.
5. Stir in the runny honey – oiling the bowl or jug you’re measuring it in first – and beat in the eggs, followed by the cream and vinegar.
6. Take the pastry-lined flan tin out of the freezer and pour the runny honey mixture into the case, then place on the baking sheet in the oven to bake for 45-50 minutes, turning it around after 30. When it’s ready, it will be a burnished bronze on top, and puffy at the edges. Leave to cool.
7. Once cool, remove to a wire rack and sprinkle with ¼ teaspoon of salt (I use Himalayan rock salt, but the fine sea salt will also work)
8. Slice modestly – this is rich and sweet, and you will want leftovers for yourself – and serve with clotted cream or creme fraiche.

 

 

The pie is terribly sweet – but the salt cuts through the honey to give a rich yet tart mouthfeel. A perfect between-season sweet. It shan’t be long before J and I are pumpkin-picking at our favourite patch for our autumn gourd table staples. What fun!

Signing off,

H. xx

Homecoming – New York Cheesecake Brownies

“They say that the quickest way to someone’s heart, is through their stomach“

That’s definitely true for my other half.

Something my Mum always remarks on, is how his face lights up whenever I make him omelettes for breakfast. Despite my constant jibes, I do really value the time that we get to share together in the kitchen. He’s not a confident cook, but it’s nice to stand back and watch the chaos ensue as he proves to himself that he can make something without my supervision. We still haven’t decided who is the sous-chef, though.

I love to cook. Cooking and baking were integral pieces of my growing up, and some of my fondest memories are of standing on a chair to reach the counter and helping my parents make “comfort food” namely, trifle, apple crumble and meringues. I love making whole meals too, but dessert is where I feel the most at ease.

Being an unaccompanied military family, we can sometimes become so caught up in each-other on our time off that we rush our mealtimes. We are prone to going out for dinner (we love Asian food, especially Japanese and Korean cuisine) and it’s only when we have a good amount of time together that we plan out some proper meals.

I always make him something as a “welcome home” gift. When he came home from America two years ago, I made him a chocolate sponge with Lego frosting (picture attached), and when he came back from Afghanistan last year, I made him a huge batch of cookies..which he ate before I could take a photo. Which is why today, in preparation for his return from the Balkans, where he has been on exercise for the past few weeks, I’ve made him a batch of “gourmet” brownies – New York Cheesecake flavour. New York Cheesecake is definitely a favourite dessert of his. We visited NYC at the beginning of 2019 for a few days and are in the process of planning our second trip at the end of the year because we both enjoyed it so much. I love who we are in New York, and the daily visit to “Junior’s” on 1515 Broadway, W 45 St, were some of the most exciting parts of our trip.

This recipe has been adapted from a recipe that I found on Pinterest, the original has been linked below.

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New York Cheesecake Brownies with Fudge Pieces

For the brownie mixture:

225g unsalted butter

288g granulated sugar

4 eggs

1 tablespoon vanilla bean extract

160g cocoa powder (I used Bournville)

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

192g plain flour

250g fudge pieces

For the cheesecake mixture:

226g cream cheese

150ml sour cream

64g granulated sugar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla bean extract

1 egg

Grease a large pan (I used a 9×13 lasagne pan) and preheat the oven at 176°C (I use a fan oven – for any other oven, increase the heat by 20°C). Line the pan with greaseproof paper (it will make it easier to cut the brownies later).

Melt the butter with the sugar in a microwave bowl. It should take around 3 minutes. I stop it in 30 second intervals to avoid burning.

Pour the butter and sugar mixture into your mixing bowl. Add the eggs and vanilla until smooth. Slowly add the cocoa powder, salt, baking powder, and flour until mixed together. Stir in the fudge pieces.

Pour the mixture into your pan.

In a clean bowl, whisk together the cream cheese, sour cream, sugar, egg and vanilla.

In the brownie mixture, using either the end of a wooden spoon, make around five trenches horizontally and vertically, just as deep as you would like your cheesecake mixture to go (I only do a few centimetres).

Fill the trenches with your cheesecake mixture with a spoon. Don’t worry if it gets over the brownie mixture, once it’s baked, it will have a beautiful marbles effect (and taste great!).

Bake your brownies for around 30 minutes. Don’t be tempted to open the oven halfway through, otherwise your brownies will droop in the middle. If you want your brownies softer, reduce cooking time by 10 minutes.

Refrigerate until cool (I recommend overnight), and cut before serving.

Happy baking!

Original recipe: http://www.yammiesnoshery.com/2014/03/cheesecake-swirl-brownies.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed:+YammiesNoshery+(Yammie%27s+Noshery)&m=1

November Writings

”Though difficult, you take an unconscious vow to understand that you are the top of his hierarchy (and the scariest), but work is important to him, and thus you have to take a step back. Your time will come.”

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I come to you this morning, Berocca’d up to my eyeballs and ready to write again after another hiatus. I have had time to reflect, to cross things off of my ‘Potential Blog Post’ list and to enjoy well deserved down-time following his deployment earlier this year.

Something that not many partners like to talk about post-deployment wise, is the feeling that your partner is being pulled in hundreds of different directions the minute they step off of the plane. Firstly, there still remains important work commitments (guard duty, debriefs, etc.) which can leave us left at home to feel incredibly deflated, after waiting so long for down-time, they are suddenly whisked back into military life. This, of course, we learn to forgive. Though difficult, you take an unconscious vow to understand that you are the top of his hierarchy (and the scariest), but work is important to him, and thus you have to take a step back. Your time will come.

Then comes everyone else. The people I term ‘rubber-neckers’. These are the people who make no effort with your partner whilst he was away, or even during pre-deployment, but are avid that they must ‘come and have a cuppa’ with him now he’s home. And the questions on their lips that shake me to the core every time – ‘’Did you kill anyone?’’ or ‘’Did you see anyone get blown up?’’. Sigh. Now, I am big enough and ugly enough to understand that life in theatre is not always pretty. And that there will be things that he is not ready to tell me. But this level of audacity seems incredibly misguided as a conversation starter. Perhaps I am defensive, or perhaps I am more aware of the detrimental effects this can have on a soldier’s wellbeing. I am lucky enough to come from a wide family of soldiers, of which I am eternally grateful. Army life doesn’t come easy, but it helps if you are born into it. Many of my relatives have been riddled with PTSD, and others subsequently de-riddled from its tyrannical grasp – so I am fully aware of its triggers. That’s not to say that talking doesn’t help, it does, and there are stacks of scholarly articles which prove it, but I like this discussion to be on his terms. Our conversations usually come to us late at night, once he is comfortable and warm, and once he knows that my response will be less one of panic, and more one of support.

Now, to hugely change the subject, a piece of advice – you are not everyone’s cup of tea, and that is okay. This hiatus has been one of reflection for my partner and I. What I have managed to finally understand is that as a people, we are wasting finite time of trying to convince others that we are worthy of their time and appreciation, this sequence often becomes all-consuming. I, like many others, went through an identity crisis when I was in my early teens, I tried tirelessly to ‘fit in’ and failed miserably. Now, grown up, I realise that this was detrimental to my childhood. I should have embraced my personality then – hindsight is a wonderful thing! The people that were to be your friends, will always be your friends, but in order to do so, one must embrace difference, not cement similarity with falsities.

I feel that I am also an anomaly – something my partner and I have shared since our growing up together. Misfits, who somehow fit together. I never went to a traditional university, opting instead to work in local government and receive my degree part time whilst we built our home together with our two dogs and two cats (more on this later..) and I feel as though I am vastly different to others my age – not so with the others that followed a similar path, but almost opposing to those that didn’t. I have ultimately been ‘’married off’ by many of my old friends, something that saddens me deeply – a contorted version of respect which describes the idea that my partner is ultimately the only person I enjoy spending time with. It isn’t all doom and gloom, however, as those friendships that I now embrace in adulthood are almost undoubtedly founded on the understanding that we share a household, responsibilities, and that money is not as readily spent as once was. True friendships flourish in adulthood, and my friends now are wonderful and supportive of the more mature choices we have to make.

Rumours are rumours, and they often rear their heads when least deserving. ‘’Why aren’t you getting married if you love each other so much?’’ is a question we are often faced with, from a range of different parties – relatives, colleagues, friends alike. Marriage is an important aspect of our life together, and one that we are not willing to venture into without firmly believing it is the right trajectory, which, at present, it is not. We have a shared home, and our pets, and a loving connection with one another, that doesn’t need a wedding band to prove its worth. In short, we don’t need to be married yet. Our finances are stable (individually and together), there is no external pressure, and we simply enjoy being together. We can plan our future wedding, without having to part with our money yet – it’s a win win! Something many people know about us, is that we are trying very hard to not depend on army accomodation as our home. I utterly refuse it. As such,  we have been travelling around the country, and have found a house that we are both equally attached to, to begin moving our band somewhere with a bit more space, and a bit more freedom from toxic grasps of others. I have often found the best coping mechanism when dealing with toxic relations, is to do nothing. Do nothing and say nothing, and create boundaries in the process.

I am also incredibly grateful for the support my Man shows to me. In the face of adversity, he is the calm in my World who keeps me sane and keeps everything stable. We are facing the difficult truths of coping with toxic relationships. It was our anniversary last weekend – which brings such joy into my life. A calendrical reminder of our time spent together. And rather than gifts, we are getting a new kitty-cat, who he has lovingly named Stella. Bringing us up to two dogs, and two cats, which are all girls!

I am now in the process of starting Christmas preparations, as we are hoping to be away in Reykjavik for the holiday period, meaning everything else must be ready before our departure. Christmas cards are being written, and the first gifts are being wrapped. I love this time of year! I am soon thinking of popping our tree up, mostly because we have a competition at work around whose is the best, and I will be mortified if mine doesn’t place. The Man on the other hand is refusing to get into the mood, and keeps switching radio stations when I turn on ‘Heart Xmas’ in the car, little does he know that the house will be a Winter Wonderland on his return from work this Friday and his Christmas jumper, like the dogs’, has already been purchased.

I must stop writing now, mostly because Elsa the Pointer is having a mad half hour and is trying very hard to clamber onto my lap as I type, and Nelly the Foxhound is tearing apart the TuffToy her Dad bought for her only last week. It doesn’t rain – it pours!

 

Signing off,

H. Xx

September Musings

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Hello e-friends!

This leave period has been so special to us. Hence my lack of comms. over the last month and a bit.

From my previous post, you may have guessed that I was gearing up for my mans safe return. Well, that was six weeks ago, and I’m happy to say that all is well in the World again and we are both content as ever and enjoying reconnecting after so long apart. There are things that we all take for granted in regards to our partners – even the most mundane tasks, like making the bed and folding the laundry are tiny reminders of the gratitude they have for their safe-keeper at home and the same works in reverse.

I didn’t get to collect him from Brize, for personal reasons, so that night before his collection date felt more painful than his deployment. Watching all my mil-friends with their partners was such a happy time, but I couldn’t help but feel a great pang of envy.

The journey to camp felt like it lasted an eternity, even though I’ve made that same journey so many times (the M25 during the morning rush hour didn’t help).. my knee was rocking back and forth as if my body wanted me to leap out of the window and run the remainder of the journey than continue sitting bumper-to-bumper with the Honda Civic in-front and the horrible lime green Mini behind. All I could think of was burying my head into his chest and wriggling away when his two-day stubble scratches the top of my head. But alas, there I was, his in-laws in tow to boost morale (mine more than his!).

Pulling into camp, my stomach was in knots. Which is farcical really, because we’ve been together so long you’d think I’d be used to these moments by now, but I don’t think you can ever be truly used to them deploying. You’ll always ache for them coming home. I rang his mobile to check he was at our usual meeting point, no answer. I thought little of it, I’d already told him the time that I’d be arriving. I’d parked up, and my blonde soldier was nowhere to be seen, I thought maybe he’d caught the sun and I just didn’t recognise him, so I was wandering around like a lost soul trying to find a decent connection to try his phone again when a tap on my shoulder said “Ma’am, are you looking for someone?”. Shit. The guards. They must’ve thought I was a loopy idiot trying to get onto camp.

I apologised profusely and explained the predicament. All was forgiven, thank God. Before I knew it, I’d been whisked into the guard room and sat between a very smiley Gurkha and a rather large Fijian, both looking particularly confused as to why I, a 5’8 very made up woman, was sat hysterically laughing at the fact they couldn’t locate my boyfriend and he’d only gotten to the country early hours of the morning.

Turns out he was in the shower and his phone had died. Typical. Bloody idiot. His boss dropped him off at the gate, not before reminding him that “Helena hasn’t been worried about you for four and a half months, you manage to worry her when you’ve been back in England for less than 24 hours”. True.

Elation. Pure, unadulterated elation. I was picked up and spun round and bounced up and down; once I’d stopped feeling dizzy, I could take a proper look at him. His damp hair was starting to stick up because he’d ran from the shower block, and he was wearing an outfit that I can only describe as rambler-chic. But he was here and he was mine. No sun tan of course, I am marrying the palest man in the World. “Not gonna lie babe, this doesn’t feel real” he said. With a huge grin on his dry face, of course he hadn’t used the Clinique moisturiser I lugged from Debenhams. “Let’s get you home then”. I said, ushering him into the car before he fell asleep for almost the entire journey home.

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Dogs have a funny way of showing you that they love you. We have three. A very noisy Foxhound named Nelly, a nervous but absolutely wonderful Pointer named Elsa (‘Elsa Craigling’ to those that know her), and our very ginger Cocker named Poppy, lovingly nicknamed ‘Mrs P’. I used to think that they were all Mummy’s dogs, but I was wrong. The minute their Dad stepped into the house, it was as if they had been longing for him to return for years. Nelly especially. They were running laps around the garden and the house, bringing him their bones and their toys as presents and wailing as he hugged them one by one. They are a huge part of our family, and although they can’t speak our language, they certainly showed their love for him that day.

Flash forward a few very happy but very busy weeks, and we are in Yorkshire. Our nearest and dearest will know that we are currently in the very early stages of buying our first home, emphasis on the buying, we’ve lived together for ages. We have fallen in love with North Yorks. And after careful deliberation and discussion, have decided that that is where we are going to ground our roots. I’m so excited for our future there. We are both so happy travelling around all the beautiful market towns, and the dogs love running across the Moors. Super idyllic and so up our street. Two Southerners embarking on our Northern adventure – what fun!

To avoid future writers block, I’m going to end this little life update here. I will be back soon to entertain you all with my goings-on, and I’ll try not to leave it so long. I will leave you with the happiest dog in the World with her favourite person ever.

Signing off,

H. Xx