Fran’s School of Hard Knocks

June 14, 2019

Times they are changing

Fran Macilvey, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters 4 Comments

Times they are changing

My daughter is now sixteen years old, a fact which gives me considerable pause. I have spent much time over the last two decades doing things for the family I am blessed to have around me. But have I used that as my excuse to not do things for myself? Probably.

There must be many people in my position, who surround themselves with details and preoccupations that put them at several removes from the concerns and convictions nearest their hearts. So how do we get back to the things we really, really want to do, instead of staying half-heartedly with those things we think we ought to do first?

I am guessing that most of us will wait until our kids have grown up, and we have a lot of time and space, before we sit back and reflect, remembering what we enjoyed doing before parenthood came along. We’ve all heard about the ‘empty nest’ syndrome, which apparently leaves parents bereft without their usual caring role.

With that in mind – I’ve done a lot of intense grieving these last few years and it is hard work – I have been letting my daughter leave me gradually, mourning and celebrating her passages into youth and adulthood in the small rituals with which growing up is sprinkled: the first time she walked to school by herself; the first time she went to town alone on the bus; the first time she was away for the weekend with a school party…

With suitable safeguards and many sage warnings, these small moments when I realised, “She can manage without me, now,” have paved the way for the recognition that I must honour her freedom – and the rest of my life – by now being meaningfully busy with my own projects. That I can do.

Thanks for listening.  

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June 3, 2019

Emotional support for writers

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Memoir, Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 0 Comments

Since all writers borrow from their lives to pen their novels, articles, memoirs and stories, emotional support for writers is essential. Yet the habit which writing breeds of doing things alone and by oneself, can be hard to leave behind.

We write, presumably, because we feel compelled to; and presumably also because some part of us enjoys the process or the sense of achievement from the final product and its outcomes.

Yet perhaps, since reading – so often a precursor to taking up the pen – and writing are silent, we writers may well become accustomed to learning, listening and doing by ourselves, quietly. We may not all begin life as rugged individualists, but I suspect that, in order to write, we may also have to cultivate the art of doing many things tolerably well alone. Words on the page are quiet and perhaps we assume we have to be too?

All of which helps to explain how writers can become isolated. And to excuse the fact that, with all that training in aloneness, it can be very difficult to ask for emotional support. Asking for help isn’t easy, though there is little doubt that having practical and emotional support helps us to stay grounded, relaxed and on top of our workload.

Paradoxically, I’m not sure that I would have managed to write or publish what I have, without the demands made on me by others: I must eat, and yet, when I lived alone I rarely made the effort to eat well. I have to sleep, and there is something in the routines of next day, that encourages me more often to go to bed at a reasonable hour. I know that twenty-four-hour days do not suit me, yet when I live alone, I tend towards exciteable neglect.

I do know, that although it has ultimately saved my life, writing my memoir was a long and very difficult thing to do. Ironically, I wrote it and dreamed about it, and lived through the pain of it alone, because I needed to come out of isolation. I am grateful also to remember, now, that when we need help, we can ask for it, and benefit from precious friendships we make along the way.

Thanks for listening.

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May 30, 2019

Testing my resolve

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Memoir, Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 2 Comments

There appears to be a belief among authors that of course we enjoy our writing, or else, why would we bother writing anything? And for most writers, that assumption is probably broadly true, though I suspect many of us also have procrastination down to a fine art. But when I began writing, it soon became obvious that doing so was testing my resolve almost to breaking point.

Though memoir reads like fiction, and enjoys elements of fiction, we may not get much enjoyment from writing our life stories.

Interestingly, while writing my memoir, I felt as if I was inhabiting a parallel universe. Writing about something that happened when I was, say, fourteen years old, other forgotten parts of that time would come vividly to mind, prompted, I am sure, by my sojourn with a particular set of recollections. These felt so sharp, as if they happened yesterday, which realisation has given me many occasions to wonder about the nature of time and memory.

Is everything we have ever thought, felt and believed stored in our minds, just awaiting recall; and, like a song learned fifty years ago, never forgotten? Why do our minds work that way, recalling sounds, conversations and scents decades after the event? What a massive repository of experiences our minds turn out to be.

Writing for me started as a compulsion, not at all enjoyable. But it had to be done, both to push against the boundaries of what I thought I knew, and testing my resolve to see how far I could push. Perhaps that was a bit reckless, but it was my version of the physical and emotional risks that we all have to take – the cat climbing the wall may fall to her death, but that doesn’t stop her trying to reach the window above – if we are going to take our personal leaps to the next stage and live life to the fullest.

Thanks for listening.

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May 9, 2019

Difficulty moving forward

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', cerebral palsy, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters 2 Comments

Difficulty moving forward

Here is a listening version of this blog post.

It is natural, when we have difficulty moving forward, to assume that we have no wish to move. And there are those who will capitalise on our difficulty with moving forward and taking the initiative by assuming, for example that, “Since you’re sitting there, you can do this for me / wait for me / come with me…”

But since I have worked out – so recently that it is almost embarrassing – that deciding, doing and moving are all that bit extra challenging for me and that taking that extra time and effort out of an average day counts as a peculiarly painful loss, I am now surprisingly indignant when I spot this habit gliding silently towards me, ready to take up position in service of someone else’s life, ambitions or expectations.

Paul D’AguilarPerfecto Resting

Hubby says to me, “Well, please go and do what you would like to do…” and is baffled that I find it difficult; while he would find it relatively simple to decide. He is a man who knows his own mind and is quite happy to populate his spare time with things he enjoys: more power to him.

But what if I have never really known what I would prefer to do? So that by the time my speedy friends have worked out their idea of a good time – “Want to go to the cinema? Great, let’s go!” – it’s too late for me to add my considered response, “Actually, I would really, really love to go and walk in a park with tall trees…” without sounding like a kill-joy. The assumption evolves effortlessly that I am countering an earlier suggestion with a no; whereas I am merely slower to unearth my preferences. (If I were able to leap into a blank canvas with my idea first, others could and probably would counter it, but at least my speed would shield my reputation.)

Perhaps I come to this now merely because I have reached an age in which it is expected that I want to go slower. I receive mailings about funeral plans, insurance for the over fifties, home equity release schemes, sedate holidays for those on the brink of retirement… Which are, again, lots of other people’s ideas begging a hearing.

Whereas I feel that I need to start moving. I have so much living still to do.

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May 5, 2019

Unexpected reading

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters, Memoir 2 Comments

Unexpected reading

Dusting a crammed shelf next to my desk, my working copy of Trapped falls to the floor and I pick it up and open it.

It is unexpected reading; and I am scared, not because, as used to be the case, I am anxious about finding grammar glitches and typos, but because I wonder now, how I will feel about the writing, and the experiences after so long. Have they finally left me and gone away to a dignified retirement? Am I encouraged by what I read?

I’m baffled and bemused to discover that it still makes my eyes water; and I notice in the midst of what was always an appeal for help, the acres of time I wasted. Even as an adolescent, I was aware of that wasted time and regretted it; but now, I think, Why did I accept it? How the Hell did I tolerate it?

The answer, like these questions that have sat up and beg me to pay attention, lies I suspect in the discipline and open-ness to truth that is forced on me by getting older. There is something about being young, that feeling of having all the time in the world, that gives us permission to sit and wait. That sense of timelessness which we can squander is often characterised as the joyous, endless horizon of youth, the notion that anything is possible. And so it is, providing we take the chance to do something. Or else, it can become a field of endless, formless regrets.

Inevitably, the field narrows as we get older, until our demise ceases to be a remote probability and becomes an urgent motivator: It’s got to be now or never! While young, I accepted my situation because I could see no way to get out of it, and I tolerated it, because there was no choice. I had neither the type of Georgette Heyer character nor the energy to defy expectations by leaping up and eloping. Nor, in fact, did I have any idea what I would rather do. Oh, yes, of course I knew I wanted to get away, and dreaming of escape has always been a favourite fantasy, but after the escape, what then? That was always the stumbling block.

Thanks for reading.

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May 1, 2019

Assessments for PIP

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', cerebral palsy, Fran's School of Hard Knocks 6 Comments

Assessments for PIP

I have not yet had through my letter box any intimation that my DLA is being reviewed. Most people for whom this is a concern have already been reassessed under the new regime, while I wait, and try not to think about when, or if, or why. The new scheme is massively behind schedule, and is also being transferred to the Scottish Government. Meanwhile, I wait and hope.

The new assessments for Personal Independence Payments (which replace DLA) measure our lives against a series of set questions, but, as with most tests based on a lengthy application form and a cursory examination on the day, little account is taken of myriad impacts which spread like spores through the body after an event or a series of events on a not-so-good day.

If our able-bodied colleagues who examine us fell and collapsed the way we do, they would be in hospital and would probably feel entitled to sue someone for compensation. We manage, just as we always have, and for our efforts and stoicism we are asked whether we can sit, stand, walk twenty metres and go to the toilet unaided: how little can we manage before we have to surrender the unequal struggle and sign ourselves up for twenty-four / seven incapacity?

The most frustrating things about disability are that it slows life down intolerably and comes with extra effort, extra pain, extra humiliation and uncertainty, and with extra costs which we are less able to recoup by joining your average labour market. Of course, it is no longer politically correct to suggest that workplace discrimination is a problem, but that doesn’t mean that a level playing field has magically appeared from the lumps and tussocks that constitute the average barriers to employment.

For now, though, it is these extra costs of disability that assessments should focus on, rather than the precise or exact nature of what we can and cannot do, which is difficult enough to articulate at the best of times.

It is a double loss that we, and many other marginalised groups, try so hard to fit in and find our efforts rewarded with misunderstandings, when what we would most value is a fair assessment of the realities of life near the margins. I don’t care if my neighbour has insomnia and three legs. I am not interested in whether one may be shorter than the other two. But I would be interested if her three legs disadvantaged her in finding work and meant that walking took her twice as long as her two-legged contemporaries.

The effect of disability on “normal” life is what matters, not the precise nature of our incapacities. These should remain a private matter for us to manage as best we can. The costs of these incapacities are the only legitimate concern of social welfare assessments.

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April 25, 2019

Overlooking bad habits

Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters 4 Comments

Overlooking bad habits


Sending off my pet hates, cutting my worries down to size by acting on them, ignoring my worrisome habits, takes time and discipline. Though with practice, I do notice that habits of cheerful optimism get easier. Also, focussing on the positives automatically means that the things we don’t want fade away: It is better to be ‘pro-peace’ than ‘anti-war’.

Bad news and habitual difficulties have a habit of clinging on, a bit like the smell of mouldy old clothes – and there is a prize for anyone who can spot the pun. Old messages are part of a record with deep grooves, so it takes a while to notice how deeply buried are the old, tired repeats: “I can’t manage…” – “I have to do everything alone….” Out-of-date litanies these may be, but they spool round, and on bad days, in tense times, can spill out and threaten to unseat happier certainties.

Perhaps the best analogy I have found recently is of a garden filled with weeds – thistles, dock, painful thorns… If we focus on what we prefer – tulips, sunflowers… the things we prefer are strengthened while the weeds, unable to find a purchase in the soil, wither away for lack of attention.

I find myself warming more easily to positive words, and my decision to stay defiantly happy is certainly working at the moment, encouraged by the light mornings, bright sunlight and welcome warmth of each spring day. It feels increasingly obvious that we can embrace good news and glance lightly over the bad: purposeful opposition to the things we dislike merely feeds them. Instead of worrying in the dark, I walk outside and turn my face to the light.

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April 5, 2019

Easter Holidays

Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters 2 Comments

Easter Holidays


It’s the Easter holidays, and I’m taking a rest for a couple of weeks, to be with family and enjoy time off with them. No dramatic trips planned to far-flung destinations, but perhaps a few days “here and there” as hubby likes to say.

For whatever reason, I seem to have had a cold or a sniffle for several months, which I can only attribute to being chronically tired. So I shall take my chance to rest fully, and only visit my blog and social media occasionally.

I used to resist holiday times, thinking, “Darn it, now I’ll have to work twice as hard,” but that is to miss major opportunities to have fun and relax. I have been that woman who has been given a gift, only to look past it and think, “If only I could have that one over there, instead. The one I can’t reach, the one I’m always running to catch up to…”

No more. From now on, I thank goodness for all the gifts that comes my way, noticing how much easier it is to decide, and then allow life to provide.

I was on a train journey, and thought, “I would really love a drink”. Immediately, along came the drinks trolley from which I was served a large cup of hot water. Then, when I had finished it, I thought, “I would really like a dustbin for my empty cup,” and along came another server with a large bag for collecting rubbish. Arriving back at the train station after a long day, I was thought, “I would really love a lift home,” and a friend was there, waiting to collect another friend, and she offered me a lift home!

I really enjoy watching how this process plays out. It seems to work best when I make my request, and then let it go out and come back to me.

This Easter I would like us all to have a peaceful time filled with blessings, joy and laughter.

Thanks for reading and for all your generous support.

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April 1, 2019

If I can’t say no

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters 10 Comments

If I can’t say no

I have a hard time saying no. I don’t want to disappoint people, so I make myself unhappy. Right? Wrong!

Reading books I don’t like, for example, that’s a big one. But honestly, how hard can it be? Read the book, post a review – or not – and that’s that. Except that it takes another several hours out of life – my life – reading another book I don’t especially want to. And it’s become another bad habit.

I’m not a book reviewer, though of course I delight in reviewing books I love. I would want to do that in any case, knowing how much I welcome reviews from supportive readers. (I welcome reviews from unsupportive readers too, but that is another story.) And generally, though I welcome reviews, I very rarely solicit them, as I feel that a book out in the public fends for itself, by and large.

But, partly because of my intensive stint of work on Authonomy, I’ve had to relearn how to read books for sheer pleasure, separating editing and critique from what I am reading for enjoyment, as far as I can. A process which has taken a few years – far longer than I expected it to.

So, of course, I should say NO to books that I don’t want to read, without having to list the reasons why not, or justify my choice to myself. Since the reasons are only for me and my conscience…

After all the hard work and the heartache to reach this day, if I can’t say No to what I don’t want, what has been the point of all my previous introspection and soul-searching? Saying No is absolutely key to getting around, finally, to doing what I want to do. Which, since it take effort and time, I deserve to prioritise.

It is not a mistake or a failure to lay aside a job that makes me feel heavy. It is, in fact, the way in which to make a happier, more soothing life, in which I find myself being kinder to myself and other people too. What’s not to like?

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March 21, 2019

To throw in the towel

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', cerebral palsy, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Memoir, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 4 Comments

Lately I’ve wanted – despite the joy of being at the Book Fair – to throw in the towel on my writing. To say, “I gave it my best shot, and I’ve had enough.” But what stops me is the realisation that this is one field of endeavour that I can honestly call my own.

True, it owes its genesis to the generosity and encouragement of others, in particular, my husband. But having cultivated this particular creative garden, it has taken root and is well established. So I don’t feel justified in pulling it all out and leaving behind bare earth. And if I did, how would I spend the time that not writing would free up? Would I have the courage to do what I want, or would I expend even more of my efforts in helping others?

I realise my cogitations make me sound very selfish. I’ve just had four days away from home, exploring to my heart’s content. But doing that, I have been able to notice how lopsided my ‘ordinary’ life has become, how joyless; and just how much of my effort has been invested for others. I say, automatically, “I don’t mind,” but actually, I mind very much. And however often I may assume it doesn’t matter, clearly my body has other ideas: I am forced to recon with my giving tendencies when I am sore, exhausted and depressed.

I suppose I have to be more honest about what I would like to do. But I’m not used to it, not really. Hubby says, “Go out and have fun…!” which for him might be easy to decide and do. Whereas I sit quietly wondering what that might entail, pondering what fun might be. Going to the cinema? Not very active. Going shopping? Yes, but that’s a consumerist effort. Reading a book? I recon I’ve done enough of that for a while. Watching television? No, I want to get outside. Go for a walk? Yes, somewhere nice, maybe… I would love to go for a walk, at my pace, in a wooded place, where I don’t have to fret that I’m late, or in the way, but can enjoy great lungfuls of cool, fresh air.

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