This week, I discovered a message at the back of an old Moleskine notebook.
“Be Brave” it said, accompanied by a smiley face with exaggerated exclamation marks. I’ve no idea who wrote it.
There’s no date or signature, though the notebook itself is filled with scribblings and doodles from 2018. This was the year I started to take my own writing seriously. I published my first piece of flash fiction. I applied and was accepted onto a mentoring course with Penguin, WriteNow, which offered 12 months of editorial support for underrepresented writers.
Have I been brave since then? If I look back, I’d say my bravery has fluctuated over that time: sometimes present, sometimes distant, lost in a black hole of restless anxiety.
How did I connect to the idea, in those moments of emptiness, that things would ever get better?
Was it through trust, finding a connection to others, being willing to accept love? Easier than it sounds when your trust has been seriously abused.
Was it through finding a purpose, in activism and writing? I wrote through the depths of despair, finding solace in the words and music of others. Trying my best to be a good enough parent in an uncertain world, while questioning my own resources.
I’m not sure if I found hope again, or if it found me
After finding this message, I forced myself to turn around and look back at it all. Now, that involves, to a degree, an acceptance of suffering, of loss and of as yet unresolved grief. Yet, it’s also a reminder of what a privilege it is to be here. To survive. To be alive.
Two years ago, right about now, I was in the grimmest of places, mentally. I was stuck. I couldn’t see a way out of the living situation I was in. I was in pain, I was broke, I was worn down and worn out. I’d turned down an offer on my book. I was horribly, uncharacteristically pessimistic about the future.
I wanted three things that I didn’t have and couldn’t imagine. Freedom – to grow, to embrace life, to live without feeling that I was shrinking. To see my book published and on the shelf of a bookshop. To move, to leave the south-east of England and find a new, happier place to call home.
I’m not sure if I found hope again, or if it found me. I don’t know if I’ve been brave or lucky, or both. But, I have turned some bright and serendipitous corners.
My book did make it out into the world in February, having found the right publisher. It is now sitting on bookshelves – quite a few!
Looking forward to reading this over the weekend by @Donna__McLean pic.twitter.com/FWAGDFMmDI
— Rebekah Harrison (@becxh) July 8, 2022
And the next adventure is about to begin. We are moving, leaving England for Northern Ireland: Belfast, specifically. I’m going to study at Queen’s University. A masters – such notions! I don’t have a degree!
I’m going to write another book, about that story I’ve had in my head for 35 years. Who knows, it might end up on a bookshelf too, one day.
We only have one wild and precious life
Is it a fresh start? I’m not sure that’s the exact term. It’s certainly feels that I’m taking everything life has both given me and thrown at me, the sorrows and the joys, and now I’m harnessing them for the next phase. Is that being brave? I don’t know.
A new way of looking at the world. A new way of looking at myself
Maybe it’s a kind of freedom; an energy that comes from surviving this far and no longer worrying too much what people think. An excitement about the possibilities. A trust in life coming together in the right way, after a period of doubt and not quite being my best self. Stability for the kids, after too much uncertainty.
I recognise that I am extraordinarily fortunate to be where I am now. The warmth of an authentically loving relationship. An opportunity for more connection, creativity, humour, conversations. A new way of looking at the world. A new way of looking at myself. Taking a chance on change, on growth, with an enticing, aromatic pinch of possibility.
Maybe that’s what being brave is? Trusting our inner resources. Being prepared to stumble a little bit, knowing we’ll get back up again.
Acknowledging and accepting that we do only have one wild and precious life. Being willing to live that life, despite the risks.
It occurred to me just now that I’ve somehow managed to hold on to hope, despite the difficulties of the last few years. Hope comes out of the darkness, almost as an act of rebellion. As for trust, I see it as an act of defiance.
Donna McLean is originally from Ayrshire and is a mum of twins, writer and activist
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