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K[no]w you’r[e] worth [it]

the word breathe is lit up and placed in what seems to be a leafy bush or plant.
Photo by Tim Goedhart on Unsplash

I’m still here. And today I’m pleased because a new woolly hat has arrived, with a bobble on. It’s kind of dark blue and mustard and I love it. I’m looking forward to wearing it out. Little things, little things help to keep the MH good. Over the last couple of months, when I’ve felt that maybe my MH was getting slightly out of control, I’ve started discovering myself again – possibly someone I’d lost a couple of years ago. I seem to be embracing more of a ‘boho’ look, whatever that may mean – I think it means wearing whatever you want and not caring what others may think. Perhaps that’s called growing up. Yoga pants (trousers/comfies) are what I now generally wear around the house. Not quite pyjamas, not quite trousers, but somewhere in between. The beard is getting longer and slightly scruffier. I bought a poncho. And it’s not a rain poncho. I want to get a porkpie hat because I think they look cool. I may not look cool wearing one, but I don’t care. And I got my ear lobe pierced. Here’s the story.

I’ve started realising just how cool and awesome my Dad was. Yes, he was embarrassing (showing off his nipple piercing in Montreal airport because he thought it had triggered the metal detector) and frustrating (don’t get me started on his attitude to Europe), but surely that’s what parents do – maybe minus the Janet-Jackson-style nipple exposure. He also had his ears pierced, both of them – something which I swore at the time I would never get done. But then I also swore that I wasn’t interested in family history – and now he’s gone, he could tell me so many things to help with our family tree. So, it was my birthday in November and I planned to get my ear pierced then. I couldn’t pluck up the courage, even though I’ve already got piercings. And tattoos. (as a sidenote, my Dad got his first tattoo at age 72, I think. When he died at 74, me and my sister got a tattoo each in tribute to him.) It wasn’t the time. So on December 1st, which would have been my parents’ wedding anniversary (or rather, it still is), I decided to get it done. And there it is. Shiny and stingy in my ear. And I love it.

So, in a round-about way, by rediscovering myself, I’m also discovering to value myself a lot more. And this is going to help / is already helping in my professional life. My time is worth more than a per page fee. I could spend an hour on a page or ten minutes depending on what needs doing or correcting. My hour is my time and my time is worth it. I’m also learning that it’s OK to say no. I never thought I would quote Little Mix, but …

I say no, no, no, I say yes too many times, Now it’s no, no, no.

I will no longer shy away from asking what I want – nay, deserve – for my time and expertise. I will no longer feel like an imposter. I’m writing this down because when these negative thoughts come back (and they will) I’ll have somewhere to look to remind myself of who I am and what I’m worth.

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