Jimsy Jampots #156 - I can hold my breath
In which I think about how things change
Things I think
A few weeks ago, a very lovely Principal Software Engineer I’ve gotten to know over the last few months came by my desk and gave me a slightly odd look.
“Have you written a book?” he asked me.
Ah. This. I don’t hide the fact that I’ve written a book, but I don’t shout about it either. Why would I? Nowadays, I don’t get paid to be creative, I get paid to organise other creative people. The fact I used to be the one who made things - the fact that I was pretty good at it - feels entirely unimportant.
“Did you finish it?” I asked when I bumped into him a few days later.
“I did. It’s good! It’s very brave,” he replied.
And there’s the other reason I don’t shout about it. What a euphemism. Brave. So odd to be compared to, say, a firefighter who rushes into a burning building to save the lives of children or a spy who goes behind enemy lines to get vital information when I’m a 34 year old idiot who once wrote a book about her brain going wobbly because her boss wasn’t very nice and her friends were prettier than her.
To be fair to the people I work with, who mainly spend their time making new things to do in a video game about pirates, a book that talks in detail about suicidal ideation, intense self-loathing and masturbating to Tom Hiddleston probably does seem like quite a “brave” thing to put out into the world. But at the time, it didn’t feel brave at all.
When I wrote it, I was working at The Pool. I was the unofficial vagina correspondent, I hid my miscarriage from everyone for a couple of months because I was afraid I’d be asked to write about it and wasn’t ready to yet, and every time there was a news story about fatness I was the one called upon to open the Pandora’s Box of my own self-image in order to proffer an opinion in 600 words before 11am. Essentially, I was mining my pain for clicks, and it felt entirely normal to do so.
It sounds horrific now, but at the time it’s what everyone I knew was doing - or at least, what every female creator I knew was doing. Whether that was on websites or blogs or books or YouTube or Twitter or Instagram, if we wanted online success then we got it by talking openly and honestly about all the horrible things in our lives and our brains and our bodies, in as much detail as possible. I wrote so many things about being depressed, about hating myself, about how miserable I was - and conversely, also the ways I got myself through it. All our readers, and everyone I worked with, knew all the intimate details of my life, all the very worst things I thought about myself and all my coping mechanisms, and it didn’t feel unusual at all.
But to my new crowd of friends and colleagues who are all very, very out of the media world, it really is. They would support me if I tell them I need help, but talking about everything I’m feeling all of the time just isn’t what I do any more.
All of this is to say that I’m having a bad time at the moment, and almost no-one I interact with in real life knows about it. My friends, sure. The aforementioned Principal Software Engineer, who is one of our peer-to-peer supporters and can apparently read me like my own book, yes. But my work teams? My parent friends? My seniors at work? My parents? Not a clue. I knew that I was good at putting my game face on and keeping going while things are hard, but this performance might actually be BAFTA worthy.
(Don’t worry about me, for three reasons. Firstly, I am very much “It’s not fine, but I’m fine”. Secondly, I have lovely people around me. Thirdly, almost everything that’s causing me pain at the moment is down to my own stupid decisions, so I don’t deserve worry or pity anyway)
I’m not complaining. It’s genuinely fine, and being able to keep going and get everything I need to do done with a cheerful smile on my face while everything screams under the surface is a skill I’ve honed well. It’s just a remarkable change from how my life used to be and how I used to live, and every time a new colleague discovers that I’ve written a book - and sometimes even reads the damn thing - it feels like two entirely different lives overlap for a second and leaves everything feeling fuzzy and strange, like I’m watching a 3D film without the glasses, until I can pull them apart again.
Fitting, though, that the thing I’m holding on to for comfort at the moment is something very much from the realm of my old life. I was going quietly mad at my desk a couple of weeks back but trying to cover it up, so put my headset on, opened a web browser and started reading. And I stumbled across someone talking about an old episode of Mythbusters, where they discussed how to get out of a car that’s fallen into a lake - namely, sit still and hold your breath until the car fills entirely with water, then the pressure equalises and you can open the door to escape.
I remember this episode. I remember being terrified of it at the time, at the idea of sitting in the dark with the water over your face, of having to do nothing but endure the panic and the piercing cold if you wanted to survive, but this writer had a different take on it. Sometimes, when you’re in a tough situation, all you need to do is wait. Take a breath, hold it, stay calm, will yourself to keep going, and wait. If you can do that, if you can endure, then eventually things will equalise and you will be okay again.
More than anything else I’ve heard or read or done right now, it’s giving me what I need to keep going. I can hold my breath. I know I can hold my breath. I’ve been doing it for years.
Seven years ago, I was having a rough time and I wrote an excruciatingly honest book about it. Now, I’m just going to take a breath, hold it, and keep going. Different worlds, different lives, same me. And eventually, everything will be okay again. It has to be. Even if it’s not.
Things I like
I am going to London on Saturday to meet Lauren and Ashley, two of my favourite people in the whole wide world. I haven’t seen them in ages, I’m very excited and I will almost certainly start sobbing the second I see them. We are still making plans as to what we’re doing, but it’s reminded me of places I used to love going to in London, so I wanted to jot them down here in case any of you are in the King’s Cross area and need something lovely to do.
Caravan - came here for breakfast on my fifth anniversary with Garry, aka the day we got engaged. Have also been here with Lauren and had brunch sat next to Jamie Oliver. Have also had dinner here and the bill came in a beautifully carved wooden apple. The food is great. The coffee is better.
Ruby Violet - came here the last time I was in London to meet Lauren and Ashley. I should add a disclaimer here that I was pregnant at the time so probably not hugely objective, but it was some of the best damn ice-cream I’d ever had and I’m hoping to go back on Saturday.
Honest Burger - I feel like everyone who wants a burger in King’s Cross would go to Five Guys. Fuck Five Guys. They’re delicious, but when have you ever finished one and not wanted to die? Honest Burger is just down the road and is always, always a better burger experience - especially in December, their Christmas burgers are one of the best things you can put in your mouth.
Camley Street Natural Park - If you have time to kill, the weather is nice and you don’t fancy sitting in a cafe with a book, come here. It was once a coal drop and is now a beautiful nature reserve between King’s Cross and St Pancras. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, there are events or talks or whatnot on. Even if not, this is just a lovely place to exist for a while.
Word on the Water - It’s a bookshop. On a boat. It’s just cool, innit?
Things I’ve done
The image for this week’s newsletter is my latest finished embroidery project. It felt apt. I’ve been waking up at 5:20am fairly regularly for a few weeks now, and I’ve stopped trying to go back to sleep in favour of getting up and doing something productive instead. Apparently that means designing and sewing an obnoxiously cheerful embroidery piece featuring lyrics from my current earworm.
Until next week.
Love, Amy xxx
Hi there, Just wanted to say that I'm enjoying your newsletters starting back up recently :) I've also added those places for the next time I ever get to visit London!
Thank you x