A Life More Ordinary by Clare Catford

Trying. There’s no end to it. I’ve been trying too hard.  You? Work pitching? Tick. LinkedIn tech talk? Tick. Positive posts, podcasts and cheery tweets?  Tick.  Here’s my online best self.  Glad you can’t see me un-‘airbrushed’. (Airbrushed. App., © Meitu Inc., 4^th largest Chinese app developer, source App Annie. Went viral before virus did.)  

I’ll come clean. This was an intro to a LinkedIn piece. Written, in part, as a reaction to the endless online activity promoting ‘remote working’.  Those relentlessly positive posts urging us to ‘Use The Crisis! Create Change!’.

I admit, I can ‘appear’ to be as upbeat as the next start-up supremo. Posting my cheery Instagram pic showing off homemade mask. (Old bra, plastic from milk carton, and ribbon left over from Christmas.)

The weeping, scared and very-lonely-Monday-this-week-in-fact Clare, I kept hidden. I’d hidden a great deal too, when, over a decade ago now, I went ‘public’ with what still, if I am honest, prompts shame, outing my personal struggles with Love Addiction. Now I call it ‘Attachment Hunger’.

Then, I couldn’t/wouldn’t/simply was not able to ‘let go’ of a particularly destructive relationship. The terrifying spectre of being ‘alone’, and fear of disappearing altogether, kept me glued.

Clinging like a viral nasty, that supposedly hangs around for at least 72 hours on ‘hard, shiny, surfaces’. Even if I’d used industrial cleaner (£14.99 from Amazon. STILL available!) I’d still. Be. Shackled.

It took endless everything - therapy, 12-step groups and incredible pain - to end the thing.

That was followed by a year of almost self-imposed lockdown. Only leaving the flat to work, when I could, or to restock ever-dwindling supplies of cat litter and multi-pack Wotsits.

I was grateful too for the support I got from central London New Monastic Community, Moot.

The community’s priest, the ever-lovely Ian Mobsby, mirrored Christ’s love and unconditional regard, even if my constant interrupting drove him round the bend.  He did so, in such a way that I always felt ‘seen’ and ‘heard’.

‘Attachment hunger’ is what the tin suggests. Without rage or recrimination, my parents, could not mirror me in the way I needed. How could they give what they themselves had not been given?

‘Mirroring’ is a complex business. As you may know, its absence from childhood caregivers can leave what I call a ‘hole in the soul’. This prompts a ‘hunger’ for attachment that can override the rational completely, leaving the hungry unable to judge whether a connection is healthy, and life enhancing.

(Silent retreat, Colorado. Playing with shadow.)

Fast-forward nearly a decade, and via many tears, terrors and even a few tantrums, I am where I am now. In a relationship with myself. No relationship, job or change of location can ‘fix me’. Solitude, with Netflix on standby, and contemplative prayer (I stumbled upon the late Fr Thomas Keating on Audible, which led to a silent retreat before airports shut), have given me my life back. The gratitude I have for such gifts, despite gnawing work/cash/COVID-19 worries, is immeasurable. 

I am mindful of those who may feel particularly alone whist this viral distancing backdrop lurks. My cat, much as I love her, doesn’t always cut it. Two days ago, I had bad ‘human ache’. Discussing it with therapist today (via very safe viral-free WhatsApp), I said it was honestly the first time I had longed for real physical intimacy (if that is not too upfront for a DLT blog). It passed as all intensity tends to.   Truthfully, I’m grateful for the experience. I’ve clearly been naturally channelling that ‘bit’ of myself into other things. My father’s recent death, and cancelled funeral, contributed, I am sure. Grief flags up feelings of all kinds.

  

It is now an ordinary life, yes, I suppose, in extraordinary times. By the grace of the Godself, I live and breathe; and I don’t ‘hide’ so much, either. Hungry for attachment? No. Not in exchange for my sanity. Glad of human connection? Of course. But only with those conscious, loving souls who know where they end, and who can respect where I begin. You know who you are!

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This is the latest Lockdown Blog article by one of Darton, Longman and Todd’s amazing authors, offering a personal reflection on our current situation in life. These blogs post are written sometimes in reference to one of the writer’s books, and sometimes about how they are living in response to the coronavirus and our current world situation. We hope it will give you a taste of the depth and diversity of DLT’s list – books for heart, mind and soul that aim to meet the needs and interests of all.

Today’s post is by Clare Catford, author of Addicted to Love, which you can buy here.