Regular readers might remember that, back in January, I'd just finished all my cancer treatment and really wanted to help other women going through the same thing, so I wrote this:
I don't make a penny from this blog. And reading this blog costs you nothing.
If it has helped you, then please, please will you do something extraordinary for those who are helping other women dealing with breast cancer?
It will be like a sort of global, interwebby, karmic circle, passing on the love.
I've set up a Just Giving page to raise money for The Haven - an incredible support centre for women (and men) with breast cancer. It's on www.justgiving.com/sober-mummy
If you could donate just a small fraction of what you would have spent on booze this week, then together we can make a huge difference.
(You can donate anonymously, or using whatever pseudonym you like).
Here's a link to the Haven website so you can read more about the amazing work they do.
Let's harness the power of the sobersphere and change some lives.....
And you were amazing. Together we raised £1,686 (and thirty six pence).
(The web page is still open if you haven't donated already and would like to!)
Then, yesterday, I received this e-mail from the JustGiving people:
Hi Sober!
Someone's nominated you for a JustGiving Award! They took the time to tell us how incredible they thought your fundraising was - that's a pretty awesome achievement, so we wanted to say congrats!
Whoever you are, someone, thank you! Thank you for thinking of me and for taking the time to fill out the nomination. You've made my day, my week, my month.
Love SM x
Showing posts with label The Haven. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Haven. Show all posts
Saturday, 9 July 2016
Sunday, 24 January 2016
Karmic Circle of Love
Thank you, thank you to all of you who so kindly donated your hard earned cash to The Haven and joined my karmic circle of love. As of this morning, the total stands at just over £1000.
That's awesome.
I was reminded again that ex drinkers are some of the best, kindest and most extraordinary human beings.
(See my post: Why ex-drinkers rock and Why ex-drinkers rock, part 2)
The Haven are a small charity, so that sort of cash makes a real difference. £1000 will fund two years supply of acupuncture needles, or twenty hours of counselling sessions for women who have just been diagnosed with breast cancer.
If you haven't donated yet, or if you're coming across this page months into the future, then do not worry: I am going to leave the page open, so anyone who feels the need to give back, or pay it forward, or whatever, can do so at any time.
(Just Giving pass your donations directly onto The Haven, they don't just sit in a holding account).
They, and I, and The Universe will be phenomenally grateful. Here's the link again: www.justgiving.com/sober-mummy
So, yesterday evening, I was feeling all hyped and fuzzy from seeing the total on my JustGiving page going up and up, and I checked my e-mail.
There was an e-mail from someone called Jeremy. He told me that he's been battling addiction since he was thirteen, (not sure how old he is now!), and had written a song which he thought I might like to hear, and possibly share.
To be honest, I was going to ignore it, but will all the karmic love circle stuff going on that felt a bit mean, so I clicked on his link - more with a sense of duty than anticipation. More fool me, because it's just lovely.
The song is just Jeremy and his guitar.
I was immediately transported back to my backpacking days. Remember when you'd end up in some far flung corner of the world, with a bunch of fellow travellers you'd never met before, but with whom you shared a sense of adventure and a yearning for a hot bath and a washing machine?
You'd all sit around a camp fire, exchanging tales of bus journeys from hell, and spiritual awakenings. Then someone would pull out a battered guitar, start to strum, and you'd think why oh why did I waste all those years learning the bloody oboe?
But Jeremy's isn't the voice of the young, naïve gap year student - it's the voice of someone who's been over that Obstacle course a number of times, and lived to tell the tale (see my post: The Obstacle Course).
Have a listen here to his song called Help Someone, and see what you think.
Happy sober Sunday to you all!
SM x
That's awesome.
I was reminded again that ex drinkers are some of the best, kindest and most extraordinary human beings.
(See my post: Why ex-drinkers rock and Why ex-drinkers rock, part 2)
The Haven are a small charity, so that sort of cash makes a real difference. £1000 will fund two years supply of acupuncture needles, or twenty hours of counselling sessions for women who have just been diagnosed with breast cancer.
If you haven't donated yet, or if you're coming across this page months into the future, then do not worry: I am going to leave the page open, so anyone who feels the need to give back, or pay it forward, or whatever, can do so at any time.
(Just Giving pass your donations directly onto The Haven, they don't just sit in a holding account).
They, and I, and The Universe will be phenomenally grateful. Here's the link again: www.justgiving.com/sober-mummy
So, yesterday evening, I was feeling all hyped and fuzzy from seeing the total on my JustGiving page going up and up, and I checked my e-mail.
There was an e-mail from someone called Jeremy. He told me that he's been battling addiction since he was thirteen, (not sure how old he is now!), and had written a song which he thought I might like to hear, and possibly share.
To be honest, I was going to ignore it, but will all the karmic love circle stuff going on that felt a bit mean, so I clicked on his link - more with a sense of duty than anticipation. More fool me, because it's just lovely.
The song is just Jeremy and his guitar.
I was immediately transported back to my backpacking days. Remember when you'd end up in some far flung corner of the world, with a bunch of fellow travellers you'd never met before, but with whom you shared a sense of adventure and a yearning for a hot bath and a washing machine?
You'd all sit around a camp fire, exchanging tales of bus journeys from hell, and spiritual awakenings. Then someone would pull out a battered guitar, start to strum, and you'd think why oh why did I waste all those years learning the bloody oboe?
But Jeremy's isn't the voice of the young, naïve gap year student - it's the voice of someone who's been over that Obstacle course a number of times, and lived to tell the tale (see my post: The Obstacle Course).
Have a listen here to his song called Help Someone, and see what you think.
Happy sober Sunday to you all!
SM x
Friday, 22 January 2016
Giving Back
Most of us 'over-enthusiastic drinkers' find that, once we're out the other side, we have a real need to help people still struggling.
It's one of the fabulous things about the sober blogosphere: you start blogging, and reading other people's blogs, to help yourself. Then you find that, over time, your blog starts to help other people following in your footsteps.
Giving back is also fundamental to AA. It's the twelfth of the twelve steps.
Bill Wilson, one of the founders of AA, believed that an alcoholic who no longer drinks has an exceptional faculty for 'reaching' and helping an uncontrolled drinker. Bill writes when the twelfth step is seen in its full implication, it is really talking about the kind of love that has no price tag on it.
(Apologies, Bill, but I'm about to change that...)
Giving back is not entirely selfless, though, as Bill points out: practically every AA member declares that no satisfaction has been deeper and no joy greater than in a Twelfth Step job well done.
Yesterday I discovered that this need to give something back isn't just about quitting the booze. I think it's true of coming out of any major life change or trauma.
I was at The Haven, a support centre for women coping with breast cancer. They'd offered me a free acupuncture session to help with the side effects of Tamoxifen.
(I have no idea how being turned into a human pin cushion for an hour works, but it really seems to. Extraordinary).
Anyhow, on my way out, I passed a lady coming in for her first consultation with the breast nurse.
She had a gorgeous, strong face. Younger than me. But she looked drained. As if someone had taken a giant vacuum cleaner and sucked all the joy and hope out of her life. Which I suspect they just had.
It reminded me vividly of how I'd felt turning up for my first consultation three months ago, and I desperately wanted to give her a hug and to say it's going to be okay.
I didn't. The poor woman was coping with enough, and didn't need to be suffocated by a mad stranger.
Anyhow, I know The Haven will look after her. They'll talk her through her diagnosis and treatment plan. They'll offer her counselling, nutritional advice, and complimentary complementary (see what I did there?) therapies like reiki, acupuncture, reflexology and massage.
They'll invite her to join their self help groups and yoga sessions, and they'll advise her on what government benefits she may be eligible for.
But, most importantly, they'll listen. They'll understand. And they'll make her feel less alone.
That's what they did for me.
And I really, really want to give back...
Which is where I need the help of you wonderful people.
I don't make a penny from this blog. And reading this blog costs you nothing.
If it has helped you, then please, please will you do something extraordinary for those people who are doing something extraordinary for women who are having an extraordinarily awful time?
It will be like a sort of global, interwebby, karmic circle, passing on the love.
I've set up a Just Giving page. It's on www.justgiving.com/sober-mummy If you could donate just a small fraction of what you would have spent on booze, then together we can make a huge difference.
(You can donate anonymously, or using whatever pseudonym you like).
Here's a link to the Haven website so you can read more about the amazing work they do.
Let's harness the power of the sobersphere and change some lives.....
Thank you. Thank you.
Love SM x
It's one of the fabulous things about the sober blogosphere: you start blogging, and reading other people's blogs, to help yourself. Then you find that, over time, your blog starts to help other people following in your footsteps.
Giving back is also fundamental to AA. It's the twelfth of the twelve steps.
Bill Wilson, one of the founders of AA, believed that an alcoholic who no longer drinks has an exceptional faculty for 'reaching' and helping an uncontrolled drinker. Bill writes when the twelfth step is seen in its full implication, it is really talking about the kind of love that has no price tag on it.
(Apologies, Bill, but I'm about to change that...)
Giving back is not entirely selfless, though, as Bill points out: practically every AA member declares that no satisfaction has been deeper and no joy greater than in a Twelfth Step job well done.
Yesterday I discovered that this need to give something back isn't just about quitting the booze. I think it's true of coming out of any major life change or trauma.
I was at The Haven, a support centre for women coping with breast cancer. They'd offered me a free acupuncture session to help with the side effects of Tamoxifen.
(I have no idea how being turned into a human pin cushion for an hour works, but it really seems to. Extraordinary).
Anyhow, on my way out, I passed a lady coming in for her first consultation with the breast nurse.
She had a gorgeous, strong face. Younger than me. But she looked drained. As if someone had taken a giant vacuum cleaner and sucked all the joy and hope out of her life. Which I suspect they just had.
It reminded me vividly of how I'd felt turning up for my first consultation three months ago, and I desperately wanted to give her a hug and to say it's going to be okay.
I didn't. The poor woman was coping with enough, and didn't need to be suffocated by a mad stranger.
Anyhow, I know The Haven will look after her. They'll talk her through her diagnosis and treatment plan. They'll offer her counselling, nutritional advice, and complimentary complementary (see what I did there?) therapies like reiki, acupuncture, reflexology and massage.
They'll invite her to join their self help groups and yoga sessions, and they'll advise her on what government benefits she may be eligible for.
But, most importantly, they'll listen. They'll understand. And they'll make her feel less alone.
That's what they did for me.
And I really, really want to give back...
Which is where I need the help of you wonderful people.
I don't make a penny from this blog. And reading this blog costs you nothing.
If it has helped you, then please, please will you do something extraordinary for those people who are doing something extraordinary for women who are having an extraordinarily awful time?
It will be like a sort of global, interwebby, karmic circle, passing on the love.
I've set up a Just Giving page. It's on www.justgiving.com/sober-mummy If you could donate just a small fraction of what you would have spent on booze, then together we can make a huge difference.
(You can donate anonymously, or using whatever pseudonym you like).
Here's a link to the Haven website so you can read more about the amazing work they do.
Let's harness the power of the sobersphere and change some lives.....
Thank you. Thank you.
Love SM x
Monday, 16 November 2015
Going Backwards
It's four weeks since I found The Lump, two weeks since The Lump was cut out and sent off to Imperial College to be part of a student research programme (I kid you not), and another 3 days in limbo before I see the oncologist to discuss "What next?"
In that time I've had the strangest sense of going backwards, of deja vue.
The cancer journey is so spookily similar to the getting-sober-journey that it's hard to believe the timing is co-incidental. It feels like the last eight months have been a warm up to the Big Event.
And the diagnosis hit me at the exact time that I was strong enough to take it. Any earlier than eight months and I'd have been staring at the bottom of several empty bottles of sauvignon blanc before you could say 'malignant tumour.'
Like going sober, dealing with The Big C is a leap into the unknown. It's about learning to live, at least for a while, in a world of uncertainty and fear.
I wrote early on about the roller coaster of emotions when you first quit drinking (see The Sobercoaster), taking you from the pink cloud to The Wall and back again. And the last few weeks have been like that again - just more so.
I lurch from feeling thrilled at just being alive to weeping uncontrollably with the dog in parks (so the children can't see).
(See my post from the early sober days on Weeping)
The tools you use to deal with all this are the same too. You take one day at a time. Baby steps. Try not to look ahead until you know you can deal with it.
Like the early sober days, I find that I have to be kind to myself (see The Importance of Self Care). Sleep in the afternoon for a while if I have to. Have hot baths. Eat cake.
And finding a tribe is crucial. People like you who've trod the path before you and can let you know what's ahead.
I found my sober tribe online because I was too ashamed to look for a real world one.
Funnily enough, confessing to cancer is way easier than confessing to an alcohol addiction, so I'm discovering a few local ladies - Mums like me - who've been through breast cancer and out the other side and can tell me what lies ahead.
I'm also using The Haven. It's a charity funded retreat in Fulham for women with breast cancer. I'm meeting a Macmillan nurse there this morning.
Bizarrely, in my previous life I was responsible for the Macmillan Cancer Support brand strategy, and all their advertising.
It's hard not to imagine the Authors of Destiny sitting on some celestial cloud chortling and patting each other on the back at their clever use of irony.
Am I losing my mind?
Love SM x
In that time I've had the strangest sense of going backwards, of deja vue.
The cancer journey is so spookily similar to the getting-sober-journey that it's hard to believe the timing is co-incidental. It feels like the last eight months have been a warm up to the Big Event.
And the diagnosis hit me at the exact time that I was strong enough to take it. Any earlier than eight months and I'd have been staring at the bottom of several empty bottles of sauvignon blanc before you could say 'malignant tumour.'
Like going sober, dealing with The Big C is a leap into the unknown. It's about learning to live, at least for a while, in a world of uncertainty and fear.
I wrote early on about the roller coaster of emotions when you first quit drinking (see The Sobercoaster), taking you from the pink cloud to The Wall and back again. And the last few weeks have been like that again - just more so.
I lurch from feeling thrilled at just being alive to weeping uncontrollably with the dog in parks (so the children can't see).
(See my post from the early sober days on Weeping)
The tools you use to deal with all this are the same too. You take one day at a time. Baby steps. Try not to look ahead until you know you can deal with it.
Like the early sober days, I find that I have to be kind to myself (see The Importance of Self Care). Sleep in the afternoon for a while if I have to. Have hot baths. Eat cake.
And finding a tribe is crucial. People like you who've trod the path before you and can let you know what's ahead.
I found my sober tribe online because I was too ashamed to look for a real world one.
Funnily enough, confessing to cancer is way easier than confessing to an alcohol addiction, so I'm discovering a few local ladies - Mums like me - who've been through breast cancer and out the other side and can tell me what lies ahead.
I'm also using The Haven. It's a charity funded retreat in Fulham for women with breast cancer. I'm meeting a Macmillan nurse there this morning.
Bizarrely, in my previous life I was responsible for the Macmillan Cancer Support brand strategy, and all their advertising.
It's hard not to imagine the Authors of Destiny sitting on some celestial cloud chortling and patting each other on the back at their clever use of irony.
Am I losing my mind?
Love SM x
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