The Beat Goes On

Out with 2025 and on to the next year...

It’s 31st December, the eve of 2026, and I’m in a reflective mood, taking stock of just how far I’ve come over the last year: mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. It’s been a year of difficult decisions, of letting go of things that no longer serve me, and of personal growth that hasn’t always been comfortable, but very necessary.

Although my head still feels absolutely shredded after finishing the task of filing my accounts on the UK Gov’s website a couple of days ago, a huge feat in itself, I’m still surrounded by reams of paperwork and clutter that I will attempt to clear up when my mind is ready. Strangely, that chaos brings some level of comfort, and it feels like as good a place as any to pause and take stock. I’ve muddled through the last few years managing my company accounts, largely because I still haven’t quite managed to get myself properly organised since registering Mindarium as a Community Interest Company back in 2019. And even as I write that, I can hear myself slipping into an old habit of underrating my own worth; because this hasn’t been for lack of trying, caring, or working relentlessly to bring the right people around me.

As I entered 2025 last January, we were still in the process of filming the Co-Alc documentary. We had just launched a crowdfunder to try and raise money for post-production, and although I knew it wasn’t guaranteed, the end felt in sight. I believed I could finally begin to step back from the Co-Alc “permitted work”, especially as things had become increasingly complicated following my transition to Universal Credit the previous autumn, which also meant I was no longer entitled to Council Tax Reduction.

That influenced my decision to start an Open Degree with the Open University. I thought I would have more “me” time, especially as I had also started going to the gym regularly with a local friend. It felt as though I was creating a healthier balance, easing out of one intense chapter while gently stepping into another.

Best laid plans eh??!!

I strode through January with gentle optimism and hope. I chose a Psychology module to begin with and set about creating a lovely little colour-coded chart to plan my perceived obligations and study time. I familiarised myself with the OU website, the recommended tutorials here, the study weeks there, and by the time I reached Week One in February, I felt completely in control. I spent the month easing through the planned study, balancing it comfortably alongside regular trips to the gym and other homely duties. With my first chunk of student grant burning a hole in my bank account, I even spontaneously booked a short break to Seville for the end of March, a decision that, at the time, felt perfectly slotted into my carefully constructed new ‘schedule’.

Of course, there were little niggles here and there. I had become increasingly unhappy with the stressful interactions between myself and the accountant I had chosen to work with over the previous couple of years. Without going into the specifics, particularly where his personal circumstances had begun to spill into what was already a difficult professional relationship, I no longer felt comfortable continuing to work with him and had to deal with the inevitable fallout from that confrontation. I had been seriously considering dissolving the CIC altogether once everything was brought up to date. But just as I was reaching that crossroads, a new sense of hope appeared in the form of a former design client, Suzanne, with whom I’d become friendly over the years. It was actually a mutual friend who mentioned that Suzanne was now working in a related field, and on a bit of a leap of faith, I reached out to see if she might be interested in becoming a director of the CIC and she was - HUZZAH!

Then along came March, with spring in the air and the promise of lighter evenings. I was back doing shifts as a Samaritans volunteer, and had completed my first OU module assignment, which I even managed to submit it a full twenty-two hours before the deadline on 11th March; a small but significant personal victory. However, that same evening, little did I know that my own personal armeggeddon was about to unfold.

About 8.30pm-ish, I’d noticed blue smoke coming from behind the telly and then heard crackling noises from further up the lounge near the kitchen. I panicked and rang the fire brigade who told me to sound the fire alarms (which failed to work) and evacuate the building. I managed to grab a terrified Pascal and shove him into a carry basket then hobbled outside, joining other residents who were equally confused about their flickering electrics. We gathered in the car park at the back and watched as firefighters moved through our homes. They shut down the electrics at the mains box and checked each flat throughly until they could be sure there was no immediate risk of combustion and we were advised to return to our homes and await further action from the housing association (HA).

Back in, blue lights and waiting for the electricians!

We re-entered the now-dark powerless building and eventually the emergency electricians via the HA came around half 10 and tried to ascertain the source of the disruption. Coming in and out of our flats and having to break into the main's cupboard as they didn't have the right code (??) where they showed me the burned and melted wiring that they said (in their opinion) had been deteriorating for some time and that we were 'lucky' we hadn't had a serious fire in the building. They described the fault as a 'power surge burn' in the main distribution box and tried to restore power to our flats but in the early hours of the morning realised it was not going to be a simple fix and advised they would be back in the morning.

What followed over the next few days was a fog of confusion and fear. I felt that sudden, hollow disorientation that comes when the place you’re meant to be safest no longer feels safe at all. Various contractors coming and going, in and out the flats, no sign of the housing officer except for a brief phone call, and Pascal's stress weeing was back with vengeance and there was no way of washing stuff with my washer out of action. We were completely blindsided by the sudden and very real rupture in my carefully balanced new rhythm. Simple routines disappeared overnight, and the sense of control I’d been so carefully cultivating had been wiped out in seconds. Almost every electrical appliance was rendered useless including my beloved Mac, printer, washer, telly, central heating boiler, clocks, even charging leads, and the scale of it all became completely overwhelming. Without any meaningful support, I finally broke down when the insurance company advised me that I was 'probably not covered'.

The list got longer every day

A local friend came to help me when she could tell in a text exchange that I was far from ok, she came and took the soiled bedding home to wash including the duvet and made up a clean bed for me, although for the next few months Pasc kept soiling and my friend kept helping, not only the washing and making the bed but became my main emotional support crutch for the next few weeks. Out of the nine flats in the building, mine was the worst one affected due to the proximity of my flat to the mains box in the corridor outside. Thankfully my insurers eventually decided I was covered under 'special circumstances' so the next few months were spent haggling with insurers, engineers and the HA trying to sort out all the broken electrical equipment and liability.

Then, not even a week later, my son had a nasty car accident on his way home from work, in which luckily no-one was hurt, but caused significant damage to his and another car. The police at the scene impounded his car as they thought he didn't have proper insurance cover and were threatening that he could lose his license. To Cole that would have been the end of his world and possibly the end of his job, so while it was being 'thoroughly investigated' Cole had to use my car for getting to and fro work.

That was just the leg!

Consequently my gym visits had stopped as I had no car during the day, then in the middle of all this stress, I'd somehow fell off the sofa one night as I was going to bed (honest guv - no alcohol involved) and ended up bashing my knee and arm and had the wind knocked out of me. I lay on the floor crying as I had also smashed a glass of water and was trying to stop Pasc from treading in the broken glass. I eventually got up and cleaned up, but it was 12.30am so I couldn't call anyone to help and the whole impact of it made me feel really depressed, vulnerable and utterly alone.

The Seville trip I'd booked was on the horizon and I had to decide whether to bite the bullet and go, or lose my money and stay home. By this point I thought I might as well go on the ruddy trip and try and cheer myself the fuck up - I found a stay at-home care for Pasc and off I went on my first ever visit to Spain. It was only for three nights and I was accompanied by a friend I'd worked with in the past, who kindly drove us to Gatwick, and back, and was a God-send at the airport in getting us special assistance as my mobility had worsened since my fall. The budget hotel was dated but functional and we had a lovely twin room and had a good nights sleep despite my infamous 'philharmonic snoring'. The next day I took receipt of the mobility scooter I'd hired and we met up with my bestest friends from the Isle of Man, Pete and Tracey, who waited for us next near the cathedral in the centre. Over the next three days we drank, ate, laughed, wandered and did the whole touristy stuff, sangria, paella & tapas and an amazing flamenco show. It was just the tonic I needed before we headed back home to reality.

I think the break helped me to cope better for the next few months as I tried to regain some sort of control on the balance I'd been striving for - but without my Mac and other electrical items, I struggled to keep up, particularly the OU course which I found starting to get more and more in depth. I was also trying to manage things with the Co-alc documentary and update Mindarium filing by adding Suzanne to the company which was became near on impossible task to do on my PC laptop. I also was offered another 'pay what you can' opportunity to go to The Dreaming retreat in May which I justified in my mind as much-needed stress relief despite my credit card taking the hit. It was of course another wonderful short and therapeutic break but by posting the nicer pictures on social media I was ill prepared for the green-eyed monsters who were lurking close by in my friendship circle.

Another self development hurdle ticked - shame about the tadpoles in the pool otherwise I'd have gone in fully!

My former gym buddy, who I hadn’t heard from since the start of the year, had become increasingly elusive. When things settled a little, I reached out to her to reconnect and get back into the gym. Instead, she began questioning my being on benefits and criticising my recent trips. This was someone I had trusted and been open with, so to be judged like that was devastating. Unusually for me, I decided she had crossed a line I wasn’t prepared to allow. I decided to end the relationship and was really sad, but more than that, I was sad about how she had made me feel.

Alongside private counselling and my subscription to ChatGPT, I’d been working hard on myself in other ways too. One book that made a huge difference was From People Pleaser to Soul Pleaser by Tracy Secombe.  It helped me understand how over-compensating, over-committing, and seeking approval had quietly drained my own life. Working through that, alongside everything else I don’t even blog about, gave me the strength to recognise when something was no longer helping and to move on. It still hurts, but I handle it better now.

This was tested again a few months later when I challenged another so-called friend about rumours she’d spread. Instead of honesty, I was blamed for someone else’s actions and accused of selfish motives. It was another painful lesson about how much of myself I had poured into people who were unable to meet me with the same integrity.

At the beginning of summer, nearly four months after the power surge devastation and countless engineer visits, the insurance finally paid out. I was able to replace my Mac and printer, although I was still about £1000 worse off. Throughout it all, the housing association seemed more concerned with liability than with the human impact. That remains an ongoing frustration, as new disruptions in the building continue to affect residents’ sleep and mental health. I am deeply grateful to have a roof over my head and a way to pay my bills through a welfare system I paid into for over thirty years. But being caught between reliance on benefits and a longing for independence is a difficult place to live. I would love to be fully employed or self-employed, but when your health is unpredictable and disabling, you are often left between a rock and a hard place.

At the end of summer, my Queen, HRH Madonna, appeared on the Jay Shetty Podcast. For over two hours she spoke about faith, Kabbalah, suffering, growth, and how pain can be transformative when we choose to meet it consciously rather than resist it. As biased as I am, seeing her vulnerable and profound at the same time was deeply moving.

With everything that had rocked my world that year, it resonated completely. It helped me understand that the difficult experiences I’d faced were not punishments, but lessons.

Still, I found ways to keep living. I finished and passed my first OU module. I took Pascal on a couple of road trips thanks to my OU grant. I discovered a new love for wigs. I visited long-term friends and made some new ones. I let some relationships drift into the history box, along with a few unhelpful beliefs about myself.

Meanwhile, I plan to continue working whenever I can, as it's always been my 'go-to' coping mechanism. Even now, while remaining on benefits feels like the safest option, I continue to “work” in voluntary ways, because purpose is everything when you’re trying not to give up. Behind my bubbly persona is someone who sometimes can’t even plan tomorrow. But I can see a future for myself now, especially if I can find more balance, take better care of my own health, and begin to prioritise my own needs. Although I will never stop caring about other people or showing kindness where I can, I’m learning to say “no” more often and to listen to my own soul, so that I can finally build something that is truly my own.

That’s the future I’m now working towards: not someone else’s. Mine - and that feels very good for my soul.

So as I enter 2026, with renewed self-worth and focus (and hopefully a new colourful schedule, adapted, flexible, and realistic), I do so gently. With sadness for some endings. With gratitude for what remains. And with hope that whatever comes next, I am better equipped to meet it head on.

Life throws its fair share of shit sarnies - but I prefer to focus on the glimmers, and here's a few of mine from 2025!