My inner Oprah Winfrey needs to be channelled. She’s sitting on the sofa today, demanding I take notice of her life coaching advice.
I can’t ignore her any longer.
She tells me to stop for a minute. Just a minute. And take a moment to recall the events of the past year. She tells me that, rather than berating myself for not achieveing the mountain of tasks on my to-do list this week, I should take stock of what I have achieved.
She tells me to look at the bigger picture.
Apparently, I need to remember where I was this time last year. I need to remember that I was yet to get married. I was in a haze of last-minute planning for said wedding. I was attempting the beginnings of a blog, a freelance career.
Taking stock and looking back, I’m reminded that this time last year I was in blissful ignorance about the battle that lay before me as my child attempted to learn to walk. I had no idea of the appointments, chasing appointments, referrals, physio assessments, physio treatments, Googling and anxious conversations with family.
And here we are, walking.
I’m reminded of my never-ending nerves over money and the “what ifs” of my freelance career not working out.
My inner Oprah tells me to take note of the increasing commissions. The commissions to write for big websites and magazines that I used to see as “The Big Boys”. Now I’m one of them. I’m a “Big Boy” (now, there’s a thing to write *snigger*).
The regular writing clients I once dreamed of, telling myself it would never happen, have arrived at my door. They are here, paying me to do a job I love. A job I didn’t even dare dream I would do when I was at university, dreaming of being “A Writer”.
No longer am I touting for cherished radio shifts. I don’t need to tout. Not at the moment, anyway. I have a regular gig. Talking. I earn actual cash from talking and laughing on the radio. And writing. They let me write for them too.
My beautiful blog, begun on a whim to see if I could still write in the haze of baby brain, is paying me back tenfold. The love I’ve cherished on it has reciprocated with new friends, a holiday, paid opportunities and fabulous products. (I apologise if the gushing Oprah is taking over a little – she’s in her stride now.)
Again, the me of this time last year doesn’t believe it.
My non-toddling toddler is toddling. I earn money writing and talking. I get to flex every creative bone in my (rather wobbly) body.
Oprah has done good.
I’m doing OK.
Now remind me of this tomorrow.