My Super(wo)man has a voice.

It feels tedious to begin with an apology, but some things need addressing up front. My analogy uses Superman not Wonder Woman. Superman is a super entity. One super word. Wonder Woman, on the other hand, is not. I guess it was always preferable to keep her as part wonder, part woman. 

Woman, don’t get too wondrous. Know your place.

Last week I took part in a brilliant online programme around reclaiming power. Not power as we traditionally think about it (male, ego-driven and orange), but that deep inner knowing power.

Our essence, our truth, our magic. Our feminine power.

Despite all the therapy, journaling, meditation and mindfulness, part of my brain seems absolutely determined to have me play small with my power. I think we know, deep down inside of us, where we hold ourselves back. Where we don’t speak up, where we put others' wants before our own needs. Where we shape shift ourselves, chameleonically, to blend. To be liked. To be accepted. To fit in.

Maybe, like me, you have made a shit tonne of progress in this area and think you have it nailed? Hmmm. I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but you probably don’t…….

It can take a reframe, to see something differently.

I had never really thought of this people-pleasing stuff as a ‘power leak’ before. A drain on the battery of who we are. But it’s obvious really, isn’t it? These small and seemingly insignificant moments really do have the capacity to deplete not just our energy, but our power. Saying yes when really we mean no. Smiling, and laughing along with a joke or opinion that we do not like or even agree with, just to keep the peace. How often, in the past, did I feel cornered into the latter. Telling myself it was the right thing to do, anything for a quiet life. Words which never appeased my voiceless and fearful insides.

On the flip side,

how many of us deal astonishingly well with a, ‘shit has hit the fan,’ crisis?

We probably surprise ourselves with our level of clear-headed thinking and calm in the face of panic. We don’t just crack on and push through, we become utterly unstoppable. We speak up. We have difficult conversations. We delegate. We make rapid decisions. We do the hard shit because, backed against a wall, we have no choice. And given no choice, we radiate a nuclear power.

Yes, in a crisis, we are undoubtedly, Super(wo)men. 

Once the battle is won, we return home. Weary and exhausted, but proud. A job well done. We shed our Super(wo)man clothes, wash away the sweet smell of success, and dress ourselves……….. as Clark Kent.  

Yes, somewhere in our past we learnt it was safer to live life as Clark. Not Super(wo)man. 

Clark is the master of disguise. He blends in. Clark is the ultimate people-pleaser. He excels at reading the room, and reflecting back exactly what he finds. Clark never shines. Shining draws attention. 

We spend so long dressed as Clark, we can forget it is our disguise. That the real person in the room is Super(wo)man. The irony of being in our power, in our full Super(wo)man Self, is that in the day-to-day it can feel desperately uncomfortable. Not at all how we imagine a superhero to feel.

But the mundanity of normal life is where the hardest and most rewarding battles are fought and won.

The moments when we feel a ‘no’ and say it out loud, the times we don’t find a joke funny and we speak up, the days we ask for help when the indebtedness makes us squirm.

My Clark Kent is silent, but my Super(wo)man has a voice.

In the words of American psychoanalyst, James Hollis. “What we fear most is not failure, but discovering we have betrayed our own potential. Living too small, too safe. Too long in someone else's story.” 

If you do not feel like Super(wo)man, check out your clothes. You could be living in disguise. But remember this,

You were born Super(wo)man. The real you is Super(wo)man.

She deserves to be seen, to be heard and to have her own story. 

Thanks for being here. Big love,

Helen x

A note on authenticity

Probably the only place on the internet that you will find art, botox and marmite talked about together. This is how my mind works.

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At the start of every year, I choose a word. It works a bit like the North Star; a steady reminder of the direction that I wish to travel in.  

This year my word is ‘authenticity’. 

Authenticity is a value I admire in others. It is something I strive for in my life, and in my art. In the past I have found it almost impossible to embody authenticity, and I still find it hard today. 

To be authentic, you first have to know yourself.

Your real self, not the subconsciously assimilated people pleasing version of yourself. And once unearthed (still a work in progress for me), this REAL self then needs to be courageous enough to show up in the world. Often a place that doesn’t appreciate our individuality, our quirks and our uniqueness. A world which prefers that we squeeze ourselves, uncomplaining, into an ill-fitting box of sameness. 

Take aging. Women learn young that we are not allowed to age. Overpriced, anti-wrinkle cream in our twenties? Yes, I did that. Now, aged fifty-six, and in far more need? No! I won’t botox either, despite the constant stream of external chatter delighting in telling me I would be a better and more acceptable version of myself, (to whom I wonder?) with plumped up lips and ironed out wrinkles. I can’t even visit the dentist without being offered a side dish of facial aesthetics.

Some might argue that botox is no different to getting our nails or our hair done, but I disagree.

Painted nails and a new hairdo adds icing to the cake. Botox says the cake isn’t good enough. 

Don’t get me wrong, the ‘not good enoughness’ is very much alive and kicking; but I am getting better at spotting the signs and talking myself down from the edge. Because if I don’t; if instead I buy into the belief that my self-worth is dependant on my appearance, then I lose sight of the real me. The person I am on the inside. The authentic me. This is the ‘me’ who creates my art. She deserves to be seen.

The person you are on your inside, they deserve to be seen and heard too.

Apparently “authenticity guarantees that not everyone will like you but that you will like you”. I actually think that the more authentic we get the more marmite we become. Meaning authenticity is a gold plated guarantee that we will piss off quite a few people. 

Ah, maybe now we get to the crux of the problem. Confrontation, friction and other people's displeasure in us for daring to be ourselves. So much easier to silence the part of us that doesn’t fit, that isn’t wanted.

But I have lived this flip side; the inauthentic ‘safe’ life, and it is true, I did not like the person it made me on the inside. Not one bit. 

Now I choose marmite, however uncomfortable that can feel.

I endeavour to live my life with as much authenticity as I can. I write what I believe to be true, even though others will disagree. I create art that feels fun and gets me excited even though I know others will not like or understand it. And I share my words and my art because I believe,

the world needs less botox, and a lot more marmite.

We need more realness, more honesty, more brave people willing to show up as themselves, more colour (always more colour), and more joy. 

Thanks for being here.

Big love, Helen x

Skinny dipping in the universe. Care to join me?

Our world is desperate to label us.

By the time you were seven years old, you had received your first labels. If unchallenged, labels stick to us with superglue. You are likely still wearing many of them today.

Perhaps you were the quiet child, or the loud one, or the one who wouldn’t sit still. You might be called arty, or sporty, or brainy. Parents and relatives were already guessing at your future occupation. The labels we are assigned at school (I was a daydreamer, lazy, bad at maths, hopeless at science, not sporty), can stay with us forever. 

You are so much more than the labels you have been assigned. 

This unsporty, bad at science child went on to run ultra’s, and study nutritional science and cellular biochemistry. Not in any record breaking, world-defining way; but in a good enough, ‘I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,’ kind of way. None of my teachers would have bet on that.

I might have said it all comes down to desire. How badly do you want something, and what sacrifices are you willing to make to get it.

But it’s nowhere near this simple.  

In order to challenge your labels, you have to first be aware they exist. Some are obvious, but plenty are not. These are the labels we internalise. The coding our brains work off. You might have an ‘I’m not good enough’ label, or an ‘I don’t deserve success’ label, or a ‘I must always be busy or I am a bad person’ label. These are the sneaky labels, the ones that continually trip us up. These labels aren’t just stuck on to us, they have grown into us. Like a broken bone screwed together with a metal plate, over time the two become inseparable.

These are the labels that can sabotage our best efforts over and over again, regardless of how hard we seemingly try.

It may surprise you to learn that I have a ‘no one wants to hear what you have to say’ label. This one is velcro, I peel it off only to rediscover it stuck firmly back in place. Not everyone will be interested in what I have to say, but some might…..

Then we have the labels we chase down. The labels we want. 

Shortly after returning to my creative practice, I knew I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to paint pictures. I was desperate to label myself ‘an artist’. 

It took six years before this label stuck (don’t get me wrong, some days the imposter syndrome is utterly overwhelming, days when the label feels completely wrong), but I persevered. And do you know what happened?

Almost immediately I noticed the weight of limitation. By my own definition I am an artist who paints. And if I paint, then I shouldn't be writing. I should stay in my lane. Focus on my thing.

Yet I also love words. Some days words tumble out of me more easily than pictures. Writing is fun.

Can you see? Even the labels we chase down, the ones we work so hard for, the ones we desire deep within our soul. When we stick them on ourselves, even these labels can stifle us - suffocating our potential, if we believe this is all we are allowed to be. 

What if we were never meant to wear any labels?

What if life is meant to be one big, bold, adventurous skinny dip? 

What if you were to leap naked into the universe and to trust in her potent magic?

I wonder what might happen then?

Thanks for being here. Big love,

Helen x