Mabh Savage
Words and the world passing by; how it sings to me; how I clamour back.
Urgent – Please Share and Signal Boost!
Wildfires in Greece are taking a serious toll, not just on people but on animals as well. One example of this is at Ranch-Eros, an animal welfare rescue centre and home to many, many horses who are struggling and suffering due to the fires.
Members of the Hekatean community and beyond, gathered together by the rather amazing Tara Sanchez, are trying to drum up support for the ranch to help feed and water the horses and raise awareness of what’s going on right now.
There’s a two-fold joining of practical and spiritual energies, with a Just Giving page to raise money for the horses, and a Ritual to Hekate Eurippa (horse finder) composed by Tara and including a prayer I finished this morning specifically for the horses. Many of the horses were missing until only a few hours ago. They have now returned without a single burnt hair, which seems remarkable, but they still need help.
If you can donate, please do. If it’s appropriate for you to petition Hekate using this ritual, please do. If not, please share widely and let’s see if, as a diverse community, we can help some of the people and other animals struggling this disaster that has befallen Greece. Look out for a skills auction on the Facebook page over the coming days. Thank you for reading and, if you can, sharing either this message or your energy to help at this time of the Perseids and the New Moon.
Dealing with Imposter Syndrome
My “day job” is as a freelance writer and editor: copywriting, copyediting, marketing, articles, and blogs are all in my wheelhouse and I have a range of clients. I’m lucky to be busy enough to pick and choose who I write for, usually managing to choose clients whose values align with my own. This means I’ve written articles about sensible eating versus fad diets, how to be more environmentally friendly in a range of industries, and plenty about animal care.
You would think, with such a portfolio, that Imposter Syndrome would be a thing of the past. I don’t know if it’s a trauma response or an integral part of my anxiety, but it just simply won’t give up. Even writing about myself in such a positive manner makes my skin crawl, just a little.
Today was a prime example. I had a new client who had requested some revisions on a piece of work. I hadn’t had chance yet to see what they required, but my assumption was, and always is, that they hated the piece and wanted it all changing.
There is no evidence to back this up. Rarely have I ever had a client loathe what I’ve done. It’s usually just tweaks or some new information they want adding. But the awful anxiety of not even wanting to read what they’ve asked for in case it’s soul-crushingly critical is so real.
Eventually, I tapped on the piece in question and downloaded my revision requests. It was praise for a great article and simple a request to make a minor (but client-critical) adjustment. The wave of relief that washed over me was palpable. There was never anything wrong with my work and their request was more than reasonable and in line with our working relationship. So, why do I always assume the worst?
Just to be clear, this blog doesn’t provide any answers! A previous therapist suggested I always keep my portfolio to hand so I can remind myself of the physical evidence that I literally make a living off folks liking my writing. But it doesn’t help.
So my question is, do you suffer from imposter syndrome? And if so, how do you deal with it?
NaPoWriMo Day 14 – Water
Uisce
I hiss like a hungry kettle
My faltering Gaeilge
Always practiced at the altar
In honour of Her
Uisce arís
Not even knowing
If it makes sense to say
Water again
Water again
Red and flowing
Life and dreams
Surely, hardly
What it seems?
Looking for hidden meaning
Trying to understand
Trying to catch the reflection
But breaking it into
Ripples
With my clumsy fingers
Uisce
Water
I see the card again
Roll my eyes at myself
Head to the kitchen
With a glass.
NaPoWriMo Day 9 – Luck
Luck is a double-edged knife
All last week
It pointed up
Lurking at the back
Point threatening and insecure
Making me unsure
Then out it pops
Right way up
Point down
Knife strapped firmly to the wood
Some good luck, at last
I think
But then, it’s a rough day
Shouting, carrying on,
Uncertain in relationships
Mental health askew,
So, is this luck?
Am I a lucky duck?
Or did I dodge something
Even worse?
(quack)
NaPoWriMo Day 12 – Memory
It’s come up twice now
Memory
The white wispy shape
Ephemeral
Moving away faster
Than I can grasp
And honestly
That’s okay
I don’t need to remember
Everything
Then all these faceless
Photos
Pamphlets
Shirts and ties
Opinions
Camaraderie
And worse
And I cursed memory
I didn’t want to remember,
Not really
But then I saw that smile
And felt just a little
Kinder.
NaPoWriMo Day 8 – The Queen
She is sovereignty
Walking the land
Owning it
Loving it
Guiding it, somehow
She sets the boundaries
She is the boundaries
Firm, kind as she needs to be
Unwavering, a favourite word
May I waver not
Though the firmer I set my boundaries
The more bitter the bullets that bounce right off
But after all
That’s what boundaries are for.
NaPoWriMo Day 4 – Piety
It’s not easy, being green
She laughs, and tosses hair of flame
Whilst directing me to clean up
Alder trees
Wasteland
Abandoned buddleia
Whilst nudging me up the hillside
Starting compost piles
Feeding the birds
And not just the “pretty” ones
As I place bacon fat
On the grass
And duck inside away
From probing beaks
Of magpies, crows
Jackdaws now the spring has
Yes, sprung
And today, a kite
A red kite
Tail forked in flight
But straight and serene
Sitting on my fence
A bird once considered
Nothing but a pest
Then a rubbish cleaner
Scavenger extraordinaire
Now a valued member
Of our ecosystem
We learn, we understand
She sits, she eats, she leaves
My garden is clean, her babies are fed
I nod to the sky
To the land
To the liminal spaces between
To Her
And while I wonder
About honour and worship
A pair of robins
Start a home
Oblivious.
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NaPoWriMo Day 1 – Restless
Starting is such sweet sorrow
Picking up that pen
In a fit of restless
Energy
It feels right, twixt finger and thumb
Yet sad I am
Sad to stop the dream
The wonder
The wander
The drift around the room
Sorrowful parting from
Solitude and silence
Into activity and work
But why become a writer
If you can’t turn the dream
Into something real?
Wander no more? No, wonder on,
My mind
Be restless, all over the page
Show me what you’ve got.
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NaPoWriMo Day 2 – Stillness
I’m currently building a deeper relationship with my tutelary deity, an Mórrígan, based on studies with the Irish Pagan School and my own observations and experience. One tool I’m using is a deck of oracle cards by Morpheus Ravenna and Hannah Storyteller called The Morrigan’s Oracle, and many poems this month will be based on the titles of these cards. I shall try and include pictures, when I remember!
How many times she has told me
Stillness
How many times they shout
From their papery prison
Voices heard by means of escape
Open the doors
Let them out
Stillness
Sitting in my hand
Then on the skull,
The jar
The wand
Resting there on my altar
Stillness
Yet in my mind I fail
To embrace their message
Is it any wonder
This time
The card comes out
Reversed.
NaPoWriMo 2021
You may have already noticed that I’m partaking in NaPoWriMo 2021, the annual poetry writing month that inspires writers of all abilities to try and compose a poem every day. Recently diagnosed with CPTSD and suspected ADD, I’ve discovered that my always terrible time management may actually be linked to one or both of these conditions. Embracing that, I am posting my poems, and indeed, this introduction, in no particular order! I have a rigid schedule for my paid work which I find exhausting, so to allow myself to randomize the writing I love is actually very freeing.
This first poem was actually written pre-NaPoWriMo and the only poem I’ve performed live in many months. I don’t normally explain my poems, as I think it’s kind of like explaining the punchline of a joke, but I hope it’s clear that this poem is about my own anxieties around our returning freedoms, and how we may or may not adapt to them.
April Fool
I’ve been tricked before
Thinking that the rain had gone
Then soaked by selfish
April showers
Thinking that the sun was stretching
Cranking it up to 11
So I left the jumper in its
Yearly cocoon
But Sol was still
In bed
I’ve been fooled once,
Shame on me
Twice,
Shame on me, me, me…
Thinking that the snow
Was done, that Cailleach’s cry
Could not reach my ears
Thinking that seedlings soft and
Fragile
Could pop outside for a time
What an April Fool I’ve been.
Now can we pop outside
Is it truly time
To stretch our roots and tendrils
Back towards the dense forest
Leaving our individual copses
Ours stands, our hedgerows.
While March Winds blew
Through aching leaves
We longed for May-time flowers
Are we truly built
To wait, to want,
To withstand April showers?
Mabh Savage 