Instead of swimming with the Pod….

We love listening to podcasts here at Seabirds HQ, almost as much as we like reading books. Both are a good substitute for when you cannot swim in the sea with your flock. So we’ve put together a list of our Top Ten water, wild and wellbeing related podcasts for you.

…..listen to a podcast.

We love listening to podcasts here at Seabirds HQ, almost as much as we like reading books. Both are a good substitute for when you cannot swim in the sea with your flock. So we’ve put together a list of our Top Ten water, wild and wellbeing related podcasts for you.

  1. Floating – We are big Joe fans at Seabirds HQ as he is a Brighton sea swimmers that uses cold water as one of the ways of managing his anxiety and has kindly spoken at our swimposium. When we heard he was doing a podcast along a similar theme to his book and starring some of his swimming companions from the text we quickly tuned in. The blurb says “Each week, wild swimmer Joe Minihane swims and speaks with well known swimmers at their favourite spots across the UK (and beyond). Exploring nature, the outdoors and the joy of taking a dip, Floating is an audio take on Joe’s book of the same name”
  2. The Mother of All Movement – hosted by Kathryn Meadows. We first met Kathryn when she has just started her podcast venture and she interviewed us on a noisy Brighton Beach before swimming with us. We are episode 9 of a now 60 strong catalogue that talks to women about moving your body in a positive way with a particular focus on the post children years. The blurb says “A place to inspire and inform mothers from any stage, and to chat about the trials and tribulations of moving your body after having your kids. I’ll be speaking to coaches, instructors, and trainers plus athletes and adventurers who all work with mothers in some way and also happen to be mothers themselves. This isn’t about perfection, standards or achieving, this is a conversation about how to make the best of the rest of our lives through a nourishing relationship with our bodies and minds.”
  3. Growing Wild FM – hosted by Charlotte Petts. Again we have been lucky enough to meet, be interviewed by and swim with Charlotte – again on a very noisy Brighton beach – where else?  It’s a monthly show which includes unique beautiful background noises of nature, music and interviews with really interesting topics. The blurb says “will show you the wonderful opportunities for connecting with nature in the countryside and urban spaces of Brighton and beyond. Covering wild food, foraging, wild swimming and adventure
  4. Wild Swim – hosted by Jade – aka the Manchester Mermaid. The podcast launched in 2018 and has a total of 12 episodes . Jade is very much a Seabird and swimming has helped her through some tricky times. Times which mean there are long gaps sometimes between the next podcast but that just makes her more real to us! The blurb says “Swimming tales of adventure! From lidos to lakes, rivers to the sea, this podcast celebrates the joy of swimming in the great outdoors.
  5. Swim Wild  – hosted by Karen Parry. There are literally loads of episodes, over 50,  to chose from. In each episode Karen chats to swimmers from all walks of life that do all types of wild, open and outdoor swimming. The blurb says “Meeting members of the wild swimming tribe and hearing about why our sport is so addictive.” So whatever type of swimmer you are from a dipper to a channel crosser you will find something you can relate to. 
  6. Downstream – hosted by Outdoor Swimmer Magazine. Only two episodes so far as a response to the inaccessibility of many bodies of water for most to swim in. It is a collection of readings from swimming related books, in many cases the author reading their own words. A really good introduction to books you may want to read or wonderful way to be reminded of books you have already read.
  7. Happy Place – hosted by Fearne Cotton. I’ll be honest – an ex radio 1 DJ and popular TV presenter talking about Mental Health was not appealing at first. Every part of my being was being judgemental about it, questioning ‘what does she know?’ Turns out A LOT and her very varied guests also have a lot of words of wisdom on how to find your happy place.
  8. Unlocking Us – hosted by Brene Brown. If for no other reason than listening to her soothing Texan drool this podcast is calming. She explores what it is to be human and listening to her speak is like taking part in a free therapy session and you always come away having experienced a light-bulb moment about your own situation, relationships, emotions and feelings.
  9. Modern Love – Modern Love originated as a New York Times column which featured a collection of essays about love in its many forms. It has since become a book and a television series but nothing can beat listening to a story. Uplifting and heartwarming – what is not to like!
  10. How to Fail – hosted by Elizabeth Day. Elizabeth interviews people about their failures in life but as the old saying goes ‘if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.’ This podcast looks at how people have learnt from their failures and how they have turned their personal situations around. Inspiring and uplifting at a time when we all need it!

As ever, this list is not exhaustive and there are a lot of X rated and lighthearted podcasts we listen to. Alongside some traditional shows like Woman’s Hour and Desert Island Discs. We also have a soft spot for Feel Better Live More hosted by Dr Chatterjee. So run a warm bubbly bath, poor a glass of something cold and sink into the sounds of a podcast.

Stay Salty

xx

 

 

 

 

Bird of Paradox: Finding your Flow

“And if we swim with the current, instead of fighting against it, we find a momentary state, one of motion and yet paradoxical stillness that is flow” Bonnie Tsui

I still get people exclaiming surprise that I suffer from Anxiety and Depression. After all these years, lots of no shows at parties, periods of silence, people that have known me for years are still shocked when they ‘find out’.  Even when people have read my blogs, which are basically a handbook for interacting with me, they proclaim they had no idea and overwhelm me with intense and intimate questions which see me recoil instantly. You see I am a bird of Paradox. I have a loud, outgoing, confident public persona and I have a much protected, social introvert private life. Very few get to see both as I am ashamed of the latter.

I also have paradoxical emotions and feelings about the same situation at the same time. Which has me well equipped for C19 lock-down – everyone is swinging from high to low. Feeling anxious one minute and feeling relieved at the slow pace the next. For once my feelings are deemed NORMAL. Oh the times I have wished to be normal, but I didn’t really imagine a global crisis would be the way I achieved it. I have always had periods of energy and enthusiasm mixed in with periods of overwhelming sadness and staring into space. They can happen in the same day, the same hour and the same moment. But having lived like this for years, I have found my flow.

I am best in the mornings, I am fresh and ready. How I start the day can pretty much dictate how it will pan out. So my routine is awake around 5/5.30, I am an early bird, and drink a vat of tea in bed coming round slowly whilst my husband gets up for work and leaves the house around 6am. I will then do emails, write and do some work with a lot of pottering in the quiet kitchen. The teens normally surface or are woken at 7.45 and are gone by 8.30am. I’ll do some form of exercise and then the day starts. None of this is now happening. No one leaves the house, there is no pottering, exercise is sporadic, the only consistent is the amount of tea I drink, which will always remain a lot!

So I’m having to find a new flow. This new flow sees the social introvert in me thriving. But hiding yourself away all of the time isn’t exactly healthy although I am enjoying the removal of social pressure, particularly nights out, I know this isn’t necessarily good for me. Regular exposure to situations that make me anxious form a vital part of my Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.

I find flowing easier when coping mechanisms like swimming are in my life and just when I need it the most, it has been taken away. Bonnie Tsui, author of ‘Why We Swim’ said it best recently in a New York Times article ‘What I Miss Most is Swimming.’ She said, “And if we swim with the current, instead of fighting against it, we find a momentary state, one of motion and yet paradoxical stillness that is flow” So I am learning to accept my new environment and go with the flow.

Having lived my whole life with paradoxical thoughts about my existence and personal circumstances I am actually adapting to the current situation well. I guess years of practice has me game ready. I accept my conflicting thoughts about my current living arrangements, upheaval of my precious routine and limited access to the beach and sea.  I am not trying to change my mindset with gratitude exercises, positive affirmations or celebrating getting dressed for the day. Having furious thoughts about the world, silent sobbing moments and over-reactions to the smallest things are my state du jour. And right now it’s acceptable, reasonable and frankly unavoidable.

So in the absence of swimming in the sea, give yourselves permission to feel all the feelings. Positive and negative, rational and irrational. I am of the school of thought that no feelings are irrational as some valid emotion has triggered them. And at the moment a global pandemic is it. So I asked myself, how am I feeling?

Well I feel relieved because life was beginning to get very busy before all of this happened and now the pressure is off to perform at my optimum and there is absolutely no chance of burn out. I am fretful for my family and friends and their safety and wellbeing. I am hopeful that the outpouring of appreciation for our poorly paid key workers, the rejection of being productive as a measure of success and the limitless capacity for human kindness will continue when all of this is over. I am overwhelmed at the opportunities available to me to finish DIY, clean out cupboards and learn a new language. I am grateful that my eldest is confined to quarters with me before she flies the nest. I am nervous that social isolation will undo all the hard work I have done to balance my brain and preserve my mental health. I am content in my own company, never bored and pottering in the kitchen and garden is something I could do all and every day, especially when the sun is shining. I am concerned about the uncertainty of lock-down, how long will it last, when can I plan gatherings, holidays and trips. And that was just a quick check in!

I know I cannot control the current situation or how I feel about it. Having paradoxical thoughts and emotions is OK and for once deemed ‘normal’. They ebb and flow like the tide. But I can control how I react to those feeling and emotions. So it’s not really like I’ve found my flow, as the blog title suggest, but rather I am going with the flow. Acceptance is my reaction.

Author: Seabird Kath

NB; this blog was actually a lot longer but has been split into two. So part II will be next weekend.

 

Unprecedented Times

A Guest Blog by Seabird Claudine

It was a clear, crisp day.  Filled with sunshine, then rain, then sun, then hail, all within 5 minutes.  A typical spring day then.  Perhaps not typical as in regular, but typical as in we’ve seen it all before, weather-wise.  Four seasons in one day.  It’s one of those days where we don’t go out.  Is that because we can’t be bothered?  Because it’s the weekend and getting the children dressed and out of the house is more effort than it’s worth?  Or is it because we are on lock-down, the pandemic of Covid 19 wreaking havoc on the world?  The entire world.

As I sit in the sunshine whilst the heavens aren’t opening, I wonder if there are parts of the world unaffected, remote and cut off from others in a way that is protecting them from all that is going on.  I wonder what it would be like to live in those communities.  Before this, as well as now, I sometimes dream of the ideal “getting away from it all” lifestyle change, as many do I’m sure.  A log cabin on the coast in a remote part of Canada, on the Sunshine Coast, maybe near Sechelt, away from people, near bears, (but friendly ones), with a glorious sea to swim in literally on my doorstep.  Or in another daydream fantasy, one of those houses the characters live in on Big Little Lies; a modern mansion on the beach with a luxurious expansive deck, with sofas bigger than my entire living room, and a roaring fire-pit, overlooking the waves, and a little wooden boardwalk down to the golden sand.  Anyway, I digress.

“It is unprecedented” is the phrase of the week/ fortnight/ month – who knows?  We have all lost track of time.  It’s like something from a Sci-fi film.  People in hazmat suits (a term I wasn’t even aware of until the virus hit) all over the news, looking like they are treating people who are radioactive, or taking evidence from a crime scene.  Who knew the world could be put on hold in this way?  For some it has all come to a standstill. No-one needs certain products and services right now, maybe they never really did.  I have always looked at certain jobs and industries and wondered if they really needed to exist.  Occasionally even my own.  But for some it isn’t like that.

Simultaneously other people’s worlds have gone from high pressure to incredibly intense.  People working night and day to adapt, to change to find a need and meet it.  For some that means profiteering: opening a shop especially to sell overpriced toilet roll and hand sanitizer.  For others that means thinking how they can use their skills to provide a slightly different service and continue to make a living; restaurants offering take away service, coffee delivered to your door, everything possible being offered online, even the things that “couldn’t possibly” be done online before.  Whilst others do their best with the limited resources they have to take care of others.  People risking their lives working in hospitals with the most sick, trying to reduce the death toll and slow the spread.  People have made the sacrifice of leaving their own homes and families so they don’t take the virus home to their loved ones or from their loved ones to the workplace where the most vulnerable are.

I miss things.  I know I am privileged to have a nice house, large garden, family members to keep me company, the tech I need to stay connected.  I still have the ability to go down to the seafront occasionally, get in the sea, as long as I do it alone.  But I’m not sure if I should. It isn’t as much fun as going with a few others, or the big social swims when I am in the right mood for them, but it is still glorious to get into the shimmering sea and feel the bitey cold on my body.

I’ve realised, or remembered, that I am the kind of person who manages with a new situation, and doesn’t really notice how much I miss something until I get it back again.  It sounds a bit contradictory, but I just plod along, feeling not quite right but OK, and dealing with the challenges that “home schooling” and struggling children bring.  Some days are a battle, calming down the children who show their angst in ways that are difficult for the rest of us to be around.

But last week we had a zoom call (again, an app I was unaware of until the corona virus hit) with salty seabirds, most of us getting in a cold bath as a substitute for the sea.  And I realised how much I miss them.  I miss the whoops and squeals as we get in the sea.  I miss the chatter and banter when we are in.  I miss the giggles.  I miss the dialogue: sometimes ridiculous and hilarious and sometimes profound.  I miss the support when I need a moan.  I miss the empathy when I have a cry.  I miss the hugs when a fellow seabird just knows I need one.  I miss touch.  I miss conversations about something other than my family, school work, and C19.  I miss the wide open space.  I miss the horizon, I look at and enjoy its endlessness, it represents infinite possibilities.

But this too shall pass.  Many people are in far more difficult situations than me.  Many people won’t make it through.  Many people will be living with the financial, emotional and physical fall out of this for years.  I am lucky, but that doesn’t mean I’m not struggling.  It doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to feel low.

For many, life will go back to normal, soon enough, and we’ll be back to rushing around, cramming too much in, getting stressed, spending money.  But at least then we will be back with our wider tribes, we will have the freedom to come and go as we please, we will have the sea and we will have the horizon, where anything is possible.

Author: Seabird Claudine

 

Sea Sick

Sea Sick – when you cannot “Accept and Continue”

Not the motion sea sick, but the not going through the motions sea sick. My normal daily going through the motions will inevitably involve the sea or beach. But at the moment it does not. So I am sea sick. Much like being home sick,  I have preoccupying thoughts of the sights and sounds of the sea. I am finding it difficult to think about anything else and being away from he beach for such a long period of time is causing me distress.

It’s not just the swimming that I am longing for. It’s this time of year swims. Time of year swims only happen once a year. As a year round skin swimmer it is a time when the sea is pleasantly cold rather than uncomfortably so. Well, to the acclimatised winter swimmer it’s pleasant. The beaches are still quiet enough to be secluded and your kit bag is a lot lighter to carry. You can lie on the shingle and soak up the sun in just a jumper. You can actually swim head in without pain searing across your skull. The cold water kick and high is gone for another year but the cold contentment of a spring swim brings an altogether different joy.

It’s also the beach that I long for. There is something about clambering over the pebbles, catching your first sight of the shoreline and your shoulders just drop. Everything becomes muffled and muted. The harsh sounds of traffic, sirens and seabirds are all made to sing in more gentle tones accompanied by the sound of the shingle. Especially early in the mornings before the sea breeze has got up, there’s a stillness to the beach, any beach, like no other.

My longing isn’t just for my local beach. Visiting different beaches a couple of times a year, particularly in the South West and Wales has been a family tradition forever. Never in the height of summer, but normally in the spring we will rent a small cottage, pack up the car and head for a new horizon. It’s part of the winning formula for managing my mental health. I can only really rest away from home.

Our sea from sea holidays always follow the same pattern. I still get up early in the morning and  walk the dog on the beach with a flask of tea. That stillness is ever present on every beach as the sun rises.  Days are spent on long clifftop walks on the SW or Pembrokeshire coastal paths to find secret beaches. The harder to find and clamber down to, the better. The evenings are spent in or on the water. Depending on the nature of our holiday beach we head down when the madding crowds have disappeared. The kids will carry or drag surf boards, SUPs or kayaks. We will carry BBQ or a camping cooking stove, booze and lots of blankets. We will make pebble patterns, decorate rocks, look for sea glass, swim, play cricket….. until it’s dark. Rinse and repeat.

Today we are meant to be in Cornwall, for what was our last time with Libby, my eldest,  before she heads to the USA for four years (or forever) and our family becomes the Fab Four instead of the Famous Five. That makes me sick to my stomach. The loss of this particular time by the sea, the last time with my daughter, is felt as pain. The type of physical pain caused by grief. Instead of listening to her laughing in the waves I am experiencing waves of gut wrenching pain.  And there is no abating it. I am grieving.

As an antidote to my ever increasing anxiety that my daughter will soon be flying the nest, my husband and I planned a lot of trips to give me something to focus on and look forward to in 2020. C19 has had other ideas. So far the virus has robbed me of a trip to Ireland and planned swims at Greystones and the Forty Foot. And now, like so many others, a family Easter holiday. I am not hopeful that our annual extended family (cousins, aunts, grand parents and siblings) holiday will go ahead at the end of May. This year a house, called The Beach House, had been booked in Dorset for the duration. Daily sea swims on my doorstep and the prospect of encouraging family members to join me. They always do, as they know how much it means to me. They do it for me which makes me all kinds of happy.

I know I need to accept the things I cannot control. The wise ones on social media have all shared their Venn diagrams, 12 steps to recovery and ways to change your mindset. I’ve had enough Acceptance Commitment CBT to last a lifetime. Acceptance will most likely cure the sea sickness. But acceptance isn’t something that I find easy. It took me long enough to accept that my wiring is rigged differently causing a frazzled brain  – but when my freedom is compromised – asking me to accept under the constraints of the current situation –  it’s asking too much. So grieving continues, and I know it will subside with time, but I won’t be rushed into it by trying to accept, to me, the unacceptable. I accept no swimming in the sea. I accept no pints in the pub. I do not accept my stolen family time, away from home, by the sea.

Instead of acceptance, I go for swims in my mind. I really realise how that sounds. Like the wise words of someone on social media!  But I’m going anyway and you are very welcome to come with me.

With April comes warmer seas and the end to winter storms. In theory. Things don’t always go according to plan as Mother Nature has firmly shown us over the last few weeks. But what is always true is that when April arrives, the sea temperature begins to rise quite rapidly. The  prevailing wind swings back from NW to SW bringing warmer air over the Atlantic. After the prolonged sunshine of recent weeks I would estimate the sea temperature is now a comfortable 12 degrees – warm enough for head in swimming.  

So my swim bag includes goggles again and footwear is flip flops. I cycle down to the seafront armed just with a towel , flask of tea, a book, hat, goggles and my cossie. I make my way across the shingle, towards  the sea, winter apprehension replaced by a spring in my step. I am on the look out for a spot, flat, sheltered from the wind but in the sunshine, away from people. There’s space by the breakwater. One of the wooden ones, I prefer. I love the colour they bleach to over time and the how smooth the sea has made them. There are always posts and knots that can be used to hang towels and perch cups of tea. Sheltered from the wind.

It’s mid tide, so deep enough to swim but enough beach exposed to not be busy. Course sand and small shingle are at the shore line. I settle in front of a shingle bank, by the breakwater and begin to spread out my things, claiming my spot. As I begin to strip off I watch the sea. I should be watching to work out which way to swim and where to get in. But I’m not, I’m just quietly watching. The swim has started. 

I have a unique way of entering the water. I just walk until I have to swim. No fuss, and at this time of the year no swearing. The winter frantic first strokes and floating on my back have been replaced with a gentle glide. The current is strong pulling me west so I swim east toward the West Pier. The sun is in my face making it hard to sea but there is a sunlit trail of sparkle to swim in. After a while I slip into an easy head in freestyle. My face, hands and feet are cold but I am able to find a rhythm. I haven’t seen the seabed for months but now I am able to follow the lines in the sand again.

I don’t want to stay in for too long. Not because I am afraid of the cold but because I want to stay on the beach for a while post swim. I turn and float with the current – occasional strokes but really letting the sea do all the work. I swim until my knees scrap the shingle and stand up.  I stay near the shore for a while, diving under the water again and again. I don’t feel I’ve had a dip unless I have fully immersed myself and the pointy toe perfection of a handstand does not come without practice.

Back on the beach I throw on a towel and face the sun. The wind is warm and I close my eyes for a few moments. There’s no post swim high, fuelling a fierce need to get dry and dressed fast. There’s a slow sedate contentment that the sea was cold enough to still feel it on the shore and will remain for a while. I am not high, I am content. I stay until the comfortable chill tells me it’s time to go.

When home, I hang my things out to dry in the garden.  Radiator drying is no longer required. My feet are still cold, slippers are donned and shingle is still caught between my toes. It makes me smile. Hours later I can still taste the salt on my face and the skin on my shins begins to crack. In  the hot sun of the summer this can be unbearable, but in the spring it’s a welcome reminder of my swim. I stay salty all day.

So until the sea sickness subsides I will continue to head to the beach in my head. Next time I may step over that shingle to find a bunch of seabirds there. I imagine the new dawn when Seabirds reassemble will be something quite spectacular.

Author: Seabirds Kath

 

All you need is LOVE

In addition to running Seabirds, Cath volunteers for Sussex Refugees & Migrants Self Support Group providing guidance and assistance at the Jollof Cafe. Due to C19 lock down, many local migrants are now destitute with no access to work/benefits so the Seabird solution was a fundraiser!

The best event you will attend. A party above the clouds. Music with a bear.-3 (1)

I am part of the charity T4K, or Thousand for £1000. What is fabulous about T4K, Brighton Migrant Solidarity and the Jollof Cafe (which all kind of merge together tbh – but T4K is the official charity part) is that it is all underwritten and driven by LOVE. Which is where it matches so well with Seabirds,  there is so much love and mutual support in our Salty Seabird community; and beyond to our wider Outdoor Swimming community. So we have chosen to respond to the current ‘situation’ by trying to keep focus on the positives. Like the beautiful mutual aid and support spreading throughout the nation and particularly flourishing in our own Brighton and Hove. We wanted to be a part of that. So under lock-down sales of our merchandise will go to the emergency fund for T4K

Screenshot-2020-04-07-at-10.20.24-300x89

COVID 19 EMERGENCY APPEAL FOR ASYLUM SEEKERS
They will make weekly cash payments to around 50 asylum seekers and other migrants with no source of income, to enable them to buy food, fuel and phone credit during the Covid 19 emergency. They have already made sure 4 households of asylum seekers have internet access to be able to contact the outside world and keep in touch with their family while in isolation.

“In a pandemic, we can clearly see that the wellbeing of each of us is important for the health of all of us.

Please help us to make Brighton & Hove a community where nobody is left out in the cold”

Spread the love Seabirds, buy a mug or a tee or donate the cash direct to the fund. I think we can all agree it is LOVE that makes the world go round, more apparent than ever right now and it is LOVE that will get us through this.

selection

Work, kids and Netflix and Just Dance taking up most of my time (mainly the Netflix if I am honest) –  if I manage one improving podcast or vlog a day I am happy. A few brilliant ones that relate to this is Brene Brown on the finding of meaning in this process that we are all going through and my wonderful comrade and friend Jacob’s TED talk which explains why T4K was set up and why it is ALWAYS more fulfilling (and more FUN!) to CHOOSE LOVE.

On the subject of LOVE – BIG BIG LOVE to all our Salties who are key workers, we all send you love and massive thanks as you continue to make our world go round xxx

Author: Seabird Cath

A Caged Bird

I can go out, but I can’t. I am not going out, I am staying in and I’d love to tell you it’s because I am not a rule breaker, but it’s not. I have been outside the house (excluding the garden) only once since Sunday. My wings have been clipped not by Boris but by my brain. Robbed of it’s routine and coping mechanisms my anxiety has worsened.

I’d love to tell you I am anxious that if I leave the house I will contract C19 and continue the spread of the virus. But it’s not that. I’d love to tell you it’s because the strong arm of the law may catch me and send me home. But it’s not that. I’d love to tell you I am staying at home to support my friends and family who work for the NHS. But it’s not that. This is the altogether frustrating bit – I have no idea why I am afraid to leave my house, but I am, and the longer I leave it the worse it gets.

I have been crippled with depression and anxiety in the past. I have tried many combinations of treatments to try and find some semblance of me. Many of the things I do to aid the healing process and maintain good mental health have become so second nature, so entwined in my life, they’ve stopped being the reason to do them. I now simply do them because I want to. Swimming in the sea is now, just something I do. Until I couldn’t do it.

What I had either forgotten or not realised is that swimming in the sea gives me a reason to leave the house. I am an early bird and in the mornings. It’s when I get shit done. I have the energy after a nights sleep and know I need to get up and out and about before my brain gets a look in. So I normally do some work, clean up the breakfast things and head to the gym or the beach, or both.

The ‘only once’ that I have been out of the house since Sunday was early Wednesday morning. Like crack of dawn early. My husband drove me to the beach for a swim. I am not an easy person to live with at the best of times, being cooped up together for over 3 weeks makes it impossible to hide when your mental health is deteriorating. It’s not something I want my children to witness so we both agreed some sea time was needed before the cracks became a break.

It was a sunny morning and the sea was still. The air temperature was 2 degrees, the windscreen needed scrapping,  but the wind was yet to get up so the biting north wind wasn’t making me wince. The tide was high enough so I was out of my depth within a few metres and my swim started. There was a huge flock of geese travelling close to the horizon that I tracked from the lagoon to the pier. I only swam from one groyne to the next and back because it felt colder, I felt vulnerable and frightened of what lies beneath.

I’ve never been frightened of swimming away from the shore, and although I have been freaked out a few times when something hit my leg, or I got caught in a rip it’s never made me fear the sea. I’ve been involved in a traumatic rescue attempt yet was able to swim in the exact same spot only weeks later. Yet on this occasion I was frightened because my sight was impaired by the rising sun. Something so simple, and so beautiful, yet it was making me anxious.

Staying in is robbing me of my confidence that I have fought very hard to establish. Doing new things does not come easily to me, but doing the same thing repetitively establishes a routine that my brain comes to recognise as safe. Swimming in the sea, to me, is safe. Or it was.

I rarely go out in the evenings, so I am not missing that. I normally walk the dog every day but that has become too stressful to try and avoid people walking in the same spots during their Boris hour. (And  have a husband desperate to get out with the dog each day.) The Post Office is closed so my daily dispatch walk is gone. And not being able to arrange to meet Seabirds for swims has meant I am accountable to no one. So I’m stuck inside.

It feels like Christmas all over again – without the presents! I’m eating everything! Drinking every day. Doing jigsaw puzzles. Watching movies. Doing minimal exercise. Drowning in a pool of my own self-pity and self-loathing. Which then brings along a new emotion for my brain  – shame! In reality my day to day isn’t so different. I normally spend a lot of time at home, albeit in my own company. I can actually continue my routines with some adjustments. Online workouts instead of gym classes. Cycling to the beach for solo swims. Walking the dog before the world wakes up.

Hence the shame. Shame that I haven’t done all of the above. Shame that others have it much harder than me. Shame that I feel like this when I’m hardly front-line. The pressure to be happy right now is immense. I should be happy with my lot. My whole family are safe and sound and under one roof. The pressure to be ‘normal’ when I now have no where to hide in my home. The pressure t be happy when I am largely unaffected. The pressure to make the most of a bad situation. And the shame when I can do none of those things.

So I went for another swim on Friday. My second time leaving the house.  And I talked to Seabird Cath and told her how I was feeling. She gave me some stoic advice, as she always does. And I thought about it as I bobbed up and down on the waves and realised feeling like this is OK and I don’t need to feel ashamed for feeling the way I do. So with salty skin and a buoyed up brain I know that I am not coming out of this unscathed, no one is. We are all weary and war wounded. But the more I do all these new things, swimming alone, dawn dogs walks and Joe Wicks’ PE lessons, the sooner they will become my safe routine. And when I return to be safe in the sea I will wash away the shame.

Author: Seabird Kath

It’s now Saturday and I’ve been OUT OUT dispatching Seabird orders . Huge thank you to everyone that is making C19 fundraiser donations – we are so grateful for your generosity!

 

A Bird’s Best Books

This book should be read outside – may it go waterlogged, sun-buckled and wind-chapped

I am an avid reader. When I wasn’t building camps, sailing, running or rock pooling I spent much of my childhood immersed in a book. My whole family are big readers and a lot of our family chat is about which book we’ve just read and would recommend. As an adult I am still the extremes I was as a child. Either running around doing 100 things at once or curled up in a corner with a good book. Every year I receive money for my birthday from my Father-in-Law. This year, with the money, I bought an old leather armchair that I placed next to a blanket box (full of cosy blankets) and a lamp. My proudest moment as a mummy was when my youngest read a book in a day – I remember vividly doing that as a child.

I am a huge lover of fantasy and fairy tales and many of my favourite books are surrounded in mystery and magic. But I have found myself drawn to books of a different ilk of late. I now have a large collection of swim related books. I am not a fan of real life reads normally and the only autobiography I have read is Dolly Parton’s (amazing woman). But in my collection of swimming books are real peoples real life accounts of their relationship with wild swimming. And I have found I like it!

So here are my top ten recommendations – the market is kind of flooded with them so there are so many more I have read and could have chosen. I clearly have a preference for those who use water to wash away their demons. I wonder why?

  1. Waterlog: A Swimmers Journey Through Britain by Roger Deakin. Roger is a dude who had his own moat to swim in – which I believe Seabird Kate’s cousin now owns. He was an environmentalist and campaigned for public access to wild spaces including wild swimming. The book is a journal of his swims in fens, rivers, lakes and the sea. The way he describes the swims make you imagine you are there with him – pure escapism and real magic
  2. Floating: A Life Regained by Joe Minihane. Joe is a Brighton resident and swims off the beaches in Kemptown. He also came and did a complimentary talk for us as part of our Swimposium. Joe’s experience of anxiety really resonates with me, which is why his book is in my top ten. It’s loosely based on Roger Deakin’s book above as Joe seeks to swim the same swims.
  3. A Boy in the Water by Tom Gregory. This is a short autobiographical read. Tom was, and still is the youngest swimmer to cross the English Channel. No offence to anyone who has crossed the channel since, but he did it 80s styley. The book is full of Generation X nostalgia, from the fashion he was wearing to the music he was listening to – a brilliant backdrop to a book about a boy and his swim coach.
  4. I Found my Tribe by Ruth Fitzmaurice. I have found many tribes over the years to meet my needs. But none have needed a tribe more so than Ruth with a husband with advanced MND and 5 (yes that’s 5) children. She starts swimming with friends who call themselves “The Tragic Wives” Swimming Club’ and they swim under the full moon just like the Salty Seabirds. Life affirming, tragic but also uplifting read.
  5. Wild Woman Swimming by Lynne Roper. This book is a collection of writings by the author who swam in Devon and particularly in the River Dart but also the coast. Lynne had survived breast cancer and began swim and continued to swim, all the while writing lyrical about her swims until tragically she died 5 years later from a Brain Tumour. Tanya Shadrick met Lynne, just once, a month before her death and promised her she would edit and publish her writing. And she did. Tanya set up Selkie Press Publishing specifically to do this. (I have heard Tanya read from the book – as well as being a talented and accomplished writer she has a velvet reading voice that you could listen to forever)
  6. Salt on Your Tongue – By Charlotte Runcie. This book, which I read very recently was the perfect combination of a personal story intertwined with mythology and magic. Charlotte writes as she experiences pregnancy and the birth of her first child. As she writes she explores her relationship with the sea and all of the women, real or fictional that went before her. Expect lots of quotes from the book in future blogs.
  7. The Outrun by Amy Liptrot. This is the first book selected for Rowena’s Women and Nature Book Club . Amy tells her story of life as a functioning alcoholic and returning home to Orkney as part of her recovery. It’s very real read and when she resettles on the Orkney isles her experiences of morning sea swims and relationship with seabirds made me smile.
  8. The Salt Path by Raynor Wynn. I have read this 3 times! Another life affirming true story written by Ray about becoming homeless and walking the Southwest coastal path with no money, an ill husband and a tent. She is incredibly stoic, and so I found her hard to warm to, but her writing draws you in. A book about how nature and the sea can heal you and if you’ve got love you’ve really got all that you need.
  9. Swell: A Waterbiography by Jenny Landreth. Confession time! I’ve got this book but not read it yet. But since reading Salt on Your Tongue and the exploration of Women’s relationship with the sea I am keen to read this. Women haven’t always enjoyed the access to swimming that they have now. This book charts e social history of the women that went before us to gain equal access in 1930. It is also the author’s story of her experience of swimming.
  10. Swimming with Seals by Victoria Whitworth. Another one on my bedside table. It appeals because again it is someone’s story about her regular swims in the sea with a supportive swimming community and how her experiences changed her life. Again set in Scotland I cannot wait to read it.

So there you have it. Ten books. Eight I have read and two I am yet to read. If you do decide to buy a book make a small business smile and buy from an independent book shop. Our favourite is Steyning Book Shop . Happy Staying In Seabirds xx

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