In a way to improve myself I am undertaking many different forms of learning. Some is personal development, some is an education and some of it is to support my family.
One such learning is a 10 week parenting puzzle.
It isn’t a course that holds a secret instruction manual to raising children, rather it looks at ways in which as adults we have to dispel our own learnings as a child, to move past it and to understand ourselves better to support our children.
As the weeks have added up, the inner-termole of the course content has began to take an effect. This teamed with counselling I have been undertaking to support me and help me with my anxieties and depression…… Has been giving me plenty to think about.
It has been commented (not as a critisism, more an observation) that I have become quieter as the weeks have rolled on. The group I am in are very understanding and supportive towards everyone.
This week we were given an extra book. “The huge bag of Worries” by Virginia Ironside. It is a beautifully illustrated children’s book, yet one that is also written for adults too.
As part of our group, those leading us asked if one of us would read the book to the group.
A quick flick through the pages and I heard my voice before my thought had caught up
I’ll read it.
The intakes of breath were audible and noticed by others. You see, I am an educated woman, I have a passion for reading, it is just my sight that doesn’t always play along!
Being a book to be read to and read by children; the type was larger, clearer and only briefly obscured by the illustrations behind.
I took a deep breathe and began to read.
I enjoyed the book. I felt myself giving the characters tone and passion as the punctuation implied.
I felt saddened momentarily when it ended. I closed the book and placed it on my lap.
I felt touched by the story; I felt that the story was so much more than a ‘children’s book’ it meant something.
I had also done something that I hadn’t done for many, many, MANY years.
I had read aloud to people other than my children.
You see, this is not just a little thing. This is a MASSIVE thing. I feel anxious reading, not because I dislike it, (far from it) more because I fear that I will miss words, not see them; especially in a children’s book, where the words can wrap around and over the pictures.
For someone who loves to read, yet faces my own worries over the act of reading. It felt like it was a truly enlightening moment. One that will hopefully stay with me for many years to come.
I have since ordered my own copy of the book, shared it with friends on Facebook and am looking forward to reading it to my own children.
You see, it isn’t the reading that’s the issue. It’s the seeing the words.