Tag: carer

The Final Chapter or The Start of a New One?

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The irony of writing a blog post about the difficulties of getting your blog posts and reviews seen is not lost on me at all, and as with every time that I write something personal, as always, please note that what follows are solely my opinions.

2024 has been quite a bit of a year for me personally (you just have to trust me on that one), and also I think it has been the worst “professional”year since I started blogging.

Coupled with this, as I enter my fourth year of full time caring, I can honestly say that I have never felt more lonely and isolated, and one idea I had to combat that was passionately pitched by me and kindly and gently turned down by someone else, so my confidence has really taken a knock this year.

I have hit major reading slumps around three times this year, and like I suspect a lot of bloggers, have been wondering how on earth to keep shouting about books I love when it feels like no one is listening.

I admire the people who are fine with the hope that their writing brings one reader to the book they are talking about, but I find accepting that hard. I want to talk about books, I want conversations that lead to a feeling that someone gets you and that both your reading lists have grown. It all just feels disconnected and I hate it. I also know that I am not the only person feeling like this, judging by the conversations I have had with many other bloggers this year.

Reading and talking about books for me has always been about connections. With readers who you know will love the book too, with the author so that you can tell them how much you love their work, and on a more general level with the world at large, so that you don’t feel so alone – now more than ever.

It is so disheartening to feel that you read a book maybe for publication day, writing a review, telling everyone how brilliant it is, and knowing so strongly that there are so many people who would love it too. When you get absolutely no feedback or interaction – especially on social media, and sometimes from the publisher or author too, I wonder why on earth I bothered. Is it more important that a book is simply ‘seen’ as opposed to being reviewed?

In 2024, I have realised that book blogging isn’t what it used to be, and although everyone will deny it, as a 54 year old woman, I honestly feel less and less visible as a book blogger. I don’t do TikTok or Reels, no longer feel confident doing videos anymore, and what I feel is that my written words are being lost amongst a sea of brilliantly creative and other ways of talking about books that don’t necessarily mean written reviews.

That then makes me think why I am doing this. Is it purely because I want to share my love of books, in which case engagement and likes and being able to have proofs shouldn’t be important, but the book blogging world is a connected one. The more engagement and more that people connect with you, the more likely you are to be able to ask for proofs to shout about books before they are published. Yet that is not how I started book blogging, I didn’t even know what a proof was, which now makes me feel that being so aware of them is not what book blogging should be either.

To take the pressure off myself this year I have tried mixing up reading books from the library, books from my own shelves and proofs that I have been sent, and reviewing when I can. It’s ridiculous to even say that it feels freeing to do this, because at the end of the day, reading should be a joyful thing, not a chore or feel like a bookish test you are trying to pass.

Of course the rational thing to do if I am bothered by all this is to hang my book blogging hat up, and instead let other people carry on, but then what? Being at home as much as I am, without talking to other people for much of my day is honestly really hard – blogging gives me a purpose, something where I can be Clare, not Mum or Mrs Reynolds or a carer. It gives me a purpose, a feeling that there is something I think I am good at and love talking about. Books and blogging have been such an important part of my world for so long that the thought of walking away from this brilliant community is hard.

2025 is very nearly here, and I think I need to make some decisions. Either to carry on and not get upset by the fact that I feel no one is listening anymore, to understand that fighting against the social media algorithms is pointless, and to just think stuff it and give it everything without worrying! Or maybe it’s time for me to step back and appreciate I have had a brilliant time, but that Years Of Reading has run its course.

My love for reading and books hasn’t changed, it just feels like everything else in the book blogging world has. I have to work out how and if I want to fit in, and that’s the part I’m finding difficult.

Love,

Clare

Xx

More than a Mark on a Map

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I really thought about whether or not I should post this, which is kind of ridiculous when you think about it, because on my blog I should be able to talk about what I want.

As you may or probably may not know, this week, the 10th-16th June is Carers Week, a week when we draw attention to the fact that there are over 5.7 million unpaid carers in the UK according to the Carers UK Website and to add our names to the map of carers in the U.K.

I have never shied away from sharing the fact that I am a full time unpaid carer for my adult son, but this year has been really draining on me emotionally and physically for a number of reasons which out of respect for my son I am not going to elaborate on.

I started Years Of Caring to shine a light on unpaid carers, to help other people see that they are not on their own, and it has been amazing to hear from so many people. There were many who did not know they were carers because the people they looked after were family members, so they assumed they were just doing what they should have been doing anyway.

The irony isn’t lost on me that I have not had the chance to post in Years of Caring so far this year because I have been too busy caring for my son!

I also felt that there are only so many posts, so many stories you can write which essentially say the same thing – I am a full time carer, and I am exhausted and isolated, and move between loving being able to be with my son and resentful for the fact that I am here, finding myself in a world I didn’t choose to be part of.

I know Carers Week is all about putting Carers on the Map, and while I completely get that, I also feel that it is one of the issues with being a carer – that my own personality and hopes and ambitions have become subsumed by the fact that I am now defined as Eldest Years of Reading’s Carer.

As for many people, when you become a carer, your whole world is focused on the person you care for. You are either looking after them all the time, or sorting out their admin, or trying to get support, or just trying to make it through the day when you are so exhausted that you just want to curl up on the sofa and sleep. As a result, I feel that my world is contained in the care that I provide for my son, and I can’t tell you the number of events and opportunities I have had to turn down because of my caring responsibilities, when I could have for a brief time been Clare again.

It’s also endlessly frustrating when you feel excluded from the world because it is no longer accessible to you. Carers events are sometimes online, but when they run on for too long or at times when you can’t make it because you are helping the person you care for, you can’t make it and miss out again. The online forums are a brilliant way of engaging with people, but I read them and feel that people are dealing with far more incredibly demanding situations than I am, and that in comparison I am lucky with what I am dealing with. Although family and friends are sympathetic, the only people who really get it are those who have gone through or are going through it, but I also don’t want all my conversations to be defined by my being a carer.

Talking about books and blogging has been so important for me, and I have been fortunate to have read numerous wonderful books. Before I was caring full time I was able to take part in events and meet authors whose writing I love, for which I am truly grateful. Yet the book world is changing too, and unless you have the time and creativity to keep up, while gaining more followers on your social media accounts, you have to accept that you just talk about books you love when you can and hope that one person listens.

When Carers Week ends, nothing will have changed for any of us, however many marks we are on a map. We will just get up the next day and keep doing what we do because there is no alternative.

Until there is real money and actual support for those of us who care endlessly and without question, we simply keep being the carer, caring for our loved ones because the alternative is worse. Perhaps looking behind the label of ‘carer’ and facilitating real emotional, physical and financial support for us to try find the person we are and would love to be again is the campaign we really need.

Love

Clare

Xxx

Thank Goodness for Books

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Ever since I decided last year not to do a Best Books of the Year thing, I have been thinking a lot about what I wanted my final blog post of 2023 to look like. I am genuinely too knackered to think of anything witty and erudite to say (that’s the joy of full time unpaid caring for you), but I am just awake enough to say that this year I felt like there was some undefinable shift for book bloggers.

Possibly it is because Twitter has felt very different over the past year – a lot like shouting into the void as you endlessly try and tell people that the books you are trying to shout about are really good and you know that so many of you would love it – if only you were able to reach them. Instagram has me baffled constantly, and at 53 I am not enthusiastic enough to do reels and feel too embarrassed to start lip syncing to songs while remembering to hold my book the right way round, so I guess posting pictures of my books against the white of my dining room wall will have to do.

There is absolutely no doubt that the bookish community is as strong and supportive as ever, but I know that lots of us are all having conversations about how different it feels at the moment – something we can’t quite put our fingers on, but I know lots of us feel it.

As always, this is just my opinion, and as always for me writing about how I am feeling helps me to process and understand it – well at least a little. I have been blogging since 2017, and this is the first year, as I have said before that I found this the most personally challenging in terms of caring and book blogging yet.

Not only have I been trying to juggle full time caring, dealing with all the stresses and pressures that brings – no sick days, no breaks and loneliness and isolation like I have never experienced, but also trying to not let down the publicists and publishers by making sure I read and reviewed the books I had promised to do, as well as keeping Years Of Caring going. This proved to be really challenging because ironically I was so busy caring for Eldest Years of Reading that I found it really hard to make the time to read the books and ask authors to be involved!

Anyway, I think what I am trying to say (not very well, so thank you for sticking with me so far!) is that 2023 has made me realise many things, and perhaps most of all how you have to be kind to yourself and accept that sometimes life means that you can’t read lots of books, or as much as you like, and that you absolutely shouldn’t feel guilty about it.

Reading should be a pleasure, a joy, something that gives you that real physical sensation of connection to a book and the words on the pages. Whatever you read, whenever you read, whether it be one page, one chapter or one hundred pages it is your chance to be somewhere else, on your own, even for just a little while. This year, this has meant more to me than I can explain, and having to accept that reading has to fit into my life rather that my life has to fit into my reading schedule has felt like an enormous weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

So I think the one piece of advice I am trying pass on is to remember how much you love reading. Why out of all the things you could be doing, that picking up a book is what you choose to do. How much you love finding yourself in new worlds, losing yourself for a while, that amazing feeling of joy and wonder that comes when you love a book and want everyone you know to read it too. We all read, loved and recommmended books way before we used social media to tell everyone about them, and I know I need to remind myself of that too.

Reading is a way to start conversations, to make friends, to read books that you never would have picked up, to find solace, comfort and joy. The right book at the right time can make you look at the world in a whole new way, and there is nothing like it when you find an author you love with a whole backlist for you to devour. Don’t ever feel embarrassed about telling an author how much you love their writing either, because it means the world to them to know how much their words mean to you.

It can be very easy to feel at times that your bookish worth is measured by how many books you have read, or how fast you can get through them, but honestly, maybe the best judge of it is being able to simply say – do you know what, I read some brilliant books this year, and it doesn’t matter if it is two or two hundred.

I guess what I am trying to say is that no matter how challenging 2023 has been, there have been two constants that have helped make it better – brilliant books and truly brilliant bookish friends, and for that I am and will always be forever grateful to all of you.

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,

Lots of love,

Clare

xxx

Keep Caring and Carry On

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Reading Aloud Margery and the Boys by William Hutchison

It’s funny how time runs away with you when you are completely unaware and before you know it, it’s November, and Christmas and the New Year are in view.

I have noticed this year that for me, there have been massive changes both personally – the caring element has really taken over my life to be honest, and also I guess professionally – although I don’t know if I can really call my blogging that.

All I know as we come to the end of the year that things ain’t what they used to be, and I was feeling kind of confused about it all.

I have been shouting about books for a long time, and I love reading and talking about books, and it’s still the best feeling when someone contacts you to say that they read a book you recommended and they loved it. It’s really hard not to recommend another twenty to them, but you feel that you must be doing something right!

This year more than ever, there has been a wide range and numerous discussions and posts about book blogging, and with Twitter (still won’t call it X) changing all the time and Instagram having a fine old time monkeying around with that wonderful algorithm, lots of us are scratching our heads about how we can best get the word out about books we love to fellow readers.

A wise woman (thank you @bookishchat!) told me that when you have read and reviewed a book that you should feel that your part is done and that you should move on to the next book. I was getting really caught up in worrying about no one seeing or liking or sharing my posts, but honestly. I think you will never beat the algorithms and you have to post and move on, and hope that someone picks up a book that you have recommended.

For me, this year, this has been brought even more into focus by the fact that the demands on myself as a carer have increased massively. It has been hard, but I have had to admit that I can’t spend so much time writing reviews and thinking of lots of different ways to talk about books. Being involved with the Curae prize and being fortunate enough to meet the incredible writers who have contributed to it has made me really think about what I am doing and where to go from here.

My day is probably different to many of yours, and in fact my life is too. If you had told me twenty two years ago that I would be looking full time after my adult son, that I would have to give up my career, lots of things I took for granted that I would be doing, lots of my dreams, some friends, some family, holidays, nights out with my husband, having friends over, having weekends away, being able to just walk out of the house to go for a walk, or even be able to go into another room and have five minutes to myself, having a lie in, and all the other things that many people do without a second thought – I wouldn’t have believed you.

Yet here I am.

There are currently around 10 million unpaid carers in the U.K. according to Carers UK 2022 Research Data. You may be one, have been one, you may know one – or lots, and honestly – one day it’s likely you may find yourself as one. You may have known the day was coming, or it could come completely out of the blue, but one thing is certain. Your life will be very different, and for me, this year especially, I knew that in order to keep going, I needed to have something to let me be me – even if for only ten minutes.

Reading is always and has always been the very thing that I turn to, but this year has been hectic and full on, and trying to read and blog alongside trying to do everything else has made me feel that 2023 should really be my last year of Years of Reading Selfishly.

Yet something kept me from deleting my accounts and stopping reviewing.

Quite simply, it was the realisation that without that focus, that part of my life that I don’t know what I would do with my days, apart from look after my son and do housework and watch telly, and that’s not enough for me. It never was.

Starting my Years Of Caring project may be a very small fish in a huge pond, but knowing that I am making sure unpaid carers voices are heard, and that people are realising they are carers as a result of hearing others talk about it has just been incredible for me, and I have made some brilliant friends as a result.

It has also made me realise and acknowledge that reading and blogging is not, and should never be a competition. It’s about finding that joy and peace in those moments, be they languishing or snatched, that for that time it’s just you and the words on the page, and that you are transported away from your world if only for a little while. We all started our bookish accounts because we loved reading and shouting about books, and it’s too easy to get caught up in the misconception that if your posts aren’t liked or shared that it somehow means you have failed. We all read and talked and recommended books long before we dipped our toes in the social media sea, and sometimes I think I forget that.

Life is too short to read books you don’t love – and for me I have realised that life is also too short to believe that likes and shares somehow validate you as a reader or blogger. Once I realised that, suddenly all that matters is knowing that I am going to keep talking about and recommending books – however and whenever that works for me.

The End of One Chapter – and the Start of a New One?

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Like thousands of families across the UK this week, Thursday 17th August was a really important date for us. Not only because it was our 27th Wedding Anniversary (I can’t believe it either), but also because it was A level results day for Youngest Years of Reading.

When he found out his results, and he knew that he was finally going to study Sociology at Uni, which is what he had wanted for such a long time, for all of us, there was a mixture of happiness, relief, pride and exhaustion that all seemed to collide at the same time.

Now as we are organising and getting ready for him to go to University, it was only yesterday that another emotion settled into place – sadness. For nearly eighteen years he has been here, and now (quite rightly!) he is getting ready to experience the world without us. It is his time to find his way, and I want him to do it so much, but honestly, I don’t know how I feel about not having him here every day to talk with, to laugh with, to see his eyes rolling at my bad jokes or the embarrassing things I apparently do. My husband calls him my wingman, which he absolutely is. With everything we have gone through as a family, and all the kindness and resilience he has shown, I am so proud of the compassionate and incredible young man he has become, and hope his University finds out how very lucky they are to have him.

The other thing this means is that when he leaves, it will be just my husband, myself and eldest Years of Reading, and although I have been a full time carer for a while, what it brings more sharply into focus is that now, when my husband is at work, it will be just the two of us (plus Jasper the Labrador!) all day every day.

When you look after someone as an unpaid carer, as I’ve explained before, it can be really lonely and isolating, but at least with Youngest Years Of Reading being here, there was a change in the dynamic, a new breath of energy when he burst through the doors at the end of the school day, or came back from a night out, hungry and wanting to tell us all about what had happened.

As there are probably only three of us that will read this post (including my Dad – hi Dad!), I think it’s ok to admit that I am finding being a full time carer really hard at the moment. When the person you care for doesn’t want to go outside the house, and has huge anxiety about everything, and they wake up before six every morning, it’s a long, Groundhog Day every day. I am talking about it because we don’t say it enough. We think as unpaid carers we have to carry on because that’s what we should do, but I want to tell you if you are finding it too much, it’s okay to say that – and at the moment I am.

Half of me also thinks that when Youngest Years Of Reading goes, that it’s the perfect time to stop blogging and focus more on my eldest son, but the other half of me thinks that this maybe could be a chance for me to put more time and energy into pursuing something I love so much, find a new direction, because without reading and blogging, I honestly don’t know what I would do.

Yet increasingly, I’m also feeling a sense of invisibility to the book world because I’m over fifty.

Just because I choose not to make reels or record a video, or be on booktok doesn’t mean I don’t know how to talk about books. I really do, and I think I’m quite good at it too. For the first time in seven years I am feeling left behind and have genuinely wondered whether it’s time for me to stop blogging.

It’s so frustrating when you know how many incredible older bloggers and reviewers there are who write so brilliantly and passionately about books. I feel that there just seems to be this disconnect I can’t work out, and it makes me wonder whether we can change it, or it’s just the way it is, and I just have to carry on and accept it, or stop blogging.

Maybe trying to make sure that those voices and those of carers are heard could be part of my new chapter, and it might just be the thing that makes Youngest Years of Reading leaving home a little easier to bear..

Lots of love,

Clare

Xxx

brother do you love me by Manni Coe and Reuben Coe

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brother do you love me by Manni Coe and Reuben Coe

Published by Little Toller

Available from Little Toller Website and All Good Bookshops

What They Say

Reuben, aged 38, was living in a home for adults with learning disabilities. He hadn’t established an independent life in the care system and was still struggling to accept that he had Down’s syndrome. Depressed and in a fog of anti-depressants, he hadn’t spoken for over a year. The only way he expressed himself was by writing poems or drawing felt-tip scenes from his favourite West End musicals and Hollywood films. Increasingly isolated, cut off from everyone and everything he loved, Reuben sent a text message: ‘brother. do. you. love. me.’ When Manni received this desperate message from his youngest brother, he knew everything had to change. He immediately left his life in Spain and returned to England, moving Reuben out of the care home and into an old farm cottage in the countryside. In the stillness of winter, they began an extraordinary journey of repair, rediscovering the depths of their brotherhood, one gradual step at a time. Combining Manni’s tender words with Reuben’s powerful illustrations, their story of hope and resilience questions how we care for those we love, and demands that, through troubled times, we learn how to take better care of each other.

What I Say

I have really struggled with writing a review of brother do you love me. The reason being is that I want to share endless paragraphs and pages and chapters with you, to show you how brilliant Manni’s writing is, and how perfectly Reuben’s words and illustrations show us what their relationship means to them. This is a memoir that is quite unlike any I have read, and it moved me deeply.

Manni was living in Spain as a tour guide, and his brother Reuben who has Down’s Syndrome was living in a residential home. Reuben sent Manni a text message that read ‘brother.do.you.love.me’. As soon as he read that message, Manni knew that his brother needed him, and that Reuben had to be out of that care home as soon as possible. When Reuben moved in with Manni in a cottage in the UK, Manni was shocked to see how far his brother had regressed physically and emotionally, and was desperate to get his brother back.

This is a memoir not only of the incredible bond that Manni and Reuben have, and how their love for each other transcends the frustrating limitations that the professionals tried to constrain their world with, but is also a book about the realities of caring for a family member when you know exactly what they need even if those in positions of power disagree.

Their situation is further complicated by the fact that Manni’s partner Jack is in Spain, and the rest of their family are spread throughout the world, so even though everyone is involved and supporting them, Manni is the one dealing with all the day to day decisions and being the support for Reuben on his own. What echoes throughout the book is the fact that on one hand, for Manni, having your brother who is also your best friend, living with you is the best thing, but at the same time caring for Reuben and trying to help him regain his confidence as well as dealing with all the people and teams who are involved is also incredibly exhausting and isolating. I know from my own experience that you spend so much of your time convincing the people making the decisions that honestly, yes, you really do know your family member so much better than the snapshot they have gleaned from all the forms and phone calls you have been forced to repeat time and time again.

One of the elements of the book which I think will resonate with many people, is the way in which Manni describes the realities of the social care system in the U.K. It is one stretched to its limits, with those people who use it often become little more than a set of initials moving from team to team as decisions are made sometimes with the family involved, and sometimes not. One of the worst things (and I am speaking from personal experience) is how often you find someone who absolutely understands the person you are caring for, and what they need to thrive, only to have them move on or leave, and you are left either without no one, or a new person that you have to explain everything to – never quite sure if you have said the right thing, or told them enough, or too much.

As Manni tells their story, he weaves his family’s narrative in effortlessly, as we learn everything about their family, from their childhood in Leeds, to the rift that happens when Manni tells his religious family that he is gay, to their reconciliation – and always at the heart of the story is the love and determination that the family and their friends have to ensure that Reuben is happy and living the life that he wants. In doing this, Manni also subtly shows us the difference between the Reuben of those times, and all the things they did together, and the Reuben who is now a very different man. Manni perfectly articulates not only the all consuming love you feel for the person you care for, but also the ingrained hope and desire you have for them to be accepted by the world and for them to live the life they want, rather than the life that others feel they deserve.

The book is also filled with the art that Reuben has produced, which adds an intensely personal and emotional element to the book, and Reuben also talks about having Down’s Syndrome and what that means to him. We learn how he feels about the world around him, as well his own hopes and dreams for his future. I think it’s one of the most important parts of this book, that Reuben’s voice and identity are so clear and we learn so much about him and his personality, and his relationships with his family and friends.

I wanted to finish my review by saying thank you to Manni and Reuben, who helped me think about my own situation and my own relationship with my son, who has a range of special needs, and I am his full time carer.

I know am guilty of doing too much for him, for sometimes treating him like a child at times even though he is twenty two, and for thinking I know how he feels, and not really trying to make him do any more than I think he can cope with. Hearing how Manni and Reuben talk together, and Reuben talking about himself and his identity have really helped me reassess how I relate to my son, and has opened up a whole new world for us, and for that, I can’t thank them enough.

I don’t often say this, but please try and read this book however you can. #BrotherDoYouLoveMe is not only an incredible testament to the love that Manni and Reuben have for each other, but is also a book that absolutely captures the realities of caring for a family member, and how important it is to ensure that what they want and deserve is always at the front and centre of every decision that is made.

I absolutely loved it.

The Year Of The Cat by Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett

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The Year of the Cat by Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett

Published by Tinder Press on 19th January

Available from West End Lane Books and

All Good Bookshops

What They Say

I looked around at my flat, at the woodchip wallpaper and scuffed furniture, and realised that I did have a life after all. What it didn’t have in it was a cat.

When Rhiannon fell in love with, and eventually married her flatmate, she imagined they might one day move on. But this is London in the age of generation rent, and so they share their home with a succession of friends and strangers while saving for a life less makeshift. The desire for a baby is never far from the surface, but can she be sure that she will ever be free of the anxiety she has experienced since an attack in the street one night? And after a childhood spent caring for her autistic brother does she really want to devote herself to motherhood?

Moving through the seasons over the course of lockdown, The Year of the Cat nimbly charts the way a kitten called Mackerel walked into Rhiannon’s home and heart, and taught her to face down her fears and appreciate quite how much love she had to offer.

What I Say

The pandemic and lockdown we all went through now seems for me to be a time I can remember parts of, but also feels slightly surreal, like it happened to someone else. It is also undeniably a shared collective memory that will forever unite a generation who lived through it, and I am endlessly fascinated to read people’s accounts of their experiences as a way to understand mine.

The Year of the Cat by Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett takes us through that period as Rhiannon and her husband decide to get a kitten, and while this memoir may start as a love letter to cats, and the irrefutable impact that they have had on women’s lives and the stories that surround them, this book evolves beautifully into one that holds so much in its pages.

This is a book not only about Rhiannon’s experiences of owning cats through her life and how Mackerel her kitten came to be such a part of it during the pandemic, but it is also an honest and visceral memoir about trauma, PTSD, mental health, motherhood, family and caring.

Adopting Mackerel during such a strange and unknown time, when going outside became something we would never take for granted again, means that as well as focussing on Mackerel and how to look after him, Rhiannon has plenty of time to be alone with thoughts and memories. Unimaginable events that Rhiannon has lived through – a vicious assault by a stranger, and being in Paris at the very time terrorist attacks were taking place, leads her to think about her past and future, as she contemplates whether having mental health issues impact her ability to be a mother.

What Rhiannon captures so perfectly in these pages is the thoughts that so many of us have, but are afraid to articulate for fear of being judged for having them. I had an overwhelming desire to have children, but believing that my own emotional shortcomings and the fact that I didn’t know if I could care for a human being when I found it difficult to look after myself, led me to write my own lengthy diary entries as to the pros and cons of me taking that step. Reader I did, which for my first child led me down paths I never dreamed I would ever follow.

This leads me to the other part of Rhiannon’s memoir that resonated deeply with me as a full time carer, and led me to use up all the post it notes I had to hand. Rhiannon’s brother is severely autistic and in a care home, and the lockdown leads to a heartbreaking separation for them. What Rhiannon does so wonderfully in her memoir is not only to articulate what it means to not be able to visit the ones we love, but also what it means to care for someone who has special needs. The love you have is overwhelming, but like Rhiannon and her Mum, you cannot explain to someone what it means to be a full time carer unless they have lived it. To understand what it means to be in a constant state of fighting for everything and explaining repeatedly the same story told in numerous ways according to which professional and which department you are talking to. Rhiannon writes with an innate compassion and understanding that made me teary a few times, because I knew exactly what she and her Mum were feeling.

To read Rhiannon’s memories of living with her brother and mother, and the highs and lows of that time, along with some brilliant anecdotes – including an unforgettable supermarket visit I don’t think anyone will ever forget, added another layer of humanity to this unforgettable memoir, and I loved it. As Rhiannon starts to question her own ability to be a mother, we as readers already know that her lived experiences have given her so much experience already, and that we will her to see what an amazing Mum she will be, and hope she gets exactly what she desires.

The Year of The Cat will connect with many people in many different ways because Rhiannon writes about her own experiences with such candour that you cannot fail to be moved. It is also the first time I have read a book that describes so perfectly the numerous internal conversations about motherhood and the responsibilities of caring for someone else which I had before having children, and that that are still part of my world twenty one years after having my first child, which is why I will endlessly recommend Rhiannon’s book.

I absolutely loved it.

Thank you so much to Mary-Anne Harrington and Tinder Press for my gifted proof copy.

And Just Like That, 2022 is done

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I’m not quite sure why I am writing this blog post on the last day of 2022. I haven’t read a huge number of books this year, I’ve been at times lackadaisical in posting on my blog, and have often felt like Twitter and Instagram have been changing the rules so often that I have no clue as to what the best way is to shout about books anymore!

Book blogging has been my thing for such a long time now, and while it’s introduced me to a world where I finally feel that I belong, has given me opportunities I could never have dreamed of, and has given me incredible friendships I now couldn’t be without, I am ending 2022 feeling a bit lost.

I am a firm believer in being honest about my blogging, and as 2022 comes to a close, and 2023 looms large, honestly, I have been feeling overwhelmed with it all at the moment. It’s hard to keep the energy and enthusiasm sometimes – I still love reading but by December (probably like lots of you!) I felt a bit like I was back on the bookish conveyor belt of reading books in a certain order so that I am ready to review them for publication date.

I have taken a complete break from social media over Christmas – and it’s been lovely. I’ve watched a lot of films, spent a lot of time with my family and put my phone down for days – which not surprisingly has meant I have read a lot more! It has been so refreshing to just sit and read without constantly thinking of what I am going to say in my review, and instead have just read for the sake of reading!

There are a few things I know I want to do now. I need to feel confident in my voice again, and find the joy in blogging. For me, it’s hard to keep posting when you feel like no one is listening – I know it shouldn’t matter, but when I read a brilliant book, I just want to make sure as many people as possible know, and honestly, I still get frustrated sometimes because I don’t know the most effective way to do it, and feel like I have let the authors down.

Having a chance to pause over Christmas has also given me time to think and reflect on Years Of Reading Selfishly and what I want it to be going forward next year. I am sure no one is really bothered, but for me I need to feel enthusiastic about it or I just won’t do anything! Perhaps in writing this blog post I am making myself accountable and can look back on it in 2023 to make sure I actually do what I say.

When the brilliant author Harriet Evans wrote her article for The Bookseller this year about how women over 45 love books, and that the book trade should love them back, I was lucky enough to be quoted in the article, and I also felt that Harriet perfectly articulated what I have been thinking for a long time too. As a 52 year old woman, at times I have felt invisible, at one point this year seriously contemplated stopping blogging – but do you know what – I don’t want to lose my voice or feel my thoughts about books don’t matter. There should be room for everyone to talk about the books they love, however they want to do it, and my voice and opinions count – I need to remember that, and make sure that we support each other too.

The other thing I have been thinking about a lot, is how to combine book blogging with being a carer for my adult son. I told you all this year that I am going to keep talking about the realities of caring, because as a society we don’t, and books have given me the perfect peace and space I have needed to recharge this year – because it’s hard and full on sometimes.

In 2023, I want to read and share books written by people who are carers like me, to use my blog as a way to amplify the voices of people whose stories you may not know but need to be heard. I am pulling together a reading pile of books, and am having a think about the best way to do it – more on that soon, but in the meantime I’d also really love it if the publishing industry didn’t do away with online events. Just because book lovers can’t physically be somewhere doesn’t mean we don’t want to take part…

Looking back on what I’ve written it seems like such a lot. It’s up to me now to practise what I have been preaching, but the one thing I know for sure is that while at times I do feel like I am done, that there is also something that keeps me here – and that’s the fact that sharing my love of books and reading brings me joy – and I know that I need that in my life now more than ever.

Here’s to 2023, and all the books we have waiting for us, the love of books that we want to share, and to you, the incredible bookish community who absolutely understand the joy of books, reading and shouting about them!

Lots of love,

Clare

Xxx