What would your future self thank you for?

Today I’d like to tell you about one of the worst, most humiliating times of my life and more importantly, how I made my way out of it. So make yourself a cuppa and settle in - hopefully you’ll find something here to inspire you!

Many years ago, when I was the single mum of a five-year-old son, I had to apply to my local London authority for housing benefits.

For my non-UK readers, housing benefits were a monthly payment you could apply for if you needed help paying your mortgage or rent.

When I first became a single parent I was doing OK financially having worked really hard to get a 3 book deal with a major UK publisher.

But when my third novel did badly sales wise I was dropped by my publisher and lost my sole source of income.

Needless to say, it was not the greatest of times and I’d lie awake at night terrified my son and I would lose our home.

And hot on the heels of my thoughts of fear came those good ol’ feelings of failure.

Before becoming an author I’d felt like a failure for giving up on my writing dream and dropping out of university.

The moment I saw a book with my name on the cover those feelings faded. Finally, I’d achieved something meaningful. Finally, I could call myself an author instead of a drop-out. And it felt so sweet.

But now here I was having come full circle, from dropout to dropped by my publisher.

The good thing about having a little person totally dependent on you is that you can’t afford to sit around feeling sorry for yourself for long, and I knew I had to come up with a plan of action to fix things for myself and my son, so I took myself off to Brighton.

Known as London by the sea, Brighton is just an hour or so by train from the capital and has always been one of my favourite places in the UK. 

It’s quirky and gritty and colourful and inclusive. High on self expression and low on judgement. 

I don’t know about you but something I’ve found (and I’m really finding since living as a nomad) is that different places bring out different aspects of my personality.

Brighton is one of those places where I really feel I can be my true self so I’ve always gravitated to it when I’m in need of some serious dreaming and scheming because I know that any plans I come up with there will be coming from the most authentic part of me.

And so I found myself on a chilly autumn day walking along the misty beach, my panicked mind soothed by the rolling waves frothing and kissing the pebbles.

I thought about how much writing meant to me, and how hard I’d worked to overcome my feelings of self doubt in order to become an author - and how the thought of no longer having writing in my life would be heartbreaking. 

So I started to contemplate how I could build a career around writing, but without having a book deal.

Perhaps I could help other writers, I thought to myself, I had had four books published after all (one non-fiction and three novels) surely that had to count for something.

I lifted my gaze to the sky and began walking with more purpose, the bracing salty air filling me with fresh hope.

I found a cute little cafe built into the sea wall and took a table by the window. While I waited for my order to arrive I took out my notebook and started scribbling down ideas. I could run writing workshops for adults and maybe in schools too. I could train to become an editor.

My breakfast arrived and I don’t think a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee has ever tasted as delicious as it did in that moment so ripe with fresh possibility.

I returned to London galvanised but of course, my new writing-inspired career wouldn’t happen overnight and it would take a while for my earnings to be enough to pay London rent. So I had to take myself, cap in hand, to the benefits office at my local civic centre.

Sitting on a plastic seat in the harshly lit waiting area, my inner voice of doom began its cheery chorus, listing all the ways in which I was now a total failure, having to beg a complete stranger for money.

And of course, they don’t give out benefits easily so when it was finally my turn I had to sit through a rigorous interrogation, which was even more humiliating.

But I got the help I needed - the council agreed to pay half my rent, so I’d be able to keep a roof over my son’s head.

Over the next few years I worked my butt off building my self employed business. I ran writing workshops for adults and in schools, I became an editor, I trained as a life coach so I could help other people achieve their goals - writing and non-writing. And as my earnings slowly began to climb I needed less and less help with my rent and my benefits began to fall. 

Then  I self published a book and that book won an award and I found myself in the bizarre situation of having eight traditional publishers in a bidding war over it!

My career had come full circle and I was once again a published author. And best of all, I no longer needed any financial help and unbeknown to me at the time, there was an even sweeter full circle moment still to come…

A few years and several books later I was asked to take part in a local literary festival and do a book signing at my local civic centre.

To get to my signing I had to talk past the door to the housing benefits office - the same office that had signified such a humiliating low point in my life. 

I thought back to how awful I’d felt a few years before, having to walk through that door and effectively beg a stranger to help me keep a home for my son. But now I was striding past that very same door and into another room just down the corridor, where I found a table laden with copies of my latest books.

I’ve been staying in a hotel in Brighton for the past couple of weeks and the other day, when I was having a coffee on the beach, this all came flooding back to me.

I pictured my 35-year old self walking past on that cold misty day, full of fear, but refusing to give up and striding forwards with a head full of dreams, and my eyes filled with tears of gratitude for her grit and determination.

If she hadn’t held fast to her writing dream in spite of her fears, I wouldn’t now have had 50 books published. And I wouldn’t have helped thousands of other people with their writing through my talks, workshops and coaching.

And as I write this to you now it occurs to me to ask the question: what could I do this year that would make my future self just as grateful?

What dream could I invest my time and energy in so that my future self will reap the benefits?

Perhaps you’d like to ask yourself the same questions?

Until next week - when I will be back on the road again, visiting Scotland before returning to Ukraine for the rest of the summer - keep striding forwards with a head full of dreams and a heart full of courage. Your future self will thank you for it!

Siobhan

PS: The next edition of Woman magazine (out in the UK on Tuesday 2nd July) features an article all about my decision to give up my home to travel the world as a nomad writer. So if you’re interested in finding out more about my motivation for doing so and how I’m finding nomadic life so far you can pick up a copy from your local newsagent or supermarket.