When advice falls on deaf ears …

"... I now know 
I needn’t have worked 
so hard
to secure the spaces 
already mine to fill ..."

If you have lost someone you loved dearly, you’ll know that it doesn’t take much to bring them to the forefront of your mind.  I’ve written previously about my best friend, who died of cancer when she was 49. (https://fiwynne.com/2025/09/24/how-life-is-never-the-same-following-bereavement-but-still-there-is-life/).  Last week, she would have been 60, and I feel sure we would’ve done something special to celebrate.  She fully embraced life, and wasn’t one to bemoan the passing of years.

It got me thinking of the many things she taught me.  It’s no surprise, given my stubbornness, that her voice wasn’t the only one expressing concern about some of my choices.  I’ve lost count of how many people, over the years, have told me to slow down, not work too hard, or take life too seriously.  I knew they spoke from a place of love and yet still I didn’t listen.  

I worked incredibly hard at my job because I felt I had to.  It’s just what I did.  It’s only now, with hindsight, that I recognise the self-doubt, always bubbling just below the surface.  The fact is, I lacked faith in my natural ability. I know I’m not unique in that.  There are studies that have shown women have to work twice as hard to be considered half as good as their male counterparts. But being as good as the men wasn’t my key driver; it was me. I was the hardest person to convince that I merited success. As a result, I spent years over-preparing, putting in the extra hours so that I felt capable and confident.  It led to burn out more than once.  

Why do we do this to ourselves?  Why are we so often the last person to see what is obvious to everyone around us?  Why, even when our most trusted people, give us advice, can’t we listen? I don’t know the answer, but for me anyway, I think it’s about needing to find our own way through life.  That means making mistakes and picking up the pieces afterwards.  I will always be grateful to my parents for allowing me the freedom to make mistakes and learn at my own pace.  There must have been times when they despaired at my choices but they rarely said anything.  

I wrote this week’s poem as I was approaching the end of my working life and the beginning of my retirement.  It coincided with the near end of my 50’s.  It was a packed decade of small triumphs, hard knocks, and many sleepless nights.  A mixed bag, which is undoubtedly true for most of us.  

The biggest lesson has been the hardest won.  This year, I’ve reached that new decade, and realised that so much of what I fought for was already mine.  I strove hard to achieve small wins that no longer feel important.  But I’m not bitter.  I look back at my younger, vulnerable self, with compassion.  I can laugh at my mistakes and know they’ve shaped me.  

I’ve finally reached the place of contentment that all those giving me advice knew was there for the taking; it just took me longer to get there.  I’m grateful that they stuck with me, despite the fact I never listened!  I feel sure that Karen would be proud, giving me that quizzical look that said, “what took you so long?”