moving with the shape of change
softening, shapeshifting, surviving
I promised myself that I would write to you once the first tiny, chartreuse buds had erupted from my neighbour’s silver birch tree. A sign I always look for that speaks to me of how spring has truly arrived.
Every day I’d take note from my bedroom window. Any progress? Nope. Day after day, no show. Was the birch in total stasis? (Of course not.) I watched and waited. I grew impatient (whilst simultaneously revelling in the fact that I didn’t have to write anything yet.) Not yet. Oh, not yet.
Even though I traverse this ritual of watching and waiting every year and without fail those new green leaves always appear, I still sometimes fear that this might be the year she doesn’t come back to life. Oh ye of little faith.
Then one morning I drew my blinds and there before me were the first, wee, bright lime leaves zinging out against a welcome powder blue sky. I let myself feel a little swell of relief and glee… and then that meant it was time to write.
So here I am. (Although admittedly several weeks after the leaf eruption, because I am one s l o w writer.)
Read below for my big life update and some other current reflections, including some raw thoughts about the recent Supreme Court ruling.
The big news is that I started a new job this January. And, oh boy, did I need a job…
Before I go any further, if you’ve been a long time subscriber to my writing (in the pre Substack days) you’ll probably already know that all my musings and queer trails; my work on the menstrual cycle and my time as a ceremonialist have always been set against the back drop of having some kind of job in mental health or youth/student/community resilience building.
Work has been pretty unstable for me since Covid. I bailed on a job with a national mental health charity because the conditions were, rather ironically, (though not at all surprisingly if you’ve ever worked in the voluntary sector) not conducive to good mental health. And then I had a short string of success going freelance in this realm of work, before settling into a salaried role offered to me by one of my clients (health insurance, dental care and an actually decent pension? I couldn’t really say no.)
It was, frankly, a disaster. I am definitely not cut out for the corporate bullshit of the private sector1, but that’s another story.
When that contract came to an end unexpectedly in December 2023, it seemed clear to me that going full time freelance as a funeral celebrant2 was the way to go. I’d had a steady stream of families coming to me and so I assumed that without too much effort I could probably bring in a few more and make a sustainable living from it.
Cutting a long story short, by the end of the year I had to admit I couldn’t make it work. I just couldn’t get enough ceremonies to make it genuinely sustainable and I hated how much of my time was given over to marketing myself.
There’s a bigger conversation here about how much funeral celebrants feel they can charge for their services; how we’re often beholden to funeral directors who set our rates for us (or stop commissioning us when we put our rates up, which happened to me twice last year); and the cost of funerals more generally… but I’ll save it for another post. Needless to say, I was pretty gutted about this realisation.
Anyway, just when things were looking increasingly precarious finance-wise, I got an offer of a job out of the blue.
So now I’m working part time for a Bristol theatre school3 as their ‘Cultural Change Lead’. It’s a kinda fancy-sounding role, but what it essentially boils down to is that I’m looking after their equality, diversity and inclusivity commitment to their students. My days are spent in deep listening, attempting some bridge-building, facilitating conversations and getting to grips with where drama and the creative arts intersect with EDI.
I won’t lie: some days are pretty challenging. And sometimes it’s hella humbling. Like any institution, there are a myriad of issues to untangle and some deeply entrenched problems that are in need of serious tending-to.
It also feels like a strange and potentially vulnerable time to be approaching a role dedicated to EDI. When the Trump administration just defunded every state EDI programme and Kemi Badennoch recently described EDI initiatives as being about ‘control rather than kindness’, its clear that efforts to challenge discrimination and inequality are being churned up in the culture wars. (Personally, I also find the language of EDI a bit tepid - not that they aren’t important words, per se. For me it’s about anti-oppressive practice, anti-racism and decolonising… but I’m a shapeshifter at heart and I’ll use the language and context available to me to make the changes regardless.)
Ultimately, right now I am so much happier than I was. I had forgotten the small joys of working alongside people; of unpicking things together. I was more lonely than I had let myself admit to when I was solo.
Many of you will already know how both universities and the creative arts in the UK are struggling financially. Combine the two and you have an area of education that is deeply under threat. This place is at the crux of that, so I have no idea how long I’ll be in post for, but I’m enjoying it while it lasts.
moving with the shape of change
I want to be honest with you. Part of me felt apprehensive admitting that I’ve gone off in another direction. There’s a teeny bit of me that feels that my not making it as a full time freelancer is a failing and that I’ve let myself down by taking this more errant path. I want you to think I’m professional, that I’ve got my shit together, that I’m a ‘success’ after all!
I love being a celebrant. Truly. So bloody much. And I really thought that that was the direction I was heading in, but I also know that sometimes my ideas about what success is are still riddled with internalised capitalism. On reflection, I realise I was caught in the trap of thinking that my success as a celebrant was about growth and progress; of making it bigger, better, bolder. But I’ve always been happier working from the fringes, letting myself be called on when I’m needed rather than hunting down opportunities or centring myself in any particular role.
Simultaneously, I want to model that it’s pleasurable to stray off the plan, to let myself go sideways. Taking this queer trail off into a new verge has been more fun than I expected. I’ve already learnt new things about myself; have watched myself morph and shift in ways that have been quietly thrilling. Sometimes we hold ourselves so tightly to our ideas, our vision of what should be, that we forget we can let ourselves soften into something else.
Since I started this new job in January, I’ve had the phrase, ‘moving with the shape of change’ rippling through me. Frankly, I don’t fully understand what it means, but it sticks with me. Like a stone in my pocket, there’s a comfort in turning the phrase over and over; letting its meaning meander and permeate through me.
It’s found me reflecting on how these times are reshaping so many of us. The cost of living, the squeeze on public services, a government that keeps on trimming away at any safety nets we had left; all of it demands reckoning and reassessment. At the same time, we’re contending with the intensifying climate breakdown, the rise of fascism, continual genocide and techno feudalism at the hand of a bunch of ugly bro-ligarchs… I could go on. Business as usual, this is not.
I know my minor switch in plans is nothing, nothing in the scale of things. I mean, at least I’ve got a job and I’m currently well enough to do it. Many of us are being asked to change. To drop or delay dreams. To do the uncomfortable work of adapting - not out of failure, not because we’re lost or aren’t working hard enough, but out of necessity. This polycrisis has a way of pressing its weight into our everyday lives. It isn’t just some nebulous concept anymore. And of course, what we’re feeling now in the Global North, the instability and precarity of these fragile systems we were raised to believe to were solid, is not new. It’s what so many communities across the world have been navigating, resisting, adapting to for centuries. We were just too foolish to pay attention.
But what if the dreams we had were only capitalism’s anyway? What happens when we look into the cracks, veer sideways, beyond the glitter of Modernity’s false promises? I’m finding something oddly expansive in revealing to myself where I’ve been shaped by the colonial logic of growth and extraction at all costs and letting myself unravel from it.
Meanwhile, whilst there are changes that call us into new shapes, there are changes that require our solid resistance. As I’ve been drafting this missive for you all, the news of the Supreme Court’s ruling on the definition of ‘woman’ broke and the mainstream media outlets were filled with pictures of irritatingly jolly, cis women celebrating this ‘win’ for womankind. (Not to mention a certain transphobe author on her yacht, smoking a cigar, giving her best Bond villain mode.)
This ruling that now states that the Equality Act’s definition of ‘man’ and ‘woman’ pertains to biological sex is a heart-breaking blow to trans liberation. I’ve been sitting with this news for days, both feeling-into my own sadnesses and trying to make sense of what it will actually mean in practice, beyond the obvious reinforcement of single-sex services and the flagrant exclusion of trans folk from public life.
As a menstrual health and cycle awareness educator who has long argued for gender-inclusivity within these disciplines, this ruling is a huge set-back. If, under law ‘woman’ equals ‘biological female’, I’m concerned we will see a cultural ripple effect: a return to the tired narrative that menstruation belongs solely to cis women.
Those who were previously unsure, uncomfortable or sitting on the fence about embracing gender-expansive approaches to menstrual and reproductive health - or were doing it purely for the optics - may now take this ruling as a permission slip to return to their exclusionary frameworks. I predict a new wave of transphobic, white, wellness-y spirituality, sacred feminine types feeling emboldened by this news - expect a doubling down on the old ‘real women bleed’ type discourse.
Equally, where health services may have just started to embrace gender inclusive language, we could see a regression back to old ways. Trans men and non-binary folks who are seeking gynaecological care or support for pregnancy, may face renewed misgendering and othering in these spaces. This is isn’t just about hurting someone’s feelings (though the impact of these repeated interactions is still something to take seriously); this will lead to tangible impacts on people’s health - folks delaying or avoiding care when it’s really needed. If you thought going for a smear was pretty miserable anyway, imagine trying to navigate that when you’re not sure if your care provider will recognise your gender.
What’s driving me wild is how, in this ruling being celebrated by gender-critical feminists under the banner of ‘protecting women’, the old, cruel story that trans women, framed as ‘men in dresses’, pose a threat to cis women in single-sex spaces is being peddled again. But the stats just simply don’t support this. The number of incidents involving trans women in women’s spaces is minuscule.
Meanwhile, the threats that really do endanger women and girls - gender-based violence, the rise of Andrew Tate et al, algorithm-driven pipelines that groom boys and men into violent pornography4 and the emboldening of the far right - continue to escalate. It’s a misdirection of energy that utterly baffles me.
Massive solidarity with all my trans and gender-non conforming kin - I’m sure I’ll be writing more about this time goes by.
Okay, this turned out way longer than I anticipated. I’m gonna sign off now!
Thank you, as ever, for coming along with me on these meandering trails. (And a hello to all the new subscribers that have come on board in the last little while!)
Finally - just to be absolutely crystal - I am still taking funerals! So if you need me, you know where I am.
I hope that joy is erupting in your life with as much ease as the buds on my neighbour’s birch tree. I’ll be in touch again.
love, Lottie X
Don’t get me wrong: I met some lovely people but everything is ultimately about the money - regardless of what ‘good’ you’re doing - in a way that I found incredibly depressing.
Say that fast enough and you almost have a tongue twister.
I’ll leave you to guess which one, but if I say Olivia Colman and Jeremy Irons you’ll probably know where I’m talking about… ;)
There’s been a massive increase in the number of men arrested for online child abuse offences in recent years. Harriet Grant writing for the Guardian on how the algorithms on porn websites are driving men towards images of children is sobering stuff.