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  • Writer's pictureMaxine

Pause and reflect. Repeat.

Taking a minute to myself this morning to sit with how proud I am of my loved ones.

I’ve watched my kids cope with the destabilising effects of school closures, having to adjust to their non-teacher parents on their case all day without classmates to deflect unwanted attention, and learning to work around our own work schedules.

I’ve watched my fiercely independent mother struggle to come to terms with her very fancy prison, our house, cut off from friends and family in lockdown and trying to stay sane. And taking on some bumpy lessons in how to be in a busy, noisy house where she is not running the show.

I’ve seen how some friends and acquaintances have run with becoming actively anti-racist, taking the time to educate themselves, begin conversations with their children, and equip themselves for proactive allyship.

And I’ve seen (and heard, the guy projects from the diaphragm) my other half lead, energise and take care of his team under lockdown, back to back meetings with snatched moments to eat, homeschool, cook, husband and parent, plus working his butt off to ensure anti-racism sticks at work, too.

And me? Yeah, I’m quite proud of myself too. I made more brownies than I have in the rest of my life combined, and managed to bring a lot of lockdown birthday joy with cut-price mini and full size designed cakes. I worked out how to make Jamaican hard dough bread. I learned how to make patties, to make doughnuts from scratch, and experimented with unusual jam flavours. I made a lot of cake for my local food banks and NHS wards. I just about stayed sane. I'm emerging from lockdown with new skills, new Insta friends, renewed vigour to decolonise the curriculum and having done some serious juggling of my own.

As a family, I know we’re so grateful to have made it this far, and I have confidence our little unit is ready for whatever the rest of this year is going to throw at us.

I hope you do, too.


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