sheryl findlay coaching
London
Growing up I was incredibly blessed by the magic my parents created for my
sisters and I at Christmas. It started a few weeks before the big day with the
tree. We had a classic late 80’s white tree. Each year, we’d gather together as
we unboxed the decorations, taking it in turns to place our favourite baubles on
the branches. The star, the most magical ornament of all, would be placed at the
top by my Dad. The Christmas classics vinyl would be playing on our record
player as we drank hot chocolate and prepared for the forthcoming festive
season. These remain some of my fondest and most vivid memories. My parents kept
that seasonal spirit alive for us throughout the pursuant weeks, ending in a
crescendo on Christmas day. Gifts and games galore, sing alongs whilst my Dad
played the guitar. As the night drew to a close my Mum would snuggle us up under
a blanket before we went to bed. I wouldn’t trade these precious memories for
anything. I’m aware how very fortunate I am. Nowadays Christmas remains a joyful
time for us and over the years, we’ve gathered new loved ones and added even
more traditions to our family repertoire. Charades is a Findlay family classic.
And you can bet your bottom dollar Die Hard will feature at least once. In 2019
I experienced my worst Christmas. Dealing with a difficult diagnosis and having
only received my cancer treatment plan hours before, I spent the day in a haze
of champagne, anti-anxiety medication and shock. The year or two leading up to
that Christmas, I’d been experimenting with long periods alcohol free. Once a
proud owner of my party girl status, I’d been surprised by how freeing it felt
to remove the booze and lean into other facets of myself. Parts of me that I’ve
now come to realise alcohol had been concealing, or more perhaps more
accurately, stealing.
