Mummy guilt

They say that guilt is a useless emotion. It is basically the feeling of having done something we should not have done, or omitted to do something we should have done.

When you are a parent, guilt is ever present. Whether it is a message in your own mind and measuring yourself against a yardstick you created, or messages you see in the media, or underhanded comments from well meaning or otherwise persons.

I again reiterate that an instruction booklet would come in handy. I can guarantee that even with the instruction booklet, I’d find something to feel guilty about. 

I was brought up in a different country by very strict parents. My parents had both been raised to value education, and tertiary education at that above all else. Having both been born into families of blue collar workers, they both wanted us to have a degree, and this was to be the be all and end all in our lives. Without a degree, we would not only disappoint them, but would be impoverished failures of humans. 

I grew up believing that anyone without a degree was a sucker and a burden on humanity. Loser. 

As I grow older, observe and mature, I realise that nothing is ever black and white, and that times and places change situations. There are an infinite number of permutations and combinations of careers, and reasons to do one or the other. The number of factors which determine success, or even the definition of success, are endless. 

Success. Does it mean making money? Being happy? Making a difference in someone else’s life? Leaving a mark on those you love? 

I think we are all in charge of giving our lives the meaning we want them to have. We have that right. 

No one should ever dictate what we do with our lives. I think as parents we can make suggestions, provide opportunities for exploration, and then take our hands off. Completely off. 

I have constant feelings of guilt over the opportunities I could have provided, or over the generational trauma I exposed my children to. It comes down to what we have control over. Very little other than what we do every day. 

I have control over what time I get up, what I do with my time, how I behave, and how I drive my life forward. That’s it. Everything else is completely out of my control. What other people think, feel or do is not up to me. 

And that includes my children. They have absolute control over what they do. I can only provide support, whether it is practical, financial or emotional. But what they do from now on is up to them. Their circumstances are completely different to mine as I grew up. They are affluent people in a developed country. I did not have that luxury. And with those opportunities come other problems that I did not foresee. Being helped can be a hindrance. Letting go is a recurring  theme in my life. Allowing things to play out. Feelings to pass, weather to change, things happen as they will. 

I used to fight everything and try really hard to change things and influence what happened. I can’t. It has made me stressed and anxious, and at times completely overwhelmed me. I am opting to be more of an observer, watch and wait. 

In relationships, career, and every day life. 

I used to obsess over my weight. Watch it daily and then infinitely change things in order to alter it. Since I started just watching it, I have noted that sometimes it changes for no reason at all. Usually hormones. And nothing I do changes that. 

Nothing I did would have altered the children I got or the relationships I have ended up with. Of course I can make other choices for myself now. But back then, those choices were the right ones. I made them for myself at the time. And so they were right. 

There were probably people sitting back watching me fall over and disagree with those choices. But they were mine to make. 

So as I parent adult children, I watch and wait. I support, and learn to shut up. My opinions, wishes, hopes and dreams do not matter. 

I have done my dash. Everything from now on is their destiny to own. It is my responsibility to be present and supportive, provide my opinion when asked, and shut up the rest of the time. Because I want them to own their choices and be proud of them. I want them to achieve success on their own terms. 

I will work on my guilt in the meantime. It is a moot point. I cannot change what I have already done. It is done. 

Date with Heidi

 I came to Perth to visit my sister, and they have had to go into isolation as a covidy household has developed with my nephew starting the chain and my brother in law succumbing this morning. While my sister was still negative, we did a socially distanced meal- less n95 catch up last night. It was nice to see them and it was reasonably well timed, as my sister feels like crap and although is still testing negative, I am pretty sure it will not be long before she tests the dreaded positive.

I have never gone away by myself. 47 years old and never done it. I was trying to think of a time that I did and I couldn’t. I have always gone with a friend or for work. I have never taken a holiday by myself, for myself.

I have been very aware of why and I thought I’d share. I was scared. Scared of being stared at, scared of being alone, scared of having to do things on my own. Partly that is because I am a very social person, but also because for many years, I hated me. I couldn’t stand being alone with me. I would be consumed by darkness, self deprecation and hatred that would ooze into the silence like thick honey dripping through a small hole. I thought that the noise of that sort of silence would be deafening to my soul. I thought I would probably die.

So I have avoided doing things on my own. If I can spend the day at home with the dogs I will.

The dogs and cats have been my security blanket for a long time. A way to be alone without being alone. And this is the first time I am alone for leisure, without the dogs and without a friend or family member.

I have had to brush guilt away most of all. Guilt of enjoying myself “without a purpose”, as if being with me and entertaining me is a sin. I was abused. To those who know me this is not a huge revelation, but my needs and emotions were bothersome and annoying and inconvenient.

The purpose of this weekend is just to please me. I wanted to see my sister, I wanted to go for a walk this morning and go to spotlight and the markets. I wanted to eat bircher muesli at a quaint little Café full of hippies. I want to take me out to dinner and see a comedy show.

I have been practising being gregarious all day. I have chatted to dog owners at cafes and commented on their dogs or told their dogs how good they are. I have said hi to people and watched them react to me with warmth and friendliness. No disgust that I am daring speak to them. Weird.

There is no cushion, there is no shock absorber when it’s just you. You are naked and fully visible for all to judge and view. It’s like being thin for the first time in 45 years. Fully visible. Nowhere to hide.

And it is okay.

I am truly okay. More than OK. I’m funny, and friendly, and maybe even pretty. (a little bit, at a stretch).

This is so new to me. Thrilling. A new lease on life. Free of self criticism and sarcasm.  Grateful for my body that propelled me 8.5km around Fremantle today, seeing things, feeling things, tasting things.

Just being. I am so, so lucky.

Maybe it’s not the last time I will take Heidi out for the weekend.

BORING SHIT, GO AWAY, COME AGAIN ANOTHER DAY

 I found myself procrastinating today. I do it so much, it's probably one of my biggest bug bears and one of the things I fight daily, every hour of every day. 

I found out recently that my child has ADD. It has gone undiagnosed her entire childhood, I have helped her deal with it, manage it so to say. Turns out we have a strong ADD gene. One of my  nephews has it, and another appears to have it as well. 

For those who know me professionally and personally, it may not surprise you to learn that I recognise the features in myself.... 

But I manage it. I guess maybe that is why I missed it in my own child and just helped her manage it. I thought it was normal to be this distracted by your own brain all the time. It is normal for me and I function perfectly well....although it is debatable how tolerable I am at work and at home with my idiosyncracies. It may just be that these traits are genetic traits we all have and have absolutely nothing to do with ADD. Who knows? I'm no expert. 

What I do know is that my daughter has benefitted enormously from medication and is on a good path for her and is learning how to deal with her distractions, and her stress levels are so much lower now that she doesn't have to stress about focusing all the time. 

I procrastinate so much. In fact, I am doing it now. 

I would so much rather do something I enjoy ahead of other stuff that needs doing. I detest being an adult. There's all this boring shit that needs doing that invariably needs to be done again tomorrow, and the day after. You can literally spend your entire day doing boring shit and never get time for non boring shit that you enjoy. So, I can spend an entire day lying in bed watching netflix and feeling bad about the pile of laundry, the stinky dogs, or the crap I have left lying around. Because I do. 

One of the things I know about me: I unwrap something and I would rather not put the wrapping in the bin. I just put it down where I have unwrapped the item. Not because I don't know where the bin is or because I am a hog, but because I can't be stuffed right now. Having people over later today or knowing my kids are home and I will inconvenience them is a strong impetus to put the bloody thing in the bin!

It's so boring! I struggle withe being bored all the time. 

I have made sundays my housework day. But I have to trick myself into finding it fun. I play music, I make a list and I have fragrant candles, a nice drink, and make a pact with myself that we will do something fun after! That is the only way in which I can get it done. 

I have to go from room to room and look around and write down what needs doing by visually identifying the pile of shit and then writing down what needs doing. 

If I try to simply do it as I go, shit gets forgotten. Why? Because my brain is distracting me every step of the way. I start doing the cat litters, and half way through I notice that one of them is really stinky on the outside, so I disassemble it and put it in the bath to clean out. As I am doing that, I leave it there to dry and then remember that I bought shampoo and that it is sitting in the front room. This is because I have seen shampoo bottles in the bathroom. So I go to the front room and start putting away the shampoo bottles. However, as I do this, I notice that the yarn I bought has not been put away. So, having put one of the three shampoo bottles away, I start putting away the yarn. As I enter the craft room, I notice that one of the craft kits I bought is still in there and I haven't started it, so I take it out and place it on my work table in the lounge room for later so I can start it. Maybe that can be my reward for doing housework today. And then I have to pause and chastise myself, because I now have three tasks that I have started but not completed. 

So, back to the cat litter tray. And so it goes. 

So, I write a list. I tell myself like a child to finish one thing before I go to the next. 

And so I procrastinate. This process takes so long, and takes so much mental energy. It is exhausting. 

I have a detailed list that has things like "Put new toilet paper in the bathroom", because even though I know it needs doing, I will get distracted and forget to do it, until I need it next time I'm in the toilet!!!!! I cross out each task as it gets completed, and get my little dopamine hit from doing it. 

I think one of the biggest contributors to procrastination is not allowing yourself the time to have fun. 

I ensure that every day has a bit of fun added to it. Being an adult and having responsibilities does not mean you are not allowed to be playful. I cherish it, I look forward to it. I know those of you who know me or have worked with me are aware of this. It can be annoying, I know. 

But it keeps me focused and interested. Otherwise, I get bored and annoyed. 

So I move jobs a lot, I change my timetable from week to week. I keep it interesting. Routine bores me to tears, and I love something new happening every day. So I have heaps of pets that surprise me, and I play lots of different sorts of music. I just keep it interesting. 

If you do not allow yourself to have fun and promise yourself leisure time, you will procrastinate when you have to do the boring shit. 

There is always time for fun, even if it's just five minutes collecting  a flower from the path, blowing a dandelion, or avoiding the cracks in the path. That's how I cope with the mundane. It's never mundane in my head, I tell ya. I wish sometimes it was. But it's not, so I embrace it, I go with it rather than against it. 

That's enough procrastination. Back to the grind. Today's soundtrack courtesy of the 1975. 

Cardiac Arrest

 I lost a patient tonight.

He came in and within five minutes, he had had a cardiac arrest. The nurses called me in to help and we started CPR. I was soon advised that he had documentation to the effect that he was not to be resuscitated if he had a cardiac arrest and I was shown the signed paperwork.

Stripped of my familiar protocols for life saving, I was left with needing to stand back and allow him to pass. I know he was old. I know he was probably not in good health and had considered his options carefully and made his decision. He was ready.

I wasn't.

Because stripped of my ABC protocol, I had to just be human.

That's hard, I gripped his arm, and said 'oh, sweetie' under my breath lots of times as his life slipped away and his lips turned purple.

I looked at him, and he was someone's dad, someone's husband. I don't really have any religious beliefs, but I was reminded of people who have had near death experiences and what they describe when they survive, and I imagined his spirit leaving his body and watching us take his last few breaths.

I told him to rest in peace, and felt pretty useless.

It is hard to stand back and watch, respect his wishes. I know he may not have survived anyway, but it's hard regardless. We witnessed an end, we were there to send him off to wherever he was going to next.

Trained to heal, trained to help. It didn't feel like it, even though we helped, I guess. I just wanted to share that. Some days in medicine just suck.

Fossils

 I saw an article the other day about an artist who uses modern animal skeletons and imagines what the animal would have looked like just based on the skeleton. He came up with full illustrations of what he imagined the animals might look like based on assumptions. So he had a giraffe that looked like nothing on earth. Similarly, my son was telling me that there are people who are proposing that T Rex was actually a flightless lizard, and its little forearms are actually wing remnants and that the assumption that they hung at the front like arms is incorrect. If you rotate the arms around and stick them at the back, you get wings. 

Why am I going on about this, you may ask?

What assumptions do we make about our bodies and faces based on what we see?

Let's start with what I see in the mirror. 

I have dark circles around my eyes. I grew up in South America and apart from the genetics that I carry, I got sunburnt repeatedly as a child, with blisters on my face, several times each summer. There was no such thing as sunscreen, and eventually I learned to hide from the sun or apply nivea cream in a huge thick slather, and then hide from the sun when the cream disappeared. 

I have streaks across my abdomen, large stretched roads across it. They start under my ribs and end all the way at my pubic bone. Babies, that's right, two of them. One of those unfortunate 9/10 people who stretch in pregnancy. And I was fat even before I got pregnant, so I was stretched even before that. 

I have the same stretch marks across my breasts and thighs, and even one on my left shoulder, the weird shoulder that stretched more than the right. 

Let's pretend for a moment that my body is a fossil. 

If you saw me, what would you think?

That woman is a greedy, lazy pig. Let's face it, we all think that when we see someone who is obese. The stretch marks could be forgiven and you could assume that I have had babies. Somehow that softens you? Makes it ok to be stretched? or is the assumption based on my fossil that I must have overeaten as a pregnant woman and done little exercise? Fat and lazy again. 

Maybe I have dark rings around my eyes because I really don't sleep well. Or I stay up late drinking. 

We are all walking fossils, and humans love making assumptions and categorising people. Of course we do, it helps us make sense of the world. But I think it is really important that even if we make an assumption based on an observation, that as sentient human beings, we question it. 

I remember meeting one of my best friends for the first time. Covered in tattoos, taboo at the time; last freakin century. My first thought was: rough as guts. And then, (and I think this is what makes the difference), I pulled myself up on it and decided that I could be wrong. So I went up to her and we chatted. I discovered one of the most amazing humans who I still pride myself in having in my inner circle. She is a nurturing, powerhouse of a woman. I no longer make assumptions about tattoos, I make a point of looking past them, or at least trying to. And there is the redeeming quality....if we can question the fossil record, over and over again. 

I have struggled with weight all my life. And when I lost it, I found myself lost. I was very aware that people no longer make assumptions about who I am. I am no longer the funny fat girl who eats too much, loves her good old food and can't be bothered exercising. I am now more visible. People will see who I am. But who is that? Do I even know what I was covering up all those years? What assumptions do I make about me that no longer apply? Why was I happy to be the funny fat girl for so long? Will people like who I actually am? My fat was my armour, my way of hiding who I am, and putting a fossil record out for discovery that would throw people off the scent of who I really am. And the truth is that the reason I did that is that I was not sure anyone would like who I really am. There, I said it. Successful professional, perfect life, and yet, inside, I am an insecure shadow of that. 

Instagram, tik tok, facebook, they are all fossil records for generations to find. We project an image that we wish to portray to the world, to ourselves, as that is what matters in the end. What we see when we look back. I have committed to my outsides fitting the insides. I am not lazy, never have been. I have been at the gym more often than a lot of other thin people. I do like food, but I do not eat entire chickens for breakfast. The reasons for my weight are complex, and unique, and way too lengthy to go into here. 

I colour my hair. If I didn't, it would almost be completely white at the front. I tried to grow it out, but I didn't like the assumptions that people made about me. That I was old, that I was past it, that I no longer mattered. AND the assumptions I made when I looked at myself in the mirror. It shits me no end that people in our society feel that white hair means you're practically dead. No one wants to see that. No one wants to date that. C'mon, yuck. 

I decided that I am not ready to have white hair, because of my own biases and assumptions about white hair. I am part of the problem, of course. I need to be braver, I think. And I now joke that I am a natural red, almost preparing for the day when I will let my hair be the colour it decides to be. And be comfortable with that, knowing who I am without needing to check in the mirror each time just to be sure. 

Some assumptions will be correct. But I think we need to be careful to check those facts and those assumptions. There are reasons why there are stereotypes, because a lot of them are true. But a lot of them are not as well. 

I endeavour to ensure that the image I project of me is who I want to be. Who I genuinely am. I hope that people notice the laugh lines, and that the frown lines are minimal as I age. I hope people notice the scars around my wrists from burning myself on the oven one too many times, that definitely says a lot about who I am. 

It would be nice if at the end of this, you questioned just one assumption you make today. If you're not sure, ask. It is ruder to assume than just ask whether they identify with male or female pronouns, or whether they are a mother, or whether they like to exercise. That's the advantage of us not being actual fossils. 

We will never know the truth about T Rex. Maybe he was a vegetarian. (I know, I know, unlikely!). 

Maybe next time I will highlight assumptions we make about people based on what we don't see. 

Kids

 I have decided to write on here more often. Maybe more randomly, and maybe less relevantly. But maybe this is something I need to do.

Maybe someone will listen, follow. Maybe someone will need it as much as I do.

I am sitting on my bed making a crochet blanket, there are four dogs and a cat on my bed and I am writing. I guess this describes a pretty average evening for me. And maybe this is what I want to capture. Maybe I wish to be immortalised in a way.

I am ageing. I guess we all are. Every minute of every day, we age.

I feel like my life is accelerating. Sometimes it feels like I am becoming less relevant with every breath I take. And I think this is a factor of who I am.

I have chosen to remain single, for all sorts of reasons that are quite irrelevant right now, but I think when you do that, you become more introspective. When you are a couple, you include another person in your day to day living. Someone else becomes almost as important as you are. I haven't necessarily had that.

Every decision I have made for myself in the last 15 years has been pretty much my own.

I think this has given me a perspective on life that few others can be proud of.

I was browsing a book shop today. A rarity, but a delightful one at that.

And I was looking for a book that would tell me how to navigate this next step.

I used to always get parenting books out of the library when my kids were little. There were hundreds of them. I would digest them and implement the results into my own parenting style. I think I have done a pretty good job.

But there were no books on how to move on when you have explored all your life trauma, your kids are growing up and you find yourself single.

What the fuck do I do know? Am I still important? What is my role in my own life? I have always played a role. Like I've always had a job. I don't really know what my job is now. I feel like I have reached some sort of finish line, but I'm not finished.

What am I now?

A middle aged woman with loads of cats and dogs who still doesn't know who she is? That is insane.

So maybe I need to write that book. How to become a woman who is single and whose children have grown up. What legacy do I wish to leave? How do I want to proceed.

Let's find out.

I can't wait to see, because this is the book I need to read next.

Weird

 When I was growing up, all I wanted in the world was to fit in. I was the foreigner, forever the new kid, the weirdo. Not only was I in a different culture, but different language, and what felt like a different planet.

Fast forward 35 years, and I understand.

Weird is who I am. I am who I am. I don't enjoy TV, I don't follow trends, I'm the actual crazy cat and dog lady. But more than anything else, I realise that it really doesn't matter. Nobody gives a shit!!!

It is so refreshing to be middle aged. Nobody cares what you choose to do, nobody cares if you are indeed a weirdo. Life is yours to live, and what a delicious gift it would be to know this in our teens and twenties, even thirties.

Single mum and divorcee by 31 when expected to be a securely married professional with a nuclear family. By whose freaking parameters? The same middle aged weirdoes who are making it up as they go along?

Let's face it. We are all chasing the same mysterious intangible truth: happiness in a nutshell. And at the end of the day, happiness is what you decide it is for you. It's not having the fullest lips, or the slimmest figure, or the most romantic relationship. Those might all be ingredients in your ultimate happiness recipe. But at the end of the day, embracing your weirdo and knowing who you are is happiness.

My hair grew back so curly after my recent weight loss. It's almost as if my body knows that my personality is large and therefore my hair would reflect that, I should look how I feel.

What about we aim for that? Embracing the weirdo within, who we actually feel we are despite conventions and culture? Oooooooo, dangerous rebel.

Or realist?

We can be no less or more who we are.

I need to be a crazy cat and dog lady in order to be happy and comfortable within my skin. What do YOU need? Are you brave enough to acknowledge it and actually live that reality? What is stopping you? Is it that it's weird to be who you are? Does anyone ACTUALLY give a shit? Will you still love you?

I am happy just the way I am. I haven't found a true romantic partner to share it with.. Does that make me odd? Unlovable? Crazy? Maybe. But if I don't care, why should you? Have you ever walked in my actual shoes? Do you really know who I am? Because I do. I genuinely do, after a LONG time of soul searching. And no one else has that intimate knowledge.

Be brave, be you. Be weird. Or not! Be conservative, unique, mainstream. Whatever the fuck you choose to be. Because at the end of the day, that's okay. 

Fruit salad

 

Fruit salad 

This has been a recurrent theme for humans for centuries, I am sure. 

What is the meaning of life, why am I here, what is the purpose, blah blah blah. 

No tiger or lion ever asked itself this. At least not that I know of. 

Why? Because they are too busy living, earning their keep within the food chain and being tigers and lions. They are in a community that accepts and loves them, and they are content. At least they seem it. Their life consists of finding food, resting and procreating. And that is their life, that is their purpose. 

I don’t think humans are any different. Our lives come down to the same basic needs and facts, if you reduce us to our most common denominator. We are not special. We hunger for food and sex, and kids. And if you don’t want kids, you can’t tell me that you do not seek meaning in the past, in archaeology or history or buildings and cultures. You seek meaning because that is what we are built for. 

And it is therefore impossible to escape the feeling that our children are the be all and end all of our existence. Because they probably are. Our legacy of sorts. 

Does it therefore follow that that pressure must fall on their shoulders? That they must succeed where we have failed or that they must achieve where we have not. Or that they must find happiness where we have not?

What happens if you have a child whose biggest wish is to cook for their husband, have dinner on time and serve them humbly and happily? Does that make that child a lesser being? Do we place expectations on our kids that are unrealistic? I don’t know. I try not to. And maybe through that process, they feel even more pressure. 

I struggle to let go of the constant guilt and feeling of responsibility for their decisions or lack thereof. 

At the end of the day, the only thing I can do is make my own decisions. 

Easier said than done. 

Having spent more than 20 years of my life living for others, and catering for other people’s needs, it makes it very difficult to actually decide what it is I want for the remainder of my days. 

I think I just want peace. Peace within and r=without. 

I want to be free of guilt. I want to be full of love and compassion and place hate where it belongs, and dissipates with its memories. 

I want to feel like I have done my best at everything, and have left no stone unturned when it comes to self actualization and growth. 

I want to feel humble, and realise that no one is perfect, and I can never be. 

More than anything, I would like my water ripple to have an effect. To be a drop in a ocean where a drop falls and creates a tsunami in years to come. I want to be a drop that matters. 

I want to battle my demons face to face, no weapons. Just them and me. And end my life at a place and time where I feel satisfied with my efforts. That is all. A bit of earthly satisfaction along the way, a bit of romance here and there, friendship and love, and furry animals that stink up my life. A bit of mathematical genius would have been nice, but that’s a bit late for me, I think. I’ll have to just satisfy myself with random fruit salad potty mouth.