How do i do it?

 When my children were growing up, I had to tell myself on a regular basis that the years were finite. 

This had a two fold purpose: one, to enjoy every moment because it would never come again, and two, to be aware that these moments would pass and never be again.

The years were a tapestry of moments sewn together. Some good, some bad. Loneliness enmeshed with sheer joy and exhilaration at the task at hand. Hard work with added short lived passionate affairs, work that was unchallenging but easy to navigate given my circumstances. 

I get asked how I did it. And I find I seldom have an answer. It feels like I am almost at the end of the grueling part, and I find I don’t really know how I brought up two children on my own for 15 years. So, for the benefit of other sole parents, I decided to try to break it up.

The first three days were the hardest. It was the first time in my life that I had to depend solely on myself. No parents, no partner. There were friends, but at the time I didn’t have many, and some retreated from me as if they needed to take a stance and pick a side. I felt acute pain. It was physical and raw. It was so painful that I needed to do things to keep it at bay. That first night, as he drove away, the street flooded, and as I waded in knee deep water and sandbagged the neighbour's front door in the rain, I knew I would survive. I did break after that for a few days, but kept reminding myself of how strong I felt that night.

After three days, I got drunk. A terrible way to cope, I know, but it ended that sadness. I vomited all over the bathroom, and somehow, it helped me pull myself together somewhat. 

I sat down with myself and made decisions about my work. Emergency and shift work were not going to work for my young family, so I started looking for a family friendly job.

I had to tell the children that their parents were separating. Phoebe was almost 6 and she understood.  She cried and didn’t like the idea one bit, but I made a point of telling her that it wasn’t her fault, that both mummy and daddy loved her and that she would see daddy all the time. My ex didn’t have a house yet, but as soon as he did, they would go and stay. Dan was only 4 and he didn’t really understand,  I didn’t think. But after a few weeks of changing sheets at night again after months of being dry, I put him back in night nappies. I guess he did understand in some ways. I joined the COPE library, and took books out for myself on how to navigate legal aspects and the emotions rushing through me. I took out children's books, and read to the kids, which was incredibly therapeutic for me. 

I found myself a psychologist, and started seeing her for 2 and a half years. I had intended it to be a short stint.

Dan started having nightmares, and that was hard. He saw my psychologist for a few sessions, and she said he was well adjusted, and to encourage art. So, art materials were provided by the truckload and he was encouraged to express those emotions he has always kept to himself until very recently.

Phoebe seemed ok. She has always been an intellectualiser.  Her issues didn’t become evident until her world changed. She didn’t like change, and moving into a new house was very hard for her. I had ideas of travelling and living in a different city, but I decided that I needed to be a stable base, so decided I would not move from this house if I could help it. I was angry at having to be the grown up while my ex was off living a bachelor's life. This anger lasted years. But I eventually let it go, as it was not useful and all consuming. I surrounded myself with friends.  The kids' primary school was a wonderful source of support and I met wonderful long term friends who are still in my life. Thank goodness. They saved me. These people nurtured me, helped me, supported me, held me up, helped my children and shared their love with me and my kids. It was the best thing I ever did. I thank my lucky stars for these people every day. Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. My sister came back from Perth some years ago, and I have added her to my network of valuable people. My mum still worked full time, but her partner and her provided me with a place for the kids when I wasn’t available, and they loved it! My ex mother in law did not withdraw her assistance, and once again, that was invaluable.

I decided that I would enjoy my children and still do all the things that families do. I took them away on cheap holidays. Last minute hotel deals, holiday packages, joined the scouts so we could go camping  and hiking and have adventures. I opted for optimism despite recurrent and chronic depression that would take me to the edge of despair on a regular basis. I got myself a GP, I put things in place so people would call me out if I was sounding depressed. My sister in Perth would pick it up easily. I got myself a shrink when the drugs stopped helping. I exercised regularly, and this was another saving grace for me, as I couldn’t have done any of it without physical fitness and it kept the black dog at bay. I only ever had to take a week off one time when I was so burnt out and depressed that I walked out of the clinic and decided not to return the next day and instead increase my antidepressants. 

On days when I would feel like a bad mother, I would allow myself to wallow. But only for one day. And then I would pick myself up, shake myself off and keep going. Who else have they got? Who do they rely on? Who is their rock?” My children have saved my life many times over the years, and I am so grateful for the gift of being their mum.

I learned to practice gratitude. I would find something to be grateful for, even on the darkest of days. A jacaranda in full bloom in a dark storm, an outing to the park to blow bubbles when strapped for cash, a zoo membership so we always had a free exciting place to visit, my health,  my strength and fitness, a fragrant candle lit in the evening, fresh eggs from the chooks, my children. Always my children. On days when I was so tired and I just wanted to scream, I would just make my coffee a bit stronger and sometimes have a little brief cry in the kitchen.  I wrote a lot. I did a lot of internet dating, with the mistaken idea that I would find a man to rescue me and make everything better again. That I would have a family again, and more children. But I needed to rescue myself, and I did. I learned how to. I kept this blog to remind me of what was good. And I listened to gems at work, people I worked with over the years and patients about how precious those years were, and not to waste them, be mindful,  carpe diem.

I used movies and television and books, and took wisdom from those places. Buffy was a great teacher to me, about relationships and learning about them. I grew up a lot. I was a 31 year old divorcee with two young children, and desperate to regain a nuclear family. It wasn’t to be for me. My lesson was in all of this instead. To learn to be happy with what I have. It is so much.

I read hundreds of books on child development and parenting, I attended positive parenting courses at the council. I hugged my children, I told them I loved them daily, twice daily. I helped with homework, I helped at school, I did reading. I lived with very little money, in exchange for being with them and enjoying being their mum. You don’t need a lot of money to create fun. We used the library and toy libraries a lot. We exchanged books at the book exchange. We used nature a lot, and made food from scratch. Baked bread and made pizzas. Anything can e special if you make it so.

I had a few relationships over the years,  but the biggest lesson for me was about self love, and learning about healthy relationships.  It was not something that came naturally to me, and after a few years, I gave up my pursuit for a relationship and settled instead on male company, not necessarily casual,  but serial monogamy,  I guess.

My animals became a huge aspect of my life, and I have learnt about respect, mutual affection, security and love from them. Unconditional love. Lucy is one of my best friends, and while this may sound pathetic to some, she is a constant. She has been by my side for 14 years. She greets me at the door every day, comes when I need to hug her (when she feels like it), sleeps next to me, sits near me when I cry, has taught me about unconditional love and mutual dependency.  She is here when my children are not, and has been my substitute when my kids have moved on to seeing their dad more. She's helped me to sit with grief as I cry all over her perfect coat.

She has taught me about beauty, and femininity. She is a goddess incarnate, and she will be the hardest thing to let go of as she ages.

So how did I do it? How do I still do it? 

I found myself and all my gifts, that’s how. I am a good friend, a good mother, a nurturer,  a goddess.

I never knew any of this about me at 30. None of this would have happened to me if my life had not hit rock bottom. And I would have missed out. 

If you are a sole parent, or have depression, or are simply sad today, make yourself go for a walk and find something to be grateful for while you are at it. I am so glad I did. I still do. And I am forever grateful for this life.

2 am

My daughter is out on the town with friends for the very first time. She's a bit of a late bloomer, as she will be 20 in 3 months. She is a very sensible young woman. However, I remember being that age, and I remember making stupid decisions that I thought were sensible at the time!

I went to bed, and slept for two hours, went back to sleep and awoke at 1 am. Not home yet. Part of me was celebrating: oh my beautiful girl is growing up and out having fun! Then my mum brain kicked in. I sent a text to ask if she was still ok. There was no answer.

I was proud of myself after that, as instead of ringing every Adelaide Emergency department or the friend she is out with, I simply told myself that she was having fun!!!!
'Stop worrying!'

But of course didn't go back to sleep until her cheery text came in just a few minutes ago.

'She's fine. She's having fun. She's ok.'
I used to think that my parents wanted to control my every move by demanding to know where I was.

I guess I know better now. It's the gut clenching worry of her sensibleness wearing thin under a veil of beer, or some asshole making a stupid decision around her. Maybe one day I'll be able to just go to sleep and trust that all will be well. I guess tonight is not that day.

As I wrote that last sentence, an image flashed in my mind. An image of a tiny baby girl lying on my bed. It was day 3, I had just brought her home and I remember thinking that nothing was ever going to be the same again. The fear overwhelmed my 24 year old self. Self doubt and panic engulfed me, and I cried. Day 3 blues, they call it. I think it was just the realisation that I was a mother. My life was no longer just mine, it was shared. My love would be divided and I feared that I wouldn't be able to do what the job demanded. I think I'm still that overwhelmed 24 year old. Every day.

I better get a couple of hours sleep. I'll pretend to be asleep when she gets home. So she understands that I do trust her. It's what good mothers do.

Lessons from a blue fish

I cry at the movies. I sob, in fact. I am not one of those quiet criers or those people who pretend they have something in their eye; I cry outright. Usually it's the tender moments, the death of a relative, or a dog dying, or the breakup after a long romance. The usual stuff.

So imagine my surprise, as well as my toddlers', when I started sobbing in the middle of 'Finding Nemo'. And not at the beginning when the eggs all get eaten along with their mother, but right in the middle, when Dory yells out to Marlin to 'just let go'.

Allow me to elaborate.                           

I was brought up in a strict South American household. My father was the head of the family, and the boss of us all. His word was law, and unfortunately he was an extremely anxious man who believed that the world would do us great harm, and kill us. If we stepped out the door, we would die.

So I grew up believing that. I never went to any school excursions, or camps, or parties. I had one friend who lived across the road, and the only reason I ever saw him was that he would ride his bike to my house.
i did however go to one school excursion. Within minutes of arriving, I went exploring with my friend down to the creek, and my 7 year old little sister followed. Sandra was obviously much more experienced than me at climbing anything or balancing, or walking on level ground. So she balanced her way across the creek on a large wooden plank that had been placed across it. Above it, hung a thin guide-wire. I followed, and managed to get to the other side with great difficulty.

Then my little sister followed. There was a gap of about 2 metres to the creek bed. There was not much water, but there were large river rocks.

Before I had a chance to tell her that I would come to help her, she had already stepped onto the plank, lost her balance, and fell heavily on her back, as she tried to hold on to the wire and it snapped.

Her head hit a large river rock, and she started crying. I slid down the river bank, and helped her up, dusted her off and consoled her. And told her that under no circumstances was she to tell on me. I knew I'd be in trouble.

Within metres of where all the adults were congregated (this being the only reason I was allowed to go on the excursion, the presence of parents), Tati started to cry. Dad demanded to know what had happened, and as I was 4 years older than her, I was responsible for her welfare, and therefore bore the brunt of the disaster. The 45 minute drive home was punctuated by yelling, guilt and being told that my sister 'could have died'. 'What were you thinking? How could you? You irresponsible, useless...etc'. Thus ended my first and only experience of a school excursion.

When I had children, I was exquisitely aware of the difficulties that never being allowed to do anything creates in a person. I knew that I needed to make different parenting decisions for my children, and this involved the 'Letting go' exercise.

My daughter was in kindy, and I knew that later in the term, a bus excursion was planned to the museum. My instinctive brain was telling me that she would die. Plain and simple. There were no degrees, just certain death. And it would be my fault for giving permission.

I had already learnt that children sometimes need to fall over in order to realise that they will get hurt, and that natural consequences are the best teacher. But I didn't see the need to see her die simply to show her that excursions kill.

And then Dory stepped in. My hero.

'Let go!' She said.

And Marlin answered that how did she know that nothing bad would happen.

'If you never let go, you will never have anything at all happen'.

Followed by sobbing.

I realised that by depriving my children of experiences, I was not allowing anything at all to happen to them. For them to experience joy, and achievement, and all the good things that life brings, they needed to do things.

However, for someone with such deeply ingrained guilt and anxiety, “letting go” was not a passive act. I wouldn't just open my hand and allow my child to drift away. For me, the act of letting go was that of prying my fingers away from their grasp one by one, telling myself that nothing would happen. Their teachers actually cared for my child's welfare, the likelihood of anything happening was infitessimal, the opportunities for growth were endless (mainly for me); and finally, if they did die, it would be a tragedy, but it shouldn't change my decision to allow them to experience the world.

I stood at the bus with the other parents on excursion day, my heart pounding in my mouth as I told my daughter that she would have a fantastic time and how exciting her day would be. I smiled as the bus pulled out and waved enthusiastically as she waved back. And when she was out of sight, I bawled my eyes out and told myself that this was the right thing to do as a parent, that I would be ok.

And I was. The opportunities to “let go” multiply as children get older. The first day of school, the first time they have to do a test and fail, the first time they have to tackle a problem on their own. Recently my daughter started University. She asked me if I could come with her to 'O week', the orientation week. My instinctive brain pounced at the chance. My mother's voice laughed: “Sure, except you'd be the only person in the whole University to bring their mummy with them. I don't mind, but you might get a bit embarrassed. I'll be right on the other end of the phone if you need anything”.

And she went, she thrived, she conquered. She grew. She experienced.

I survived.

This has been one of the most important lessons I have needed to learn as a parent. My children know now that I am a “worry wort”, and they make fun of me, and reassure me. But I pride myself in never depriving them of life experiences. They have grown up well rounded and aware. And really, really brave. I have even noticed that the process of letting go has become more automatic, and more passive.

Allow your children to spread their wings, it's good for you. And if you haven't seen the film, do!

Strength, vulnerability and Christmas love

It has occurred to me that there is a big difference between being strong and having feelings that make you vulnerable and make you human.
I think it was Buffy the Vampire Slayer who was the first person to ever make me think about this (;)), and recently I have experienced it first hand.
I have had to learn self reliance, yes. I have had to distance myself emotionally from my patients in order to cope with some pretty deep feelings. And maybe I spend too much time doing that. Maybe it is not a bad thing for my children to see me acting like a fishwife every now and again and losing the plot: not always calculated and measured. Maybe it's good for them to see that their mother is human, and vulnerable, and ok the next morning, like that oak tree.
I think the hardest thing is the feeling of falling in a whirlpool and losing control. Nothing a big cry and a sincere phone call to a friend does not fix.
Which brings me to my Christmas wish: I hope that this Christmas I can simply be thankful for all I have. Not the material stuff, not the stuff with price tags; but the knowledge that when I'm really in trouble, I've got at least 5 phone numbers I can try before I need to resort to kicking the punching bag. And my health, my ability to face another year with my health. reasonably intact. Thank you to all those I love, my family, my kids, my friends, my animals. Because they are what makes getting up every morning worthwhile. And if this makes me a little vulnerable and shed a few tears at Christmas, so be it. I plan to embrace my vulnerability in 2015. It's part of me. Love, Yellowfluff. ❤️fi

Well, I know I have said this before, but I will say it again. Medical school was easy when you compare it to parenting.
Medicine is predictable and there are soooooo many books written about it.
Parenting is just you not trying to fuck up in the areas your parents did and try other things instead!!!!
I know that kids separating from you is a normal part of growing up, but nevertheless, it feels like a loss.
I used to be the main thing in their life. I used to show them the world. Now I just stand back while they explore it without me. It is a small death.

Never was meant to be easy, I know that. I just wish I was more equipped for it. I still feel like a child myself so often, I don't know who to turn to for help and support, and I don't know if the strategies I am using have any relevance at all. Their dad is flawed (aren't we all!!!!!) and  he is not helpful when it comes to development and normal. Because, hey, he thinks he's normal.
Am I making them into normal people? Am I hurting them? I hope not. This is my magna opus.