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. 

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.

Will I fight or will I drown?

I have been single on and off for 14 years. I have failed in that time to find a partner who not only was emotionally available but was happy to have the kids around and able to work through difficulties, and willing to do so.

For many years, I decided I would remain single, because I had enough on my plate, I was busy raising children and providing for them, and I just didn’t have the energy for a new relationship as well. And as much as I love my children and my animals and my life, there were times when I would feel sorry for myself. Mostly around Christmas time, when the school concert was on and parents would turn up to watch their children. They would sit together and enjoy what they had created together, bask in the glow of their kids together. I wanted that. Instead, I would be there maybe with my mum, or sometimes alone. The first assembly, parent teacher interviews, the first day at middle school and high school.

It was lonely.

The hard decisions had to made by myself, the hard disciplinary actions when I felt that I was damaging my children. The hurtful teenage “I hate you”, the first period, the first friendship conflict, the first time and second and third time that I stuffed up and had to say sorry. Or the times I simply couldn’t be there because work got in the way.

It was hard. I had to pick myself up all the time.

I had good friends to help, but on my darkest days, it was all too dark even to share. I would just sit in the car on my way to work and cry, or cry myself to sleep after the kids went to bed.

And I would allow myself these days of “feeling sorry for myself”, and then I would tell myself that that was enough. I had had my wallow, what was I going to do about it?

I would pick myself up and instead make a plan.

How was I going to teach my children about divorce? I went to the library and picked up suitable books to read. We developed systems to keep track of things: the library box that contained the library books so that they wouldn’t go missing.

I made lists for the kids to bring things back from their dad’s house so they wouldn’t be left behind and laminated the lists so they could re-use them.

I made decisions on my own activities and made play dates when I was feeling painfully lonely. I strengthened my friendships, I learned to say no, I sacrificed hours working so that I would have the hours I wanted and be able to spend the time with the kids instead and be a good parent.

I got my fellowship of General Practice. I wasn’t sure how I was going to fit in study as well as the kids and work, so I made the point of studying for just 1 hour every day at bed time for 6 whole months. I committed to it and I did do it, and although some days I would fall asleep reading my textbook, I got through the exams and I got my fellowship.

And I did this just allowing myself the occasional “feeling sorry for myself” day.

About a month ago, I fell in a heap. I was feeling sorry for myself. Every day. Lamenting the fact that I am still single, that I still spend important days alone, that I still have so much weight to lose, that I still have a mortgage and have to work more than I would like because although the kids are grown up, they still need me more than ever.

I lamented the fact that this is not the life I had planned. That this is not where I imagined I would be in my life. I started to look at other people’s lives and feeling all jealous of what they have and what they have been able to achieve and accomplish. I started to tell myself of course they can afford that when there are two people earning money in that household.

And then one morning, on my Facebook newsfeed, I noticed something my sister had posted about 2 years ago. It was an excerpt from something written by the great author Paulo Coelho, and I quote:

“As if nothing had changed overnight, the warrior takes another wrong step and dives once again into the abyss. Ghosts provoke, loneliness torments him.

Now that he is more aware of his acts, he did not think this would happen.

But it did. Shrouded by darkness, he talks to his master.

“Master, I fell again into the abyss”, he says, “The waters are deep and dark”.

“Remember something”, responds the master. “It is not the diving that causes the drowning, but the staying underwater”

The warrior uses his remaining strength to get out of the situation he is in”.

It was like a lightning strike, a reminder of everything I have done for the last 14 years. How have I kept from drowning? I have got out of my situation, I have worked towards getting out of that abyss, time and time again.

Now that the children are older, there is no excuse for staying there. I could, and drown.

What exactly is stopping me having exactly the life I want to have?

Nothing, nothing at all. Everything is possible with hard work.

So I told myself it was time to stop wallowing. Enough, I said. Enough!

I got back to the gym. This was always my saving grace: being fit was the only way I could possibly get through the tough days. Everything else seemed easy compared to the gym.

And kept the weight down!

I would love to have a really nice outdoor area to go and sit in.

Guess what? I have an outdoor area. It needs some work and if I get off my arse and start the cat enclosure I have been meaning to make, I can open the entire house and let everyone just roam: cats, dogs, bunnies and people.

The thing is, it is in my power to make my life what I want it to be. I am free to leave the job that is not satisfying, I could make that decision if I wanted to. There are pros and cons of course, and I do have financial responsibilities. But I don’t have to have those either. I could sell my house and take myself on a travel around Australia trip if I really wanted to and spend all of my money on that.

The illusion is being trapped.

I am not trapped.

I am not drowning. Because I won’t allow it. Absolutely not.

I am a warrior.

The being single thing is not something I can change in a hurry, but being lonely is. It is a state of mind to a certain extent. I have so many people in my life, and it is up to me to continue nurturing those people and forget those who just take from me. I have allowed people to take from me without giving in return. Some of those bad relationships have been a choice.

So, 2019 is looking better than ever. I will have energy to build castles, and climb mountains.

Feel sorry for yourself, by all means, but use it to make plans and change your situation. You can. I can.

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!

Dear Time

Dear Time,

I have only known your new year for a very short while but I feel like I know you already, as you seem very similar to other years I have had before. However, since I am a good sport, I will pretend that I don’t know you and give you the benefit of the doubt.

I only ask that you take my wishes into account for this year.

You see, I think that I need a different sort of year. I mean, don’t think I’m being ungrateful. I am very grateful for a lot of things in my life, and these are just wishes. I don’t want anything taken away, I want it at all as it is, but I just wanted to make some helpful suggestions for the future, and hope that you will take them into account when planning my trajectory for 2016.

I am not sure what sort of groundhog day loop I’m stuck in, but it seems that toughness, resilience and strength are the only things I need on a day to day basis, and I continue to be tested on them. I’m starting to think that this, Time, is a bit of a waste of resources when it comes to the events department of your, should we call it, company. You see, I think I have proven time and again how tough and resilient I am. I think it is about time that you focus on some of the other things that I am.

I am not trying to tell you how to do things, as I am aware that you will do as you please. But I think you should know that I would like my love and caring, and nurturing to be more of a part of my life. Test me on that, I think I deserve that for a change.

Maybe you’d like to test how creative I can be, or how optimistic.

I already have a sore foot to Rehabilitate, and I don’t want that to be the main thing in my life this year. It’s already taken too much precious time and energy.

I’d like you to test me on my softer side. I do have one, you know. I am just squishy in the middle, and I think I am starting to forget it, and others can’t see it either because it lies forgotten in some far away dream. I ask that you allow it to shine. Maybe my future holds a lovely man who wants to share my softer side, and not just see the tough exterior that has been so necessary for such a long time. Let me have enough money to meet all my responsibilities, but also have a lot of time and energy for fun, for carefree irresponsibility. I so long to be just a little irresponsible sometimes. Not in big things, you know I would never do that, but in little things. Please.

Keep my beautiful girls safe, you know I would give a limb for them both, and I can’t help but think; despite my scientific brain; that this is in fact a price I am paying, this is me giving a limb for them. And if that’s the case, I would gladly give a second.  So all of the above is null and void if I am required to give a second limb for one of those precious creatures.

But if not, then please think upon it. I am looking forward to this new year. I hope it will continue to be full of friends and family and good memories. I promise I will do my part and seek out things that may expose my softer side, and I will step more carefully. (Metaphorically and not metaphorically).

I thank you in advance, and hope that we are together for a long while yet.

Sincerely,

Me

My right foot

21/10/15

Sometimes when I look at my life, I feel like I am reading about it in the paper, or in one of those sensationalised magazines: ‘My bridesmaid is having my fiancée’s love child’ or something.

Maybe not, but now that I am sort of on the outside looking in, it looks kinds Jerry Springerish.

A single mum to two teenagers, who works FTE (1.2), runs a household, looks after 4 animals. She is renovating her house; the stove breaks down, leaving the family without a kitchen. Then she falls over and breaks her foot, which requires surgery. As a result, she is unable to stay in her house because of her ridiculous driveway so she has to stay with her mother. On top of this, she was due to start a new job just prior to the injury, so she is under pressure to return to work asap, but can’t drive, because it happens to be her right foot.  And she is unable to return to one of her jobs due to the circumstances.

It just sounds like something someone made up for fooks sake…..

Nevertheless, this has been an interesting opportunity to review my life from the outside. After all, the universe simply granted my wish to have a holiday from my life. Given that I am so busy, I never really have the time to sit and contemplate whether what I am doing is sustainable, or whether there are other ways I could be doing it. Plus, I often find myself with few alternatives anyway.

The weirdest thing, and one of the most valuable lessons for me is the fact that I don’t think I will ever be lazy again about things that I need to do. For example, washing the dishes, doing the washing. It seems that the perceived effort when I was healthy seemed over the top. Everything takes so much longer now, given that an at least a 6 point turn is required in order to get around any corner in the house. Walking to the shops, or cooking a meal just doesn’t seem onerous at all. The other thing I have discovered is that I love driving, and being able to have the freedom to come and go as I please. And also, no matter how much free time I have, I don’t spend all of it doing crafts or reading, I do find myself looking at medical journals (which I never have time to do) and writing.

I haven’t been short of things to be grateful for, and that feels great. My friends and family have been so nurturing, and helpful, and altogether awesome, and I feel so very lucky to have so many wonderful people in my life.

What seems clearest of all is that Wi-Fi is evil and will need to be restricted when we go home, and that my children need to do more around the house, not because I say so, or because it happens to be their dish, but because it is a lesson they better learn now, about living in a community and helping each other out. If I only ever did things for myself, I would still be in my backyard with a broken foot and no one to help me.

People are veritably strange, and I have greater compassion for people with a disability now. The number of people who are irritated by the fact that moving takes longer, or that I need a ramp or take up more room in a lift or on the bus is unbelievable. The number of people who roll their eyes at me, or tell me that I should be more careful or whatever is also astounding.  What do they think that I am ecstatic about it? Losing my independence, using a shower chair to wash, a toilet raiser to pee and take two buses to work, not to mention calling in favours all the time and being unable to pick my kids up from school?

Maybe my foot will heal and I will forget these lessons, but I doubt it.

Christmas will be a time to reflect on the 3 months prior to it, to be grateful, to regain all the losses, including a tall order of Rehab and further surgery to remove pins. I sincerely love my right foot despite all the challenges. 

Forgetting in my old age

I lost my way. I am not sure when it happened exactly, or how long ago. But I lost my way.
I stopped trusting, believing in myself. I started doubting, and wondering if what I was doing was the wrong thing. How on earth did that happen? I worked really hard to find that strength in me, and I am a tad disappointed in myself.

I took stock in the last few weeks, and realised that my self love: the one that says that I will accept me regardless of the number on the tag of my clothes, or the size of the dark circles under my eyes, or the tone of my teens voices, had disappeared. That love that would echo my thoughts, and say: "Of course you know what to do, and if you don't, you'll find out!". Damn it!!!! How could I forget?
I guess sometimes it happens because you get knocked down over and over again, and the last time, you allow it to make you lie down for a while. And then you simply forget you fell over, you just stay there and allow people to walk all over you.

I realised mostly when I was preparing to update my blog, and was thinking about the piece I was going to write. And then I looked at it in my mind, and it sounded whingie. Fuck, when did I get whingie? When on earth did I become a martyr, a "poor me" type? NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! I refuse to be that woman, no matter what the pressure remains for feminine women to appear to need to be rescued. I refuse to stay lying down.

So shit has happened, so life is hard. So what? No one ever said it was meant to be easy, and haven't I always thrived under pressure? When did the anxiety consume me rather than fuel me?
I need to start saying: "Good morning, the sun is shining, and I am alive". And "what will I teach my children today?". Lately, the self talk has been more like: "I cannot teach my children anything else", "I have had my time, I am no longer useful". Since fucking when????????

My message here is, that no matter what, I will always be worthy. So, okay, my relationships have mostly not worked out, my preferred career wasn't to be, and internet dating has mostly sucked, I haven't finished my book, my serial attempts at shrinking my arse have resulted in a tight, but large arse. But the point is: I AM ALIVE, I have people who love me and appreciate me (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, YOU PRECIOUS FEW), I am still useful, I am still learning, I am still writing, I am still going to the gym and watching what I eat, I am still dating, and I am still hoping, and loving, and making my life worthwhile.
Next time I tell myself otherwise, someone please shake me! And my hope is that people genuinely never stop talking about hard stuff, the stuff that really matters. Let's not become a society where these topics are taboo. Life sucks most of the time, let's acknowledge it, let's deal with it. Hug someone, be someone's strength when they are low. I know without those people who continue to be my strength I wouldn't be writing these words today.

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.