A beautiful friend of mine wrote about patience the other day.
Patience.
I told her that it's better to focus on the amazing things she's actually getting done than to lament that there isn't enough that she's getting accomplished.
Do I believe that? Absolutely, 100% yes.
Do I do that for myself, and practice what I preach? No. 100%, unequivocally no.
I'm not a patient person, yet I offer advice and help friends that come to me when they're hanging at the end of their frayed rope and don't know what to do. I tell them to be kind to themselves, to be patient and focus on the beautiful little achievements that they do rather than the larger projects that tend to overwhelm them and make them feel like they've failed.
People like me tend not to listen to themselves, I'm realising.
At best, I'm a happy-go-lucky, funny person who is a loyal, affectionate woman with a generous and pure spirit. At worst, I'm a glass-half-empty impatient worry wart, who tends to focus on the little things that are going wrong and that can't be fixed immediately.
When I have the "mean reds" ala Holly Golightly, I don't go to Tiffany's (though that might be a nice idea actually..), I feel stagnant and helpless. Incapable of doing anything for anyone. I feel transparent and angry that no one seems to give me a break, resentful that I work so hard to make sure everyone is happy. I feel like I give and give until I have very little for myself, and no one seems to give back, so I run on empty and have to build myself up again. If I ask for more, I come across as demanding. If I don't say anything at all, I'm seen as distant and closed off.
I'm impatient for the rewards of my hard work, but that's 100% my fault. If I actually just focus on the doing of everything and satisfy my own personal best, then everything else will fall into place. I know that. But I see the proverbial carrot in front of me, and instead of focusing on what I need to accomplish my goal, I focus on making sure that I've pleased everyone that's watching from the sidelines and make sure they're proud. I want to make sure they know how hard I've worked, and to give me credit.
It's a bit sadomasochistic.
When I look inward, I don't see the woman I've become, I don't see the smile lines that accent my green eyes like happy apostrophes, I don't see the lean body that has bounced back from pregnancy, or the long piano-playing fingers that my daughter watches flitting across the keys in admiration.
I see an exhausted girl with too many wrinkles around her bloodshot eyes, legs that should be shaved more often and sun spots on my hands.
I wait impatiently for someone to notice me, rather than taking the initiative and looking in the mirror and smiling back proudly. I wait for someone to say hey, you're pretty amazing, you know that?
I haven't learned how to ask for things that I need, like more affection, or more help or "couple-time" yet. I don't know how to ask for things without feeling guilty for asking for them. Every time I want to speak up, my guilt answers back and my mouth stays firmly shut.
I need more kisses, I need to connect more. But the baby is the priority, we need to make sure she gets all of our kisses and cuddles right now.
I need more time with you, we need to try and make time for each other. But we do make time, it's just much more infrequent right now, so appreciate what you do have and stop moaning about what you don't have.
Do you ever read my blog? Aren't you proud of me? Of course he is, but don't put him on the spot, let him discover it for himself.
I don't feel like I'm good enough, and I need reassurance that I'm doing a good job. That's your problem, and you're the one that needs to get a grip and get on with things. Stop relying on other people to help you. You can do it yourself.
If I actually stopped and saw myself as others see me, I would be much more forgiving. I would probably be amazed at how things would nicely slot into place if I give them a chance to, organically.
But I don't let it happen. I get impatient, and I push and push for results, because I fear that things won't happen the way I need them to, the way I crave them to, to make me satisfied.
So, I'm working on following my own advice. Patience. Being kinder to myself.
It won't be easy, but nothing worth it ever is.
Friday 30 April 2010
Tuesday 20 April 2010
Words.
I struggle to find a title to this post, because I don't know how best to convey how powerful just one word can be.
"Stupid little brat."
Those words echoed in the packed train car, more so because it was rush-hour, and people didn't know how to react, where to look, so we all just dug our noses into our free newspapers.
"Oh, just fucking shut up.. we're almost home already."
I watched as the young mum pushed her tired 6-year old to the side, genuinely frustrated that he was acting.. well..like a normal kid. His sister sat in the pram, looking like a 2-year old that's already had a bit of a rough life. The girl reached out to touch the hand of a passenger that stood close to her, wanting to play.
"No, I said no, fucking brat. Leave that lady alone. "
The passenger nodded at the girl telling her that it was okay to play. It was okay to reach out. But the girl seemed confused that someone was being nice to her.
The girl then turned to me. I was standing next to this little family, holding onto the pole in the middle of the car, with my newspaper hanging loosely in my other hand. She reached for my paper, gingerly touching it and then looking at me for approval, to see if it was okay to touch.
"No, I said NO. I said to fucking leave those people alone!"
This is where I reached my threshold. My eyes were burning from trying to hold back tears, and I was clenching my fists to suppress my anger at this woman. So looking directly at her, I said:
"Hey, she's just a baby. Give her a break, okay?"
The mother briefly looked at me, shrugged and then looked away, blandly ignoring her kids.
The 2-year old kept looking at me, and now her brother became interested, gingerly commenting that he liked the photo on the front of the paper. But both of them were wary, like timid animals. They just stared at me, but couldn't figure out how to respond to me. How to accept my encouragement to play a little.
It broke my heart as I left the car and headed home to my own little girl*, wondering what life was like for those kids and unfortunately, imagining the worst.
I don't presume to understand how tough it is for a young mother of two, probably living on benefits. She may be a single mum as well, and maybe has no idea how to figure her life out. She could possibly be at the depths of her frustration, if not a little resentful about being a mum at her age in the first place.
But the only thing I do know, is that no matter how bleak it looks, the words you choose are the words that your kids will use someday. At the end of the day, when they're dreaming, they'll remember those moments. All they really need (all anyone needs, really) is kindness, patience and affection. It's not that easy, but sometimes it really is, you know?
*And gave her extra kisses, knowing how very lucky I am for my little family.
"Stupid little brat."
Those words echoed in the packed train car, more so because it was rush-hour, and people didn't know how to react, where to look, so we all just dug our noses into our free newspapers.
"Oh, just fucking shut up.. we're almost home already."
I watched as the young mum pushed her tired 6-year old to the side, genuinely frustrated that he was acting.. well..like a normal kid. His sister sat in the pram, looking like a 2-year old that's already had a bit of a rough life. The girl reached out to touch the hand of a passenger that stood close to her, wanting to play.
"No, I said no, fucking brat. Leave that lady alone. "
The passenger nodded at the girl telling her that it was okay to play. It was okay to reach out. But the girl seemed confused that someone was being nice to her.
The girl then turned to me. I was standing next to this little family, holding onto the pole in the middle of the car, with my newspaper hanging loosely in my other hand. She reached for my paper, gingerly touching it and then looking at me for approval, to see if it was okay to touch.
"No, I said NO. I said to fucking leave those people alone!"
This is where I reached my threshold. My eyes were burning from trying to hold back tears, and I was clenching my fists to suppress my anger at this woman. So looking directly at her, I said:
"Hey, she's just a baby. Give her a break, okay?"
The mother briefly looked at me, shrugged and then looked away, blandly ignoring her kids.
The 2-year old kept looking at me, and now her brother became interested, gingerly commenting that he liked the photo on the front of the paper. But both of them were wary, like timid animals. They just stared at me, but couldn't figure out how to respond to me. How to accept my encouragement to play a little.
It broke my heart as I left the car and headed home to my own little girl*, wondering what life was like for those kids and unfortunately, imagining the worst.
I don't presume to understand how tough it is for a young mother of two, probably living on benefits. She may be a single mum as well, and maybe has no idea how to figure her life out. She could possibly be at the depths of her frustration, if not a little resentful about being a mum at her age in the first place.
But the only thing I do know, is that no matter how bleak it looks, the words you choose are the words that your kids will use someday. At the end of the day, when they're dreaming, they'll remember those moments. All they really need (all anyone needs, really) is kindness, patience and affection. It's not that easy, but sometimes it really is, you know?
*And gave her extra kisses, knowing how very lucky I am for my little family.
Thursday 15 April 2010
My other self.
That would be the side of me that I try not to focus on. But maybe I should.
She gets lost in the day to day of London life, work, mummying, being a wife, a friend, a lover, a cook, a banker. She exists only when I fall apart.
And I did today (a little bit).
I had a bit of a wobble. A moment of insecurity. Panic. Chicken Little, sky falling in, all that...
And my other self came out in full force and started spiraling into the negative. She took center stage and declared war on everything rational, her eyes wild and determined. Determined to do what? Undermine me, and everyone around me. Dress that up with stage lights and jazz hands, and you have yourself a pretty rockin' musical.
I sometimes wonder why she does that. Why she appears in random silly unimportant moments, after weeks and months of lying dormant. Every time it happens, I see it unfold in slow motion, watching as she makes me lose any power I had in a situation.
Maybe she appears because I force her to be dormant. I don't deal with her, and would rather put her in a corner, neglecting her in a dark recess of my brain. So she probably just gets resentful after a while and wants her say.
My other self is the manifestation of any irrational fear I have, any insecurity that I push down and ignore. And when I ignore her, she comes out with guns blazing, relishing the spotlight. She loves the attention and the release it gives her, irrespective of the damage it may cause.
So maybe I should give her equal say. Maybe I should let her out more often. Maybe I should talk about what I fear.
But I can't, because I feel completely apologetic and ridiculous for having irrational fears to begin with. They span the entire spectrum from the truly crazy (what if I lose my looks and the mister starts flirting with a hot Swedish chick?), to the probably common (what if I'm not a good mother?). I sometimes think that I have more of these than the average person, but then no one ever really discusses theirs, so we could all be in the same boat.
One of my favourite blogs is Post Secret, because it lets people reveal themselves without giving away anything. Genius. Feels like a bit of freedom from that person in your head that keeps you up at night. Or, is it a cop-out? Why not face your fear and just dim the spotlight on the crazy for a moment?
If you've read this far, and don't think I'm crazy, then I'm very grateful (and impressed). I think we all need to let off steam every once in a while anyway. Although I should probably try and learn how to use that energy more constructively...
[End scene. Exit stage left.]
She gets lost in the day to day of London life, work, mummying, being a wife, a friend, a lover, a cook, a banker. She exists only when I fall apart.
And I did today (a little bit).
I had a bit of a wobble. A moment of insecurity. Panic. Chicken Little, sky falling in, all that...
And my other self came out in full force and started spiraling into the negative. She took center stage and declared war on everything rational, her eyes wild and determined. Determined to do what? Undermine me, and everyone around me. Dress that up with stage lights and jazz hands, and you have yourself a pretty rockin' musical.
I sometimes wonder why she does that. Why she appears in random silly unimportant moments, after weeks and months of lying dormant. Every time it happens, I see it unfold in slow motion, watching as she makes me lose any power I had in a situation.
Maybe she appears because I force her to be dormant. I don't deal with her, and would rather put her in a corner, neglecting her in a dark recess of my brain. So she probably just gets resentful after a while and wants her say.
My other self is the manifestation of any irrational fear I have, any insecurity that I push down and ignore. And when I ignore her, she comes out with guns blazing, relishing the spotlight. She loves the attention and the release it gives her, irrespective of the damage it may cause.
So maybe I should give her equal say. Maybe I should let her out more often. Maybe I should talk about what I fear.
But I can't, because I feel completely apologetic and ridiculous for having irrational fears to begin with. They span the entire spectrum from the truly crazy (what if I lose my looks and the mister starts flirting with a hot Swedish chick?), to the probably common (what if I'm not a good mother?). I sometimes think that I have more of these than the average person, but then no one ever really discusses theirs, so we could all be in the same boat.
One of my favourite blogs is Post Secret, because it lets people reveal themselves without giving away anything. Genius. Feels like a bit of freedom from that person in your head that keeps you up at night. Or, is it a cop-out? Why not face your fear and just dim the spotlight on the crazy for a moment?
If you've read this far, and don't think I'm crazy, then I'm very grateful (and impressed). I think we all need to let off steam every once in a while anyway. Although I should probably try and learn how to use that energy more constructively...
[End scene. Exit stage left.]
Monday 12 April 2010
The 3six5 Project
I'm writing this in a shameless shout-out for my other half.
My husband (yes, I'm not using the "the mister", so you know I'm being serious here..) has written a great piece for this project. Though he's pretty talented in a lot of ways, one of my favourite things about him is that he writes with such a great voice, such a great turn of phrase. Apparently, the people of 3six5 thought the same, and recruited him for a mini-chapter in their little masterpiece. April 11, 2010.
My husband (yes, I'm not using the "the mister", so you know I'm being serious here..) has written a great piece for this project. Though he's pretty talented in a lot of ways, one of my favourite things about him is that he writes with such a great voice, such a great turn of phrase. Apparently, the people of 3six5 thought the same, and recruited him for a mini-chapter in their little masterpiece. April 11, 2010.
http://the3six5.posterous.com/
This project is a labour of love from people all over the world: it's 365 days, as told by 365 people. Each person gets a day to write about anything they want, a sort of modern-day equivalent of an adolescent diary entry. But without the cheap gold lock and skeleton key.
I love the idea, and I'm hoping to reach as many people as possible out there in the blogosphere to have a look at it. Yeah yeah, I'm biased, because his entry is beautiful and quite personal to us (and now you too know our big dream that we've been planning diligently for some time now)... but I really think the whole idea is fascinating, and makes the world feel more like a neighbourhood for a brief moment in time (which, let's be honest, I think we all need a bit of lately).
Go ahead and have a read. I guarantee that these people, their words, their lives, their honesty... they'll make you smile very proud.
This project is a labour of love from people all over the world: it's 365 days, as told by 365 people. Each person gets a day to write about anything they want, a sort of modern-day equivalent of an adolescent diary entry. But without the cheap gold lock and skeleton key.
I love the idea, and I'm hoping to reach as many people as possible out there in the blogosphere to have a look at it. Yeah yeah, I'm biased, because his entry is beautiful and quite personal to us (and now you too know our big dream that we've been planning diligently for some time now)... but I really think the whole idea is fascinating, and makes the world feel more like a neighbourhood for a brief moment in time (which, let's be honest, I think we all need a bit of lately).
Go ahead and have a read. I guarantee that these people, their words, their lives, their honesty... they'll make you smile very proud.
Tuesday 6 April 2010
Brought to you by the letter B
Birthday.
The mister's.
He's half way to old age, I keep joking. I think he finds that offensive.
Today was our first birthday as a family. We spent the morning before he had to leave for work in bed, opening presents, the little one in between us in bed in her nappy, rustling the wrapping paper. I bought him some books, framed a couple pictures, and made him a card. I always make cards for him, I love doing it- I've mastered the art of drawing cartoons (I have a specific character that I've been drawing for about 15 years), and I go crazy on the coloured pens and glitter. So sue me- I think I have a 5-year old in permanent residence in my brain.
We don't manage to find much time to spend together lately, but sacrificing 10 quiet minutes in bed to 10 minutes of chaos with her, playing, laughing, screeching, giggling and the occasional leaky nappy... it was worth it.
Happy birthday, my beautiful boy. I fall in love with you more every single day.
The mister's.
He's half way to old age, I keep joking. I think he finds that offensive.
Today was our first birthday as a family. We spent the morning before he had to leave for work in bed, opening presents, the little one in between us in bed in her nappy, rustling the wrapping paper. I bought him some books, framed a couple pictures, and made him a card. I always make cards for him, I love doing it- I've mastered the art of drawing cartoons (I have a specific character that I've been drawing for about 15 years), and I go crazy on the coloured pens and glitter. So sue me- I think I have a 5-year old in permanent residence in my brain.
We don't manage to find much time to spend together lately, but sacrificing 10 quiet minutes in bed to 10 minutes of chaos with her, playing, laughing, screeching, giggling and the occasional leaky nappy... it was worth it.
Happy birthday, my beautiful boy. I fall in love with you more every single day.
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