Open letter to a "friend".

I have a friend. She's quite intelligent, rather nice looking, is a mum. I've known her for a while now. My one issue with her?

She never reaches out to me. Never gets in contact.

We were close friends for a while. And when I told her I was pregnant last year, she seemed pretty casual about it (that's fine, not everyone is gooey about kids), and when I tried to make plans to see her, she would only agree to meet me for a quick walk in the park with her son because he had playgroups to go to. Okay, so I tried to make it lunch instead, figuring the kid eats at some point, right? Strike two. Apparently, she said that he doesn't do well in restaurants, and a 2-year old shouldn't be "expected" to behave in a restaurant anyway. Eh?? what the fuck?

So I finally found some self-respect and left it up to her to contact me. I've begged girlfriends to be my friend my whole life, it seems. I'm always the one reaching out. I'm always the one checking in. I'm always the one rearranging my time. Sorry, but I'm not 20 anymore, and I don't like being taken for granted. If you want to be my friend, you have to do the legwork too sometimes.

So, the other day she calls me. After a year of not reaching out. And basically told me that she's having personal problems and that she doesn't know why we haven't gotten together. I was genuinely pleased to talk to her again, and told her that it doesn't matter what happened in the past. What matters is that we're in touch again. And I asked her to email me to give me some dates that work for her, and that I would arrange babysitting to see her and catch up, just the both of us, one-on-one. I even emailed her to make sure she had my correct address.

Guess how long ago that was? A month ago.

Complete radio silence. Though curiously enough, she does update her Facebook status every damn day, so I don't think she missed my email.

Do me a favour.. if you want to be friends, let me know. Otherwise, don't keep yanking my chain and make me feel like a needy chick. That shouldn't be too much to ask.

*steps off her Ideal World soapbox*

Change is good. Even if it's only hair.

After years of sticking to the same old (light brown hair, caramel highlights), and going through a pregnancy where my hair totally changed colour (got so dark that I felt like Elvira), and after months of debate and trying to find the cheapest colourist I could that was still good enough (if I actually define the word "cheap" in London terms, it is still insanely expensive. Oh well)...

I did it.

Maybe it's not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, and yes it's a little bit vain... but I don't really do anything for me anymore. I work to be able to save the money and put it into the house, or the boat, or the nanny, or spend it on things for the little one. But today was the day I indulged for a few hours. So I went red. Different. More provocative. And dare I say I got some once-overs by some young men on the train. *blush*

It's nice to do something just. for. me.

Forget Chinese New Year. Apparently, 2010 is the Year of The Cheater.

I don't know what's in the air, or in the water, but there's obviously something itching in someone's pants.

Everywhere I look, the front page news (both here and over in the US) is heralding the death of another relationship. Some of them only a handful of years old, some of them 25-plus. Some of them split up for "amicable reasons", some of them admit to having affairs. Doesn't matter how long or short, it seems that no one has any need to work at anything anymore.

Yes, I sound judgmental and old-fashioned. I don't profess to know anyone's story, anyone's baggage, anyone's circumstances. But, as this blog is from my point of view, I'd like to share my two cents.

So, here's the question I have: How did we get to a point where people call it quits when the going gets tough? Or the partnership gets boring? Or stale? Or you want to upgrade to a younger model?

It's not just about marriage. It's being with someone long enough that you've gone through some major stuff together. You've been a witness to another person's triumphs, failings and bleakest moments. You've planned adventures. Shared dreams. Supported ideas that you weren't too sure about (but you did anyway). You made each other laugh. You kissed each other goodnight. You smiled that secret smile that only the other knew.

So what makes you give all that up? What makes you get bored to the point where you kiss someone else or make someone else laugh? Or just want to leave?

I don't get it.

"Well, we just drifted apart.."
"He/she worked long hours, and I got bored. I needed attention."
"We just became different people."
"I have no idea why. I just did. And now I regret it. "
"I was tempted. I'm only human."

Bullshit. There's always a way to make something right, make something better.

I don't think there's any earthly reason to rip someones heart out like that. Have some cojones. If you really think there's nothing worth saving in so many years spent with someone, then suck it up and tell it like it is. Say it. Talk about it. Be honest, before you start being polite to each other and start looking elsewhere for help.

The hard part is working at it. We're all human, we all get tempted, we all get bored, we all get annoyed at the other person for little things. It's normal. But do you risk losing the promise that you made to someone just because you wanted 5 minutes to alleviate your boredom? Mmm... yeeahhh. Not buying it.

Why do I get so angry at stuff like this? Well, because I was that person.

In a nutshell? I was in a very serious relationship before I met the mister. It was long-term. For keeps. We made promises to each other that we probably shouldn't have. Or, more accurately, I shouldn't have.

We were together past the point of needing to be together. But I stayed because I thought "well, that's what you do. You stick around. It's the natural progression. He's the guy, right?" It was terrible of me to be so ambivalent, because that was the death of us. And that was the death of me for a long time. And I behaved quite badly. Emotionally, I tore us apart. Flattened us. Destroyed any trust and good will. And the whole time, I knew when it was time to say "enough". I knew what I needed to say. But I didn't. I decided to be polite, and while I smiled at him, I did things behind his back as an act of self-destruction. It was a horrible point in my life, but I don't regret it, because I came out of it with a crystallized awareness of who I am and what I wanted.

So, this is why, in a small way, I might have a small insight into the "reasons" that these people are giving as to why they cheated. And I still say it's all bullshit. If you really can't be bothered to work at a relationship, then you probably weren't meant to be with that person anyway. Please, just say it. Say the words that you most fear. I promise you, it will be much less painful than anything else you were planning on doing.

Give it a shot. Have some patience. Be nice to eachother. Find the love.

I think I can I think I can...

Sometimes I don't know if I'll manage to dig up that last little bit of push in order to keep my head above water. The task list seems endless. I'm just about to drown. My eyebrows sink under the surface.

Dishes.
3 loads of laundry.
Bathtime.
Grocery shopping.
Park playdate.
Music class.
Naptime (ideally, for both of us. But who am I kidding...)
Work projects.
Deadlines.
Balancing our accounts.
Cooking dinner.
Making and freezing babyfood.

And with very little sleep, it makes things even more jarring, even more intimidating.

Case in point: My day today.

My lovely other half, whom I love to pieces, thinks he's invincible. Whilst that's a lovely quality to have, it results in very long and drawn-out colds and coughs and illnesses. Which he doesn't help by smoking the occasional cigarette. But, I digress.

Last night, he woke me up when he got into bed at 2am from a long night at the office (I do like when he does this, because I like seeing his face before I drop off back to sleep). However, he wakes me up with his coughing at 4:30am. Which results in me not being able to get back to sleep. Not pleasant.

Then, our little lady decides to get the party started at 5:30am. Not hungry, not upset, just wakes up screeching with joy at starting her day and wanting to see us. Beautiful in retrospect, but at that moment, it was the vocal equivalent of a chainsaw.

I try and feed her in bed, but she keeps tapping on daddy's shoulder, screeching for his attention. He gave me a look like "oh, please, can I just get a few hours' sleep before I get up for work again?" Okay, fair enough. I feed her in her room, and then we start our day with games and music downstairs in the living room. Me in rat's-nest hair and boxer shorts, her in her little t-shirt and nappy. With such a grin on her face, I swear, she's oblivious to the fact that I'm in a terrible mood.

He comes downstairs a couple hours later.

"Hey, you ok?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Sorry I kept you up."

"Mm-hmm."

"Maybe try and rest today. Nap when she naps."

(Death stare.)


We went about our respective days, just getting on with things, he left for work, I had errands to run, parks to go to, groceries to buy, calls to make.

I could've started our morning with a snide comment or a martyr-ish comment about how I'm so tired and how I do so much. But I didn't. It's taken me a long time to learn, but I think I'm finally realising that the instant gratification of venting (although cathartic for about 2 seconds) ultimately ruins a moment, ruins a day, keeps you on separate teams. It's much better to find that little voice that whispers: hey, you both have a lot going on. Focus on the positive stuff, and everything else will fall into place.

Tonight, whilst my mister works damn hard at his job for all of us, I ended my day with a little girl, having had her warm milk, asleep on my shoulder, a velvety-soft hand clutching my arm. Her breathing deep and regular, her breath smelling sweet.

I realised that I did have it in me. I did have the strength to put all the pieces together without drowning. I did have the patience to let her know that no matter what, she would always see me smiling and covering her with kisses. I felt so proud that I could give her what she needed, and also be the woman and wife that I wanted to be.

I thought I could.

And today, I did.

I'm a hypocrite.

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.

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.

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.]