As I try to knit myself back together,
the yarn slips and slides,
never quite catching the fabric
slipping through holes
I cannot see.
The seam splits wide
allowing the seeping darkness
to explode,
fragments of colour
shattering the mirror
reflecting my life
as never before.
I can pick up the pieces
put them together and
carry on
or I can rearrange them
create a new path,
a new life, a new me.
Now is my chance
to choose who I want
to be.
I am unravelling at the seams, like a favourite old jumper that has been constantly picked at for comfort, in anxiety or just because it is there, I am falling slowly apart.
Always under pressure to perform, I rarely make the grade. I thought I had gained strength over the last few months but once again I find myself teetering on the abyss. The temptation, to let go, to fall tumbling into the darkness and never emerge again is strong, I am not sure how much longer I can resist.
My husband wants me to go back to work, not just some mickey mouse part-time job but full-time. He earns enough to keep us but is frivolous with money and exercises little restraint when it comes to his needs or wants and so he wants the financial pressure taken off him, he wants me to be earning too. I am not ready yet. I have tried, applying for jobs and getting as far as the interview process and then crumbling. Deep in my heart I know that this is because I am not ready to face the world again, the fear of failure so deeply ingrained that I cannot move past it or see beyond. All I can see is me failing once again.
I also know that I would be thrown back into a whirlwind of working, childcare, housework, taxi-ing children around with little or no physical or emotional support. That is partly what sent me crashing in the first place. Yet my husband will not take heed of this, as far as he is concerned millions of women do it and he doesn’t see why I should be any different. I try to tell him that all the other women I know who do it have a husband who supports them, who takes turns to look after the children, who share cooking and housework evenly. My women friends are not expected, as I was and will be, to work full-time and run a home single-handedly while their other half spends his evenings in the pub, his weekends doing what he wants to, half his holidays on boys only jaunts. In his view housework is for women, he will on rare occasions do the Sunday evening washing up (hiding the pots and pans so he doesn’t have to do those), but apart from that regards weekends and holidays as his time to do what he wants to do.
Going back to work would also mean having to give up my yoga, the one thing that keeps me going, gets me out of the house three days a week. A place where I feel, grounded, centred and safe, where no one criticises, where we are all different and can laugh at the way we find some poses easy while others can’t even work out where to put their limbs. It is a relaxed easy place, with no pressure to perform or to be anyone or anything else, somewhere where I can just be.
I am not ready to go back out into the world of work, I have no idea when I will be. I wonder will I even know or if I will just live out the rest of my life in a state of perpetual fear?
It is a little while since I have posted anything on here, almost a week. I am not sure why, except that I haven’t been writing much of anything for the last week or so, life somehow seems to have taken over, there seems always to be other things to do or places to go.
Yesterday, on what was probably the first real summer’s day we have had I went to a funeral service for my friend’s mother. She had been ill for a long time so her death was not unexpected but as always you are never quite as prepared as you think you are. She will leave a huge void in their lives and a small hole in mine. I did not know her very well, usually meeting her at social events or cricket matches. She however did a great job of bringing up my friend and his three brothers. Four nicer men you would not find anywhere and for them all to be from the same family gives an idea of how extraordinary this women was. Gentle, unassuming yet she was revered by her sons. Her eldest gave her the most glowing of eulogies, and the picture he painted was of a women we all knew, wherever she went whoever she was with the same person, she never felt the need to be someone else, to try to fit in. It is that quality in her that I admired so much and one she has passed on to her sons. I have been to other funerals where a close family friend or work colleague has stood and given a glowing account of the deceased and his or her life while his or her close family sit silently shaking their heads, thinking this is not the person we know.
I hope that when my time comes my children will find something good to say about me, I do not expect to be painted in glowing terms as I am no saint, like anyone else I am far from perfect but I try my best, and whatever is said about me I hope they will remember that whatever else I have done in my life I gave everything my best shot.
During my yoga class this morning our teacher invited us to join in with some chanting. It was an invitation none of us took up, all content to lie quietly and allow the sound to flow around and through us. At the end of the class one of the women commented that she had felt guilty and selfish when she realised that no one else was joining in but she had just needed a few more moments of doing nothing Our yoga teacher said she was fine with that and not to feel guilt as one of the principles of yoga practice is mindfulness and going with what your body needs at any particular time.
She went on to say that here in the West we seem to have very peculiar ideas about selfishness, that we view putting ourselves, our needs and wants before those of others as a bad thing. In her culture and way of life the view is that a person can not be expected to look after or care for others unless they care for themselves first. That putting yourself first is not selfishness but necessity.
I was brought up to believe that we should always put others before ourselves, that we are here to serve, and only by being truly selfless can we serve properly. Yet my upbringing was contradictory because we were also told to love others as we loved ourselves, how can putting others needs before your own be loving of the self?
For years, though I have lived that philosophy, putting everyone else’s needs and wants before my own. What my husband wanted and what my children needed always came first. Now I can see the error of my ways, worn out exhausted and unfulfilled I have created a monster. My husband has little regard for me, fails to call to tell me when he will be late, often discards the meals I cook for him without even tasting them, goes out for entire days without telling anyone where he is going. He believes he has every right to do this, that he as an adult can do as he wishes. I frequently have to cancel plans at the last minute because he “forgets” to come home, actually more likely that the last thing he felt like doing was hassling three children into bed while his wife was out having fun. The result is that I have yet to have a night out this year.
A few weeks ago I decided that for once I was going to put myself first. It was a Bank Holiday and I had booked a yoga class. I told my husband I am off to yoga and then meeting my friend for coffee and I have no idea when I might be back. I don’t think he quite believed me. His response was “but I have arranged to go for a ride with X and Y on my bike today, you can’t go.” In the past I would have capitulated and let him go while I, inwardly seething, stayed at home with the kids. That day, however, I looked him in the eye and said “Oh, well,” picked up my bag and left.
Maybe, I was being selfish, but he had been out all day the day before and much of the day before that while I had spent the time doing laundry, ferrying kids around and preparing meals. Since he considers himself independent rather than selfish perhaps I too should claim independence for myself. Though how anyone with a spouse and kids can claim to be truly independent I do not know.
What I do know is that is does not pay to be selfless, to put others needs and wants always before your own, unless of course there is someone doing the same for you.
Today, was a day for rejections, three in total. Two lots of writing rejected and one job application.
Apparently I am overqualified for the job. I didn’t really want it, but it still hurts a little.It was merely a nod in the right direction, a sort of indication I suppose to my husband that I am trying at least to earn my own money, that I do not intend to be dependent on him forever. I am actually quite happy to be pottering around at home, doing the odd bit of housework, yoga, writing and meditation. It is a good way to live but I know it cannot last forever, with three children fast approaching university age we do need to increase our family income.
I have no delusions about earning a living as a writer, but it is a good way to while away the time. Maybe it is too soon for me to be embarking on another dream so soon after crashing and burning. I am not quite as strong as I thought. I have, I will admit, been disappointed over the past year at the rejections but kept ploughing on figuring that I was only beginning the journey and there would be many more to come. But two in one day is a first and in conjunction with a rejection from my first foray in to the real world bowled me over.
Tonight I am wallowing, eating cake and chatting to a friend on Skype. Tomorrow I shall pick myself up, dust myself down and carry on.
Today, I was accused of being a control freak, it was said in jest following a flippant comment I had made. It did however lead onto a conversation about control and whether we can control others, whether we have power over other people or not. One of my companions, let’s call her Sam, a very self-assured woman who has to my knowledge never in her entire life suffered a moment of self-doubt (and if she has she certainly wouldn’t admit to it) claimed that we could not control anyone else. According to Sam it may seem like people control us at times, often women will complain of their husbands being controlling, but in reality we allow people to control us. We hand over our power, we submit to their wishes and demands, we do not stand up for ourselves and what we want.
She frequently dominates the conversation at our coffee mornings, she is very confident and articulate, has a wonderful way with anecdotes and is very much aware that she will often control the conversation. She even used herself as an example, saying that the rest of us would sit there and allow her to talk, to interrupt or to change the subject without challenging her. In her view she was not controlling (or domineering), it was that we were being submissive, allowing her to do so. If no one challenged then she assumed that we were happy to sit and listen to her, to discuss the topics she wanted to discuss.
Another woman put forward the argument that actually a lot of the time she did not feel confident enough to object, to say “may I finish please?” when interrupted, that she felt by doing so she was putting herself in the spotlight, attracting unwanted attention or even somehow being pathetic when someone else obviously wanted to say something they felt important. Sam, however, pointed out that others’ insecurities were not her problem, that if we decided to give up and not challenge that was entirely up to us.
I then pointed out that we had all known each other for years, and knew each other idiosyncrasies and that we should make allowances for each other. When we know someone is shy, or lacks confidence it does not give us an excuse to run roughshod over them, in fact we should be encouraging them to express their opinions, to nurture them and thus build their confidence. If you not do that then we are being controlling, or domineering, as we are putting ourselves and our wants and needs before everyone else’s.
Needless to say, Sam did not agree with me on that point and someone else decided it was time to step in and change the subject as the discussion was getting rather heated.
It did however give me plenty of food for thought. I wonder when we do not challenge behaviour we do not like, for whatever reason, is that giving up our power, are we actually allowing ourselves to be controlled?
I believe that people can control others, not directly or immediately, it is a constant drip feed until the weaker person is so worn down they no longer have the strength to fight back, they turn in on themselves and give in to it because they longer value themselves, they have been told time and time again that they do not count, that their wishes, needs and wants are not important. We cannot control people as we do the TV or a car, it is done subtly but it can be done. More often that not the person doing the controlling will not or cannot admit to it. Often they do not recognise what they are doing, because their own insecurities lead to this behaviour, making another feel weak makes them feel stronger. Such is their need to feel superior that any love or empathy they should feel for the other is subjugated by their desire to be seen to be better than them.
Tonight, my youngest daughter has gone to a party. It is a themed party and the guests were asked to dress as a celebrity. My little one has gone as Cheryl Cole, looking grown up beyond her years, in a prom dress, sparkly sandals, her hair and make up expertly done by her teenage sister. She look breathtakingly beautiful.
We arrived and she walked up the red carpet entrance to the party a smile a mile wide on her little face. Tonight, she is happy and confident, these friends are not school friends, in fact no one from her school will be there. These are dancing friends and together they go through the trials and tribulations of competing, consoling each other when they do badly and celebrating with and for each other when they do well. Their love of dancing is what brought them together and what keeps them together. It is wonderful to see them being so supportive of each other, they are all still only ten or eleven yet they can empathise when one of them does not get placed in a competition, they have all been there at one time or another, some more often than the others.
I left her quite happily knowing that these girls will be kind to her. They know how she is feeling about school, herself, and are unhappy for her. Several have suggested that she leave her school and join their’s, that they would love her to be one their classmates. That however will not happen, she only has a few weeks left before she moves on to secondary school. Some of her dancing friends will be going to the same secondary school as her.
After the traumas of the last few weeks, which I am sure are not finished yet, it was wonderful to see her back to her usual cheerful, happy little self. Only now that I am leaving to go and pick her up do I feel a slight sense of trepidation, I hope all has gone well and I will be picking up a happy but tired and bedraggled smaller version of Cheryl Cole.
Following yesterday’s let down I am pleased to say that the manufacturer did indeed come up trumps. Package arrived this morning, not only as good as original specification as promised but better. At least some businesses value their customers and I would certainly use them again and recommend them to others. I will also have one very happy little girl tomorrow. 
Today started out quite well. I woke up, which is a very good start indeed for an insomniac, to blue skies and the sun shining in through a gap in the curtains. My little one is still off school but was well enough today to occupy herself so I sat down at the computer prepared to put in a few hours writing while I waited for a delivery. I managed to write a couple of poems, though they are still in the editing stages and one has not yet got a suitable title, it did indeed feel like the day was going to be a good one.
The time slot for the delivery came and went and nothing showed up. I gave them half an hour leeway before picking up the phone to express my concern. My concern pretty soon turned to mild irritation as I was passed from option to yet more options on their automated switchboard. Finally I got to speak to a human, who was quite obviously using a headset and shuffling paper whilst talking to me. Despite the crackling on the line and her obvious disinterest I persevered.
And here we come to the crux of the problem, the reason my delivery had not been made was because they no longer had the item in stock, it had been discontinued. Yet, their website had allowed me to purchase it, to choose a suitable delivery time and date. What is more, within about five minutes of me clicking “buy” the money had been taken from my account. I made the purchase last Friday, so they had all that time in which to let me know that it was no longer available, but no not a dickie bird, and me being the naive shopper that I am assumed no news was good news.
I expressed by displeasure to the poor girl in no uncertain terms, telling her exactly how frustrated and upset I was by this pure lack of professionalism on their behalf. How you can run a business supplying mythical goods is beyond me. I was distinctly peeved when she informed me that although my order had now been cancelled the money would not be returned to my account for five business days. Ah, so that is how they make their money, earning interest on mine!
The company then had the temerity to send me an email survey asking me to rate their services. There were lots of lovely big comment boxes which I made full use of. It felt good to get it out of my system, though I do feel a tad sorry for the poor soul who has to read my diatribe, but then if you go into business you ought to be able to supply the goods you say you have for sale.
One of the reasons this has upset me so much is that what I was attempting to purchase was a birthday present for my little one. I now have to explain to a ten year old that she won’t be getting her present on her birthday, not because I haven’t bought her one but because someone else defaulted on their promise. Unfortunately, they are not the ones who will have to try to console a child who thinks she is forgotten. It is hard enough being the youngest and having to put up with everyone else’s cast offs and then to find that the one time you are promised something new it is not delivered.
This afternoon I contacted the manufacturer of the product and they have said that will try to get something to me tomorrow, it may not be exactly the same but will be as close to the original specification as possible. I hope they manage to do so as it will restore not my only faith in big businesses but also my daughter’s faith in me.
Going a tad stir crazy as my little one is still ill, recovering from one bug only to succumb to another. To relieve the tedium and boredom I wrote this for her today. A simple, no-nonsense nonsense poem that brought a smile to her face, I hope it makes your Monday a little better too.
The poem with no name,
makes no literary claim,
it has rhythm and rhyme,
and is always in time.
The poem with no name
bears no shame
it rides with head held high
through a leaden sky.
The poem with no name
is never the same,
as it rides the crest of a wave
on the fame it doth crave.
