wife of one. mom of two. regularly emitting all manner of crap.
See, I know that, to other photographers, this image means nothing. It’s pretty insignificant.
But for me, for where I’ve come from, for the things I’ve been through… Well, stuff like this kinda means the world to me. There will always be someone else who’s bigger, better, higher. But that’s ok, because that’s how I set my goals.
Always moving forward. Always aiming high. Always the plan.
One of the reasons I’m looking forward to getting Noah out of current Crappy School, is quite honestly, because of the standards. Don’t get me wrong, I have found his teacher Mrs H to be absolutely LOVELY. In fact, if it were possible, I would ask that Noah can take her to his new school. Unfortunately, it’s the rest of the school and/or attendees which make me cross.
The Mr and I are raising Noah and Isaac to be well mannered, polite, caring and considerate boys. It’s not that hard. Actually, it’s quite easy, especially when you lead by example (though I do have to prod The Mr occasionally to remind him to say please, thank you and excuse me…). But I think it’s important in life. I think they are some incredibly important and necessary life skills.
So, when I’m walking along the path to Noah’s school gate, with Isaac in his pushchair, or I have them both either side of me, and people seem incapable of not taking up the entire path when walking towards me, I get cross. And I get severely fucked off when Isaac or Noah get shoved out of the way, because people won’t move the hell over. I also get reeeeeally annoyed when (already running late), The Smalls stop to let people through gates and doorways, and they are completely unacknowledged. Or when I let them through and they don’t even look me in the eye. No nod of gratitude.
And it’s not just at school.
I get sick of people’s rude attitudes in general. It fucks me off that people seem to forget how to have a two-way conversation. I seem to have figured out how to build up some friendships lately, though I don’t know how far or deep they will go. And one of the things I LOVE, is a “Hey, how you doing?” and not bombarding me with a ton of shit, but actually talking to me because they WANT to. Not because they are just looking for the first person to vent their spleen at.
For the record, I don’t mind people venting their spleen at me, I know we’re all stress-heads in this environment today. But it goes two ways. It always goes two ways.
Weirdly, I’m a sucker for the “Hey, how you doing?” message. Whether it’s on twitter, facebook, email, text, iMessage, Whatsapp, whatever. It will never fail to make me smile, no matter who it’s from. It’s always nice to think “ah! They actually want to talk to me! They were thinking of me! Ok they want to vent, but they were nice enough to acknowledge first!”
And there’s a key word. “Acknowledge“. It’s not hard.
Maybe I’m too old fashioned. Maybe I should accept that we now live in a world where manners, consideration for others, respect, is becoming a non existant thing. And yet, I continue the fight for Noah and Isaac to be back in private school. Why? Because even from the age of 3, they are expected to wear shirts and ties. If Isaac was still in the school, his uniform this year would be a shirt, school tie (albeit on elastic), knee length grey shorts, regulation knee high socks, v-neck school jumper, and a blazer. And going in/out of school, he is to wear a regulation school cap. He would be expected to say “good morning” or “good afternoon” to every member of staff who adresses him. When the headmaster walks into a classroom, they are to stand and adress him (or her…) in unison. The school revolves around tradition; focuses on VALUES.
But on the whole, it’s not fucking hard to acknowledge someone. Especially if you are going to make an effort to continue to speak to them. So you know what, Society of Human Beings? Pull your head out of your arse, and start thinking about those other people around you. It’s a wonderful feeling, trust me. Some of them are amazingly great people! But you won’t know that until you stop being a self-obsessed asshat.
When I decided I wanted children, I totally knew what I was letting myself in for, right? When I, finally got married and started trying for our first child almost immediately, I knew perfectly well that I would have a pregnancy filled with happy smiles, beautiful bumps, wonderful yoga poses to die for and a spring in my step. I knew childbirth would be a breeze, and I especially knew that for the first few months of Noah’s life, I would bond with someone I had created, grown inside me for 9 months. And then, 4 years later, I knew that my first born and I (and subsequent child!) would be the closest things ever to have walked the earth, to have a special bond, to love each other more than life itself.
I’m talking bullshit, obviously.
Pretty much none of the above happened for me. Did I see it coming? Of course I bloody well didn’t. Did I anticipate much, if any of the epic shit and sweet holy hell I’ve been through since becoming a mom? Fuck no. Did I sign a waiver that dictated I would never have any downtime, never be allowed a day off sick, never allowed time to rest? Not to my knowledge. Did I anticipate that there would be days when I would want to neck a bottle of sleeping tablets when it all got too much? Did I appreciate I would would feel like I was being torn by each limb and every fibre of my heart and soul, wracked with “Mommy Guilt” on a regular basis?
No. I fucking well did not.
All of this has been floating around in my head since someone actually said it to me recently. I don’t know if they were serious (I’m hoping to fuck they really really weren’t). But the thing is, they are words that at the moment (or most other times) I can’t even take in jest, let alone in a serious conversation. But having listened to them in previous conversations on life in general, I have really come to question people’s beliefs and understanding of motherhood*, parenting, hormones, mental ability and anything else you want to throw in there. The words “you signed up for it” struck more of a nerve than I realised at the time.
There is no predicting becoming a mother. There is no, NO predicting what hormones may do to a woman once she becomes pregnant, not even at the stage where she has given birth and has the child - her child – in her arms (if that is even a possible situation).
For me, I can’t describe the awkwardness of becoming a mom. I love Noah to bits, obviously, though it felt like I had to, rather than I wanted to. He and I didn’t get on very well in the early days. He was fine – what else did he know? I struggled. Uncomfortably so. I know other moms out there go completely the opposite way. Their baby arrives, and suddenly nothing else in the world matters. Nothing. Friends, family, their own parents - NOTHING. And weirdly, because I have seen the difference in myself from pre- to post- children, I get it. I understand it can be that different. It makes more sense than I would like.
The tough part is understanding it. As an outsider, I can’t answer for anyone else in their own circumstances. But I do believe it takes a big strong person to stand up and even BEGIN to consider what’s happening. Mentally AND physically. I believe it’s almost impossible to understand another person’s mechanics when you’ve known them in one situation for so long. Mostly because it’s what you’ve grown used to; become accustomed to; come to understand. Thing is, I don’t believe anyone is 100% prepared for becoming a mom, because no one cam dictate the behaviour, thinking and emotions of a newborn and a parent.
I wanted to have children. Sure I did. Of course I did; it’s one of the reasons The Mr and I got married. I wanted to bring someone into the world (and Jesus, what a world to bring them into…crap…), I wanted to experience the battle wounds of pregnancy and childbirth, I wanted to have someone I could be proud of for numerous reasons, I wanted to feel that strong maternal bond and parental instinct.
Shit man, imagine my surprise when that totally didn’t happen, eh?!?
Fact is, I didn’t sign up for anything. I didn’t agree to anything. Because how can I when I have no idea what to expect? It doesn’t matter which way any parent goes, mom or dad, I’m willing to bet they didn’t know the extent of the impact of parenting. And not even just after the first child, but after the 2nd, 3rd, 7th, 12th – WHATEVER. There IS no dictating.
Honestly? I think some people actually lose their minds when they become parents. I’m convinced they go through hormonal and physical transformations so huge, it throws them completely off-kilter, turns their world upside down, so much so that nothing is common sense any more. And them there are others who are crazy insane, and suddenly become the most sensible people upon having children. And the fact is, it was unpredicted. And none of them “signed up” for any of it.
Weird thing is, I think it would be wrong to say I didn’t have some sort of inkling. Of course I knew it wouldn’t be plain sailing. I knew it wouldn’t always be sweetness and light. But no matter what, the day that positive pregnancy test happens, there is no predicting anything that will come next. I’m seem to recall never having done sleep depravation classes prior to the last few weeks of pregnancy. I must have skipped the classes where everyone went round smashing each other in the crotch with a metal bar, usually without warning. And lord, I just KNOW I should have paid closer attention to my depression so that I’d have a good idea of coping with the possibility that I didn’t love my son as much as I should do.
I guess it was obvious that I was destined, as a mom, to never ever be allowed, or feel need to complain about anything I go through. It was clear that I should have had the foresight to “toughen up” and deal with whatever motherhood was to throw at me; despite not even being able to mentally stand up in the first place. Obviously, I should have been able to not only foresee balance but also imbalance; dictate my emotions, my strengths and my weaknesses.
Over exaggerating? Being sarcastic? Poking fun at myself/whingers/naysayers? Of course I bloody well am.
Being a bit over dramatic? Should stop whining about the bits that break me and just think about the bits that are good? Maybe.
Being blatantly bloody honest about how much of it I think is bullshit? You bet your ass.
* I mention motherhood, though honestly, I refer to moms and dads. Moms aren’t the only ones to go through mental and physical overhauls when kids are born. I’ve seen that with my own eyes.
I was going to let this post go. I wasn’t going to do this one. But after I received a tweet last night which read:
“fuck you black cunt. Nigger go pick my cotton whore”
I thought “yeah…maybe I will write about racism and ting.” (Ironically, after I flagged it up to twitter, said tweeter has not only deleted the tweet, but also changed their name. Hacked account or not, I should think comments like that are unacceptable, no?)
A while ago on twitter, I asked people if they found words like “darky” and “honky” offensive. Me? I don’t find them offensive. In fact, I don’t find many words to describe someone’s race or colour offensive. It takes a LOT for me to be offended. Growing up, I was called just about every “offensive” name under the sun. The words were offensive because they were MEANT to be offensive.
Much like that tweet at the top of this post.
I confess I laughed when tweeters said their grannies and granddads used terms such as “jungle bunny”; I laugh because I knew they weren’t being offensive intentionally; much of it comes through ignorance (and generations of what they’ve known and grown up with). Of course, my guess is that none of my friends today would call me a jungle bunny. Would I be offended? I honestly don’t know. Probably not, because I know it would either be ignorance or jest in context.
Should I be offended?
..well that’s a whole other thing. I probably should, if we are to stamp out racism and educate the masses.
I shrug off so much of it now, because it’s almost second nature to me. The ignorance of others, that is. My “favourite” subjection to racial ignorance was while doing classical performances as principal cellist with youth orchestras. Lovely little white ladies would be coming up to me, asking “so, tell me, what’s it like being the only black person in the orchestra?” Or another favourite, whilst pointing to a small huddle of black people sitting at the back of the audience (whom I’d never met in my life), “ahhh that’s so lovely, you have your family here with you. They look just like you!”
Ignorance is an amazing thing.
I couldn’t be offended. Even at 13 years old, I would laugh it off. I had no choice, did I? How was I to explain the extent of that kind of ignorance to someone in the short space of a 20 minute interval (during which, I would much rather go off and practice a hideous solo to be performed in the second half)?
Something else which was flagged up during the twitter discussion is the use of the term half caste. I use it all the time. However, friends and strangers have told me I shouldn’t use the term. The internet says this:
Web definitions:
an offensive term for the offspring of parents of different races or cultures.
wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn
Doesn’t say why it’s offensive though. (I should stress at this point, I already know the meaning of the term half caste; I was curious to see what other people knew). Many thought the term offensive, but actually didn’t know why they thought it offensive. Amusingly, I don’t find it offensive, because I find it to be very true. Caste is the Latin for “pure”. Half is pretty self explanatory.
Half pure – surely that makes sense? My kiddos are neither pure black, nor pure white? They’re not purely Jamaican, or British, are they? And neither am I for that matter? So how can I take offence? How can I be offended by the truth?
Some tweeters mentioned that they did not like describing black people as “black”, as they saw no need to refer to their race. Soooo…I’m in a room full of white women, all the same age, size, height, wearing exactly the same clothes – hell, they all have dreads like me too. How would you pick me out now? “The one who is from a different country than the other ladies”? (Which might not necessarily be true; genetic skin pigmentation could really screw things up for you…) I’m pretty sure that I am black, and the rest of the women are white. Why would one be uncomfortable to use this as a reference to pick me out from the others?
One would be uncomfortable because that’s what they’ve been taught. My guess is, they wouldn’t actually know why it’s supposedly offensive. It’s not offensive, by the way.
Aside, I tell you what single racially descriptive term I cannot STAND – “coloured”. For the sake of fuck – I am NOT coloured. In fact, with all due respect, white people are more coloured than me.
Embarrassed = pink
Sick = green
Dead = purple/grey
Cold = blue
Hot = red
Frightened = white
Tanned = orange *snort*
And ironically, white people will then go to some fucking extreme lengths to be brown. Almost as dark as me. Black.
I’ll ask you to stop and think about all those colours for a moment. Because what’s really funny, is I’ve only been one colour my whole life. And also? I’m not an “outline” who has been “coloured in”. Geeeeeeeze.
As my kiddos grow up (assuming they make it to their 4th and 5th birthdays, because they’re driving me batshit, bless them), I would hope that when they are subjected to racial slurs (notice “when”, not “if”) they don’t fly off the handle at whomever is speaking to them. I would hope that they are able to address the person in question, highlight their ignorance and flag it for future reference. I also hope that they understand why the person said what they said.
Understanding racial slurs and other such vitriolic behaviour like that in last night’s tweet, is actually the biggest step to lessening racism. Stop being offended and upset (I wasn’t upset last night, but I was cross; there is a difference which is important), open your eyes and see what is happening, and try to understand it. And then when you understand why people are being racist, unintentionally or not, educate them.
Until then, I’m going to take my non-pure Jamaican, part Indian ass out of here, and go feed my non-pure Jamaican/Indian/British kids before I go insane.
One of the things that I’ve been doing to help myself deal with this depression bullshit, is filter what I’m exposed to in life. At the height of my illness, some 12 years ago now, I was around negative people.
Primarily, my partner at the time.
Having spent nearly three years doped up to my eyeballs on anti-depressants (I seriously can’t recall much of that, it’s a bit disturbing…), I remember having a rare moment of clarity. I woke up and told him it’s over. I told him to go away. I told him to leave me alone.
It was a rare moment of realising that a good chunk of the negativity I was trying to deal with was coming from him. Which was a shame, because in theory, he was a really nice bloke. But the bad points outweighed the good.
I’ve learned a lot about that filter now. It’s taken me maybe another 8 years since then to get closer to my goal(s), but I understand far more that I cannot afford to let the negativity of life outweigh the positive. Hardly bloody rocket science, but it’s far easier said than done.
What, for example, do you do when there are people whom you adore, but you find yourself wondering if they are any good for you? What do you do when you want, so badly, to see all their wonderful positive points (of which there are many, I am sure), but more and more you find yourself fighting a barrage of negativity? What do you do when quite selfishly, you don’t want to cut them out, because you think they are awesomely awesome, but you want to maintain your sanity? Where is that balance?
I know I have so much more to understand of others and of myself. I know it’s not just about them. I know I need to find (and maintain) my own balance too.
But conflict. How do you deal with conflict?
It could be so easy to say “well person A has fucked me off more times than made me laugh, so they need to go. Person B, however, has been full on fucking awesome and rarely has a bad thing to do or say, so they can stay.”
Is it even fair for me to say that? (I don’t think it is.) Surely there needs to be balance of some sort, even balance of conflict?
There are people whom I adore, and want around a whole lot (more), but I don’t understand them. I don’t understand how to be around them, I don’t understand how to react to them and that fills me with conflict. Really, I shouldn’t even be stressing about it. I should just let nature take it’s course. But what if nature doesn’t take the course I want? What if, something I want so badly to work, is just destined to fail? How am I supposed to deal with that? Am I setting myself up for an inevitable fail, and should I just cut my losses before people get hurt?
Because people always get hurt. Always. It’s like, some kind of Sinister Law Of Sod, or something. And my instinct is to say something like “well, I can see there are maybe teeny tiny bad points, and a whole fuck ton of good points, but y’know, I’m kinda tired of hurting so I’mma just end it now and spare us all the inevitable hideous heartache.” It sounds like chicken shit, but you know deep down part of it makes sense.
I should learn to deal. Sometimes, I should probably learn to man up. Grow a pair. Toughen up. (Be more like a bloke? Umm…) Stop clinging so desperately onto the incredibly wonderful, heart-soaring, grinning from ear to ear like a mental loon moments and look at the shit that is coming at the same time. Open my eyes and be real. But sometimes I just can’t decide on that balance. Or I can’t see it. Or I can’t figure it out.
Or I can’t admit to being too chicken shit to admit what might be staring me in the face.
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