ten things I’ve learned as a single mom
A poignant post from Rachel, the mum behind "Finding Joy".
This week has been a real mix of highs and lows. Although I am happy, there is an undercurrent of loneliness and self-doubt.
The self-doubt isn't about being a good mother: I've nixed that one* - my daughter is an irrepressible, raucous ball of positivity - it takes quite a lot to get her down. And even when she is, she bounces back up within minutes. She's healthy, she has clean clothes (mostly), she still has good teeth, she can write her own name, read simple words, say complex ones (scary) and much much more. OK, sometimes she makes me despair ("Don't play with the glasses! Don't play with the glasses! Don't play with the---*smash! tinkle, tinkle* Oh, for the love of...") and I find myself hiding from her demands. And we are often late for school, she still doesn't have a school cardigan, and meals have been three different types of crisps and dinner has been whatever happens to be in the fridge. I am grateful that she has five solid meals a week when she's at school.
But I can see that she's doing well and I've learned not to judge myself harshly for doing the best I can. Sure I can do better, but I'm learning that I'm also enough.
The self-doubt has been bubbling these few days -- might be due to hormones in flux, might be depression making itself felt -- has been about me as a potential mate.
I've started dating again, or at least I am out there. It's been heady and delightful... but an incident has made me question my motives for seeking companionship.
My friend Wise Light asked why am I always running from myself. Months ago, I started researching how to be alone, that is, how to enjoy my own company. As usual, I soon got distracted and that got put aside. The issue has returned and I am now wondering again.
I think I need to perhaps try meditating and running again. I don't know why, but the coolest-headed people I know are all runners. Time to take a leaf out of their book.
*For now. For three nights now, she has been refusing to go to sleep at a reasonable hour and I feel horrible because I am horrible to her as I am so frustrated.
Sunday, 25 October 2015
Wednesday, 21 October 2015
"Does the walker choose the path, or the path, the walker?"
~ Garth Nix, Sabriel, and all his books of The Old Kingdom*.
Today, I turned 42.
I'm learning that one needs the bounce-backability of a child to weather the storms of a fresh start. And I've had two pretty big ones in the last 12 months.
A year ago, I was stumbling amid the burning debris of my broken home. But I wasn't alone. My family and friends held me up and showed me how much they cared. On this day, I was treated with such kindness, and I felt so loved. And today -- this week -- has been no different.
Two months ago, I left a secure (-ish) job because I found myself in a constant state of rage. As someone who had suffered with depression twice, I knew this state would inevitably lead to a deep, dark hole. And drugs would only camouflage the journey. If I didn't change my situation, I would lose myself and my daughter will know someone she called 'mum' but it wouldn't be me.
So I quit with nothing to go to. I've been looking for work and set up a small shop but for some reason I still haven't got my site up and my creative consultant pitch remains unformed.
The last few weeks have been particularly trying - I ran out of money and had to ask for help.
This year, too, I faced my daughter's entry to big school. I worried about her settling into that society; I worried that she would hate it and refuse to go. After initially being cross most of the time (her teacher's description) she's settled in. And I am so proud that she's now able to demonstrate care for others. It was my greatest fear that she would be incapable of empathy.
On the other hand, my alter ego won me a writing gig. No cash, but opened up a personal avenue that I hadn't realised I craved. I also sold a short story, a voice over and a bedtime story. Just a couple of days ago, I made a new connection and a possible new venture has unfolded. It's terribly ENFP of me, all these little projects here and there, but it's also grin-inducingly exciting.
My dear friend, Irish, took me out for lunch the other day and observed that I was really happy.
And you know what, despite the lack of money, companionship, despite the distractions and the worries? I find that, yes, I really am. Truly, deeply so.
*Henry Rollins once derided a date for reading the Harry Potter books because she was a grown woman and shouldn't be reading children's books. Much as I love Henry, he's an idiot in this. Just because you're a grown up, doesn't mean you have to abandon the child in you, doesn't mean you should dismiss childish things.
A year ago, I was stumbling amid the burning debris of my broken home. But I wasn't alone. My family and friends held me up and showed me how much they cared. On this day, I was treated with such kindness, and I felt so loved. And today -- this week -- has been no different.
Two months ago, I left a secure (-ish) job because I found myself in a constant state of rage. As someone who had suffered with depression twice, I knew this state would inevitably lead to a deep, dark hole. And drugs would only camouflage the journey. If I didn't change my situation, I would lose myself and my daughter will know someone she called 'mum' but it wouldn't be me.
So I quit with nothing to go to. I've been looking for work and set up a small shop but for some reason I still haven't got my site up and my creative consultant pitch remains unformed.
The last few weeks have been particularly trying - I ran out of money and had to ask for help.
This year, too, I faced my daughter's entry to big school. I worried about her settling into that society; I worried that she would hate it and refuse to go. After initially being cross most of the time (her teacher's description) she's settled in. And I am so proud that she's now able to demonstrate care for others. It was my greatest fear that she would be incapable of empathy.
In the last week, I've also been distractingly preoccupied by things I can't have. Or more precisely, people I can't have. I have no idea what is up with me. It's damned unhelpful.
My dear friend, Irish, took me out for lunch the other day and observed that I was really happy.
And you know what, despite the lack of money, companionship, despite the distractions and the worries? I find that, yes, I really am. Truly, deeply so.
*Henry Rollins once derided a date for reading the Harry Potter books because she was a grown woman and shouldn't be reading children's books. Much as I love Henry, he's an idiot in this. Just because you're a grown up, doesn't mean you have to abandon the child in you, doesn't mean you should dismiss childish things.
Tuesday, 6 October 2015
Mix Tape: An Expression of Love
Since I bought my first music tape from a door to door salesperson in an HDB high-rise in Toa Payoh, I've always enjoyed making my own mixes. The 80s were especially challenging since I only had a single deck tape recorder and my pocket money wasn't enough to buy me a tape-to-tape. I used to record the top 40 tracks I loved off a TV programme called Skytrax (Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush just wasn't getting any radio air play at the time for some reason!) and TV theme tunes (anyone remember MASK?).
Inevitably, I graduated from tapes to CDs, and started mixing them up with spoken word tracks and comedy excerpts. Eddie Izzard, Bob Newhart and Henry Rollins made frequent appearances, as did the inimitable Tom Leher. I sought out readings -- Neil Gaiman is wonderful to listen to as well as read - interesting cover versions, and just cool sound. I suppose it's a habit I picked up as a promo producer - picking out the kicker lines or that intriguing clip. (I never went on to do mini-discs but I did learn how to edit reel-to-reel with a scalpel and a chinagraph pencil!)
The thing I liked best about making them, was writing out the tracks. I sort of wish I'd made images of all the covers and designs I'd done. This is the only one I took a copy of as I wanted to make a print for the case. I never planned them, I just let the pen take its own path. Well, I say never, I usually have a theme or an image at the back of my mind, but I didn't do a draft before I put ink to disc or paper, so each one was unique. (It had never occurred to me that I would make a mistake until one recipient pointed it out. Hasn't changed the way I make these things though!)
As to why I made them - lots of reasons, but mainly because I wanted to share the small pleasures I got from listening to these tracks. I once did a mix to be played at someone's work. At the time, this was someone I loved to my near destruction. I didn't actually make conscious choices about the tracks - only that they would have a timeless quality, so old classics. The mix... well, what came out elicited this lovely observation: "Wow, your wife must really love you."
Looking back at my choices in all my mixes, yes, they really were expressions of love, of my regard for the recipients. They had all been chosen with care and often, the subconscious me would add her own, much more meaningful, selection.
If you have images of a mix tape you'd made or CD or even a link to a YouTube playlist, I'd love to see/hear them. Pop them in the comments.
In the meantime, keep sharing the love.
Wednesday, 30 September 2015
Project Guess the Dinosaur Game!
My Little Monster came up with a gem of an idea for a birthday gift tonight: a Guess the Dinosaur Game! The birthday person will be five and a dino lover. Ooh! I have less than a week to do it so no time for procrastination. Five dinosaurs, one of which will be a mystery dino :-) Can't wait!
Thursday, 24 September 2015
"Someday, my prince will come..."
I have been trying to get this post out for about a week but life kept getting in the way -- I'd started writing it following a conversation with my dear friend Wise Light.
Wise had just started seeing an amazing woman who not only was a great match for her but had the capacity to spoil her. And as we talked I tried to remember when I had been spoiled, I mean properly spoiled - a meal in a posh restaurant, a luxurious piece of clothing or jewellery, a trip to the theatre! Shoes!
I came up with zip. This from nearly two decades of marriage.
In that relationship, I was always the one who did the spoiling -- I bought the flowers and gifts, planned the Valentine's dates, organised those adventures just for two, booked the fancy(ish) restuarants. At the time that I did all those things, I didn't mind, but as time wore on, a small part of me wished wistfully that things were otherwise. I buried that voice, tamped down the disappointment, because it was just impossible.
The last time I was a little spoiled was on my last birthday. The loveliest thing about that was that I didn't organise it, plan it, choose it, or pay for it. It was only two lovely meals over two occasions, but I felt cherished. He had also taken the time to restore something as a gift. And not just restore, but customise it. For me. It even came in a gift-wrapped box. He actually knew, not just what I needed, but also what I liked.
To feel that need to be wined and dined, bought expensive gifts and essentially be treated like a rich man's mistress -- I actually felt a bit ashamed. After all, in a perverse way, I was proud that I was the provider, that I could play that role. To then feel the need to coddled and wooed seemed a betrayal of my feminist self. But I think, this need to be shown how precious you are to someone, is universal, regardless of gender or role.
My fantasy spoilage would be this: I would like to be gifted with a customised corset, complete with skirt, accessories and shoes. Then a full make-over by my favourite make-up artist, Ashley Kay Gifford (http://www.primppowderpout.com/). After all that, I would like to be shown off. Preferably at a ball or red carpet event. Something ridiculously over the top. In amongst all this, there would be food. Glorious food. Lovingly sourced and prepared morsels to delight the senses. And to finish? Well, since I had been gift-wrapped so lovingly, it would only be fair to be just as lovingly undone.
PS: The title was inspired by "Once Upon A Time", that TV series which mystifyingly features Robert Carlyle. I am fascinated by it as they have really gone to town with the story of Snow White and Prince Charming. It's such a seductive proposition: that love will conquer all, that true lovers will always find each other, that everything will be alright because they are destined to be together. But underlying all this blind faith, there was one question they'd asked themselves - are we fated always to lose each other?
I understand that culturally, the Chinese think falling madly in love should be avoided. I wonder if this is true since all the Chinese "love stories" I know are actually tragedies (classic is this one Butterfly Lovers and of course, Madame White Snake) which seem to be warnings. Are they right?
Wise had just started seeing an amazing woman who not only was a great match for her but had the capacity to spoil her. And as we talked I tried to remember when I had been spoiled, I mean properly spoiled - a meal in a posh restaurant, a luxurious piece of clothing or jewellery, a trip to the theatre! Shoes!
I came up with zip. This from nearly two decades of marriage.
In that relationship, I was always the one who did the spoiling -- I bought the flowers and gifts, planned the Valentine's dates, organised those adventures just for two, booked the fancy(ish) restuarants. At the time that I did all those things, I didn't mind, but as time wore on, a small part of me wished wistfully that things were otherwise. I buried that voice, tamped down the disappointment, because it was just impossible.
The last time I was a little spoiled was on my last birthday. The loveliest thing about that was that I didn't organise it, plan it, choose it, or pay for it. It was only two lovely meals over two occasions, but I felt cherished. He had also taken the time to restore something as a gift. And not just restore, but customise it. For me. It even came in a gift-wrapped box. He actually knew, not just what I needed, but also what I liked.
To feel that need to be wined and dined, bought expensive gifts and essentially be treated like a rich man's mistress -- I actually felt a bit ashamed. After all, in a perverse way, I was proud that I was the provider, that I could play that role. To then feel the need to coddled and wooed seemed a betrayal of my feminist self. But I think, this need to be shown how precious you are to someone, is universal, regardless of gender or role.
My fantasy spoilage would be this: I would like to be gifted with a customised corset, complete with skirt, accessories and shoes. Then a full make-over by my favourite make-up artist, Ashley Kay Gifford (http://www.primppowderpout.com/). After all that, I would like to be shown off. Preferably at a ball or red carpet event. Something ridiculously over the top. In amongst all this, there would be food. Glorious food. Lovingly sourced and prepared morsels to delight the senses. And to finish? Well, since I had been gift-wrapped so lovingly, it would only be fair to be just as lovingly undone.
PS: The title was inspired by "Once Upon A Time", that TV series which mystifyingly features Robert Carlyle. I am fascinated by it as they have really gone to town with the story of Snow White and Prince Charming. It's such a seductive proposition: that love will conquer all, that true lovers will always find each other, that everything will be alright because they are destined to be together. But underlying all this blind faith, there was one question they'd asked themselves - are we fated always to lose each other?
I understand that culturally, the Chinese think falling madly in love should be avoided. I wonder if this is true since all the Chinese "love stories" I know are actually tragedies (classic is this one Butterfly Lovers and of course, Madame White Snake) which seem to be warnings. Are they right?
Monday, 14 September 2015
What makes you proud of your mummy? When she does something she's never done before.
This from a four year old. I was moved to speechlessness.
Today I was listening to Rebecca Adlington on Desert Island Discs, on how, at the age of three, not knowing how to swim, she just ran and jumped into a swimming pool, which is exactly what my daughter did at that age, too. And I think, I did as well. (Though I do recall jumping in a pool, not knowing how to swim and doggy-paddling for my life when I was a bit older.)
I feel as though I've just done it again - I've jumped into the self-employment pool with only a theoretical grasp of what I'm doing. Doggy-paddling like crazy. I hope I don't run out of juice before I am swimming!
I've just registered on Freelancer.co.uk as a Creative Consultant / Writer / Voice over artist, bid on a couple of jobs, and I've got a couple of meetings lined up with agencies. It's been an education seeing all these projects and seeing all the profiles of the freelances out there.
I am certainly doing something I've never done before, and I hope that my daughter will talk about me with pride. Preferably on Desert Island Discs.
Today I was listening to Rebecca Adlington on Desert Island Discs, on how, at the age of three, not knowing how to swim, she just ran and jumped into a swimming pool, which is exactly what my daughter did at that age, too. And I think, I did as well. (Though I do recall jumping in a pool, not knowing how to swim and doggy-paddling for my life when I was a bit older.)
 |
| 1970-something. Learning not to drown. |
I feel as though I've just done it again - I've jumped into the self-employment pool with only a theoretical grasp of what I'm doing. Doggy-paddling like crazy. I hope I don't run out of juice before I am swimming!
I've just registered on Freelancer.co.uk as a Creative Consultant / Writer / Voice over artist, bid on a couple of jobs, and I've got a couple of meetings lined up with agencies. It's been an education seeing all these projects and seeing all the profiles of the freelances out there.
I am certainly doing something I've never done before, and I hope that my daughter will talk about me with pride. Preferably on Desert Island Discs.
Wednesday, 9 September 2015
"Allow yourself to accept the precariousness..."
...something more creative might come from it." -- H. Ferguson, writer, polyglot and friend.
It's been 5 days since I became self-employed.
I've been reading the stories of like-minded individuals - thank you Career Shifters - and watching talks about entrepreneurship.
I've also seen that a fellow creative who was in the same boat as me has taken off! I am so pleased and at the same time slightly envious - that's the competitive side of me growling (down, girl!).
I'm now registered with three temp agencies and hoping to hear from another I contacted today. The idea is to just keep money coming in while I work on the creative side.
I've been working on my "creative CV" (if sketching and doodling ideas count!), and getting my work online (well, so far, I've managed to rip the damned things off the DVD and in the right aspect ratios). The next step is to pull it altogether. This bit is the tough bit for me. Didn't used to be - the taking action bit. That's what made me an efficient promo producer when it was a job. I wonder if this is damage from crashing all those years ago.
Today, I had the most interesting conversation with two of my dearest friends* -- they've got me thinking about writing something else. It's an intriguing proposition and due to its adult and potentially explosive nature, I am mulling it over.
Dare I do it? And how far could/would/should I take it?
The idea is tantalising and certainly appealing to my inner wild child. Oh, it's not just erotica - that I already do, just not published.
Oooh... I think I will. I think I dare.
*Indispensable, wonderful, amazing and just awesome.
It's been 5 days since I became self-employed.
I've been reading the stories of like-minded individuals - thank you Career Shifters - and watching talks about entrepreneurship.
I've also seen that a fellow creative who was in the same boat as me has taken off! I am so pleased and at the same time slightly envious - that's the competitive side of me growling (down, girl!).
I'm now registered with three temp agencies and hoping to hear from another I contacted today. The idea is to just keep money coming in while I work on the creative side.
I've been working on my "creative CV" (if sketching and doodling ideas count!), and getting my work online (well, so far, I've managed to rip the damned things off the DVD and in the right aspect ratios). The next step is to pull it altogether. This bit is the tough bit for me. Didn't used to be - the taking action bit. That's what made me an efficient promo producer when it was a job. I wonder if this is damage from crashing all those years ago.
Today, I had the most interesting conversation with two of my dearest friends* -- they've got me thinking about writing something else. It's an intriguing proposition and due to its adult and potentially explosive nature, I am mulling it over.
Dare I do it? And how far could/would/should I take it?
The idea is tantalising and certainly appealing to my inner wild child. Oh, it's not just erotica - that I already do, just not published.
Oooh... I think I will. I think I dare.
*Indispensable, wonderful, amazing and just awesome.
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