Stretched, compressed, distracted

This past week has really tested my equanimity and I'm afraid by Saturday morning, I was pretty much combusting.

I once wrote that I was not made for motherhood, and I stand by that. I don't love it, not like my amazing friend Celia*, who very clearly does and thrives on it.

For reasons of her own, Little Monster insisted that I pick her up from school every day instead of her father. Seven days of this, and not once did she ask for him or ask about him. She would say things like "You and me and daddy" when telling me a story, but that was rarely. She seems happy enough but by god, by day eight (Saturday) I was in shreds.

In between hustling her up in the mornings for school, picking up from school, playing with her and all the usual day-to-day stuff, I was also looking for work, applying for jobs, and thinking of ways to make money, all of which I had to compress into the few hours that Little Monster was at school. Once we were together, well, it was just all her. There was no room for me.

And as usual, when I get pushed into a corner like that, I start looking for distractions. Or allowing distractions to divert me because that's better than enduring what appears to be endless GAAAH!

I'm glad I'd arranged for her to go to her grandparents' that day. But once she'd gone, the pressure that had been brewing in my head just took over the rest of me and all I could do was curl up under the duvet. A day's productivity lost.

But I am grateful for two old friends (M and M oddly enough!) who have not yet given up on me, even though I had been recalcitrant on the work and money front and not moving as fast as I should.

I'm also utterly grateful for the generosity of others. I can't even begin to tell you how that makes me feel.

The great news is I should be gainfully employed by the end of the week, and my access to delightful diversions will be seriously curtailed. Those who know me now will know this is the thing I will miss the most.

Question is, will I actually give it up? Someone observed that I was hooked on the attention I get from people like him. And he's quite right. Come on, who doesn't love being desired, especially if the person doing it is young and beautiful?


*If it weren't for her and her generous family, I don't know if Little Monster would be safe from me.

Things I am grateful for - notes from a Single Mum

What a weekend!

I am grateful for PTAs, without whom there wouldn't have been a school film, Christmas Fayre and dozens of excellent events. Little Monster had a brilliant time despite falling off her chair (well-deserved bump on the caboose since she was tilting her chair backwards, had a bit of a cheeky grin on when she told me).

A strange thing happened to me at the fair - I had a slight panic attack, elevated heart-rate, hyperventilation, desperate desire to flee. I had to move to less crowded corner to breathe properly. I don't think I'd ever been that uncomfortable in a crowd before. I guess it must have been the enclosed space. It only lasted a couple of minutes, but I was wound tight as a spindle, and had to grit my teeth for Little Monster's sake. Fortunately, we then found friends and just like magic, the tension evaporated. It's amazing what a friendly smile and a welcoming greeting can do. And mulled wine. That took the edge off too.

When we got home, I had to have a bit of a "lie down". Damn, was I was tired. And continued to be so all the way through our dear friends' party. Ah! What a lovely, cosy evening! Our first Canadian tree-trimming party.

Apparently, in Canada, you went outside, chopped your own tree down, brought it in-doors and trimmed it to fit the space. And it's a tradition to invite friends and family to help decorate it and the house while consuming much food and alcohol.

Little Monster and I had the best time - there was gorgeous food, such amazing cakes! and great company, stories, songs and colouring in! Everyone was invited to draw and colour in themed pictures to hang on the walls. Of course, Little Monster was in her element. Although, I think her favourite bit was actually doing the tree (our contribution was home-made baubles from pine cones which we painted silver and covered in glitter.)

Sunday we went a little stir crazy at home but a little wrestling, and careful chopping up of a Romanesco broccoli for dinner sorted us out. 

I am, once again, down to my last few pounds but you know what? My life is incredibly rich. Yes, there are moments of sadness, slices of despair, but I can't help but be thankful that I have had the privilege of experiencing the wonderful gifts that life has offered.

Womanning up

These past few days have been a little revelatory*.  It seems my "This Is A Bad Idea" alert has malfunctioned.

I wonder at my unthinking capacity to be used. A couple of incidents over the last few weeks have made me wonder if I am such a people-pleaser that I don't even notice when I am being ill-treated until the damage is felt. And even then, the discomfort only surfaces hours or even days later. It's almost as if I go into shock.

I don't really know why I don't care for myself as well as I should. I believe I do value myself -- removing myself from a situation that was extinguishing me is an indicator -- and yet, I find myself doing things just to please someone I barely know. Or rather, so that they would, god help me, like me.

So, I am saying to myself, "What are you? A child? Woman up for fuck's sake!" This is a perpetual tussle within me. But I have a new frame. She comes in size 12 shoes, and wants only for me to be with her, to be present for her. I am her world and right now, who and what I am, she sees and learns from. If I don't love myself, and show her that I do, only bad things can ensue. Sure, she'll learn from them, but I'd rather she have a role model that she can be proud of.

And I'd rather be a role model I'd be proud of too.

*Then again, since I left my old life, every other day seems to throw up something new about myself. It's like I had been shattered into millions of little pieces, then scattered all over the place. Each day, as I journey, I uncover a different piece, so shaped by its environs that it no longer fits into its old spot. So I have to study it anew, and make a new place for it within the new me. 

"Apologies for the delay to your service..."

It's been eight weeks since my corporate job ended and I launched myself into the great unknown.

I've signed up with various recruitment agents, created a profile on Freelancer.com and finally uploaded my work on Vimeo.

But...

I've been hesitating about actually producing my creative CV. Stalling about contacting those great companies I would love to do work for. When I actually sit down and start, I become paralysed.

I met a personal trainer this week - not as a client, but on a date - and he certainly had interesting things to say about fear and failure. I don't think I've ever met anyone with such indomitable belief in himself* -- it was almost breathtaking. He's right of course.

Google "procastination" and its causes, and fear is the number one answer. So the question is, what am I afraid of precisely? That the people I contact will look at what I have to offer and go pfft. That I'm not actually as good as I think I am. That I'm kidding myself. Round and round, ad infinitum.

I know what I need to do, but I am struggling to move, even though the prospect of impending poverty is making me slightly sick.

But I am moving, even though it feels like I'm moving through peanut butter.

*It also helps that he's not yet 30. The date itself was lovely -- he made me laugh, cry(!) and feel wonderful. It was a much needed lift to a grey day.

"Our past does not have to dictate our future happiness"

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.