Posts made in April, 2010
Writing Workshop: Making Changes
Welcome back to the Writing Workshop link-up! At the bottom of this post you’ll find the widget to post the link to your workshop posts.
I’ve chosen prompt number 2: Tell me about a time when you had a moment of realisation and knew that something HAD to change…
And it’s funny because that’s always the one I meant to do, although now I’m writing it about something completely different.
Because, coincidently, I had a moment of realisation this week. A big one.
Those of you that read this blog will know that I’ve been struggling with some things lately. Not Kai so much, that is something out of my hands and what will be will be on that score. I know that. However hard I find things with him, whatever the worries that flare up from time to time, I know that I can’t change him. I wouldn’t want to actually, because changing the ‘worrying’ stuff would mean changing everything that made him so unique and special.
And actually, apart from the bad days when I am exhausted and it all gets too much, I feel ok about things with Kai. I do.
It’s me that I’m not so sure about.
I’ve been flailing for a while. I thought I was keeping my head above water. Actually, I thought if I just ignored the fact that I was in the bloody metaphorical sea altogether that I would somehow magically end up on a luxury cruiser somewhere sipping mojitos (which I’m still not entirely sure ARE but sound nice).
In short, I was an idiot. And all the while I was sinking that little bit deeper. To the point where recently, only now and then but more and more often, I was sinking to the point of taking in great big lungfuls.
To the point where I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t breathe this week.
It is hard for me to describe to you how little confidence I have right now. I know that because I write confidently, and even act pretty confidently when you meet me, that you would think I feel that way inside. But I don’t. I am constantly doubting and berating myself, and I’m overwhelmingly afraid, with a fear of failing, of letting people down that is so intense that it’s actually making me too afraid to do anything at all.
Over the years this fear has meant I’ve walked away from some pretty amazing things. And I’m scared that if I don’t deal with it, it will take my writing away too.
And then some things happened this week, just when I was absolutely in the pits of wherever it is my head likes to take me.
These things…
1. Firstly I wrote out some of the bad stuff. It helped, a lot, helped me recover my breath a bit and it gave me room to think, and to gain some perspective on how I was feeling. Most importantly I wrote this poem, which almost burst from me in about fifteen minutes, and which, when I read it back the next morning, left me shaking and sobbing with something like relief.
2. You lot happened. With your comments and your emails and your advice and you always, always supportive and affirming responses. I read them, over and over, and for once I actually listened to what you were saying. I heard it. Like you heard me. Thank you for that.
3. I was pleased with my recent writing. Really pleased and proud of it, and proud in the good sense. It was good. And look Josie, you said your writing was good and your head didn’t explode! No-body died or hated you or tutted that you were so up yourself you could see your own tonsils. No, they didn’t. They said well done, they said you should be proud. In fact they thought you were pretty stupid for not being proud. And they were right.
4. And, most importantly, two people happened. My two best friends.
The first with her bravery and her honesty. My newest best friend who is so like me that it scares me a little, and who is inspiring me every day to try. And I realised that if I was going to have any integrity in supporting her in overcoming her fears, I was going to have to deal with mine. That I owed it to her.
And the other, my oldest best friend (who I can’t link to because she is a weirdo who doesn’t blog), who refuses to let anything stop her, and who is forging her way through life with such an unstoppable, unshakable determination that I am in awe of her everyday. Who is MAKING her dreams come true with sheer stubborn will and immense hard work.
And I admire them both so much. I want to live my life like them. I want to make them proud of me.
And so, under the blue skies yesterday I decided. Things have to change. Right now.
Life is too short. I could die tomorrow, or lose my arms in some freak accident. I could, quite possibly actually, spend the rest of my life battling with these stupid demons. I had a conversation with my dad at the weekend about how fragile life is, how we have to make the most of it, and it really stuck with me.
I want to be free to live and to create and grow. I don’t want to waste my life and my talents. And I want to live with some integrity. How can I can encourage other people to be brave with their creativity if I can’t do it with my own?
So, following the advice of another good friend, who’s opinion I trust absolutely, I’m going to look at seeing a counsellor.
I’ll have to find one that is cheap but I’m sure there are people that offer reduced rates. And I think it could really, really help.
If nothing else it would be a start. A step in the right direction.
And maybe making myself better will make things with Kai better too. We likely have a bumpy ride ahead and Kai is going to need a mum that is strong and who believes in herself to carry him through.
I’m not saying there won’t still be ups and downs, because I’m sure there will, but I am committed to change.
So that’s it. It starts here.
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So now it’s your turn. What prompt did you choose?
1. Write about a nickname you have been given in your life, either an endearing one or perhaps a hurtful one that cut deep. How did that nickname come about? Who gave it to you? What feelings and memories does it conjure up?
- Inspired by Belle Joie who was called something hurtful at work this week.
2. Tell me about a time when you had a moment of realisation and knew that something HAD to change. Did you act on it straight away? Or did it take time?
- Inspired by Keep Calm and Eat Cake and her honest post Tummy Tuck.
3. Have you ever had a paranormal experience? Or has someone you know? How did you interpret what you experienced? If it was someone close to you, did you believe them?
- Inspired by Crystal Jigsaw and her beautiful real-life ghost stories which I so enjoy and by Mari who talked about her dabblings with Tarot recently.
4. Share some memories of a sibling or siblings. How does your relationship with them now differ from when you were kids? For those of you who have perhaps lost a sibling, what do you remember most vividly about them? What things or places remind you of them most?
- Inspired by Mrs Lucia-Wrights BEAUTIFUL and well-crafted poem about her brothers which was one of my favourite posts of last week.
5. Tell us about a random act of kindness, either one you performed or one you received.
- Inspired by Susie at New Day New Lesson and her fantastic new Kindness Club, with weekly prompts challenging you to an act of kindness.
Leave your name and the URL to your post in the MckLinky below (the URL should be to your post not just to your blog) and leave me a comment to let me know you’ve taken part. If you have the time it would be great if you could try and read and comment on at least two other entries. And be kind! It’s supposed to be a bit of fun – we’re not looking for the next Booker Prize winner here.
If you haven’t had chance to respond yet, then you’ve still got till Sunday to enter your link! Or just wait till next week, when there’ll be five brand new prompts to get you thinking.
This Writing Workshop is brought to you in association with Mama Kat’s Losin’ It – who’s lovely author came up with the concept and runs her own workshop over in the U.S.
Read MoreThe Gallery – Pride
She opened up her hands
and there sat pride,
ingrained in every line and crease.
Like grime it clung
and clogged the pores,
smothering potential underneath.
Hands that could write
beauty out
in free uncensored streams
or paint a secret masterpiece
no stroke begrudged,
If only she could wash them clean.
No chance, she says,
and spreads-out wide her pride to show:
indelible as skin, worn thin
and hard as cold, dead bone.
This post was written for week 8 of Tara’s Gallery.
The theme this week was Seven Deadly Sins
Mama – part 2.
Mama will you hold me?
Close in to your neck where we fit together so well.
I do not say your name, but I breathe it through my smiles and bright shouts. I say it in my hands on your face as I look at your eyes, open wide, wet and tired.
I am bigger than last time. I have learnt so much. So have you mama.
I have so much to say these days, and you listen, you listen so good. You do not miss one word I say.
You let me fill the space with my words, over and over. My sounds that I love. I know that they are not the same as your sounds, your words, but that is ok. We are not the same, we don’t need to be.
You get that sometimes I need to say the same sounds again and again. The run through my brain, as fast as my legs on the grass, and you KNOW how fast they can go now mama. They run out, and saying them makes me feel better. I love my sounds, I have a sound for everything. It is my thoughts, coming out my mouth to show you everything I am thinking, because you can’t see can you? I have a lots of thoughts, so I have a lot of sounds too.
Sometimes my lips are itchy, they need to play, they need to brrr and brrr as I run around. I like the vibration in my head. Singing my song, over and over, it makes me happy. It is a good song but it is stuck in my head. Maybe I will sing another song if I find one I like better. Let’s make music together mummy, it is my favourite thing to do right now. You can drum and I can strum and we can sing and sing some more and dance and move and sway. I love to, I love to feel the rhythm in my feet and stamp it out.
I know it seems like we fight a lot, that I am mad at you. And sometimes I am. Because I have to be in charge mama, you know that. I have to make everything just the way I like, or else I get scared and cross. Why should it not be done my way? Why? It should, you know it should. I know better and exactly how everything should be. My way is best.
When I am mad it bubbles in me, just like real bubbles in bath that I say by the way they sound “brrrrbabum” with my fingers making the pop pop sound. The bubbles swirl in my tummy, they tell me I must NOT. So I do not. And my legs and arms, my body tell you so. They are better than words when you are cross, and so is the loudest noise that I can make. It says ‘cross’ that sound. It come from my toes and bubbles up and out in one big loud noise that makes my body feel better. If I kept it in mama I would explode.
You should try it. Maybe it would make your body feel better too.
I see by the lines that run down your face that you worry about me. But you shouldn’t, because I am a-ok. I am me and you are you. And we are the same but different. That is very special. And I don’t want to be like everyone else.
You look so tired mama, tired and sad. Maybe I will worry about you now. Because you know I love you, right? And that there is no other in the whole world that I want to be with every day? Maybe you have sounds in your head that need to get out. You should write them out, it helps, just like drawing my circles over and over helps me too. Make them pretty colours, your words mama, just like me, and make them real and leap and play and be free. Just like you let me be free too.
Mama will you hold me?
And then I can hold you too.
I wrote a post last night, which I took down again this morning in a silly fit of insecurity. I have put it back up again now. Thank you for those that commented and emailed, so much. And for these words especially:
“Josie,
I understand that you feel bad about worrying about your son. This is your wish for a mom who should only see his son in a perfect light, even if it wasn’t the case. the blind love… Your love is big. your love is the reason why you worry. You should not feel guilty about your worry. And you are not a bad mom if you think Kai isn’t perfect. You are not failing him.
You have a lot to give, and you are giving a lot already. You may not see it, but we all do. succeeding isn’t about achieving, but a lot about being. What you are Josie is beautiful. And I’m not talking about the outside and superfluous, but the inside, the depth, the sensitivity, the intelligence…
You know, what i think? I think Kai may help you overcome your fears of failing. It isn’t a easy task, Kai isn’t a easy kid. If he was an easy kid, it wouldn’t challenge you. You know, Kai may be your teacher. What I mean is that he may help you understand things about yourself. He may the “thing” you care so much that you will go all the way through and will eventually realize that love is strong, and that it is all that matters. You won’t be failing him when you love him. With love, you may realize, you have nothing to fear. I’m not saying love equals being a perfect mom. I mean that being a person filled with love, being honest and caring, and yes worrying, is what makes you a worthy person for your son.
I’m so deeply convinced, you are in fact the ideal mom for Kai… the moms you meet who are so sure of themselves and can “manage” their littles are SO not the right mom for Kai. Kai needs your sensitivity, your own painful experiences, your ability to listen, to tune in your inner self, to stand and raise above the differences. He will need that from you. And in return, he will show you that being Good and successful is not where you expect it to be. It’s already beautiful, Josie. How many do you know would improvise a gesture language to communicate with Kai? Your way to embrace your son for who he is and trying (struggling) to understand him is already beautiful, Josie.
There is beauty in imperfection. there is humanity. invaluable gift. You don’t see until it is in the ones you love so deeply.”
Thank you Eric. You will never know how much that meant to me xxx
Read MoreShackles
I feel muted.
Like my tongue has been cut out and my fingers tied up.
I can’t talk about it, I certainly can’t write about it.
You wouldn’t understand. I tell myself that you wouldn’t, that you don’t want to hear it. That you won’t get what I’m saying, that’ll you’ll overwhelm me with kindness but not hear a word.
I’m trying. I’m going to try.
You’ve heard it before, it’s nothing new. Old words, said over and over.
A bad few days, that will pass of course, as they always do, but I am trapped again in a cycle of worry and doubt and fatigue that leaves my eyes hollow and my brain numb.
I don’t know how to fix this.
I don’t know how to stop worrying about a boy that seems determined to do every thing differently. Whose repetitive ‘stuck’ behaviours are becoming more and more obvious, whose tantrums are becoming harder and harder to manage. Finally those that spend time with him are beginning to realise what Ant and I have been saying all along, that we’re not looking at a speech ‘delay’ here, but something else. An opting out of speech perhaps as he busily and meticulously constructs his own language of sounds and gestures and a rich array of facial expressions. There is no lack of communication here, the boy that ‘talks’ for a good 12 hours straight most days with barely a pause, just communication on his terms, like everything else. His own words, with all the right intonation and syllables, even, that sound nothing like the English words but that he seems to have decided he prefers.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to not worry about a boy that seems so sensitive to sensation, that the sheer act of going for a poo, for god’s sake, makes him howl and cry, even though the doctor assures me there’s nothing physically wrong. That my poor love, not even two years old, is having to learn breathing exercises to help him cope with the anxiety and tension he feels when he needs to go.
And yet he is happy, for the most part. So full of life and vibrancy, interested in EVERYTHING. SO affectionate and, if given the right environments, making friends well, and genuinely the funniest, most entertaining little boy I have ever met. And I love him, and love being with him, even though he exhausts and confuses me. I just find him so draining. The pull on my emotional energy being with him every day, all day, is intense and makes it hard to recharge.
I don’t know what it all means. I know if I talk about it to you too much you will tell me not to worry, that he is fine, that it is all ‘normal’. And that I won’t believe you and feel lost and confused, doubting myself even more than I do.
And I don’t know how I’m supposed to let go as the gap between his peers gets bigger and bigger, and is, as I suspect, likely to get a lot big yet.
I worry about his differentness. And I feel guilty in that worry because although he is different he is healthy and happy, unlike so many children, whose parents must have to cope with so much more than me. Infinitely more.
And then there is me.
So trapped in patterns of self-doubt and low confidence, to the point of almost an crippling paralysis. To the point where I feel it could spoil everything I am, or could be. It has already made me give up things that if I told you about, which I never have – I can’t bring myself too, would make you gasp. And no, it wasn’t a baby. A baby of sorts, a dream, a talent, which because of the way I feel about myself I am too scared to even contemplate taking up again.
And I know that this is what you won’t understand. That you will think it can be fixed by saying nice things, and I wish it could, but somehow that seems to make it worse because I don’t feel like I deserve them.
It feels such a waste. I hate myself for this pathetic wallowing. These endless up and downs which exhaust me as they must you too.
Life is so short, too short to waste it, and deep down I KNOW that I have so much to give, and that I worthy of it. But I can’t move past the fear, of failing, not being good enough. It is like shackles I can’t shake off, and I don’t know where they came from or how to be free of them. I just know that it colours everything, painting over bright horizons with endless washes of grey.
I want to fix it.
I want to fix me.
But I don’t know how.
Read More
