Posts Tagged "Neurotic Mummy Moment"
A hell of a set of balls (in more ways than one)
There’s been a lot of talk this week in the virtual world about the ‘Mumpreneur’ – women successfully combining at-home businesses with raising children and family life. I’m not all that comfortable with the label myself, something that Sally at Who’s The Mummy? also questioned recently sparking an interesting debate. It’s not even one that particularly applies to me as I don’t run my own business. But lately I feel I am beginning to move into the realm of the ‘Work-at-Home-Mum’ and issues surrounding women, business and enterprise are likely to be ones that effect me for some time to come.
My creative writing course has started in earnest now. I have turned into that fledgling writer with a notebook and pen surgically attached, lying awake in the small hours consumed by ideas and endlessly spiralling words and images, plagued by feelings of hope and potential and doubt and worthlessness all in equal measure.
At the same time I’m trying to expand my ‘freebie’ work, getting writing experience here, there and everywhere I can. This blog is becoming more than just a pet project, it’s becoming something that matters to me, something I feel the need to invest time and effort in, with the hope that it may springboard my writing somewhere new and exciting. The Great Toy Guide is keeping me busy too which I love, opening up a whole new world of PR contacts and confusing media lingo and a different kind of creative thinking.
The irony is that none of this is paid of course. Perhaps I’m over-reaching myself even calling it work, probably ‘work’ would be more descriptive and less pretentious. But my hope is that by putting the ‘work’ in I may one day get some work without the inverted commas, probably not anytime soon, but one day.
I’m coming across like a complete douche aren’t I? I did have a point somewhere.
Oh yes. Here it is…
I had been under the extremely naive and mistaken impression that working from home would be easier than going out to work. That combining a working day with taking care of your children would be simpler, most cost effective, and magically combine the two worlds of motherhood and career woman in one beautifully harmonious enterprise.
You’re laughing right. At least, the WAHM’s are laughing…
Turns out the reality is a little different.
My days and nights at the moment are left frantically juggling Kai’s (demanding) needs and my own desperate need to write and grow in a direction other than being ‘just a mum’ (oh and with the odd cursory bit of housework thrown in for good measure). When I’m doing my ‘mum’ bit I’m thinking about writing. When I’m writing I’m feeling guilty about not giving Kai my 100% one-on-one attention. I can’t win. Oh and of course – add into the mix being so sleep deprived I can barely remember my own name and you’ll probably have a fairly accurate picture of my state of mind right now.
Lately I’ve even wondered whether Kai would even be better off in nursery for a few hours a week, that maybe I’m depriving him of enough stimulation and attention, that maybe being at home with me ISN’T the best thing for him as I had always thought it would be. But of course (it’s the ironic bit again), I’m not earning anything and we don’t bring enough in as a family to make it an affordable option.
So here I am. Desperately trying to keep all these different conflicting balls in the air. And not managing it very successfully (the ‘hoovering’ ball I dropped a while back and seems to be festering in amongst the dust bunnies under the TV cabinet).
All of which is my rather long-winded way of saying this. Mumpreneurs, entrepreneurs, work-at-home mums/dads , self-employed writers, artists, craftspeople – what EVER you choose to call yourselves. I salute you. And admire you immensely. I am only beginning to realise how hard your working lives must be – and I’m still only ‘working’ at working.
Please tell me. How on earth do you do it?
Read MoreI have confidence in… erm… something?
Picture if you will.
I am sat here in my jeans and over-sized sweater and my messy boy hair, wearing novelty socks and eating too many chocolate digestives. I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. Unlike most mornings, today I did manage a whole fifteen minutes under a hot shower while Kai emptied the bathroom rubbish bin of tissues (don’t judge me – I’m strengthening his immune system), but absorbed in my hot-shower bliss I may have absent mindedly shampooed three times and conditioned twice so the messy boy hair is slightly lank. The over-sized sweater despite being clean on this morning already has some banana on one sleeve and what I think may be snot on the other. In the last 24 hours I have burst into tears a record number of five times and kicked two inanimate objects. I have had four hours sleep.
There are many things this scene screams. Confident, secure, fully-functioning grown-up is not one of them.
I have been struggling especially with the C word lately. No, not THAT C word. Confidence.
You see I seem to have mislaid mine. It’s not down the back of the sofa with the half-eaten rice cake. It’s not in the overflowing washing basket (hell it wouldn’t fit in there). It is not hidden behind the pile of clever books I can’t bring myself to read.
In fact, I don’t know where the frick it is. I haven’t seen it in quite a while.
More and more I envy those people who seem to ooze it from every perfect blemish-free pore. Those people that manage to combine motherhood with work and successful careers, with exciting projects coming out of their every orifice . Managing to fit deadlines around school runs, gym sessions and skin care regimes.
It’s like they are privy to a secret I have no idea about, passed about in hushed whispers while I was in the loo.
Around you – yes you accomplished people, I am left feeling so ineffective. So immature.
Why do I feel like this? Where on earth was I when the confidence ticket was handed out? (in the loo again probably – really should have worked harder on my pelvic floor).
I am 27. But I look kind of young for my age. I have a tendency to get written off by people, spoken to by strangers with that unique mix of patronising sympathy and instant dismissal. Old ladies can never believe it when I mention a husband, “but my, you’re too young to be married surely?!” and act surprised when I manage to come out with a vaguely intelligent or articulate comment. I always get asked for ID – once when I was buying PETROL which was more than insulting (surely I look older than 17? Don’t I??!!) My brother is two and half years younger then me and I look like his scruffy kid sister.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m sure when I’m 40 I will be grateful of this fact but right now it’s not really helping in the confidence department.
Social situations? Oh god where do I start. The stuttering? The complete brain freezes that make me incapable of speech? The completely irrational habit of coming away from all social encounters feeling dreadfully insecure and convinced I am the most scorned and despised person on the face of this planet?? I’ll stop there.
And then there’s work. Or ‘work’ as it should probably be referred to. Finding your way as a fledgling writer is not easy I can tell you. One of my opening exercises with my writing course was to free-write about your doubts about becoming a successful writer. I wrote six pages without even blinking. The thought of me ‘making it’ seems laughable. Successful writing seems to require a breeziness and articulate confidence that I can only imagine.
(Oh god. This is turning into a whiney post isn’t it. I apologise – there is a point I promise.)
It’s just I’ve been wondering what it is I’m missing? The right hair cut? The right clothes? The right pen? An ability to speak in whole sentences?
It’s easy to feel like those things would make all the difference but somehow I doubt it.
It’s also easy to feel like I’m the only one in the world left feeling so small, so insignificant.
But I’m not. I know I’m not.
I casually mention on Twitter about feeling like this and all of sudden I’m met with dozens of responses. All from women who say they feel the same. Many of them successful, accomplished women whom I admire.
And I’m left wondering… maybe the idea of a mysterious, innate secret to confidence is a misnomer? Perhaps, actually, none of us are the secure, confident people we imagine each other to be.
Maybe it’s not about FINDING confidence at all but actually just about FAKING it? And some people are just much better fakers than others?
So do you know what? That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to give up trying to find it and settle for faking it instead.
And we’ll see what happens.
Now where’s that guitar case? I need to go swing it round on a mountain top.
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Taking a bit of a breather from the Sleep Carnival today – but do keep your submissions coming in, especially if you want to get your hands on the prize of all prizes which still seems to be causing a ridiculous amount of hysteria (not that I can blame you).
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Writer’s (Starting) Block
So here I am. About to take my metaphorical first steps. My feet are poised hesitantly behind a thick line in the dirt and I am waiting for the whistle. It’s bit like at sports day – ever so often the excitement, the sense of forward momentum pushing me forward makes my toes creep over the line, only to be swiftly shuffled back again quick. No. Not yet toes. Wait.
My creative writing course materials arrived on Friday. Shiny new textbooks and crisp timetables and study planners giving me that lovely new-term feeling. Right, time for action then. Time to get this baby STARTED!
But first off? Well, I’m going to need some new stationary. Obviously! Can’t be a writer without the right stationary.
Kai needs a nap so off I trundle to Partners, timing it so he’ll fall asleep in the pushchair before I get there to give me extra browsing time. I have such a weakness for stationary. I spend a good twenty minutes deciding on the right pens, testing them out on the little pads of paper. Nope, too scratchy. Nope, too thick and splodgy. Ahh, perfect. This is a writer’s pen. Smooth, flowing, black ink making thin, deliberate lines. I leave a few swirly loops on the pad as demonstration of my obvious writing potential. I’ll need six. Obviously. In case one runs out mid-creative outpouring. And a red one and a blue one too. For contrast. And underlining.
What’s next? Notebook. Hmm. Lined or blank? Oh god. I can’t decide. Blank seems… scary, daunting. That’s a lot of space to fill. A lot of blank pages. And what if I start writing something and my writing starts slanting upwards? How on earth would that look? How on earth could I dare to call myself a writer if I couldn’t even write in a straight line?? It’s going to have to be lined. I like lines – they make me feel… safe. Besides, the lines fill up some of blankness. That means I’ll have to do less writing to fill it. Quick thinking Josie. It’s that kind of creative thinking that’s going to make you a GREAT writer.
Hmm. There’s a lot of different colours. Which is more writery do you think? Winnie the Pooh? No – not quite the serious image I’m looking for. Plain black? Mysterious and elusive - I like it. I picture myself seated at small table in a cafe, steaming cup of coffee at hand, gazing wistfully and agonisingly out of the window and making frantic (but perfectly straight) scribbles in my beautiful (black?) notebook. Ooh wait! A red and black swirly one. I like it – says mature and yet wildly creative. Dangerous even. Perfect.
Next up. Pencil case. Well, where else am I going to keep all my beautiful pens? Oh and my highlighter. And ruler. And surgically sharp HB pencil with pencil sharpener (in case I want to do some whimsical sketches to accompany my hard hitting literary observations). I am seriously tempted by a Charlie and Lola one (“I am too extremely very busy”) but it is pink. I don’t do pink (unless it’s milk). No serious writer would be seen dead with a pink pencil case. Black and unassuming it is (with a few anarchic spots).
Right I think that will do – Kai’s awake and I promised him we could sit on the grass and eat leaves for a bit. Ooh wait! A dictionary and thesaurus are on sale! Well that’s a must have. God only knows, I don’t know how to spell. And I am almost certainly going to need to know the various synonyms for important words like “very” and “nice” and “awesome”.
Home now. Kai’s in bed. It’s time to get going.
Oh but I think I better just cover my text books first. You know, in that sticky plastic stuff, because you just know that Kai is going to get banana or flapjack or dribble on them. And proper writers can’t be working from text books that have grubby baby finger marks all over them. And I have to get all the bubbles out. Obviously. No point doing a job if I’m not going to do it well.
Phew I think I better go to bed! Hard work this writing business…
Right then. Finally some free time. Stationary bought, books covered, timetable stuck up in a obvious place with blue-tack. Study guide read. Assessment guide read.
I flick through the workbook. Scary phrases like “writing schedule”, “drafting”, “dialogue” jump out at me.
Oh god. I’m going to to have to do some writing now aren’t I?
What do you mean there’s no whistle? You mean I can just go? Whenever I want?
But I’m scared.
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Read MoreOut, Out Damn Spot!
My mum has this theory that we’re all born with a ‘guilt’ gene that gets switched on when you have a baby.
I think she may be right.
It’s probably next to the selfish gene actually. Trying to steal it’s cake but then feeling dreadful about it afterwards.
Since becoming a mum I seem to live in a state of perpetual guilt, and the last couple of weeks have been no exception. In fact, I seem to be finding a whole range of new things to feel guilty about lately. Here is a ‘brief’ (ha ha yeah right!) run-down:
Source of agonising guilt #1 – the whole work/mum/wife/housekeeper balance thing
I want to be a good mother, I want to give Kai lots of one-on-one attention and fill his days with fun things to do.
I want to be a good writer, I want to do something for ‘me’ that is separate from my identity as a mother and gives me an important feeling of self-worth. I NEED this in a way that is hard to describe.
I want the house not to look like a shit-hole.
I want to be an attentive and caring wife, putting Ant’s needs before my own sometimes and be prepared to compromise. And not be a grumpy cow all the time.
Why is it I only seem to be able to achieve one of these things by neglecting all the others??
Source of agonising guilt #2 – I have been hiding out
For some reason I’m finding the whole sociable aspect of motherhood really, unbelievably hard at the moment. I’ve always had a bit of a reclusive nature when the chips are down, retreating to my duvet and my head when things get tough. I’ve been so tired lately. Kai’s been sleeping very badly again and I’ve been desperately trying to juggle all the things in guilt-trip #1. Since Kai came along the duvet days are less practical so the head retreats are getting more and more attractive and pervasive and I find myself avoiding social contact, hiding out at home or doing things with just me and Kai. Which is rubbish frankly, rubbish for me and especially rubbish for Kai who loves, and deserves, lots of time with other children (hence the guilt trip)
I don’t know why. The Competitive Mums / ‘Other Mother’ brigade don’t help – since I always manage to come away from their company feeling about as competent and worthy as dung beetle with two legs that can only go round in circles and not even shovel poo very successfully (which is an apt metaphor for motherhood if I ever heard one).
But they’re not the ONLY mums. There are nice ones! REALLY nice ones who make me feel safe and accepted and not judged. Granted, they’re in the minority but still. They are there.
So why am I avoiding them??
And lastly the biggy…
Source of agonising guilt #3 – a new tough love regime for Kai
I’ve talked about Kai’s sleep problems before, and also that I long ago made the decision not to use ‘crying-it-out’ as a solution. Once again I will stress, this is not about my judging other mums, but about me saying that I don’t believe letting bad sleepers cry it out is the only way to teach them to sleep. Maybe the quickest, but not your only option.
We’ve made real progress with Kai over the last few months. On a good night now he is quite happy to have a good long feed till he’s nice and sleepy and then lie down in his cot and go to sleep on his own (without his dummy!!) More often now when he does stir he will settle himself and go back to sleep. Until we come to bed that is. Then ALL Kai wants to do is sleep curled between us, feeding on and off for most of the night, and fidgeting and fussing. I’m exhausted. I’m loosing weight again, I’m looking tired and worn out. And actually that second part of the night? It’s getting worse.
On the one hand all the old problems are still there, the extreme wakefulness, the very real difficulty in getting back to sleep when he’s woken up, the possible nightmares/teething/tummy aches/fact that it’s a Tuesday, or whatever other mysterious thing it is that seems to make sleep such an issue for him.
But on the other hand? He’s not a little baby any more. He’s eating well, getting plenty of food and milk during the day. He’s coping better with separation and is secure and confident. He understands when you say no and bye bye and what it means. He’s also learning how to get his own way – unlike when he was an infant, what Kai wants now isn’t always what he needs.
Right now, now he’s older, secure and healthy, what he needs is sleep. He doesn’t need milk all night. And my instinct tells me he’s ready, ready in a way he hasn’t been before.
So we’re making some changes.
I’m not expecting him to go without comfort at night. I don’t think my role as parent ends at 7.30pm. But I am expecting him to go without milk. At the very least getting down to maybe only one or two feeds at night.
I’m not leaving him to cry it out. But I am accepting there may well be some crying involved. And as my very lovely friend pointed out to me today:
“A child fussing and crying in the arms of a loving parent is not the same as crying it out” – thank you again Ruthie, I needed to hear that.
So there we go. Not unreasonable I think but still,
GUILT GUILT GUILT GUILT GUILT!!!
So come on then – as a parent what’s your big source of guilt right now? Purge people, PURGE!
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