For SMUT and Self-Esteem, a very wise and perfectly written blog. Reflecting on everyday experience through tools such as mindfulness and Buddhist teachings.
Even at the age of forty seven I was scared about telling my mum of our plans to give up work and go off to India, particularly about selling the house. And on the way to telling her about the boat I was as nervous as if I were on my way to hospital for an operation. I played the song above, ‘You say you can’t, I hope you can, I hope you can…’
My mother is an astonishingly capable individual, potentially a lot to live up to, and who has very strong opinions. But feeling as if I’m not free to live my life as I wish to because of what she might think or say isn’t on her, it’s on me.
Again and again people say, no one can have power over you without your consent, and such like. Certainly in the run up to going away I said the same kinds of things to myself and tried to deal with it on an intellectual level. I did what needed to be done, but I made a big palaver about it, putting things off and getting stressed out, and expending a lot of time and energy on it all.
On Thursday of last week we made our first trip back to Norfolk to visit people. Firstly we went to see our dear friend K, who made us a lovely lunch*, let us go on about India, and was very supportive about my book and our ideas. She asked us each if and how we thought the year of travel had changed us. We both said we felt it had, but that we didn’t know exactly how yet.
Then we drove over to see my mum. Towards the end of the year of travel I had had dreams about this meeting, and woken feeling anxious and intimidated, as I was when I visited before I left. This time, I didn’t feel even a flicker of nerves on the way there, and sailed through the visit authentically and confidently. We showed her photographs, she made us a delicious meal**, and we chatted about general topics. We all seemed happy to see each other, and had a nice time.
In the past I had involved her too much in my life, and I had felt shadowed by her strong opinions. The year away provided the opportunity to reset boundaries. I’m sure she doesn’t approve of everything I’m doing but she appears to have accepted that I’m doing it anyway, and didn’t question or comment.
I know it’s because she cares but I have to have this bit of separation in order to fully realise my own personal potential.
I wasn’t fake friendly or fake tough, I was totally myself during that time, and that is best described as relaxed and powerful. And it just happened that way, that’s how I’ve changed. (Just got to keep it up!)
Then we went to see my son. He’s not, as far as I’m aware, working on the same things with me, but I know he’s done better the less I’ve been involved in his life, culminating in him being offered, while I was away this year, the chance to exhibit in New York in May.
(I still have to work on resetting habits and expectations re money though, now that he is almost thirty and I am not working at the moment.)
We all acknowledged that he’d done the best all by himself, and I told him what the Swiss shaman I met in Kerala had told me, that when you have a baby it is your job to ‘Give them the bliss,’ but then when they grow up you must set them free. The shaman said I must set my son free so that he can become a great artist.
*beetroot and chickpea burgers, pasta in tomato sauce and broccoli
**vegetable curry, rice, samosas, and apple crumble and (soya) custard
We were thoroughly spoiled that day!
Thank you very much for reading
These photographs were taken by my mum on a recent holiday. Once a month or so she’ll send me a photo of something of interest with a few lines. I do the same.
My son and I communicate mainly via messenger messages and occasional video calls. We exchange news, everything’s going okay. A couple of times recently he’s needed money and I’ve sent some.
It’s been a source of some anxiety and a fair amount of guilt that these relationships aren’t as close as, as what? As some other people’s family relationships look from the outside? As my idea of what these relationships should look like? (except that I have no idea…..) As what they were? No, that had to change.
Anyway, in the midst of my painful illness I had a moment of clarity: I realised suddenly: Maybe they are happy with it being this way.
When I went to live and work in New Zealand for a year I had a similar experience of interpersonal conflict to that which I wrote about in my post ‘Every day beautiful, Every day shit,’ only without the self awareness to deal with it or take any responsibility for my part. I emailed my mum, she emailed me back a long pep talk, and was probably quite concerned. Even when things were going well, I used to phone her from New Zealand a lot. I was thirty-five years old.
My son seems to do better the more independent he is from me, without me worrying about him.
I’ve written about my relationship with my son here: This is life
Because of her own experience; property, security, inheritance were pillars for my mum. Again due to her own experiences; as a child, teen and young woman I was conditioned to be anti-marriage, anti-men, anti-relationship. Anti creating a world with another.
And yet that’s exactly what I’ve done with my husband and it’s amazing. Right now, reading Krishnamurti, discussing ideas, being on a joint quest…
Here is a blog post summarising the life changing decisions we took to dismantle our previous lives and get to India here: Orientation
And the impact it had on my relationship with my mother here: The price of freedom
But what can I do, what is my part in fixing or accepting responsibility for these relationships? Mother and son. Past and present?
And what about our decisions?
I’ve been a big fan of the idea of illuminating the darkness, and taking responsibility for everything that’s ‘wrong’ in one’s life, for any sadness.
But I’ve realised that it’s also about accepting responsibility for my own happiness.
My husband and I discussed, Could we live with later thinking that we had gone crazy and regretting it and own it, the good and the bad? We discussed the charge of, will we regret it? worst case scenarios and solutions, but still I say, It’s better than dying without having lived.
What, pregnant at eighteen, getting a career to support me and my son, getting a mortgage at thirty-five years old that would last until I was sixty, so that on my deathbed I’d say Well I couldn’t have done that (any of the exciting things- I imagine possibilities flitting through my mind on death), and then realising, Oh my God, you could have done! You could have done! You could have gone out and done x, and x, and x, there wasn’t anything to worry about. There was never anything to worry about. Your life is your life*, best message for all even with kids.
We had lunch and talked about keeping hold of this attitude to life once we return to the UK. How? Manage fear. Don’t take life too seriously. Remember the people we’ve met travelling and how it works for them. I wrote a post about some of them called Sab Kuch Milega (everything possible).
We’ve cemented voluntary simplicity minimalism and ideas about reducing consumerism, by having bought a boat to live on. There’s no space to accumulate. There’s a physical check on it! The moorings are in a completely new area of the country. There won’t be any old influences. We’ve given ourselves the best chance we could.
So if the reason for doing all this is the pursuit of enlightenment and the definition of enlightenment is to see things as they really are…
Can you have light in some areas and not in others, just as some bits of life can be going ‘well’ and others ‘not so well’?
While we were in Pushkar my son had his teeth done. It was such a good thing (after ten years of rotten teeth and poorly gums etc the problems are gone, and he quickly recovered and was so over the moon about facing his fears and it being resolved); but at the same time it was so sad (that they ever got that bad, that it went on for so long, and that he had so many teeth removed).
I spent that night talking, processing, again, wishing to go to a place that can’t exist, where he’s an adult with no teeth problems, or to go back to his childhood and somehow do it all again correctly whatever it was that I did or didn’t do that could have altered it. I don’t know what that would be and I don’t know if I could do it even if given a chance, so impossible, pointless….
Just days after, even hours after, he seemed okay, and a month later, it was as if nothing had happened at all. It doesn’t escape my notice that he was able to finally take charge of himself while I was away.
The night I asked myself all these big questions about my family relationships, I dreamt about going round to my mum’s old house (a sixteenth century farmhouse that she’d lovingly restored and lived in for forty years (true)) as she was preparing to sell (true), and her pointing out memories, including a bit of plaster on the wall where a butterfly had landed and made a print (dream only!). Maybe you could get someone to cast it, I said, in the dream. Her so attached to bricks and mortar, making that house her whole life. She regarded herself as custodian of the house, she put it above a relationship (she said she couldn’t marry or live with anyone as they would be able to claim half the house if they separated).
I thought about what I could have done differently on my part. The thing would have been to keep separate, not share boyfriend details, not spend each holiday there, not run every decision by her, not do everything she said… yet at the same time it was hard as I was nineteen with a baby, twenty and single mum of a toddler….. So maybe like with my son’s teeth there’s nothing that could have been done differently by me at that time.
And of course now there’s definitely nothing that can be done. No time machine. It- things, all things, can only be fixed in the present.
So exchanges of emails with photos, a few lines, and me living my life, in India, writing a book, discussing Krishnamurti and deepening my relationship with my husband, really it is the way things are.
For photographs of our trip see Instagram travelswithanthony
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Part of a reflective review inspired by illness, our return to Kerala, and by being eight and a half months into our twelve month trip.
* Your life is your life, go all the way (Charles Bukowski)
For photographs of our trip see Instagram travelswithanthony
Getting in touch
Comment on posts (comments are public)
Send a message via the Contact Box (private message via email)
Follow/send a message via my new Instagram: Sadie Wolf so_simple_so_amazing
This is the first blog post I did. Of course you never get to the end of a spiritual journey but here I had obviously reached some kind of plateau. Other than that I was preoccupied with how I spent my time and with doing too much. I hadn’t accepted as I do now the need to specialise and to have a committed routine for writing. On a more personal note, although I tried for a while I have now let go of keeping in touch with people who either don’t keep in touch back or with whom there isn’t a real connection.
Is fun the final frontier? First published in May 2014
Is fun the final frontier? So what do you do when you reach the end of a spiritual journey? What next? There’s this restless, ‘Is that it?’ feeling. A crackling energy with no clear outlet. It’s the way I feel when I haven’t been swimming for a few days. I toy with using that energy for other things, for work, or conversation but there’s no bargaining to be had. I need to go swimming and that’s that. Even though occasionally I play or experiment with not doing it just to check that yes, it really is that important to me. And I am especially tempted towards this type of experimentation now. I should also add that as well as my spiritual journey, I also finished my spiritual memoir and not for the first time, am taking a little break from writing, or, as I have done before, experimenting with not doing it, to see what that feels like. To check if it really is necessary, or am I okay without it and perhaps meant to be doing something else instead.
Except today I started writing this but this is more a documentation of the ‘what next’, rather than the start of a Grand Project. And whereas before, when I have been miserable and conflicted when I experiment with not writing, right now I have been enjoying the freedom, the sense of space, the oodles of time and headspace and the increased connectivity and participation in the real world.
I look around and see that plenty of people are content, nay, happy with just going to work, exercising, cooking and seeing family. I wonder if I could be too, although I know immediately that the answer to that question is no. As my husband said when I discussed it with him, they are fulfilled by that and that’s fine, but if you are fulfilled by other things, that’s fine too. So I am going to assume that that thing is writing and act accordingly. No big new projects, no grand plans, just this, writing it up, one page at a time.
So, what next? I enjoyed having a rest from my head and from my long and winding journey. I had a massage and enjoyed being grounded in the physical. But then I had a couple of weeks of just… drifting… getting myself into an almost bored state, thinking, wondering about my state of mind. I stopped doing any homework for my healing training and I stopped exercising regularly. I let myself eat a lot and put on some weight. But I didn’t feel at all bad, even when last minute shopping for an outfit for a wedding reception and looking big. I knew I was just doing temporary experiments and I was enjoying it to an extent, but without my rigid rather punishing regimes of exercise, healing practice and writing I began to feel my sense of direction was fast disintegrating.
But until I let go of everything, how can I let go and let God; how can I know what to keep in my life and what to discard, unless I loosen my grip on all of it and entertain, even if just for a brief moment, the notion that nothing is forever? Boredom breeds creativity, is one theory. I considered writing a list, an inventory of everything in my life, all the family and the friends, the acquaintances, the resources, my work, the house, etc etc. I even considered doing a SWOT analysis and a plan linked with regular reviews, just like I do for my department at work. I thought, shouldn’t my life get at least as much attention as my job? But life, at least a spiritual life, doesn’t roll like that. And I want a spiritual life, I really do.
In the last few weeks I went to a family funeral. It made me feel alive and it reminded me which bits of family I actually like to be with and want to see more of, as well as which people I feel guilty about not seeing. It sounds so simple put like this: I will call those people I like and go and see them. No need for a big family do, just see them for lunch or a cup of tea. I will call my sister and invite myself over and then diary it to do again two months later. This is the only way I will see her, as she almost never calls me and I never have a strong enough urge to call her ‘naturally’. Although I accept that we will probably never be close I feel bad about not seeing her, hence, the need to make a plan to do so. Some family relationships are mostly based on duty but a cup of tea after work isn’t going to kill me, especially when I think of what other people do for their family members, even ones they don’t like.
So I have used a work type approach on some aspects and for others, a simple emotional one: I like spending time with those people, I feel comfortable with them. I want to see them more often than I have thus far. It’s the balance between the planned and the unstructured, the disciplined scheduling and the intuitive, responsive spontaneity. Between my plans and the cues and opportunities of the world around me. So, what to plan and what to let unfold naturally? Answer: at every decision fork, simply be aware that there is that choice and then trust yourself to make it. And if an area of life isn’t going too well, review it against these two ways of approaching it.
When I finished my memoir and came up for air, I noticed the house. I finally got the bathroom redecorated after talking about it for months. I began to notice other things that needed doing and got back into doing a bit more housework, honouring the home I am lucky enough to live in. I still want to be a healer as much as ever, I still love the feeling of my hands heating* up if I just so much as think about it. I was just on holiday, that’s all. I will still swim and will probably begin to put a bit more effort in. I am sure I will eat better and lose a little weight, naturally and without fuss or scales and not out of self loathing but out of sensible respect for health.
And my Love… well, if I had to imagine what he might want… it might be for me to be more content with where I am and not so restless and anxious for the next thing. I said to him recently that it would be good to take drugs and it be just about fun and not about exploring the outer regions of my head and he said, Hallelujah I can’t wait for you to get there that’s what I’ve been like for ages. I do feel fun flowing through me, especially when the kids are here; I feel like crawling around on all fours pretending to be a lion, or a gorilla, or making cat noises… Is fun the final frontier? I asked my husband. He replied: What else would there be?
He is reading a book about creating a simple life to hear God better; we debated that and came to the conclusion, as always, just live** life in your own way, in the way in which you feel closest to God. For me: in intense emotion, like after the funeral. Flashes of happiness after doing a good day at work. Being at a wedding reception and seeing all the people being so nice and friendly to my stepdaughter. Driving home with her asleep in the passenger seat afterwards. Seeing my son chat away to my husband and know that it was him he called when he needed some advice. Just being quiet and alone in the house. Life, basically. And writing, knowing that I have this, this support system, that helps me work it all out as I go along…..
*My original Freudian slip typo said ‘hearting’ up. Yes, heating up with love!
** And this one originally in another typo said ‘love’ rather than live, and I considered leaving it, as that is true too.
Postscript Re reading the above I note the following influences and experiences: a funeral, a book being read and discussed, attending a social event. I needn’t have worried about my writing or about what to do next. The lesson I take from the past few weeks is ‘participate in life and wait for inspiration to strike’.
Thursday, our third day in Delhi. I didn’t feel right all day and in the late afternoon I lay on the bed and just felt my mood dip. I don’t get ill that often so I didn’t recognise the feeling of overwhelm as a symptom of illness. I lay on the bed fretting about my to do list (which just consists of a few creative things and a few shopping/admin tasks), and couldn’t understand what was the matter with me.
And then I got sick. It is easy for Westerners to jump to the conclusion that being sick in India is food poisoning, often jumping to conclusions re hygiene etc, or worse, thinking its some awful disease like Typhoid, when it is often just a consequence of unfamiliar food and not being acclimatised to the heat.
We had gone out for (late) breakfast just a short walk away, then soon after went to do some shopping in Main Bazaar. We spent too much time in the heat. Plus we had eaten a big meal the night before, and probably overloaded our bodies. (Lesson, eat small meals (soup is my new favourite thing) and stay out of the heat. As I write this I am ensconced in our hotel room, fan on, curtains closed, extra towels and scarves up at the window. Good job I have an indoor hobby.)
It was a bit of a come-down, since on Wednesday, Day Two, I had been blazing with confidence, congratulating myself on feeling settled in after just over twenty-four hours. Which was in part pure Western arrogance, after all, I knew India would be challenging for me, but also, isn’t it okay to feel happy when I feel happy, confident when I feel confident?
I spent Thursday night doing what you do when you have D&V, interspersed with trying to sleep. I lay in bed staring at a short horizontal bar of light reflected on the wall from the bathroom. I was queasy but wanted to sleep, so I tried reverse psychology, telling myself to stay awake and look at the light, which made me sleepy,
I reminded myself that I have a powerful mind and that I could use it. I went through five things from each of the five senses. In the dark, shapes and shadows, smells, funnily enough not much in the way of sound, I had to really listen to count five things. Our room was at the front of the hotel but Main Bazaar does go almost quiet eventually. Touch was best: the back of one hand against the cool pillow, the heel and fingertips of the other against the sheet. The contact cross at my elbows, knees and ankles; such a comfort.
At some point in the night I woke up really hot, even the stone floor near my bed felt warm, so I went and laid on the rug on the stone floor in the hallway, where I had so happily done yoga the day before. I watched an insect walk along the strip of lit up doorway between hall and bathroom.
I really liked Delhi, but by day three the heat did get to me and I started really noticing the pollution, especially in the evening. At this time of year, it was probably a hard place for a beginner to start.
My husband got sick a few hours after me, and it was touch and go as to whether we’d make it onto the train to Goa on Friday morning, but we did it. We were glad to leave our sick room in Delhi and settle into our second class AC sleeper compartment. This is a soft option, I think hardened backpackers use non AC, fans with windows and less space. But we were all feeling so ill it was a blessing that we’d booked this. Our carriage was almost empty, the toilets were plentiful and nearby, and the staff were attentive, bringing us food we could barely touch and checking on us through the night. Although we couldn’t eat the big meals, they brought us cartons of lemon and lime juice, clear tomato soup, bread sticks, tea and plain biscuits, perfect for people who had been sick.
The train was FANTASTIC. A twenty-five hour journey in an air conditioned sleeper; we were given a packet with two sheets and a towel plus a pillow and a blanket, with three meals plus drinks and snacks, for £25 per person! Although we slept for a lot if it, I would really recommend it as a way to see India, we went past cities and rivers and mountains and skyscrapers and very poor dwellings and miles and miles of green and trees.
There were several lone women travellers on the train. My husband spoke to a young Spanish woman in Delhi who has been travelling all over India for several months and has had no hassle from men at all. During the train journey there were frequent walk throughs by staff and police and it felt like a safe environment.
I got the hang of my moon cup, (wear lower, hardly leaked at all) by necessity, although a period, here, on a long journey, something I had dreaded, paled into insignificance compared with being ill, which was probably all for the best.
I wrote on the plane: I’m on a plane above the Black Sea and about halfway to India. I haven’t said goodbye to my mother, and she hasn’t said goodbye to me.
Of course I felt bad about that; but I just couldn’t face being all inauthentic after what had happened. Not right as we were about to leave, with all the stress involved in all of that. I felt bad, but I resented feeling bad too. I’m not a monster, so I sent a text when I arrived just to say we’d got there and were safe at our hotel. I didn’t hear anything back until Day Three but that was a perfectly normal text as if nothing had happened, from which I can just continue, as many families do, as if nothing has happened.
Yesterday we got off the train in Goa, stayed last night near Colva, and are staying tonight somewhere different nearer Colva beach. It was nice to stand on the sand and paddle in the sea, which was like bath water, I don’t think I have ever felt sea that warm before. We ate sweetcorn and veg clear soup and felt a sea breeze, although it is still very warm. This morning we arrived at our new hotel and I had tomato soup and toast for breakfast (notice a theme developing here?). (I love, love love Indian food by the way, but I am only just managing to drink and eat soup and toast right now.)
My husband has gone off to a nearby town to go to a Khadi shop as he is not happy with his clothes. I have been shedding clothes at every stop, and am currently completely satisfied with my current wardrobe: one pair of black linen trousers, two black vests, an old faded red sarong for lounging/coming out of shower/beach, a nice cream scarf for head and shoulders, one white cotton blouse, one white cotton shirt, a cute knee length black jersey skirt (dress code more relaxed in Goa) and a green and blue striped vest top with built in support no bra required yay!
I am forty seven but I can feel so young sometimes. Today I spoke to my husband about feeling a bit emotional, (ill, period, and kind of lonely since we obviously hadn’t connected or talked much recently due to being ill). It was nice to talk, and feel understood, and with us reconnected and beginning to feel better again all seems brighter.
Tomorrow we go to Agonda, which should be more our kind of place, (it is very touristy here in Colva), where we plan to stay for a couple of weeks, unpack our bags and rest up for a bit, before going to Hampi.
To paraphrase The Rolling Stones, you can ask for what you want, but you can’t control exactly how what you have asked for will be given to you.
So here I am, at last, finally, an independent adult. Not beholden to my mother.
My mother gave me quite a bit of financial help with buying my house. She also bought a woodburner for the house. So I felt bad about wanting to give up my stressful career, sell up, downsize, go travelling, and return to live somewhere smaller, cheaper, simpler and with lower overheads so I could do a less stressful job. It didn’t feel like it was solely up to me in the way that it would have been had I always been totally financially independent.
So it was with trepidation that I raised it with her and it took me a few conversations before I was able to clearly articulate what it was I wanted to do and stick to it.
The first time I brought up the subject of selling the house, I offered to give her her money back. She said no, she didn’t want it. She actually said she didn’t want me selling the house to raise money for travelling, she would give me money instead, as a kind of advance on my inheritance.
I said I didn’t want her to do that, that I had had enough money already, but she was very forceful. With my mother, large sums of money can be talked about as if they were nothing, and without really talking about it.
So I went off agreeing to consider renting out the house instead, even though that wasn’t what I wanted to do, and she never actually mentioned the idea of giving me travelling money again.
So again I plucked up the courage to say I was selling the house, in order to raise money for travelling, and because I didn’t want to be a landlord for a property in the UK whilst I was in India.
My mother insisted that we could do the trip on the rental income alone, but even if there were no gaps in tenants and no problems like non payment or ruined carpets, I knew we couldn’t. Plus it was never just about going travelling, it was a whole life re-set that I wanted.
Time went by, the house went on the market in December, and completed early March. Although I knew she wasn’t happy about me selling the house, I had thought she had accepted it. I popped in for cups of tea, she asked a few polite questions about our travel plans and gave me a rucksack.
And then at 10:06 on Monday, after I had texted her to let her know we had booked our flights and were leaving for our year long trip to India the following Monday, she called and asked for her money back.
One of the many lessons of all this is to communicate one’s feelings and expectations clearly and openly, especially when it comes to money. But I am sure I am not the only person who has difficulties in this area, especially when dealing with a very powerful family member.
So here I am, at last, finally, an independent adult. Not beholden to my mother. Not living near my mother (India aside, the boat is three hours away). Completely free, even of her influence.
I used to feel boggy, awkward, inauthentic in her company. Unknown. Whereas with my husband I feel completely safe and totally accepted. Known.
It shouldn’t be a competition or a choice but my mother has made her disapproval of my husband clear. He, who has made me so happy, who makes me so happy. The implication being that he is after my money (when we met I had a small starter home with a mortgage, he had a narrowboat, we both worked full time, both worked really hard, both fulfilled financial responsibilities to our children. I also very much resent the implication that no one could love me just for myself).
Our friends observe that we make each other very, very happy. We share the same values. We have supported each other with everything for almost a decade.
In the middle of this bombshell, my friend H, a lovely ray of sunshine, came to stay on the boat for the night. It was just what we needed, and distracted us through the worst. After H left, we went into Northampton, found somewhere to eat using the Happy Cow app, over ordered from a delicious range of yummy vegan food and treats, and caught our breath.
In spite of everything, I felt relieved, even happy. We both began to see it as a potentially positive event in our lives.
Maybe we needed it to be just us, so that we can find out just what we’re capable of.
Sanguine.
I thought it meant unruffled, calm and philosophical.
We looked it up, actually it means optimistic and positive, especially in an apparently bad or difficult situation. Better, more ‘evolved’ than I realised. I asked us, can we move from calm and philosophical to cheerful and optimistic?
I regard us as being in the middle of the continuum. If at one end is me coming back from India and being able to say to my mother, Wow, what was all that about, can we talk about it?
Then at the other end is as my husband said, some people would beg and plead, What have I done, why, why. Or get angry, refuse to give the money back. Or cry. Well that’s good, I said, and laughed, because I am definitely not doing any of those things.
So yes, maybe we are currently somewhere in the middle, and if we can move from my definition to the dictionary definition of sanguine, then I shall be very pleased.
Oh yes and by the way, we are flying to India on Monday!
Mera naam Rachel hai
Aapase milakar khushee huee
Follow me on Instagram followingthebrownrabbit.
Thank you for reading.
PS I have had very limited internet access since moving onto the boat and lots of travel related admin to do when I have, so I haven’t been reading many blogs. I have still been thinking of you all though, and I wish my fellow bloggers and readers well. Thank you for all your support xxx
This Valentine’s my husband gave me something far more useful than flowers.
I could wallow forever in the dirty water where the fish won’t go. I could never get up again. I could say to myself, how can I live. I could rake over and over the past, looking for a possible way things could have been made different. I could cry forever and it wouldn’t change a thing.
I did everything I was able to do at the time. I remember us both going to the dentist in New Zealand and me buying us electric toothbrushes to use out there as we’d left ours in the UK. He was fifteen. Everything was okay then, teeth wise. But not long after, I stopped being able to make him do anything he didn’t want to do.
Since he’s been an adult, I have watched his teeth deteriorate, and no amount of encouragement from anyone in the family was able to persuade him to go to the dentist. Realising nothing I said made any difference, for the last few years I have stopped saying anything in case it actually makes him even less likely to go, and also because I don’t want to spoil the times we have together. But every now and again I’d think, am I being remiss, am I copping out, am I wasting opportunities… all the time they are getting worse and worse, and I am not saying anything.
But of course he has mirrors, and eyes. And as I write this I’m thinking, Oh my God, did we do this? Did we make him dig his heels in more by trying to encourage him to visit the dentist? But would a person really do that to themselves, not brush their teeth, not go to the dentist, just to be oppositional to their family?
I don’t talk about any of this to anyone but the night before Valentine’s Day my son messaged my husband and said he was finally ready to go through with the required treatment. This will involve sedation, anaesthetic, and because things are so very far gone, implants. So I ended up talking (and crying) about it until way past my bedtime and the conclusion I arrived at was that there is absolutely nothing whatsoever I can do. A person needs to psych themselves up to face dentistry, blood tests or open heart surgery themselves, no one else can do it for them. They need to be brave and they need to be a grown up. My son is 28 years old and anxiety or no anxiety, the only thing I can do is think of him as an adult who is capable of facing this.
It is time for it to cease being my problem.
The next morning I felt a little better, like the day after an argument has blown over, still a little fragile, but recovering. I still have CDs to go through so I put on The Jesus and Mary Chain album Stoned and Dethroned. Track one is above. It felt like the first day of the rest of my life.
Today, in an ironic twist I went to the dentist, which meant I got to sleep in and go into work late. I came out into the warm sunshine and felt… happy. I bought a birthday card and a box of vegan chocolates for my step grandma, and new spare cat name tags as they keep losing theirs. Getting these things off my list and not having them to do on Saturday when we are already busy gave me a sense of elation out of all proportion.
Walking back through the town, thinking, yes, the post office, the chocolate shop, the pet shop, the cute alleyway, yes, they are all nice, just as dressing nicely for work is nice, but, it isn’t everything. It should have been easier to walk away from our last place which was not pretty and was boring, but it’s been being in this lovely place that has inspired and propelled us to give up everything. Is it because we needed to be happy in order to be able to dream, whereas before we were just surviving?
We have both been unwell for what seems like ages, colds etc, plus last-minute wobbles re vaccinations/not, water purification options, malaria, plus a long to do list, a house to clear and work to finish.
But as I said to my husband, I’d feel really good right now if I wasn’t feeling ill. I had my bloods done and my doctor put my thyroxine up, which feels like it did when I first went on it, like the clouds clearing after a storm, everything shiny, wide awake, excited.
I said re our to do list, it seems as though simplifying our life is actually really complicated. That’s because the matrix doesn’t want you to do it, my husband said. The matrix wants everyone hooked into the complexity of everything, that is why it makes unhooking yourself feel so difficult.
See you on the other side.
I have set up an instagram account for when we are travelling followingthebrownrabbit
So, family… I have been processing some family/me stuff. My son had some personal/life problems recently and called up my husband who went and supported him. When I got home from work my husband told me all about it and said, you just need to phone him up and tell him you love him and that you are proud of him. So I did (when I am out of my depth and don’t know what to do my husband gives good advice).
Then on Saturday we went to see a show that my son had curated and exhibited in. All the artists have mental health problems. My husband is at ease at these events, talking to the people from Rethink who sponsored the event and knowing just the right thing to say about my son’s work. I think the work is good and I say so. I know he has worked hard and that he’s come a long way and I recognise his achievements.
But I feel like I am expected to say more and that whatever I say isn’t enough. I dislike the feeling of pressure on me, the fact that what I say is so weighted, so that my words seem to sound awkward. I am not good at dealing with this stuff. Why does it matter so much what I think, I’m just a human being, I don’t mean anything. That’s not for you to say, you are his mother. It’s for the child to come to that realisation themselves. In the meantime, just be a parent, act the role, do what’s needed. Sometimes you just have to give people what they need, and he just needs praise off his mum. Why is it so hard to do that? I noticed my mum was much less forthcoming than me; I was chatty, I gave out praise, even though I wasn’t as at ease as my husband. On the way home we talked and talked until I worked out why I feel uncomfortable at these events.
The people from Rethink might judge me as a bad mother because my son has mental health problems. He might even have spoken about the tumultuous teenage years and said critical things about me. But mainly it’s this:
The whole event revolves around having mental health problems. Everyone’s talking about it, it’s right there. And there on the wall is a series of three of my son’s paintings. Yes they are very good. As my husband said you could see them in a gallery and you wouldn’t think they were out of place.
But they are unsettling/distressing. The paragraph of text beside them explains that they are all about living with a mental health problem and what that feels like. That’s fine when it is someone else. But when it is your own child you are looking at something no parent wants to see.
Yes of course the exhibition is a great achievement, as are the paintings, but it means coming face to face with my child’s suffering. I think this is even worse for my mum, because I think in some ways grandparents can get even more upset. I noticed she didn’t even read the text. I read it, to be polite and supportive, but it was sad. And as the artist’s mother, it was really sad.
This post isn’t about self pity, it’s about playing detective. So that’s why it’s hard, because it’s upsetting. I am expected to give praise and be happy about his achievements, which I do and I am, whilst experiencing distress from having to literally look at his mental suffering.
So that all makes sense now.
That’s why it was so nice going round to his place the week before the exhibition. He answered the door in a paint splattered t-shirt and a lungi, and showed me into the sitting room. He and his girlfriend were working on several huge canvasses, sheets spread over the carpet, creating a makeshift studio. It reminded me of the places I lived in during the late 80s. For a moment, everything just looked exactly the way I would have wanted.
I am very pleased and amazed he got into art school, with no prior qualifications, it is a towering achievement. But what I am most pleased about, even though it hasn’t been easy for him or us, is that he has followed his path. Despite pressure from everyone, including me in the past, he has resolutely devoted himself to being an artist.
My son is 28. Christmas 2016, I pretended to go away for Christmas because I couldn’t face us spending Christmas together. He wouldn’t have wanted to come anyway; we’d only been speaking since the September and things were still slightly frosty. Prior to that we hadn’t spoken since Christmas 2015: I had picked him up to bring him to ours for Christmas and he started fidgeting and then shouting in the car on the dual carriageway. I was frightened, exasperated and completely incapable of dealing with it. You work in mental health, you’re supposed to help people, I remember him saying. I stupidly tried to reason with him, to connect with a part of us that was above all this, to explain that I wasn’t the one to help him, because if I had, I would have been. In the middle of a panic attack isn’t the time, and he was extremely angry and disappointed with my response and my inability to respond.
I think what he doesn’t understand is how upsetting it is for me, but then he probably also doesn’t understand why I can’t just be all mumsy and cuddly, and I don’t either, but I can’t. I don’t believe that would make any difference, but I understand why he’d be dismayed and upset that I couldn’t.
I remember one time dropping him off at the walk in centre with a girlfriend and just leaving him there, another time him at the doctor’s clinging onto me and me just being unable to touch him. (This was when he was sixteen or older, in the middle of our relationship being very poor, him having a panic attack).
I used to think there was something deeply wrong with me, that I didn’t love him, or wasn’t able to love him, but then one night in meditation a year or so ago this came into my head: you love him, that’s why it hurts so much.
Before I got pregnant, I wanted a baby very much. When he was born his father and I were super attentive and loving. When he was a young child we had lots of fun times, baking, playing with the dog, painting- there was always an easel and a washing line to hang up the paintings in the kitchen; riding trikes and bikes indoors, having big unruly birthday parties. It’s nice to remember the good stuff. Because there was bad stuff: it was quite hard for me, I was very young, a single mum from when he was one, and he was sometimes very ill with a serious medical condition, so there’s a lot of bad memories around that, hospitals, blood tests, unpleasant tests and medicines. But even so, overall, it was a pretty happy, child centred life with supportive and loving friends and family.
Then he hit 12, 13, went to middle school, and having been very happy at first school, began school refusing, truanting, later at 15, petty criminal stuff and got arrested. He and his friend would just mess up the house and break everything, so the sitting room ended up empty, it didn’t feel like a home…
Refusing all medical treatment, refusing to have baths or change his clothes… at 16, 17, 18, refusing to go to college or get a job or come out of his room. I knew something was wrong but was powerless to fix it. I sought mental health services advice, they said it was behavioural and he wouldn’t engage in any case. I had no idea what to do. The relationship had completely broken down. Everyone gave different advice, I felt like a complete failure as a mother.
I became seriously suicidal. When he was 16 I called the council about housing options for him. The woman who answered the phone said you have to chuck him out and he has to turn up here with his bag and nowhere to go. I can’t do that, I said. She said, well you haven’t reached the end of your tether yet then, when you have, that’s what you’ll have to do. Two years later, sitting at the top of the stairs, my boyfriend holding me, me screaming about suicide and paracetamol and knives, I reached it. I packed up his stuff and called my mum and asked her to have him. He was 18. He actually went to stay with his girlfriend, got a place in a hostel, got given a council flat, couldn’t manage it, and now rents a room in a shared house where he’s been for several years.
I am sure there were a million other ways to handle those years but whether or not the person I was then would have been able to implement them even if she had known. Like a series of random dropped stitches that ultimately cause everything to unravel. Was there something, were there things I could have done differently? Was there another way it could have turned out? I’ll never know, because I can’t go back in time, and there’s no control group for a life.
Relatively speaking, the years up to twelve had been easy. I suppose I’d always thought love would be enough. So when this child who you’ve given so much love to, who had previously seemed so happy in your company, becomes someone who no longer responds to you, it is very difficult. It is hurtful, confusing, and all confidence in parenting abilities goes out of the window. I just didn’t have the skills to deal with this new person.
After he moved out, I used to see him and drop off bits of money, always feeling bad for not giving enough whilst at the same time thinking I shouldn’t give much so that he’d be motivated to sign on or get a job… He usually wanted a lift, and it was often difficult, him criticising my driving and us arguing. His council flat was given to him bare and empty, the same as when I’d been given one at 22 when he was 3 years old. But whereas I had bought and laid the cheapest office cord and painted it myself, he did not do anything. His washing up and rubbish piled up everywhere. My mum paid for flooring, my (now) husband spent a day mucking out the flat. I went round one day after work when I had a cold and painted the kitchen but he didn’t help and we argued. He got diagnosed with anxiety. I paid for endless CBT. My husband and I spent hours on the phone giving advice about panic attacks when he called us up. Nothing made any difference. Until I just kind of stopped trying to help as much. He got himself a nice room in a shared house, where he still is. He got himself into college and then university, where he is today.
A Round-Heeled Woman, predominantly about sex but includes a devastating passage about her son, who seemingly ‘punishes’ her failings as a mother by running away, not calling, and living on the streets, in freezing conditions, eventually calling her up on Christmas Day, destitute and freezing cold but refusing to come home.
The only other time I have come across people like me (mothers almost destroyed by guilt) is on an ASD training day where parents of kids with Autism spoke to us. These mothers had kids who didn’t sleep, who flew into rages and smashed up the house. They looked like battle worn survivors. I was in awe of them. But what I remember most is what they said about how they felt as mothers: as a mother, you feel like you’ve got ‘guilty’ stamped on one side of you, and ‘failure’ on the other.
What is the name of the emotion I feel when I see or think about his teeth, which are in a terrible state- I took him to the dentist and made sure he brushed his teeth as a child, but his illness, and poor care as a teenager and adult have taken a severe toll (recently he has said he is going to the dentist and going to go through with what is now major work, and I have given him the money to do this)…
Or when he recently asked for ‘anything from my childhood to remind me it wasn’t all bad because all I can remember is hospitals’… To quote Alice Sebold, well that last comment just ripped me a new arsehole: I spent my whole adult life from 18 to now, 47, loving, caring, worrying, and it was all for nothing, because all there was was bad and nothing I did mattered and nothing I do now makes any difference?
What is the name of the emotion again? Suicidal, if that’s an emotion… despair… anger… panic… paralysis… horror… fear… tension. Mostly there’s a bit of tension.
I used to work in an anorexia hospital and I am ashamed to say we used to judge the parents sometimes, we used to think they were cold. Now I realise they were just wretched, forced to look at something no parent would ever want to see, their child yellow, furry and emaciated. I was afraid of what I saw on my first day; they have to face both the horror and the fact that they haven’t been able to stop it or help with it.
Okay, I’ve felt it. I’ve taken it all out and looked at it. Instead of pushing those feelings away, tightening up and thinking that I can’t bear to look and won’t be able to cope, instead of that I’ve let my chest relax and my arms fall open and I’ve sat here with those feelings. There’s a peace in accepting ‘guilt’, in letting it wash over me, just letting it be, sitting with it without fighting it. Ready to start over… To make mistakes every day. We all do. Start again every day. What else can we do?
Is there anything I can do? No.
There’s a comfort in this calm acceptance, in the moments where I can find it, that feels better than the pushing away or the anxious worrying or the futile attempts at problem solving. It definitely feels better than endlessly going over past mistakes and missed opportunities.
Like a jumper that has unravelled beyond repair, the only way is to remake it from scratch.
And like my mother says re coping with the ageing process, well you don’t have any choice but to cope with it, because the only alternative is not to be here.
Right now, drag my mind into the present. Right now, drag my thoughts and my gaze towards the positive.
So this Christmas, when my son said he’d come over Christmas Eve and stay until Boxing Day, especially as my husband was working and I would need to pick him up and drive him an hour to ours, I was a little nervous. Whatever you do, don’t get angry, or don’t sound angry, my husband said.
The car journey was okay, and once home I made dinner, we swapped YouTube and Netflix recommendations, and the evening passed without incident. Christmas Day we saw my mum, my husband came home, and my son’s girlfriend arrived in the evening and we all played Cluedo. So yeah, I guess my Christmas was okay.
With metta
*F is for Family is my third favourite of the adult cartoons on Netflix, along with my second favourite Big Mouth which is a very warm portrayal of going through puberty, a largely neglected topic that has certainly never been covered like this before, and my favourite, so much loved that I wrote a post about it here, BoJack Horseman
Like many people I am looking back on the year, to see how far I’ve come and to take stock of where I am right now.
This time last year was pretty wild. I spent Christmas alone with my husband and we over indulged in everything, especially sex. We would not have believed then that this would end up being the year that we started practising karezza and abstinence (well periods of abstinence anyway).
I had grand plans regarding work and my career, there’s a list in the back of my work diary that begins with ‘be the best at my job that I possibly can’ and included all sorts of personal and professional development plans that never really came to fruition as we got short staffed and other stuff demanded my attention. I still developed though, I just did other things, and I have completely got over my regret that the progression I had planned didn’t happen. I’ve never planned my career, and even if I had the chances are I would never have done everything or achieved everything I wanted to, stuff just happens as it does in life.
Still, I never would have thought that this was the year that I would be leaving not only this job but my career. (It is my intention to burn my degree certificate and registration card when I leave, if I can be brave enough, as a show of faith that there’s something else out there for me. If this sounds crazy, well it’s not as crazy as keeping your dead dog in a solid wood coffin that you drag from room to room so it can be with you while you watch television or do the dishes, as my mum’s neighbour does, and she’s out there, surviving.)
My relationship with my son is much better than it was this time last year: as near as it can be to two adults who meet now and again and talk about their respective interests. He is doing much better which makes everything easier, it is very painful for mothers to watch their children suffering, no matter how old they are.
My own mother is not totally on board with all my plans, even though I am not suffering and am in fact, when I am not worn out or run down as I have understandably been lately; very, very happy, and soon to be ecstatically excited- I can feel it brewing!
Apart from my wild teenage years I have not really gone against the opinions of my mother (except for having a baby at 19 and more recently getting married, and the tattoos…) but generally, I’ve gone to work, I’ve recycled, and on a day to day basis I’ve not done anything to provoke discord. Which is why this is probably quite hard for both of us, but the sooner it’s past the point of no return, the better.
I was thinking this morning, when we are teenagers and can’t wait to leave home and be free of our parents, we have no idea that we’ll still be under their power and influence in our forties and beyond, not all of us, but definitely some of us.
I have photographed all our furniture and sent the pictures to friends to see if they want any of it, before the man who is buying the house comes round to decide if he wants anything. Anything left is going to go to charity. Tomorrow we are tackling the sheds and garage and making trips to the dump, as long as it isn’t raining.
I have also spent some time thinking about India. I have written down the names of places we want to go, some for an extended period of time, some just passing through or for a brief stay, others in between, with a rough route planned whilst knowing we will be open and flexible to going with the flow when we actually get there. I am happy that two hill stations that a friend recommended are in Tamil Nadu, where we want to spend a lot of time. I am a little apprehensive about the heat*, so knowing about them gives me reassurance. Plus they look beautiful! – Ooty and Kodaikanal.
*Mind you, I’m not doing so well in the cold of the English winter, yesterday we had all the heaters and about seven layers of clothes on but it wasn’t until the woodburner was roaring that we finally got warm. Just as long as we didn’t venture outside…
Today I had arranged to go into the city. It was raining, then it began to sleet and then snow. My husband advised me to be careful as there’s people out there who don’t drive according to the conditions (he may have been slightly less polite than that). We debated on the best route to go, the busier but straighter main road way or the back roads, and decided on the quieter back roads; like in the Walking Dead where the other humans are often more dangerous than the zombies, as long as I drove carefully I reasoned other drivers probably posed more of a threat than the roads.
I met my friend and we went to a lovely little cafe in St Benedict’s Street, Norwich. I can’t remember what it’s called but it has a black cat on the door or window. To go to the loo we had to take a key, go outside, down an alleyway and to one of a little row of outside loos backing onto a row of terraced houses. I was confused at first, as there were loads of doors, to houses, flats and loos, and as usual I hadn’t really taken in the directions given, but luckily there was a big black cat stencilled on the door. Inside was decorated in cool posters. I reflected on how rare outside loos are nowadays and that in 10 years time this quirky little place may not exist as the whole courtyard may have been gentrified.
Prior to that I finished my Christmas shopping; everything this year has been products or massage vouchers from Neals Yard or locally made consumables, to be topped up with cash for the ‘kids’. Luckily we get paid early so this can come out of next month’s payday as I seem to have spent quite a lot in a few fits of generosity, but no matter, I have much to be grateful for.
Prior to that, I had a chat with my son and was able to dish out some well deserved and specific praise, which I sometimes find hard to do, due more to awkwardness than anything. I am the same at work, often needing to remind myself that what I say has an impact, and that just because I think something doesn’t mean people know it, unless I say it out loud.
Also we have sorted out Christmas Day, which as it is for many people, can be a time of second guessing what everyone wants to do, no one saying what they want, feeling dissatisfied and/or guilty, etc etc. The plan is for me, my husband, stepdaughter and my mum to go to the local Indian Restaurant for lunch. My son and his girlfriend will either come with us or come later on and have tea with us, which can be a kind of edited version of Christmas dinner; depending on her work rota which she will get in the next few days. Boxing Day we’ve been invited to/invited ourselves to visit three lots of relatives on both sides, and have had the idea to just go and see all of them but just for an hour or so each. This means we can get to see everyone’s relatives but not get stuck for too long anywhere, mindful of young person getting bored. So now there’s a plan, I actually feel much more positive about it. I might even find myself looking forward to it.
This post is essentially about being happy right now. The piece of paper in the photograph contains my instructions to myself on how to ‘get into’ the present moment, written at the height of my first wave of awakening.
Thursday, our third day in Delhi. I didn’t feel right all day and in the late afternoon I lay on the bed and just felt my mood dip. I don’t get ill that often so I didn’t recognise the feeling of overwhelm as a symptom of illness. I lay on the bed fretting about my to do list (which just consists of a few creative things and a few shopping/admin tasks), and couldn’t understand what was the matter with me.
Rachel 