Monday, September 05, 2022
Trauma Parenting and Loneliness
Monday, September 21, 2020
I Don't Want To, But I Will
I don't want to distance from my friends
I don't want to wear a mask to the shops
I don't want to go without hugs from family
I don't want to santise my hands all the time
I don't want my kids to miss out
I don't want to skip celebrating birthdays
I don't want to acquiesce
But I will
I will do all this
And whatever else is asked of me
If it makes a difference
If it speeds relief
Because there are greater things at stake
Than my own wants and needs
And I won't use the failures of politicians
To excuse my own behaviour
Through this unimaginable ordeal
I will teach my kids about
Endurance
Determination
Selflessness
Courage
I will conquer my own fears
And soothe theirs
I will help them understand the value
Of the greater good
I will hold them extra tight
And love them extra hard
And when it is over
We will know that we did all we could
Not for ourselves, but for each other
For those we love
And for the beautiful world around us
We will remember that we did it together
That we strived and persevered
It wasn't easy; but we tried
And you?
When it is over
When anguish gives way to clarity
When the mist evaporates
And the clouded mirror
Reveals a crisp reflection once more
When your former self stares deep
Into the eyes of the new you
What will you know of each other?
Wednesday, July 29, 2020
Creativity in the Face of Insanity
I spent the first few weeks of 'lockdown' soldiering through with a calm, practical, maternal mindset. Making sure we had enough food, keeping the children exercised and entertained. When we knew we just had to stay home to keep everyone safe, it was simple and straightforward. Not nice; but easy enough.
Then the rules started to change, and I began to feel a fizzing anxiety creeping in. Suddenly we were allowed to go places again and see people, if still maintaining our distance. But everyone seemed to be responding differently to the new rules, and it felt horribly confusing. Friendships suddenly felt fragile and precarious. The sensation of unknown adventure which we'd managed to maintain at first was quickly fading, to be replaced by the harsh realisation that this wasn't as temporary as we'd assumed. And with that, came a bleak feeling of claustrophobia and unease.
Right now, I am up and down on a daily basis. Some days, the sun will be shining and the kids just being kids in the great outdoors, and everything feels OK. Then I remember I still can't hug my mum, or go to the theatre, or enter a shop without a mask, and the weight of it falls back down on me like a ton of bricks.
The only way I've been able to quieten my frantic thoughts is by channeling my mind into creative pursuits. It doesn't always work, because the motivation ebbs and flows, much like the optimism. But with the help of willing collaborators, I have been able to at least complete a few little fun projects, which feel like an achievement under the circumstances, and will be something to look back on in years to come when we talk about what happened.
The day that we decided to lock down as a family (a week before the official lockdown), I had the idea to start a family podcast, which would record this unusual time for posterity. At the beginning, we were recording our activities and thoughts daily, but as time has gone on and the lockdown has eased, it has become more like once or twice a week. But listening back to old episodes is a reminder that family life has carried on in all its gritty, silly, ordinariness. And that is a comfort. Here's the latest episode. You can click on the title 'Bouncing Before Breakfast' to find the rest.
One of my first video projects was a topical parody of a Gilbert and Sullivan Song 'With Cat Like Tread', which I wrote and produced with the help of members of Eastbourne Gilbert and Sullivan Society:
Singing has always been therapy to me, and I've tried to make time to use my voice while stuck at home. Lucy and I enjoyed learning this duet from Patience, and performing together virtually:
I also co-wrote this Covid-themed Mikado spoof with Adrian, although I still don't know why he decided to wear goggles:
My friend Erika (who lives in the US) had her 40th during the lockdown, and requested that people send her videos instead of presents, so I came up with this:
I'm conscious that all of this output seems fairly frivolous in the face of the global situation, and I've been trying to figure out how to express my true feelings about it all, in a more sincere way. I think it's going to take a while to process it, and to find the words to adequately articulate how it has felt, and the effect it has had - and will continue to have - on our lives.
Meanwhile, I hope these small offerings bring a smile, if nothing else. I've taken great pleasure in seeing other people's creativity explode all over the internet over the past few months, proving that although the arts industry may be drastically battered and bruised by what has happened, nothing will stop human beings creating and performing. It may take a long while for life to get back to normal, and for the arts industry to recover, but theatre will endure; it will find a way.
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Reflections on Mother's Day
Now it is seven o’clock and I hear the shuffle of small feet on the landing, the opening of my bedroom door. Here is my son; daughter close behind. It is Mother’s Day and they excitedly present me with a home made card, which both have signed. A year ago the youngest would have struggled to write his own name; I reflect on his progress with some quiet satisfaction. On the surface, the mood is a happy one, and their expressions of love and gratitude sincere, and yet an unspoken tension is building. Invisibly it clings to us, its jagged edge perforating the expected simplicity of the moment. While hugs are exchanged, and downstairs tea is being brewed, this silent emotional onslaught continues to swell.
I wonder whether to say out loud what I know is on all our minds, to expose the elephant in the room. After a while, and a few sips of tea, I do. Although I am without question their mum, I did not give birth to these two; there was another mother before me who is still out there somewhere, and today she is more present than usual in our lives. I reassure them that it’s OK to be thinking about her, and that I understand it must be a difficult day for them. But my validation is awkwardly dismissed. They don’t want to be reminded. I understand that, too.
Breakfast is next: bagels and chocolate spread. The morning skitters along in a muddle of feelings as we do our best to embrace the occasion. No plans have been made; it is down to me to decide. I contemplate an adventure - something out of the ordinary - but check myself. On days like this, simple and familiar is best.
We go to Michelham Priory, where everyone is usually at ease. And the familiarity does seem to bring temporary relief from the pressures of expectation which have so far tainted the day. We laugh at the ‘dead daffodil festival’ (nature won’t be tied to a marketing calendar, it seems), eat a hearty lunch, buy some books from the second hand shelves in the cafe, bump into friends, and wander through the house and grounds.
While the children play in the playground, my thoughts wander back to a time before them. At some point I decided to become a mother, but I never fully appreciated the extent of what that would actually entail until now. Here I am, tied to these two dependent beings, carrying all their baggage and filling plenty of my own along the way. But there is love, too, and fun, and happiness and affection. In spite of the angst and the tension and the sometimes seemingly relentless conflict, my heart is full. If only that were enough to keep us all afloat.
A quick stop in Alfriston to buy a book for my own mum, and then home. The confines of the house seem to re-ignite earlier frictions. The kids are getting weary, and my late night is catching up on me. We scramble to get dinner ready, and I send the eldest on an errand to Waitrose for supplies. She comes back in tears because it was closing and she couldn’t find all the things in time. My fault for sending her against the clock. Pangs of guilt (oh, motherhood) as I attempt to assuage the upset. Then back to the cooking.
5pm. My mum arrives and I hug her for longer than usual. I need it. Need to feel connected and safe. Her presence brings comfort to all, and dissipates some of the lingering unease. The kids’ relationship with Nana is less complicated, and they happily relax into being with her, glad of the distraction. As bedtime approaches, the weight of today begins to lift from our collective shoulders. Stories and kisses and cuddles, and lights out by eight.
10pm and a door opens upstairs. I go up to see who is awake. It is the youngest, apparently disturbed by mysterious shapes in his room, made by the glow stars. As I go to lift him up and take him back to bed, he sighs sleepily “I love my mummy”, and my heart explodes into a thousand sparkling fragments. This is motherhood; not the cards or the flowers or the breakfast in bed. This sleepy gift of a little boy’s love, unceremonious and indubitable. This is all I need to know that I am a Mother.
Thursday, September 20, 2018
Four Years On: What is it Like to be an Adoptive Parent?
The Road to Parenthood
What defines the adoptive parenthood far more is the journey beyond the dotted line: the bumpy, hairpin road that you drive through in a thunderstorm. A road that sometimes never seems to end. And the adoption process does to some extent prepare you for this; at least it tries to. We were given pre-adoption training in attachment theory, and warned about some of the challenges we might face in parenting children who have experienced trauma and neglect. But four days of workshops only really scratched the surface, and of course could not predict what our own individual children would be like, and how they would react to the huge transition and upheaval of being adopted. We were furnished with a certain amount of information about our children's known needs, but it is only now - four years on - that we are really beginning to comprehend the long-term impact of their shaky start in life, and to get our heads around what it is they really need from us. Because we haven't known them since birth, we had a lot of catching up to do, and will perhaps always be unpicking the past alongside our kids as they grow and mature.
Secondary Trauma
The first year of adoption was a complete black hole for me emotionally. I often felt overwhelmed at the scale of the responsibility I had taken on, and unable to express my feelings outwardly, leading to bouts of emotional instability and depression. I was too consumed with this inner unrest to even notice the love growing all around me, and was afraid it would never come. As time has gone by, and I have felt more confident in the bond that is developing between me and the children, the constant anxiety has been replaced with a lower-level one that rears its ugly head from time to time, like in the disquieting six weeks of the summer holidays.
It Never Gets Any Easier
As they are maturing and becoming more self aware, the children's issues are seeming if anything more complex. We have helped them through the first few years of ‘settling in’ to their new family, and certainly they have both shown amazing resilience, flexibility and progress through that time, but now we face the ongoing challenge of helping them come to terms with their past, establishing their own sense of identity based on a shaky foundation behind them, and giving them the extra support they will need through the emotionally volatile teenage years. So we take a deep breath each morning, and prepare ourselves for what daily life throws at us. Such it is, and so we go on.
Loneliness and Isolation
There are a number of very beloved friends and relations who I have regretfully not seen AT ALL since the kids arrived, and many more that I have seen only occasionally and who have yet to meet the kids. New places and people STILL unsettle the children, and their insecurities mean that they struggle hugely with long-distance friendships. We have really only just begun to very gradually start opening up the circle of people that we see with them, and are still unable to take part in big group meet-ups where there are too many unfamiliar faces. It has been impossible to explain in detail to all of these people the intricacies of what has been going on, and why we may seem indefinitely unavailable, so we have had to rely heavily on people’s open-mindedness and acceptance. I am so grateful for the understanding and support of those affected, but I sorely miss spending time with these important people in my life, and indeed knowing what is going on in their lives.
Because They Are Worth It
Afterword:
This is what adoptive parenthood is like for me; obviously I cannot speak for other parents. But I have long been pondering exploring the subject further, and would love to talk to others who are willing to share their perspective and experiences, perhaps for a podcast or vlog. Please leave me a comment or tweet me @Rowstar if you are interested in being a part of this.Sunday, June 17, 2018
Dear Dad... | What Father's Day Means to Me
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Christmas time at Dad's place in the 80s |
Father’s Day sentiments are complicated for me and Dad, because I don’t actually remember a time when he was living at home. There are a few hazy memories - Christmas morning in Mum and Dad’s bed with the textured orange throw, and Dad’s retro dressing gown; the chaos of him redecorating the kitchen while mum was in hospital having my younger sister - but not much of the day-to-day. I am thankful that my parents stayed good friends when they split up, and Dad was around, if not a constant presence. Both he and mum were active CND members in those days, and I can recall being taken on protest marches as a child, and riding on the CND carnival float alongside a giant model missile that Dad had constructed - one of many such props that made our childhoods all the more interesting and eccentric.
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That CND carnival float |
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Backstage crew at the Hippodrome - early nineties (Dad 3rd from left) |