A Shiny, Resilient Hold

She sat, staring at the tree in the corner of the room, wondering about the fake snow on its branches. She had chosen this tree, a symbol of change, and insisted it be put up on the very first day possible to make happiness flow into the room. “You can't force joy,” she thought, “but you can cultivate it. You can invite it.” Her husband put a warm mug of something down next to her...tea? Had she asked for it? Probably. She couldn't keep track of the passage of time so accurately recently. Her husband's kindness and caution sat with the cup on the coffee stained arm of the couch, and his...nervous? Frustrated? His energy was bouncing out of the kitchen with the clatter of the washing up, a video on in the background to cover up the odd weight in the living room that was his wife's confusion. She was muddled. And she took a sip of the reassuring drink, (ah, tea), and felt care pour down her throat, and wished she knew how to be more receptive. So she said “Thank you...

Every once in a while, it does us good to be reminded that the unexpected, whether in our public or private lives, can be something worth embracing. Today what I'd like to share is the result of an unexpected phenomenon I've experienced since carrying my young baby with me around town: spontaneous storytelling from unknown women in the community. As these women tell me their stories or make their statements, I often see the look of discomfort in the eyes of those around me. "Why is she speaking to a stranger?"  These women are mostly age fifty or above.I get the impression as they speak that these are stories that create part of their life-engines; these are the memories that drive them, but are often not shared with others. Here's a glimpse at two of the beautiful stories I've been given the chance to hear. ***************** I sit down in the thrumming cafe, my coffee in a take-away paper cup in front of me. I tend to choose take away cups because ...

It's Breastfeeding Week and I, like many women and mothers for whom this week is targeted, find myself conflicted and thoughtful about the focus and drive of this campaign. What we see during this week is what you'd expect from a supportive movement: the positives of breastfeeding are listed, there are special offers by companies for breastfeeding mothers, stories of breastfeeding mothers are shared, and breastfeeding pictures are passed around in the hopes of normalizing the act of feeding an infant from the breast. Women who breastfeed often experience a world of anxiety and struggle when it comes to feeding their babies, especially in public spaces. Mums find themselves sexualised, accused of "whipping out" their breasts; sometimes they are asked to move or cover up (incidentally, this is illegal in the UK, but still happens enough that many places of business will indicate with an extra sticker sign that breastfeeding is welcome). Mothers who breastfeed also fac...

Going through my history, my therapist stops me to say "it looks like you've been a parent for while," Well shit. That's true. It took me 23 years to be sexy. By the time I was 19, I had a post partum body, breasts and a belly that didn't belong to me, a mind that could lose dates and names like glitter, and a crowd of onlookers who thought I was selfish. (Spoiler alert: it's actually OK to be selfish. Just apparently not for people who are or are viewed as mothers. But this is bullshit so, mothers of the world, carry on. You don't have to bear everyone's burdens.) When men started to notice me instead of cry to me, I felt confused. When women did the same, I felt even more confused. I don't think there's much point in trying to be poetic about this; most histories and sexualities don't fit a metre. Now,  I'm Harry Potter. I have a very real scar from a very real birth, that time that I was left to die, and if you think scars hurt...

I tried to think of a witty title to go with this piece, but ultimately decided to go with a straight forward approach. Writing it makes me cringe a little; it's awfully personal, and really awkward, but not writing it is perhaps worse. I had a complicated pregnancy. With a background of blood clots and a heart condition, I was already at moderate risk when I began my journey with little Eric. I was quickly escalated to high risk when he started having episodes of reduced fetal movement. Eventually, this would lead to a scan that would indicate that his growth was not progressing, and that he'd have to be delivered, fast. So it was decided that I'd have an induction. Now before I go into some of the details of this story, I'd like to clarify that this is not just my perspective. This is the perspective shared by the hospital as well, who have, to their credit, admitted wrong doing in so much as they can without opening themselves up for a lawsuit. I gave birth at a...

I was originally going to title this blog entry “My Addicted Life”. I was inclined towards the title because Anxiety can feel like an addiction, and my particular brand of anxiety, that special kind linked with obsession, can be a cycle that feels out of touch. I feel at once guilty for my lack of control over this weird bodily quirk, and also drawn to it, nearly doomed to repeat it over and over again. Anxiety came to the table in our home uninvited a few weeks ago, attacking in a way unfamiliar to me, and that is to say, it came at my partner instead of at me. As a minor incident of discomfort quickly turned into a series of panicked situations.     So we did all of the things that I wish I’d done when first confronted with anxiety. We cancelled daily responsibilities for a day, and went to the doctor. We talked about the experience. We worked on controlling our thoughts in situations of high stress.     We talked to people about our experience, to...

I've been thinking lately about growth and transitions in my life. It has to do with an adage that I've seen thrown around lately, the idea that we must learn to be happy in who we are and what we have, or we will forever be chasing happiness rather than embracing it. I struggle with this statement. I am not constantly unhappy, though certainly not constantly happy, with who I am and where I am in life. I believe that happiness, a greater happiness, exists for me. I believe that it is intertwined with the embrace of changes that I must face, these things which twist me and make me writhe with discomfort (initially), and that if I begin to examine myself and actualise those points calling out for transition, I can become someone greater. Transitions have been all over the news and internet lately, largely in reference to the transgender community. These are perhaps some of the most visual transitions that we ever have the fortune to encounter in our communities, and I say fo...