Children ruined my Career There I said it, they killed it dead in its tracks. I agree wholeheartedly with Lily Allen. In case you missed it, she recently said in an interview, "I never really had a strategy when it comes to career, but yes, my children ruined my career. I love them and they complete me, but in terms of pop-stardom, they totally ruined it.” Now I don’t have Lily Allen’s fame, money, celebrity status or David Harbour as a husband, but I am also a singer, actor, blah blah blah. Or I was until I had my kids. Once they came along, any resemblance of a creative career for me went by the wayside. Having a neurodiverse son was part of it, but let’s face it, when it comes to kids and domestic duties, the majority if not all of the responsibility falls on the woman most of the time. It’s not right, it's not fair, in fact it’s a load of toss but it is how it is. It was and is difficult for me to see the world move on, to see careers take off, or at least maintain a status quo while mine is laying in a ditch by the M4 choking on exhaust fumes, but like Lily Allen, I made a choice. As she said, “Some people choose their career over their children and that’s their prerogative, but my parents were quite absent when I was a kid. I feel that really left some nasty scars that I’m not willing to repeat on mine. I chose stepping back and concentrating on them and I’m glad I’ve done that.” Same here Lily, same here. I did choose to put my kids first and still do, but to be brutally honest, I also don’t have a choice. I have no family to help me and have 100% care of my kids, so when the fuck would I have time to get out there and perform? I could have hired babysitter’s, but my neurodiverse son wouldn’t have coped with that. I could have done it anyway, but as I said, I put them first. I was a latchkey kid, born in the 70s and a teenager in the 80s, there are so many things I love about the 80’s but the absence of parenting was not one of them, there are many things I did, or that I experienced that I wish had not happened, so I chose to do things very differently. Now I don’t think I deserve a medal for doing so, I applaud women who can make strides in their careers (yeah I’m jealous too) and manage a family but that simply wasn’t the case for me. Having a messy brain doesn’t help, I get overwhelmed easily, so trying to juggle too much just means I shut down and sit in paralysis and that sucks. There is only so much I can handle on my own. However, my kids are getting older, (imagine that!) the youngest twelve now, so slowly I will be able to reclaim some time for my creative work and the blessing is, that the bond I have with my kids, the connection, the memories, the love is so bloody strong, I know I am lucky as fuck. So, here’s to women who can ‘have it all’ I don’t know how you do it! I’ll just sit here with my tea thinking Lily Allen and I are friends and that David Harbour has a nice single brother…
0 Comments
Alas, that is a paradox. A Gen X brain is rarely balanced because we grew up without any mental health support at all. Not even a conversation over a cuppa and a bikkie. Not a single Zoloft in sight. What a rort right? We grew up, ‘getting on with it’ and consequently grew up tough and independent. These are not bad traits I don’t believe, but we do spend hours in therapy trying to understand why we were allowed to watch Freddy Kruger at age 9, stay home alone for hours at 10, go out clubbing at 14 and basically live lives devoid of parenting and emotional support. (or is it just me?) We can’t blame our parents too much, that’s just the way it was. They worked, they had a mortgage to pay. They were also ignored by their parents, so they didn’t know much better. No one recognised depression, anxiety, bipolar, autism, ADHD or if they did it was all hush hush. Too much shame, too much unknown. ‘Cheer Up, you’ll be right’ right? ‘He is just naughty!’ ‘She is weird!’ I didn’t get any of my diagnosis until I was in my 20’s when I took myself off to the Dr to find out why I struggled so much. I wonder if I was given support as a kid, if things would have been different? Maybe, but I don’t wallow… anymore. I think you have to embrace whatever it is that makes you you. Get the help and support you need, talk about it, take your meds, don’t be shamed, live a healthy life and don’t beat yourself up. I lived in shame for many years due to the stigma around mental illness and the weaponisation of my diagnosis against me by people who wanted fodder for their abusive behaviour. But I’m too smart for that now, too feisty and ‘independent’. See after all, what a good thing to be! I’ve grown into someone formidable, in my mind at least anyway. I don’t care if I am told I am too loud, too opinionated, too old, too fat, too nasty, too nice, too, too emotional, too independent, too anything. I have earned that right, to be all and any of those things. I’m drawn to strong women, women who speak their mind, who speak up for others, who are considered slightly unhinged because they have confidence. Women who speak up are often viciously silenced. It’s boring. So don’t be silent. Be authentically you. Warts and All Baby. As for my brain, it’s a work in progress, but I love the damn thing. Peace. I’ve been a single parent for a big chunk of time now. I have chosen to make certain 'sacrifices' or 'decisions' because I wanted to put my kids first. In some ways, this was my only option having a neuro-diverse kiddo but one I do not regret regardless. Single parent life has many ups and downs, financially it is tough, but all single parents know this right? I don’t really have much of a life outside kids, but I do grab moments here and there to do things I love like music and writing which completely float my boat, and I am so fucking happy that my kids and I are super close, that is my reward for it all. Being the primary (only) carer means I make all the calls, all the decisions, sometimes I get it super fucking right and sometimes super fucking ‘not so’ right, but at least I am there doing my best to not fuck these kids up too much, because let’s face it, all parents fuck their kids up to some extent, some more than others. At least we are there, doing it all, being bloody superheroes. I carry the weight of the good and the bad, the happy and the sad and I wouldn’t trade it for the world BECAUSE when I am old and pooping my pants, these kids will feel indebted to pay me back for all the years. No, I’m kidding, sort of, I wouldn’t trade it because they are fucking awesome and I adore them and life is about connecting, learning and growing. Life with them is the joy of a family bond I never had, it is healing in so many ways, too many to count. They have taught me that it isn’t ‘all about me,’ that I am not the centre of the universe, they don’t owe me shit, my ego has rightfully copped a walloping. I chose to have them, to love them, to nurture them, to help them grow into reasonably well functioning adults and will help them bounce back after they fuck up, as they will and do regularly. I’ve been playing with tarot cards of late, another one of my loves, and there is one card that kept jumping out at me over and over one day, it was the Strength card. How apt. I’ve got it, you’ve got it. We can do the hard things. So I raise my glass to all those who stayed, who put in the work, who love and cherish, who keep picking themselves up off the floor after another takedown, who keep going regardless of it all. I fucking salute you. Peace. Being an adult was hard this week, toffee hard, crack your teeth and pull out your crowns hard. But as always, I chew on, whacking a bit of super glue in to hold it all together. Firstly, we had Mother’s Day and I’m not a fan of Mother’s Day. I’m a single mumma, so there isn’t much fan-fare, I did get the book I asked for from my youngest which was sweet, but the actual day was the same as every other. It’s a bit like New Year’s Eve for me, I feel the pressure to ‘have a good day’ to be indulged, taken care of, spoilt even. But that is not what happens for most single mums. We still have to do all the things, no one else is going to cook, clean, manage the pets, manage the stupid fucking laundry or deal with any other ‘chore’ that needs doing and half the time we buy our own presents from the school Mother’s Day stall. The other reason I dislike Mother’s Day is that my mother died on Mother’s Day 23 years ago. She had the Big C, I say it was big because it was all consuming, it consumed her body, her happiness and in the end her life. Cancer is a motherfucker, let’s be clear. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, or maybe… well no not even then, because I believe in karma and I hope I am a good person. I also have healthy dose of medical anxiety, that means basically I think everything is going to kill me. As I get older the chances of this happening increases, in my opinion anyway. I’m needing tests for things I had never thought about when I was younger, back when we were all invincible. I didn’t think about colonoscopies and mammograms, skin checks, eye tests, hearing tests and pap smears. I was blessed with good health, not good mental health, let’s be honest, that’s dodgy as shit, but my body worked okay. These day’s my body breaking down, falling apart, needing more servicing than ever, but I am still here, I am lucky. Speaking of needing a service, my car overheated this week, my radiator had died, so I got that fixed. Then once I got my car back and went on my merry way, my car started shaking like it had been possessed by a wicked car demon and smelt like it was burning the souls of car now passed. I got home safely and had the NRMA tow it back to the mechanics and of course they found nothing wrong with it, so said demon had moved on - hopefully to a Tesla. I have decided one day I would like to replace my car with a Peugeot. My Dad drove a Peugeot when I was a kid, back when our butts stuck to the plastic seat covers and we didn't have seat belts. I loved that car and was crushed when he sold it cheaply to a neighbourhood kid and replaced it with an old BMW. Having a Peugeot of my own will allow me to indulge myself in some nostalgia from my youth, minus the sticky seats and with more safety options, hopefully it won’t be open to possessions either. (PS Peugeot – hit me up) As I said being an adult was hard this week, besides Mother’s Day kind of sucking, missing my own mum and car demons, I have had several appointments with psychologists and psychiatrists, and not even for me, but as the parent of the child requiring these professionals and I was given homework. I don’t do well with homework. I get the logic behind the assignment I was given to work on with my child, but it just piled another layer of stress on me and when I asked for clarity on the homework I was told to, ‘Just do what I said.’ Righto, fucking brilliant that is. Our homework will be checked tomorrow at our next appointment, I hope I got at least 60%... but honestly, don’t give tired, overwhelmed single mum’s homework. I am also trying to sort my health out and have a zoom call in an hour with a potential coach that might be able to help me get on track, but that probably means more homework right? I would really like to tame the medical anxiety beast by at the very least looking after myself a bit better. You see, I don’t look after myself. I haven’t put myself first in decades, I still can’t really, but I can do better than I am. Physically I’m twice the woman I used to be but inside I feel like half… I have to fix this, sort this mess out. I can talk about getting healthy until the cows come home but they never come home. So I am ringing the cow bell and calling them in. I hope your week has been kinder, I hope Mother's Day was nice to you or if it sucked like mine, you have support. Let see what next week brings? Peace Prince Philip died this week.
The image of the Queen sitting alone, head down, dressed in black, by her late husband’s coffin is heartbreaking. I’m not a big fan or follower of the Royals but what broke my heart is that a woman who has been in a marriage with someone for 73 years just lost that person. I don’t know if they liked each other anymore, I haven’t even watched The Crown. But that is a LONG time to spend in companionship with someone. The image made me cry, it made me long for something but for what? I was married, but no more. A 73 year marriage is never going to happen for me, I doubt I would even want it too. However, my inner romantic sometimes longs for a companion, a lifelong companion to hold hands with throughout all of life’s ups and downs. I know in reality relationships are hard work and women are usually let down by the men in their lives as they carry the burden of almost everything, the cooking, cleaning, childcare, ‘husband’ care, washing, family admin, loss of identity and so on… yet still, besides this part of me wants someone to grow old with, to die with, to mourn or to be mourned by. Is it the fairy tales we are fed as young girls? Am I, as I approach 50 still waiting for my Prince? I’m way too cynical to believe in being rescued by a man, nor would I want to be. The feminist in me is strong, my tolerance for baby men is non-existent yet, still, occasionally I wouldn’t mind having a decent one around. I love my own company, I need time alone. I don’t do dating apps, no judgement, they are just not for me. I am happy in the garden, with a book, a good film, my friends and animals, the list of things I adore is endless. So maybe I’m not missing out on anything? Maybe it is just a fairy tale? Maybe it’s just patriarchy telling us that we are not complete without a partner? I hope the Queen finds peace, it has been a rough few years for the Royals. I’m sending out resumes today. I need to put down some roots. This casual gig is fun but not sustainable. Find the balance between bringing in money and creative expression. Sometimes they merge but not often enough, Covid put a swift end to that. Cannot sacrifice one for the other as both are important. Financial security versus the lifelong urge to spend my days creating. Financial security versus my brain urging me to keep moving, standing still is hazardous. All my nerves are twitching and I long for the new. Racing thoughts, grand plans all pulled into line by therapists who work to ground me in my hypomanic moments. They have quite a job ahead of them. As do I. Never quite give up on the grand plans but know how to quieten them enough so I can function in my day to day. But always, always lurking. My resume is a confused, lengthy scattering of jobs. I rarely land. ‘Look at all that experience.’ Jack of all trades, master of none. I am good at what I do, just need to do it more. I want to earn more, I want to contribute more. I want many things. Sometimes my energy throws people off, they sense how trapped I can feel. They sense how hard I try to please. Searching for validation. Prove I am capable. I am. Sometimes the mirror is too strong for them and they walk away. That’s ok. Can’t make everyone happy. You do you. Peace. I have been fumbling around in the darkness for over month now, maybe two. I’ve lost count. I am trying to be patient, waiting for the sun to peek through and lighten things up and yesterday I had a glimpse. The day was warm, the sun was out, I sat beneath it soaking up the rays whilst reading Sarah Wilson’s new book, ‘This One Wild and Precious Life.’ It lifted me up and stoked my curiosity, which made me feel a little better about my world. In my mind, I trekked with her, sat in the warm pubs eating, drinking and chatting to strangers. I would love to do that right now, but the world is closed. I am so grateful that Sarah wrote about her bipolar and anxiety in her book, ‘first, we make the beast beautiful,’ and will return to that one after this. She is a wonderful writer, nomad and I find her work so inspiring. I am thankful for her massive contribution to destigmatising mental illness. Back to my day, eventually the sun went down, my daughter put away her Harry Potter book and I put away mine and the darkness returned. It lurks and swallows you up. That is until the mania comes, or with Bipolar 2 ‘hypomania.’ So what do I do? I drink my coffee, write my words, do some housework, read books, play with the animals, love and nurture my kids and reach out to friends. My instinct is to go further inward but I know that I need to reach out. I need to keep moving so the darkness doesn’t close me in completely. It is a bastard. Those of you who feel this, you are not alone. I’m listening. Dear Men
How are you going? It’s been pretty stressful lately hasn’t it? I haven’t been coping so well. I just thought I’d check in with you because I’ve noticed you’re not coping so well either. The world is pretty fucked up right now and people have lost their livelihoods and worse, their lives. We are all trying to figure things out. I know you’re feeling it too Men. I also know most of you won’t admit it. There is a lot of pressure on you growing up to behave a certain way. You can’t grow up hearing things like, ‘Be a man,’ ‘grow some balls,’ and ‘boys don’t cry,’ and not have that shit totally ingrained in your brain. Where does that leave you? In a lot of cases unable to admit or accept that you might need some help, to know that it is ok to say you are not coping and to get some professional support. You soldier on, you have a drink, you scream at other drivers, you tailgate, you terrorise your spouse, your children, you punch walls, you punch women, you kill women and sometimes yourselves. Ok let’s back up a second, I know ‘not all men’ but let’s be honest, it’s a fucking lot of you isn’t it? When you suppress your sadness, it turns to anger, when you suppress your anger it turns to rage, when you try and suppress… no wait, you can’t. You wear it like a badge of honour, you’re the tough guy and everyone else is wrong. Chests puffing up, fists clenched and spit flying from your mouths as you snarl at your target. I have been in therapy on and off for almost all of my adult life, I have taken medication on and off for most of my adult life. I read and educate myself and talk to others and reach out for support when I need it and offer it in return. I have been in relationships where counselling has been rejected because, ‘we don’t need it’ or rather ‘he doesn’t need it’. The men who don’t need counselling: I have seen them go into rages and frighten the shit out of their children only to apologise later… until the next time. This is abuse. Your children will remember it. I have seen them call women crazy, hysterical, insane, unfit mothers and sluts, in order to manipulate the courts into giving them what they want. I have seen them lie about their earnings so they can avoid paying child support. I have seen them punch other men over parking spots. I have seen them tailgate, chase, threaten, intimidate other drivers because they don’t like how they drive. I have seen countless women flee their homes with their children and the clothes on their back to seek shelter in refuges because they know the next punch might be fatal. I have been gas lit, manipulated, controlled, hit and abused. By men. But still, you don’t need counselling. Destroy the Joint counts the number of women killed in Australia by the men in their lives, the number keeps going up and up. It’s a national emergency but it’s just women right? So nothing is done. ‘She drove him to it,’ ‘She wore the wrong clothes,’ ‘She was asking for it,’ ‘No doesn’t mean no,’ ‘She pushed him first,’ ‘She should have kept her mouth shut,’ ‘If I can’t have her no one can,’ ‘She can’t have the kids either, no one can.’ Men, if this pisses you off and you’re mad at me you need to step back and think about it. How do your mates talk about women? How do they talk about their exes? Is she a ‘psycho bitch?’ I’ll bet he says she is. She isn’t. It is time for you to sort your motherfucking shit out. Go to the counsellor, get a mental health care plan, take medication if you need it. Talk to your mates. Make it ok to have feelings. It isn’t weak. It takes courage to admit you have a problem and you will gain nothing but respect from the worthy people in your life when you step up and say, ‘I need help.’ Your children don’t want to be afraid of you. They need to feel safe. Your spouse deserves to be treated with respect and to not be killed. If you can’t drive without going into a rage. Sort that shit out and don’t have the kids in the car with you until you do. In fact don’t drive until you get your act together. Because you might kill someone. Treat your mother with respect, treat your ex with respect. Even if you dislike each other, don’t say that shit in front of your kids. Your children are watching. You are modelling for your son how to treat women; you are modelling for your daughter how she should expect to be treated. Step up and do your damn job properly. Stop the tantrums, stop being immature. Grow the fuck up and that’s means being accountable for your emotions. Let me clarify: It is never ok to: Manipulate, gaslight, abuse, threaten, intimidate, assault, kill anyone ever. Have tantrums, frighten women and children, be aggressive and controlling. Especially not your kids and not the women in your life. It is ok too: Respect, nurture, them and yourself. To admit you need help and to get it. It’s pretty straight forward stuff. Hold yourself and your mates accountable. Do you get it? So, I ask again. How are you going? Do you need some help? I have to say I had never heard of this version of the ever popular Monopoly until recently when the TVC started making the rounds again on social media. If you missed it, here it is.
The idea of this game from what I believe, (I have not played it) is to empower girls and women. Female players get more money from the bank than men to start with and collect more than their male opponents as they pass go. You don’t buy property but rather inventions made or co made by women (conveniently excluding the disregarded original inventor of Monopoly, Elizabeth Magie.) This is the complete opposite of what happens in the workplace and women are asking for equal pay for equal work, not more money than our male counterparts. I think it’s pretty lame to suggest that for women to get ahead or to remain ahead if treated with equality, we would require head starts. But it gets worse. According to Megan Garber (who has actually played the silly game) in her article, “I played Ms Monopoly so you don’t have to.” “We dutifully follow the directions: Roll the dice, move forward, buy, pay, repeat. Andrew lands on Community Chest. This is what his card says: “You see the newest superhero movie with a female lead, and it’s awesome! COLLECT $50. If you’re a man, COLLECT $100.” Wait, what? He gets rewarded for sitting through a super hero movie with a female lead? I’m already confused. Mixed messaging much? And you gotta love the perky Ms Monopoly thrusting a hip out on the centre of the board, is she sassy? Defiant? Quirky? Independent? Is that what a successful ‘Ms’ looks like? I’m in two minds, I wonder if I would buy it for my daughter if it interested her. The gimmick of it might intrigue her for 2 minutes then it would offer no more value than the original game. The thing is, women don’t start out with more money than men, we get paid less and a lot of women end up with little or no super. Things are better than they once were but we are not there yet. I think I would rather she picks up a book, like the awesome Rebel Girls series to learn about women and their accomplishments. Not given some bullshit drivel which seems to patronisingly “support” women’s accomplishments. What do you think? Peace |
Writer. Bipolar Rambler. Archives
March 2024
Categories
All
|