Like a lot of people right now, I'm sitting here on New Years Eve 2016 contemplating the year we are leaving behind. On an International level, this year has been a bummer. Around the world, innocent people suffer in ways that are inhumane, while the rest of get on with our lives and our overpriced coffees. Racism, Misogyny and intolerance are are on the rise in both of my countries, as evidenced by Brexit and the election of Donald Trump. Women, immigrants, people of color, homosexuals, trans people, non-Christians are fighting for their rights. Still. And the list goes on...
But, on a personal level, despite a few bumps along the way, 2016 has been a really positive year for me. 2016 has reminded me of how lucky I am to have an amazing, supportive family, a husband who loves me, children to be proud of. 2016 has been full of love and strong friendships and has allowed me to discover new passions and gain confidence in myself. 2016 has given me a new nephew and another on the way! In 2016, I have been lucky to spend fun, if sometimes intense and chaotic, time with my family and in 2016 I have remembered on many occasions why and how much I love my husband. 2016 hasn't let me compromise and thanks to 2016 I have more purpose in my life. I have set more goals for myself and have been able to clearly see what is most important to me. I'm proud of my 2016 and I'm entering 2017 without regret, ready for whatever it throws at me. I'll keep fighting the good fight to follow my heart and be the best I can be for myself, for my family and for the world.
So thanks, 2016. In a lot of ways you've been tough, but ultimately you've made me stronger.
Saturday, 31 December 2016
Tuesday, 6 December 2016
A moment of clarity
UPDATE: People, I would like to make it clear that this is a
CREATIVE WRITING blog. What I write on this blog is fictional or loosely
based on things happening in my life. I have had a rough month, but this
blog post is about a 'mother' (me and a lot of other people), about the challenges that a lot of people face as we try to juggle career and family, the emotions
we feel and NOT a full or completely true account of anything (besides
that I have a six year old who has tantrums and that I haven't figured
out the whole work/life balance thing yet--that's the truth!). If you want to see what is
REALLY happening in my life, you can check out my other life blog: claireandjim.blogspot.com, where I actually am talking about real life.
In the background there is the sound of a child playing happily in the bath. She is splashing and talking to herself, playing a game with a cup and, occasionally, with the dog who keeps wandering in and out of the bathroom.
In the kitchen, her mother eats a salad and wonders, distractedly, when her older daughter is going to be home. And when her husband will be home. And if the dog has peed on the floor somewhere and she just hasn't discovered it yet.
The black and white cat yowls at the back door, too stupid to figure out the cat flap. Downstairs, the neighbour yells to his son. "Stewie! Stewie!" It's time for the boy to practice the piano and the mother can hear him downstairs, stomping to the keyboard in his kitchen, petulantly banging out the notes. He hates to practice.
The mother stares into her computer, vacantly, registering that the bath water must be getting cold by now. She calls to the child, but the child cheerfully calls back that she wants to keep playing and so the mother returns to her computer and the glass of wine that she is nursing as she trolls websites for a job.
The mother has lost her job in the most unfeminist of ways. A slap in the face. The mother has lost her job because she is a mother. Running her finger around the rim of her wine glass, the mother contemplates her situation: gainfully employed in a job that she loved and then...not. She remembers the moment when she decided. The child in the bath, so happy now, was prostate on the floor, howling at some injustice. The dog was systematically destroying the house. The older child, ever encouraging, hugged her mother as she sat sobbing on the floor. The husband was at work.
'Louder! Say it louder!' the child in the bath said to her imaginary playmates. 'I can't do it anymore. I can't do it anymore,' they replied. 'Louder! Louder! Try harder!'
'I can't do it anymore, ' said the mother to her job. 'In a year, I can, but right now I can't.'
'We can't do it,' said her job, 'We can't do it your way.'
For three weeks the mother cried. She railed. She was angry and distraught. The child in the bath thrived at school and raged at home. The older child flowered. The dog, as if sensing change, settled. The husband was gentle and kind. The mother couldn't sleep. She dragged herself to work in a fugue-like state, counting down the days until the end. Counting up the injustices.
And slowly her anger faded. Slowly her grief retreated. She licked her wounds. The child in the bath howled at some injustice. The mother remembered that she is a mother first. She is always a mother first. The child got out of the cold bath, dripping water on the floor. 'I love you,' she said, 'I love you, mama.'
In the background there is the sound of a child playing happily in the bath. She is splashing and talking to herself, playing a game with a cup and, occasionally, with the dog who keeps wandering in and out of the bathroom.
In the kitchen, her mother eats a salad and wonders, distractedly, when her older daughter is going to be home. And when her husband will be home. And if the dog has peed on the floor somewhere and she just hasn't discovered it yet.
The black and white cat yowls at the back door, too stupid to figure out the cat flap. Downstairs, the neighbour yells to his son. "Stewie! Stewie!" It's time for the boy to practice the piano and the mother can hear him downstairs, stomping to the keyboard in his kitchen, petulantly banging out the notes. He hates to practice.
The mother stares into her computer, vacantly, registering that the bath water must be getting cold by now. She calls to the child, but the child cheerfully calls back that she wants to keep playing and so the mother returns to her computer and the glass of wine that she is nursing as she trolls websites for a job.
The mother has lost her job in the most unfeminist of ways. A slap in the face. The mother has lost her job because she is a mother. Running her finger around the rim of her wine glass, the mother contemplates her situation: gainfully employed in a job that she loved and then...not. She remembers the moment when she decided. The child in the bath, so happy now, was prostate on the floor, howling at some injustice. The dog was systematically destroying the house. The older child, ever encouraging, hugged her mother as she sat sobbing on the floor. The husband was at work.
'Louder! Say it louder!' the child in the bath said to her imaginary playmates. 'I can't do it anymore. I can't do it anymore,' they replied. 'Louder! Louder! Try harder!'
'I can't do it anymore, ' said the mother to her job. 'In a year, I can, but right now I can't.'
'We can't do it,' said her job, 'We can't do it your way.'
For three weeks the mother cried. She railed. She was angry and distraught. The child in the bath thrived at school and raged at home. The older child flowered. The dog, as if sensing change, settled. The husband was gentle and kind. The mother couldn't sleep. She dragged herself to work in a fugue-like state, counting down the days until the end. Counting up the injustices.
And slowly her anger faded. Slowly her grief retreated. She licked her wounds. The child in the bath howled at some injustice. The mother remembered that she is a mother first. She is always a mother first. The child got out of the cold bath, dripping water on the floor. 'I love you,' she said, 'I love you, mama.'
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