Confessions of a human being

I do maintain that mothering and all that entails, is my job, my occupation, my bread and butter and I love it. But don’t assume that in this case “pleasure in the job equals perfection in the work” because it’s absolutely impossible to be perfect as a mother, or as a human being, for that matter. Yes, I bake these muffins, cakes and other creations on a weekly basis. But that is just one snapshot of an entire week that is filled with mess, mistakes and mayhem. I suppose I just want everyone out there, especially the new mothers, to know that such a keen focus on health and nutrition doesn’t mean that this is another perfect element of my perfect life. While I’m baking muffins, the dishes lay dirty in the sink. While I’m researching gentle parenting methods, my dirty washing pile grows higher. And, while I’m on my hands and knees, pretending to be a crocodile and crawling after my hysterically giggling baby girl, somewhere, in the distance, there is a mouldy bathroom wall that isn’t being scrubbed. So, please, don’t think for a second that clean eating and natural parenting are “added extras” that only the brave can tackle on top of everything else.
What it comes down to is a shift in priorities. I do these things ‘instead-of’, rather than ‘as-well-as’. And, even still I find myself grappling with what looks good in a picture and what really matters. Because I KNOW what is right, but I can’t even be perfect with my imperfection. God knows, I long to be that woman who can let go of her inhibitions and invite friends over to a sink full of dishes, sticky floors and be confident that my worth is not measured by how clean my house is. I can talk the talk, alright. I can tell you that what matters is that my daughter is nourished from the inside out, emotionally and physically. I can tell you that my partner comes home to a happy family who aren’t warped under the weight of the pressure of struggling to be super human and cram in play, and good food and love in between the vacuum and the dish cloth.  And, I can tell you that friends who would come to your house and judge you on its cleanliness alone are not true friends, so you should just let go and live and be and do the best you can. I can say the words, of course I can. But you will still find me before we have guests over, tidying and huffing around in a state of panic and disillusionment about what the word ‘friend’ means in the first place.
Before I became ‘Mum’, I worked as a psychiatric nurse. It was part of my job to assist my patients in carrying out tasks set by their psychiatrists and psychologists. One such task was called ‘shame attacking’ – whereby patients can build their self-esteem and relinquish irrational feelings of shame by running straight at it, so to speak. For example, one might feel that they can’t join in a conversation because they believe that they don’t have anything worthy of contributing, no one would want to hear what they have to say or want to listen to them. And so, the therapist would set them the task of contributing a relevant personal experience to the therapy group so that they can confront their fears head-on and perhaps realise that they were, indeed, unfounded.
It’s funny, because even though I have all of this knowledge in my head about how to change my thinking when it becomes distorted, I still struggle to put it into practice. I log onto Instagram and see this band of mothers who post their “Outfit of the day (#ootd)” in full make-up  as they are headed out the door to shop, or lunch or work. And I think to myself, what the hell is wrong with me? Some days I don’t even get out of my pyjamas, can’t even fathom the thought of leaving the house and, with a teething, squirmy and curious one year old, I certainly don’t “lunch”! I ask myself why they can do it, and I can’t. I feel as though I'm not making enough of an effort, I feel as though I am somehow defective because I just can’t seem to keep a clean house, happy baby, with gourmet meals on the table all in a perfectly chosen, ironed outfit and a full face of make-up.  And then I remember that people lie. They show us only the parts of their lives that are aesthetically beautiful and we make the assumption that this represents them in their entirety. The other women at mothers group smile at their newborns, don’t get frustrated when they cry, are wearing clothes without spew on them and boast about they are loving every sleepless minute. And it’s because in a world full of media who portray new motherhood to be moment after endless moment of slow motioned, soft focussed bliss, we confuse these stories with reality. So, if we aren't always enjoying it, if we just want one moment of peace, if we didn't realise how hard it would be, if we feel a startling rage bubbling up inside of us when its 4 am and we haven’t slept in 36 hours – then we are bad mothers, unworthy mothers and unlovable human beings. Bullshit.
And so, in my efforts to quash this bullshit façade that seems to be floating around in mothering communities of all kinds, I’d like to share some shame with you. I'm giving it away to you, in the hope that you can then pass it along to someone else and the cycle will continue so that we can all be a little lighter, a little more human and a little more real at the end of the day. Our lives as mothers could be so much easier if only we allowed ourselves and each other to be human as messy, "ugly" or confronting as it may be.
The disclosure is that a messy house does not make me a bad mother, bad partner, or bad human being – it makes me a human who is doing my best, trying my hardest to give my daughter a happy, magical and healthy childhood and prioritising my life sensibly, and you know what? I think that’s good enough.

Part of my Kitchen, in its natural state. 

The truth behind tears

Children are the sum of what their mothers contribute to their lives – Author unknown

Every time I come home from doing the groceries I am filled with an inspiration and rage that makes me want to change the world. I almost always manage to witness some form of child abuse in the supermarket, it’s the place for it; where parents have their resources split between a shopping trolley with wheels that spin the wrong way and children who want every colourful, shiny delight they can see and feverishly claw at the shelves and their parents patience in order to obtain said delights. I suppose when your money is cut in half, you find out how rich you really were in the first place. And the people in my neighbourhood, they’re flat broke. I have seen the tears of children of all ages, ignored, trivialised, mocked and slapped out of them by parents who obviously don’t know any better and it breaks my heart every time. 

Did you know that children are actually people, too? Allow me to explain…
Imagine, if you will, that you felt sad or disappointed about something and, as is natural, began to cry – all whilst in the company of the person whom you deemed to love you the most in the world, and whom you loved the most, without question. Then, all of a sudden as your tears began to fall, you were hit, laughed or yelled at, mocked or just plain ignored by your beloved. What kind of feelings would this ignite in you? Perhaps rage, rejection, more sadness, fear, confusion, loneliness, hopelessness and powerlessness, just to name a few.  Luckily for us, as adults in polite society, we are seldom treated in this manner. I, for one, wouldn’t dream of slapping one of my girlfriends in the face if she came to me in tears because her boyfriend was acting up, even though her adult sized brain harboured mature emotional regulatory mechanisms and an intelligence that she had had tens of years to develop… So why, the flying fuck, is this an acceptable way to treat a child whom has a tiny, child sized brain that does not have the capacity, nor capability, to efficiently regulate emotional responses or self soothe, or to go and find someone else who might actually respond appropriately to their need for guidance and love?

Think of a child’s brain in the same way you would a geriatrics body. An older adult is not punished for their inability to run triathlons, so why are children punished for their brains inability to function beyond what is developmentally and age appropriate? I must emphasise, children are people, they are not simply small adults. If you think about it, we have to be created small, to fit inside our mothers’ bodies so that we may be born into this world and continue as a species. Thus, to allow for our size at birth, we only pack the essentials. I suppose whomever/whatever created us assumed that our hearts would need to beat independently from birth, our lungs would need to expand, but gap in our intellect would be filled by our adoring mothers until we were big enough to fit the rest of that “stuff” (that isn’t essential to primitive survival) inside our heads.

I am in no way suggesting that you buy the packet of skittles so that you don’t “have to” punish your child for their protest. It is your job as a parent to teach right from wrong, set limits and be the voice of reason. What I am suggesting, however, is that we treat our children with the respect they deserve and be mindful of their maturity level, what they are capable of understanding and remember that “when you’re little, it’s all big stuff” So, of course, say “No” to the Mars Bar, but don’t disregard the tears that follow because they are as real and as pain laden as any you or I may cry over our own adult-sized problems. Instead, please, for the love of god, and your child’s growing brain that doesn’t need to be pumped with excess amounts of cortisol that will warp and scar its fragile tissues permanently, validate how your child is feeling. Let them know that you hear them, their cries do not fall on deaf ears and that they are worthy of respect “I know you want that [sugar-ridden-additive-filled-poison] but you can’t have it today, and I know that makes you sad. It’s hard when you can’t have things that you want, isn’t it?” It may not stop the tears immediately, and people may stare in the meantime, but rest assured that your baby will know in that moment that you are worthy of their undying love for you, and that you hear them when they speak, that their tiny souls bear weight in this world and that, above all, and if nothing else, you love them back. Even if you think they are too young to understand exactly what you are saying, they will understand from your gentle tone, your eye contact, your body language, closeness,  cuddles and your presence that you are with them in their turmoil, they are being heard, and they are not alone.

I know, I know, I can already hear you thinking it “But, s/he is trying to manipulate me!”  Valid point indeed. However, there is a big, important difference between someone trying to manipulate you, and actually being manipulated. Firstly, I have discovered, throughout my research into crying, tears and tantrums that a child does not even have the intellect to purposefully “manipulate” until the age of 3 years (that’s peer reviewed research, not parental opinion). Secondly, one should consider the fact that children, with their immature emotional regulatory mechanisms, are actually trying to have their voices heard in the only way they have been granted – albeit ‘primitively’ kicking, screaming, planking etc (the aforementioned being the rationale behind many an escalation when metaphoric socks are put in it by embarrassed, often well meaning, and ill knowing parents). Eventually, what the child learns from being ignored (via smacking, lack of acknowledgement or yelling) is that there is no point in protesting, as they are weightless, powerless and unworthy of having their voices heard, especially when it matters to them the most (bearing in mind that not being able to have a packet of skittles at the supermarket should be the at the peak of a child’s life-issues curve).

 It’s important to remember that seeing your child unhappy as a parent is painful – but be careful not to assume that the pain you feel is a result of your child’s intention. Long story short; you feel pain seeing your baby upset. This pain usually manifests as anger of frustration, your brain’s express way of saying “stop making me feel bad I don’t like it!” So, you assume that your baby was trying to make you upset so that you will change your mind, they will stop crying and neither of you will be upset anymore. Is it at all possible that yes, seeing your child upset does cause you pain, but whether or not you allow that pain to change your mind is entirely your decision. The child has not been conniving or scheming about it and they are being open and honest about exactly what they want, and exactly how they feel about it, in the best way they know how. It would also be worthwhile mentioning that even if your child does have the super power of emotional blackmail and manipulation; it is your prerogative as a parent to ensure that they come to understand that these methods will not have the desired effect on you as you respond with empathy and grace.

It breaks my heart to see how many people still believe ‘tough love’ to be not only an acceptable way to raise children, but wear this philosophy with pride like a badge of honour from the school of life. Tough love was invented for people suffering drug and alcohol addiction, not for tiny, innocent little souls who are just trying to find their way in this world. When your parents, the people who are supposed to love you the most, with whom you form your first human relationships, the blueprint on which you base all of your future human interaction, treat you with disrespect, hit you, ignore you, abuse and neglect you, is it any wonder that we find ourselves living in a day and age of divorce, domestic violence and rampant mental illness? Treating your children with empathy and respect does not teach them anything but how to be respectful and empathetic. What do you think will happen when your child sees another fall down and cry in the playground? Children who are shown empathy and respect will offer help and support, as this is all they have ever known. Children who laugh, tease or do nothing at all are likely to be the kids from my local supermarket.