Mother dearest

This post is a complete 180 to what I had originally planned. Whilst I hadn’t set out to bash my mother I can confidently say this wasn’t originally going to be a flattering post.

I don’t know if I’ve always been drawn to particularly tumultuous relationships because of my tumultuous relationship with my mother or if it’s an excuse I’ve recently added to my list of BS psycho analysis of myself.

I love my mother dearly but we’ve had many down days, many shouting matches and such pent up resentment on both sides sometimes the only resolve has been to stay away from each other which hasn’t been hard as we live continents apart.

I’m currently en route to Barcelona by air and as always the slightest turbulence is making my stomach turn. I’m thinking about my mother today because we took many flights together when I was a little girl and I remember how safe she always made me feel. It only really just hit home how truly brave you have to be as a parent and for that I’m grateful for mother dearest. Every time a plane would do something unfamiliar I would turn to her and ask if ‘we would be okay’ and whilst I can’t quite remember what her exact responses were, I remember the feeling of calm that inevitably ensued. I felt invincible. I felt that if mummy was close nothing bad would happen.

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FUCK IT UP SIS

Hey it’s me, little old me just here changing the things that I see so I can change the things that I think. I feel like maybe I’ve been a little bit over bearing in sharing my new-found confidence and resistance to the status quo, particularly with some more …. shall we say ‘conservative’ friends. Whilst I haven’t been met with overt resistance- I feel it.

It’s in the subtle disapproving looks when I say things like ‘fuck who you want to fuck, be safe, be respectful and be ethical.’ It’s in the scoffs when I say things like ‘I don’t particularly like cooking, it’s not for me.’ It’s in the ‘aww you’re so liberal’ when I share my thoughts on rape culture and why I hate that women are policed so heavily and yet we still face sexual violence at the hands of perpetrators who still receive societal support.

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Praying my 20 Somethings don’t kill me

Currently soaking in SZA’s new album and particularly enjoying the song ‘20 something’ because the lyrics speak to me so hard.

Hopin’ my 20 somethings won’t end

Hopin’ to keep the rest of my friends

Prayin’ the 20 somethings don’t kill me, don’t kill me.

I’m also channeling the big hair- you like?

I’m excited that my 20 somethings haven’t killed me and with not much longer to go I’m happy to report that I’ve survived with minor cuts and bruises. Every time I thought I wouldn’t survive guess which motherfucker got up to fight another day?

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i need a kim k cry

It’s not even 11am and I’m having a stinker of a day, I’ve “accidentally” stepped on a few toes on the underground and muttered more obscenities under my breath this morning than I have all year. I am livid. As always, I’ve checked my period calendar so I know that a good chunk of how I’m feeling is down to my hormones doing the cha-cha slide through my body.

On another day, the fact that a co-worker made a sly dig at me would roll off my back, today I’m so enraged I’m still debating if I want to lavish them with gifts of passive-aggressiveness or body slam them through the office front door. The thought of the latter made me smile a little, but it’s good, I can handle this.

I want to embrace not being okay this morning because “c’est la vie” “peaks and troughs” and “this too shall pass” but I am very uncomfortable feeling like this. I want to have a good cry, an ugly Kim K cry, a cry where the sobs rack your body into submission. Submission that you too are human and a bad day or week or month is a given.

I haven’t had that good cry just yet and I’m doubtful that it’s coming today. Instead, I am processing my feelings by treading through them with zero elegance. I’m huffing and puffing-, typing extra loud as I write this and generally sighing every nanosecond. This unrefined release is laced with equal measures of amusement on how grumpy I feel and sadness over how confident I am that the day can’t and won’t be salvaged.

On another front, I feel like resilience and being “strong” are overrated. The amount of shit that people will put you through because they believe you possess some type of unwavering strength is comical. Performing intense amounts of emotional labour is exhausting and can sometimes leave you feeling hollow. Reserve some of that emotional labour for yourself when you need it most.

For the rest of the day I might just carry on huffing and puffing. I might just get on with it as pleasantly as I can whilst resentment and frustration steep in my being. I may decide to forget about the brewing argument with my mum this morning or I might charge home with feelings yet to be resolved both internally and externally.

I don’t quite have the answers to getting through today. I’m wading through the banalities of today with emotional uncertainty- and somehow that’s okay by me. Tomorrow is another day.

Namaste~

THE ‘HUSTLE’ IS A CON

‘The grind doesn’t sleep’ ‘Go hard or go home’ ‘Show up and show out’- all quotes we hear constantly which indicate that life is or should be a never-ending battle and a fight to the death. Whilst I like the idea of working hard and chasing one’s dreams by any means necessary, I am acutely aware that this type of mentality can affect my mental well-being and peace of mind.

The day I checked my Law school results, I drank two bottles of wine all before 12 noon because I couldn’t face failing. I had re-sat my business law exam and I had to pass, otherwise I would be doing it all over again- and that simply wasn’t an option. I passed, thankfully and spent the rest of the day sobbing my eyes out and trying to mitigate my eventual hangover.

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