I have to apologise first up for what I think might be a rambling and disconnected post. My head is a little muddled after a fabulous wedding party last night. So much dancing and wine and music and that lovely heady drunkeness and affirmations of love between old friends.
Who would have thought getting older could be this wonderful if only you have such fine company in which to do it? (Told you I'd ramble.)
Anyway, we both had a few drinks and I know we'll have to pay for this. But at this point (while J is still sleeping, our son is with my parents and things are very quiet) I want to continue to enjoy it.
Things got off to a rocky start yesterday. We managed to have a fight just before the cab arrived. It was my fault this time. I just couldn't bear hearing for the 20th time that day that I don't like him, I think he's crap and so on and so forth. I snapped and told him that I just didn't want to hear it anymore and I'd rather he stayed home than continue on in that vein. Stupid, stupid me.
So the cab ride was in total silence. I was amazed that he still got in. And then I was accused of not understanding at all, of saying hurtful things without a care for what he felt.
Inside my head I was seething with the injustice of his comments, but somehow wisdom prevailed and I listened quietly, respectfully. Because in fact it was worse than what he was accusing me of.
My comments were not thoughtless. They were impatient and heedless of his feelings. I do in fact think all the time about how hard things are for him but my actions certainly didn't show it.
And then there was the ride to the wedding with friends. More silence on his part (but they know how things are so at least there was nothing to explain).
At the wedding we were absorbed into the crowd; many old friends swarming around to hug and talk and he was caught up in it. We flowed into separate groups. We stood separately during the ceremony. I didn't dare to look in his direction. I focussed entirely on the bride and groom and the lovely funny ceremony, the flowergirls, the incredible views and sunshine.
In fact it was our friends who made things unbelievably incredibly okay. There was no way I could have made up for what I said to him. But the beautiful environment and the steady flow of people walking up to him and engaging in conversation around him and with him led him gently into having a good time.
That and of course - eventually, quite late into the piece fortunately - a few beers. It's the beers that I have to thank for getting him onto the dance floor of course. I'm afraid it's not depression that keeps him from dancing. It's just being a lumbering and rather uncoordinated kind of bloke. Not that beer provides coordination, but I give high marks for enthusiasm and confidence.
I was in absolute heaven last night. Today may be a different matter but that hasn't started yet. I will stop meandering about in a minute, though I just want to say first how grateful I am for the invention of paracetamol. I'm starting to list a little to starboard (or whatever the hell this side of the room is called). So time to go really.
Flo
PS - Did I mention waking up to hear something on the radio about a tsunami warning? I'm sure there's some perfect analogy to be made about what might be coming today. Did I just make it then?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
A big event
This afternoon one of my dearest and oldest friends is getting married. It's a very important ocassion for our group of friends. Most of us have known each other since we were about 17. We've shared houses, clothes, beds. We've supported each other through break-ups, deaths, illness and recoveries. A few of us have had children but even those who haven't have hung around to help.
So this wedding is important. There aren't that many of them and it's a chance to be together and celebrate something good.
My friends have welcomed J very warmly. They try to include him in things - social events, creative projects and so on. I know they like and respect him.
But it's too hard for him to believe that; and too hard to put any effort into nurturing or maintaining the friendships.
"I don't need that sort of thing, it's all in the past," are the exact words he used this week when he decided at the last minute that he couldn't go to the buck's night. And it was a very sedate night - dinner at a local pub, home well before midnight. (Our friends are a bit past a lot of things these days. It has its advantages!)
I think these events are important to attend. They're an opportunity to converse with people, catch up with the day-to-day, connect as an individual and grow genuine bonds that don't depend on your partner for their existence.
One of the best things that I've collected from past relationships are the friends that I've made. I've always kept them. There's a slight akwardness at times when juggling events and invitations, but on the whole it's been rewarding and has resulted in a beautiful network of friends, people who've known me through various ages and phases of life and still know me. We see each other change and age. It's wonderful.
But J doesn't want to be a part of it. It's not important to him. At least that's what he tells me, and what can I do but take him at his word? Perhaps it's arrogant of me to presume that this should be important, that he should want to have friends.
And am I just being too controlling? Trying to arrange things so they're just right for him? He's let his own friendships slide. (He has one friend left who contacts him sporadically.) Maybe that's just the way it has to be for him. Maybe I can't fix this either.
So today is the wedding. I know this is hard for him. He can't bear to hear me mention it, even to discuss necessary things like transport arrangements. I know he won't have anything organised to wear. The most basic preparations like shaving and washing his hair will be an impost. (Although he could turn up just as he is and no-one but him will care.)
I want him to come because often it's the getting there that's the struggle. He often ends up enjoying himself. And I don't want him to miss out on significant events like this. I think being left out will contribute to his sense of isolation, even if it is temporarily the easier and more comfortable option.
Anyway, just a few rambling thoughts while my tea is brewing and everyone else is still blissfully sleeping. This is the best time of the day.
Flo
So this wedding is important. There aren't that many of them and it's a chance to be together and celebrate something good.
My friends have welcomed J very warmly. They try to include him in things - social events, creative projects and so on. I know they like and respect him.
But it's too hard for him to believe that; and too hard to put any effort into nurturing or maintaining the friendships.
"I don't need that sort of thing, it's all in the past," are the exact words he used this week when he decided at the last minute that he couldn't go to the buck's night. And it was a very sedate night - dinner at a local pub, home well before midnight. (Our friends are a bit past a lot of things these days. It has its advantages!)
I think these events are important to attend. They're an opportunity to converse with people, catch up with the day-to-day, connect as an individual and grow genuine bonds that don't depend on your partner for their existence.
One of the best things that I've collected from past relationships are the friends that I've made. I've always kept them. There's a slight akwardness at times when juggling events and invitations, but on the whole it's been rewarding and has resulted in a beautiful network of friends, people who've known me through various ages and phases of life and still know me. We see each other change and age. It's wonderful.
But J doesn't want to be a part of it. It's not important to him. At least that's what he tells me, and what can I do but take him at his word? Perhaps it's arrogant of me to presume that this should be important, that he should want to have friends.
And am I just being too controlling? Trying to arrange things so they're just right for him? He's let his own friendships slide. (He has one friend left who contacts him sporadically.) Maybe that's just the way it has to be for him. Maybe I can't fix this either.
So today is the wedding. I know this is hard for him. He can't bear to hear me mention it, even to discuss necessary things like transport arrangements. I know he won't have anything organised to wear. The most basic preparations like shaving and washing his hair will be an impost. (Although he could turn up just as he is and no-one but him will care.)
I want him to come because often it's the getting there that's the struggle. He often ends up enjoying himself. And I don't want him to miss out on significant events like this. I think being left out will contribute to his sense of isolation, even if it is temporarily the easier and more comfortable option.
Anyway, just a few rambling thoughts while my tea is brewing and everyone else is still blissfully sleeping. This is the best time of the day.
Flo
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Weddings (and other to-do lists)
About five years ago J asked me to marry him. It was incredibly romantic and unexpected.
I had no desire to be married. J and I have both been married before (to other people that is).
But being asked was flattering and it felt like a commitment in itself, an affirmation of the depth of his feelings for me.
Still, I was reluctant to turn it into my project and so I left it to him to move things forward.
I had no desire to be married. J and I have both been married before (to other people that is).
But being asked was flattering and it felt like a commitment in itself, an affirmation of the depth of his feelings for me.
Still, I was reluctant to turn it into my project and so I left it to him to move things forward.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Thank you
I am so very appreciative. It feels like such a vanity on my part to send my rants into cyberspace and hope that people will spend their precious free moments reading them and responding to them.
I feel incredibly supported by the honesty and openess of your responses, by the instances of shared experiences. I feel so lucky to have the benefit of your insights and I am amazed every time a comment is posted at how generous you have been with your time and your thoughts.
Sometimes I wish that we all lived in the same city and could support one another in a more material way but in reality I know that if we did (and perhaps in fact we may) we still would never know what we share; and it has to be that way. It would be impossible (for me at least) to be this candid if it weren't on an anonymous basis.
I'm really glad that we can connect through the internet and offer each other more support than is possible in the flesh-and-blood world.
So thank you. Writing this blog has effected such a great change for me. It lightens the load, provides a forum and pushes me to explore thoughts, realities, assumptions. It helps me to track developments. And now it's made me feel so much less alone. Thank you for that.
Flo
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Friday night out
I read somewhere that every family is its own country. I think my family has its own climate.
On Friday night everyone was in a good enough mood to want to go out for pizza.
There was a series of events: Work called on my mobile to get some information. T didn't want to go into the restaurant because he had somewhere else in mind.
Clouds gathered.
In the restaurant T grabbed the knife (what else?) and when J tried to retrieve it a tantrum ensued.
The work call ended. T was clinging onto that knife and sobbing, head down on the table. J's eyes were pink rimmed; his pupils disappearing into a flat icy blue; his mouth a thin, hard line.
On Friday night everyone was in a good enough mood to want to go out for pizza.
There was a series of events: Work called on my mobile to get some information. T didn't want to go into the restaurant because he had somewhere else in mind.
Clouds gathered.
In the restaurant T grabbed the knife (what else?) and when J tried to retrieve it a tantrum ensued.
The work call ended. T was clinging onto that knife and sobbing, head down on the table. J's eyes were pink rimmed; his pupils disappearing into a flat icy blue; his mouth a thin, hard line.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Love
T brought home a drawing he did for me at daycare. He stuck it on the fridge.
It's a couple of orange lines wobbling their way down the page and around to the left. They're sharks and one of them is for me.
I felt love when I saw it. That line is running alongside my heart. I carry it around inside me. I stop and notice it sometimes and then the whole world glows a warm orange for me.
Love is often cited as part of or sometimes the whole reason why people stay in a relationship with a depressed partner.
The thing is, I don't feel it. I say "I love you" often enough. I mean it in a general kind of way. Or maybe by love I mean "I'll support you"; or even "I'll wait for you".
It's a couple of orange lines wobbling their way down the page and around to the left. They're sharks and one of them is for me.
I felt love when I saw it. That line is running alongside my heart. I carry it around inside me. I stop and notice it sometimes and then the whole world glows a warm orange for me.
Love is often cited as part of or sometimes the whole reason why people stay in a relationship with a depressed partner.
The thing is, I don't feel it. I say "I love you" often enough. I mean it in a general kind of way. Or maybe by love I mean "I'll support you"; or even "I'll wait for you".
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Valentine's Day
I had pizza and gelato with my son. We walked the streets of my favourite town, did funny things, told silly jokes, bumped into an old friend and managed to get a cab just as the storm broke, releasing what's become a regular nightly deluge.
My boy fell asleep in the cab. Now I'm in the kitchen listening to the white noise of rain on the verandah roof, listening to the Garrison Keeler show on the radio. The cat is here with me.
But this is Valentine's Day and J is on the couch, eyes shut. Down. Angry. Really low.
He stormed out of the living room earlier, infuriated by an unwinnable stand-off, the kind that only 3-year-olds have the doggedness to stick out.
J went to bed. I got angry. Got dressed. Got out of the house with T. We caught a train into town where there's people and life.
There were so many ways in which it was great, just fine, what I live for. But today I wanted more.
And yes I was angry to come home - sleeping child, heavy, fumbling for keys, pissing down rain. Putting the child to bed, shoes, bag, wet clothes. He's on the fucking couch. On the fucking internet.
And when I swallow my anger to say hello (the anger liposuctioned out of my voice) it turns out he's mad at me.
So I tell him: You're obviously depressed, that's why I went. When it happens all I can do is get out of the way. So that's what I did. I know this from experience now. I used to try and fix it (I tell him), chase you and try and make you interact. But I realise now that just puts pressure on you that you don't need. This episode will pass. It's the depression we're both angry about, not each other.
I said it in anger but it still helped. I can't excise the emotion from the package that is me. I can use it though, it's a catalyst. It carries the words along. It doesn't inform them.
J and I have to accept that depression is part of our lives; I think part of that is accepting that I'm angry at it. It helps to get me through now that it's more accurately directed and better channelled.
My boy fell asleep in the cab. Now I'm in the kitchen listening to the white noise of rain on the verandah roof, listening to the Garrison Keeler show on the radio. The cat is here with me.
But this is Valentine's Day and J is on the couch, eyes shut. Down. Angry. Really low.
He stormed out of the living room earlier, infuriated by an unwinnable stand-off, the kind that only 3-year-olds have the doggedness to stick out.
J went to bed. I got angry. Got dressed. Got out of the house with T. We caught a train into town where there's people and life.
There were so many ways in which it was great, just fine, what I live for. But today I wanted more.
And yes I was angry to come home - sleeping child, heavy, fumbling for keys, pissing down rain. Putting the child to bed, shoes, bag, wet clothes. He's on the fucking couch. On the fucking internet.
And when I swallow my anger to say hello (the anger liposuctioned out of my voice) it turns out he's mad at me.
So I tell him: You're obviously depressed, that's why I went. When it happens all I can do is get out of the way. So that's what I did. I know this from experience now. I used to try and fix it (I tell him), chase you and try and make you interact. But I realise now that just puts pressure on you that you don't need. This episode will pass. It's the depression we're both angry about, not each other.
I said it in anger but it still helped. I can't excise the emotion from the package that is me. I can use it though, it's a catalyst. It carries the words along. It doesn't inform them.
J and I have to accept that depression is part of our lives; I think part of that is accepting that I'm angry at it. It helps to get me through now that it's more accurately directed and better channelled.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Pervs Are People Too
I don't think it's what I was wearing. Perhaps I look suggestable? Sympathetic? On the same wavelength?
I am often accosted by elderly gentlemen who wish to discuss their peccadillos (old perves).
Imagine his surprise and delight when only a few metres away there appeared a woman who was entirely naked. Entirely naked! (His emphasis, not mine.)
I am often accosted by elderly gentlemen who wish to discuss their peccadillos (old perves).
Today a lovely pensioner at the the bus stop engaged me in a conversation about a snorkeling trip to Gordon's Bay a couple of years ago. He was looking for gropers.
(This kind of groper)
Imagine his surprise and delight when only a few metres away there appeared a woman who was entirely naked. Entirely naked! (His emphasis, not mine.)Unfortunately my bus arrived at that point so I was unable to continue chatting.
I wonder where things might have gone from there. Was he going to invite me on a snorkeling adventure? Was I expected to reciprocate by reminiscing about a similar experience?
And if he was having lewd thoughts about me, well, I'm not going to complain. No-one else is having them at the moment. And I'm hardly going to be tempted into taking up any consequent offer am I?
I guess you could see this as the positive side to the changes affected in me by current circumstances.
I have a far greater appreciation of small interactions and I am less fearful of people because I know my own boundaries. I've learned not to make assumptions about people. If I'm confident about my own choices in any given situation then I'm comfortable, fullstop.
A younger me might have been a little afraid of his intentions, unsure of how to respond.
My current self could see him as an absolutely charming, intelligent man with entirely dishonourable motives. I could give him five minutes of my time without giving him anything more of myself at all, without akwardness or anxiety.
(And he gave me something to write about on the bus.)
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
A shift in perspective (finding emo)
But the aquarium was an otherworldly experience that inspired the tingling, sparkling joyousness that my mind has missed - particularly where you can walk underneath and through the centre of tanks that are so enormous they feel like universes, not enclosures.
It's something about the low lighting and the giant rays swimming directly above you, their weird little babies' mouths gaping slightly like cherubs with adenoids.
And the dugongs are strangely graceful for all their resemblance to dill pickles (those sailors must have been on something a lot stronger than was available in the 90s to confuse them with mermaids).
My son predictably was enthralled by the sharks (all called Bruce of course) and the clown fish (Emo).
We had an amazing day together after what's been a particularly low point in the mother-child relationship (shrieking like banshees, various people being locked/locking themselves in the bathroom, less sleep per night than fingers on one hand).
It's like we went through the arse-end of tired and came out ... here. We ate ice-cream and grapes. I forgot to feel heavy for a day and had a brilliant time.
Reasons to leave
1. I want happiness to be day-to-day, not a special thing, a holiday in the middle of a heavy slog. I want this for all of us, but I can only make it happen for me and for my son, not for my partner.
2. I'm getting really tired. I worry that I'm disintegrating, even though I try so hard to keep it together. I can't grow a skin that's any thicker. It's not getting easier.
3. I don't like some of the ways that this is changing who I am. I don't like being so hard-arsed. I don't like having to draw sharp lines about how much I give to my partner and how much I have to keep back for myself.
4. I'm getting older.I don't know if I want to continue this battle for too much longer.
2. I'm getting really tired. I worry that I'm disintegrating, even though I try so hard to keep it together. I can't grow a skin that's any thicker. It's not getting easier.
3. I don't like some of the ways that this is changing who I am. I don't like being so hard-arsed. I don't like having to draw sharp lines about how much I give to my partner and how much I have to keep back for myself.
4. I'm getting older.I don't know if I want to continue this battle for too much longer.
Reasons to stay
1. When he's well he has a really warped sense of humour, pushes things right to the edge (where I find them funniest). He can diffuse any situation, a breath of calm (compared to my dramatic self). He is the most knowledgeable person I've ever met on pretty much any subject (a pain the arse to play trivia against).
2. I can't take away the day-to-day of the father-son relationship. How will they stay this close if they don't wake up together every morning? (Will they? I don't have any experience of how this works. Most of my friends are single and without children.)
3. We've already put so much work into this relationship. It feels like a hundred year history squished into six.
4. There are more well periods in the last couple of months so maybe he's getting better.
5. I don't have the energy to leave.
2. I can't take away the day-to-day of the father-son relationship. How will they stay this close if they don't wake up together every morning? (Will they? I don't have any experience of how this works. Most of my friends are single and without children.)
3. We've already put so much work into this relationship. It feels like a hundred year history squished into six.
4. There are more well periods in the last couple of months so maybe he's getting better.
5. I don't have the energy to leave.
Monday, February 8, 2010
One child
I have one child and I don't want any more. I don't want to do this again.
I need to explain that this is mostly about my first year of motherhood and that I've still got that rabbit in the headlights thing going even though my son is now three.
As most of the women in my mothers' group grew more comfortable with their role they started talking about having a second child. When they whinged it was about partners who maybe didn't help quite enough or who stayed out a bit later with their mates than they said they would. They had dinner together at the end of the day. They had occasional nights out. They invited us to their houses.
Nobody mentioned a partner who was afraid to hold the baby, who did not have the energy at the end of the day to help around the house, who did not want to cook or eat. Our place was pretty much off-limits to visitors unless I insisted and that was a huge effort for both of us.
I could never leave the baby alone with him. He didn't think he could cope. In order to start back at work once a week (I needed the time alone almost as much as we desperately needed the money) my parents looked after the baby. All he had to do was be home by 6:30pm. I would get there at 7:30pm. And even that was too much pressure for him.
I'm going to spell out what that meant for me. It meant that he was anxious all of Sunday afternoon (so snappy, irritable, probably in bed).
He would invariably find it hard to wake up in the morning and therefore be again angry, flustered, noncommunicative. This meant that he was late for work and had to work through his lunchbreak so that he could leave on time, making him hungry, resentful and tired. He'd never, ever leave work when he was supposed to so that meant my parents had to stay later than they wanted to.
And then when I got home (sometimes before him) I'd have to apologise to my mum and dad and then have to listen to him complaining about how hard it was for him to leave work early and how it was affecting his position at work and how guilty he felt about my parents.
So that's just one example of how things went. Now just assume every other element of life contained pretty much the same ingredients and you get why the whole thing was so bloody exhausting.
We fought a lot in that first year. There was no sex or even intimacy. Sleep deprivation, anxiety and depression destroyed our relationship.
I can remember good things too. There were times when the three of us went out together and it was fine. And times when the two of them connected so well (as they still do). But there just aren't enough of them to overcome the conviction that I never, ever want to go through that again.
I used to think that having a depressed partner was like being a single parent - responsible for all the decisions and all the work.
But it's quite different. I spent a lot of time worrying about my partner, cloistered in an atmosphere so thick and heavy with depression that I could hardly breathe sometimes. It takes a lot energy to be that disappointed, frustrated angry and desperate. I invested too much into the relationship. I was stretched on every front. And I never, ever got a break I didn't fight for.
Looking back on it I should have left. We should have lived in separate places. It would have been better doing the day-to-day stuff alone, without waiting around for things to improve. I could have utilised better the support I might have had from friends and family.
I know how bloody hard it was for him. But this is where I get to say that it was hell for me too. And I'm (obviously) still angry because that's not how I want to remember my son's first year.
There are a lot of other good, well considered reasons that I have for not wanting more children, but this one is top of the list.
Well, it's good to get that off my chest. Feel free to vent, or question, or say anything at all at this point.
Flo
I need to explain that this is mostly about my first year of motherhood and that I've still got that rabbit in the headlights thing going even though my son is now three.
As most of the women in my mothers' group grew more comfortable with their role they started talking about having a second child. When they whinged it was about partners who maybe didn't help quite enough or who stayed out a bit later with their mates than they said they would. They had dinner together at the end of the day. They had occasional nights out. They invited us to their houses.
Nobody mentioned a partner who was afraid to hold the baby, who did not have the energy at the end of the day to help around the house, who did not want to cook or eat. Our place was pretty much off-limits to visitors unless I insisted and that was a huge effort for both of us.
I could never leave the baby alone with him. He didn't think he could cope. In order to start back at work once a week (I needed the time alone almost as much as we desperately needed the money) my parents looked after the baby. All he had to do was be home by 6:30pm. I would get there at 7:30pm. And even that was too much pressure for him.
I'm going to spell out what that meant for me. It meant that he was anxious all of Sunday afternoon (so snappy, irritable, probably in bed).
He would invariably find it hard to wake up in the morning and therefore be again angry, flustered, noncommunicative. This meant that he was late for work and had to work through his lunchbreak so that he could leave on time, making him hungry, resentful and tired. He'd never, ever leave work when he was supposed to so that meant my parents had to stay later than they wanted to.
And then when I got home (sometimes before him) I'd have to apologise to my mum and dad and then have to listen to him complaining about how hard it was for him to leave work early and how it was affecting his position at work and how guilty he felt about my parents.
So that's just one example of how things went. Now just assume every other element of life contained pretty much the same ingredients and you get why the whole thing was so bloody exhausting.
We fought a lot in that first year. There was no sex or even intimacy. Sleep deprivation, anxiety and depression destroyed our relationship.
I can remember good things too. There were times when the three of us went out together and it was fine. And times when the two of them connected so well (as they still do). But there just aren't enough of them to overcome the conviction that I never, ever want to go through that again.
I used to think that having a depressed partner was like being a single parent - responsible for all the decisions and all the work.
But it's quite different. I spent a lot of time worrying about my partner, cloistered in an atmosphere so thick and heavy with depression that I could hardly breathe sometimes. It takes a lot energy to be that disappointed, frustrated angry and desperate. I invested too much into the relationship. I was stretched on every front. And I never, ever got a break I didn't fight for.
Looking back on it I should have left. We should have lived in separate places. It would have been better doing the day-to-day stuff alone, without waiting around for things to improve. I could have utilised better the support I might have had from friends and family.
I know how bloody hard it was for him. But this is where I get to say that it was hell for me too. And I'm (obviously) still angry because that's not how I want to remember my son's first year.
There are a lot of other good, well considered reasons that I have for not wanting more children, but this one is top of the list.
Well, it's good to get that off my chest. Feel free to vent, or question, or say anything at all at this point.
Flo
Saturday, February 6, 2010
I'm gonna chow down my vegetables
In fact, it's much harder to really start doing things to look after myself and live my own life than it is to just support the concept.
For instance, this post was actually going to begin with:
I mean, why didn't I just start forcefeeding myself fruit and veg? Why isn't my own health incentive enough?
Well actually we're all eating them. A box-load of organic ones every week. I figure since it's possibly the only consistent, health-conscious thing we're doing it's okay that blueberries cost about the same as sapphires and we've got one corn cob to split between three people.
I mean, I could have ordered more corn but hell, I splurged on the eggs and I guess those chickens must eat gold dust and bed down on finest organically-fed baby hair - the kind that can only be harvested when the moon is the second house.
I'm not complaining though. For the first time in ages I can be genuine about liking the taste of broccoli. I've been faking it for years, it's true - and I'm a vegetarian. And tomatoes are sweet. And carrots are filling. (Hey, cake is vegetarian, and bread, pasta, coffee, you get the idea.)
I think one of the many legitimate reasons I have for being so goddamn tired all the time is that I spend a lot of energy still trying to make it all better (and possibly not getting enough vitamins now that I look at what I've written).
Even though I know I'm not in control of my partner's depression in the read-it-a-million-times-and-know-it-to-be-so-from-bitter-experience kind of way, I still do it. I still think I might find the right combination to fix it.
And you know, I think my efforts do make some impact when he's well and amenable to suggestions (like eat this, not like jog there).
But ultimately I need to just get on with it and eat my greens and see my friends and do a hundred other things without first worrying about whether he'll be okay with it or whether it'll be good for him.
Flo
For instance, this post was actually going to begin with:
I know I am never going to get him to exercise. He gets this weird lip thing whenever the matter is raised (like an Elvis-tick). So instead I'm making him eat veggies and fruit.But as I was typing a rare beam of light cut through the dust motes (in our house, though possibly they're in my mind now too) so there was a nano-moment of self awareness where I saw the error of my Bob The Builder ways.
I mean, why didn't I just start forcefeeding myself fruit and veg? Why isn't my own health incentive enough?
Well actually we're all eating them. A box-load of organic ones every week. I figure since it's possibly the only consistent, health-conscious thing we're doing it's okay that blueberries cost about the same as sapphires and we've got one corn cob to split between three people.
I mean, I could have ordered more corn but hell, I splurged on the eggs and I guess those chickens must eat gold dust and bed down on finest organically-fed baby hair - the kind that can only be harvested when the moon is the second house.
I'm not complaining though. For the first time in ages I can be genuine about liking the taste of broccoli. I've been faking it for years, it's true - and I'm a vegetarian. And tomatoes are sweet. And carrots are filling. (Hey, cake is vegetarian, and bread, pasta, coffee, you get the idea.)
I think one of the many legitimate reasons I have for being so goddamn tired all the time is that I spend a lot of energy still trying to make it all better (and possibly not getting enough vitamins now that I look at what I've written).
Even though I know I'm not in control of my partner's depression in the read-it-a-million-times-and-know-it-to-be-so-from-bitter-experience kind of way, I still do it. I still think I might find the right combination to fix it.
And you know, I think my efforts do make some impact when he's well and amenable to suggestions (like eat this, not like jog there).
But ultimately I need to just get on with it and eat my greens and see my friends and do a hundred other things without first worrying about whether he'll be okay with it or whether it'll be good for him.
Flo
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Fighting the genome
My 3-year-old has recently moved from the little kids' area at his daycare to the preschool.
While the days have gone well the mornings have been dramatic. I mean sobbing, pulling me by the hair, screaming, "Mummy I love you don't leave me!" kind of stuff.
Apparently it all shuts off about two mintues after I leave (though I'm messy for a lot longer). But he feels separations keenly. Any sort of good-bye can be fraught.
He and I talk a lot about this. He tells me the day before school: "I'm going to cry tomorrow when you leave."
Me: "Why?"
Him: "Because I'll be sad when you leave. I want you to stay with me."
Me: "I know how you feel. I'm sad saying goodbye too. I wish I could stay all day."
I got the last bit from reading Between Parent and Child (Ginott). He says that children need to know they've been understood primarily and this fits in really with my agenda here. (That sounds so nefarious - but I do spend a lot fot ime pretending to an evil villain that must be "fighted" by "supercool hero man" and his special powers. It rubs off.)
I am consciously trying to build resilience in these kinds of interactions with my son.
This involves three things (that I can think of):
* Acknowledging and accepting sadness, giving it its due place. It's sometimes appropriate to be sad. It's for each one of us to decide for ourselves when that is so.
* Expressing sadness - whether it be crying or whatever.
* Moving on when finished.
My partner very rarely names his feelings. I think he only allows himself to feel anger (and that's ultimately turned on himself).
What I mean is, when something happens he doesn't say: "My boss sent me a really offensive email. She doesn't appreciate my work. It's so demoralising."
He clams up instead and goes to bed. Or he says: "I hate my job. Everything is fucked. I'm an idiot." And then he goes to bed.
I am hoping that if I can give my son routines for processing things, dividing emotion into manageable bits and being comfortable with it, then he won't be overwhelmed.
I think he's young enough now to set those grooves in his mind so that's the default path he treads when dificult things come up.
So, tempting as it is, I try really hard never to say: Don't cry. It's fine. Because obviously it doesn't feel fine to him and by denying his feelings all I'll do is drive them underground and he'll learn to supress them and, well, we all know the story.
Everything I've read points towards the fact that having a depressed parent makes a child more likely to suffer from depression themselves, so I'm trying really hard to prevent this. Even if it's genetic, I think what we teach our son now can make a difference.
I heard a great program about autism today and the work that's being done on looking for an autism genome. One of the researchers interviewed said a fantastic thing. He said, "We can fight the genome."
If you have children in your life what are your strategies for helping them avoid depression?
Do you worry that you need to work consciously to provide an alternative to what they might see modeled by a depressed family member?
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this and also any reading recommendations you might have.
Flo
While the days have gone well the mornings have been dramatic. I mean sobbing, pulling me by the hair, screaming, "Mummy I love you don't leave me!" kind of stuff.
Apparently it all shuts off about two mintues after I leave (though I'm messy for a lot longer). But he feels separations keenly. Any sort of good-bye can be fraught.
He and I talk a lot about this. He tells me the day before school: "I'm going to cry tomorrow when you leave."
Me: "Why?"
Him: "Because I'll be sad when you leave. I want you to stay with me."
Me: "I know how you feel. I'm sad saying goodbye too. I wish I could stay all day."
I got the last bit from reading Between Parent and Child (Ginott). He says that children need to know they've been understood primarily and this fits in really with my agenda here. (That sounds so nefarious - but I do spend a lot fot ime pretending to an evil villain that must be "fighted" by "supercool hero man" and his special powers. It rubs off.)
I am consciously trying to build resilience in these kinds of interactions with my son.
This involves three things (that I can think of):
* Acknowledging and accepting sadness, giving it its due place. It's sometimes appropriate to be sad. It's for each one of us to decide for ourselves when that is so.
* Expressing sadness - whether it be crying or whatever.
* Moving on when finished.
My partner very rarely names his feelings. I think he only allows himself to feel anger (and that's ultimately turned on himself).
What I mean is, when something happens he doesn't say: "My boss sent me a really offensive email. She doesn't appreciate my work. It's so demoralising."
He clams up instead and goes to bed. Or he says: "I hate my job. Everything is fucked. I'm an idiot." And then he goes to bed.
I am hoping that if I can give my son routines for processing things, dividing emotion into manageable bits and being comfortable with it, then he won't be overwhelmed.
I think he's young enough now to set those grooves in his mind so that's the default path he treads when dificult things come up.
So, tempting as it is, I try really hard never to say: Don't cry. It's fine. Because obviously it doesn't feel fine to him and by denying his feelings all I'll do is drive them underground and he'll learn to supress them and, well, we all know the story.
Everything I've read points towards the fact that having a depressed parent makes a child more likely to suffer from depression themselves, so I'm trying really hard to prevent this. Even if it's genetic, I think what we teach our son now can make a difference.
I heard a great program about autism today and the work that's being done on looking for an autism genome. One of the researchers interviewed said a fantastic thing. He said, "We can fight the genome."
If you have children in your life what are your strategies for helping them avoid depression?
Do you worry that you need to work consciously to provide an alternative to what they might see modeled by a depressed family member?
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this and also any reading recommendations you might have.
Flo
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Posting under the influence
You know how they compare sleep deprivation with drinking and you should never drink and drive, drink and text ... drink and post?
Well I'm not drunk but I had four hours of sleep last night - up with a sick toddler who then refused to sleep during the day. And now here I am at work, doing an evening shift. My eyes are squinting a bit at the screen even though I've got the text size set to enormous.
Also, I lay no claim to coherence. So my apologies if this seems haphazard. I don't mean it to be, but heck, I have so much that I feel guilty about, I'm not going to add sleep-addled-blog-posts to the list.
I just didn't want to forget what I wanted to write (hmm, slip sliding into dream-speak already maybe). Anyway...
Well I'm not drunk but I had four hours of sleep last night - up with a sick toddler who then refused to sleep during the day. And now here I am at work, doing an evening shift. My eyes are squinting a bit at the screen even though I've got the text size set to enormous.
Also, I lay no claim to coherence. So my apologies if this seems haphazard. I don't mean it to be, but heck, I have so much that I feel guilty about, I'm not going to add sleep-addled-blog-posts to the list.
I just didn't want to forget what I wanted to write (hmm, slip sliding into dream-speak already maybe). Anyway...
Monday, February 1, 2010
A worm in the apple
There’s a very petty, mean side to me; one that seeks to get my partner back a little for what I feel he’s put me through.
The last month has been very good, the best we’ve had in years. Then I got a bit sick (no big deal, just a cold) and for some reason my spirits just didn’t recover along with the rest of me. I couldn’t sleep properly, had no energy for anything and I wasn’t much fun to be around.
And all the while I could see myself from above. Until yesterday I could see myself sinking a little lower each day.
The last month has been very good, the best we’ve had in years. Then I got a bit sick (no big deal, just a cold) and for some reason my spirits just didn’t recover along with the rest of me. I couldn’t sleep properly, had no energy for anything and I wasn’t much fun to be around.
And all the while I could see myself from above. Until yesterday I could see myself sinking a little lower each day.
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