“life is like a box of chocolates, you don’t know what you may get” It is one of those nice statements that people always try to throw to you to cheer you up. but if your anything like me and have the unique ability of always being able to pick the coffee ones (I really don’t like coffee creams) then this type of kindness is like a smack in the face. I tried getting used to how my life was (learning to like coffee cream so to speak) but I’m still unsatisfied. I have way too much in my life and someone sold me the line “that you ladies now-a-day can have it all” Sorry girls it’s a lie. It is true you have all the opportunity you need to do what you want, but don’t be fooled it believing you can have it all.
Have a career, be a great mom, and look amazing with an amazing house to match. you can’t, nor do you need at that and god help us if we are judging others by these, better take that yard stick and hit yourself with it first. you can not do all to 100% quality (burn out!) women can juggle so much but in the end if you are truly honest you have one thing that you do, you drop things for it, you compromise to meet it, you define yourself by it. If you don’t then you need to pick one.
I’m struggling with mine but i do know its being a mom, close second to having a career, not a job, i have one of those and it knows it serves a purpose only. i have in the past balanced all the big three. result? epic fail. Crashed my whole world, risked my children, lost friends, lovely home and got divorced had to leave a patch of heaven for a broken old town. Best decision i ever made! It saved my life, truly. So i cant have it all but i can chop and chance when the opportunity opens the door.
My children thank me everyday for my decision to put them first. God knows i have to fight hard for me but i’d kill for them. To find them happy, trying hard at school, at things they want to achieve (no matter how obscured) the fact they know their own mind, it all lets me know they are by definition my children.
Dare i risk changing my priority to get a career? How much time do i have left to really make one out of whats left of me? Would it even satisfied my “itch” or it this more peer pressure to preform?
“A man and his young son get in to his car and go for a drive, but disaster strikes and they are involved in a big crash. The man is killed and the young son taken to hospital. At the hospital the boy is rushed to surgery, but the surgeon says “I can not operate on this boy, he is my son”
Read it again.
Now ask your self was it obvious to you that the surgeon was the boy’s mother?
Maybe if your Canadian or Australian this might have only confused you for a second or two. however it took me 5 attempts, is this because I’m thick? or do I still live in a male privileged society?
This is my first and only blog page, why have I decided that blogging is the right thing for us?
Well I am a writer who has been writing in secret for about 19 years. It all started with a birthday gift from my aunt Ve, I had never see a diary journal before, not a proper one. Its blue leather-bound cover, the newest smell, gold edge paper and its magnolia pages with caramel coloured lines were as if I were looking at a rare pice of art. to be honest I nearly cried when I wrote my name in the front, it’s what it told me to do, it said “this journal belongs to…” See I am very dyslexic and my hand witting appalling, especially at that time. 10 years old and I could barely read, less than a five-year old academically. Ashamed I wrote first my diary then my stories, and know one knew not even my parents. My dad told me some whopper about when he was a child, and I loved them. I could imagine for hour on my own, whole other worlds. I would try to write them down but often I could not write at the speed my mind would race, whole sentences would be missing. and if you can’t read what you have written you can not correct it. This went on for years until I met my high school teacher Mr Bill Young, he had a Welsh name I could never pronounce so he used Bill. He taught me to read, and read and read out loud, then read something else and read it some more. only then could we get to writing. Mr Young listen to me read painfully for an hour after school, he would talk to me about the class work, write my essay notes down as I worked out what the question was asking of me. “your not thick, lazy or slow minded, you have got this far because you’re so smart. you need to un-learn your bad habits and get some solid base knowledge. don’t let this obstacle stop you, get over it.” I’m still kind of slow at reading (have to read each page twice, once to get them words, second to read what the writer is saying) but reading means I can spell words, I can sound out bigger words, I can recognise high frequency words in a second not seconds and I have some vocabulary. most of all it means I can visit other people’s worlds and see my own come to life.
Am I still a bit scared when my children ask me to read to them, yes, but it doesn’t stop me.