Control

I’m blogging from my phone – which is an infuriating process but if I don’t do it now it won’t get done.

Yesterday when I picked Toddler up from daycare I was going to catch the train with her – something I avoid because trains are not reliable/ are full of nuff nuffs – but she was screaming because she was overtired and I thought it’d get us home quicker but then decided to walk because keeping a tired kid in motion is better than the stillness of waiting. Anyway, it meant I walked us through the intersection I avoid because it scares me. I noticed police tape up and remnants of a vehicle accident – something had plowed through the protective barriers, over the pedestrian path and into a residential fence. I thought that maybe my concern about the traffic was legitimate – Toddler has walked that path. It’s all to do with timing.

Since being back here and moving to this area I have become aware of how much things have little to do with me – how much things are beyond my control or at least not completely within my control.

The traffic in this area scares me. I’ve seen a lot of accidents within the last six months, I tense up very time I hear an engine rev ( which is a lot ) I see people speed at every opportunity they have – or don’t have and do it anyway – and at first I just thought I was being precious fresh off the boat after living in Europe for a few years. It’s fine – get over it Lily. But then, I realize that perhaps I only really notice this because I do not have a car. Everyone else I know, does. I’m walking the streets and catching public transport more than everyone else I know. So when I talk about safety – I guess it is harder to explain, because my experience is different. People don’t know what I’m talking about.

And it’s not my job to make people understand me.

That I can’t go to functions in the evenings – the travel time, the darkness, the anxiety. When I talk about feeling unsafe on social media I’m often fobbed off which upsets me but I do it because I feel safer. I feel safer saying to my hundreds of followers on twitter that I’m on this train and there’s this happening. And I know that twitter is a difficult platform to navigate – we’re all coming at each other with our own limited experiences in just 140 characters but at the risk of offending people because men generally scare/ abuse/ intimidate me in public is of little consequence to why I’m doing it in the first place.

In comparison to a lot of my friends with children – I have extremely little help. I do everything to run the house, to look after three people, to keep my own work going and remembering to eat. I cook all meals which I have to choose, buy and walk home. I do the purchasing of house hold items which I have to choose out and walk home. I have to to take my daughter to and from childcare – walking by myself. I want to go see people and do work i have to catch transport by myself. I am pretty much always on my own. Which makes me a target and again – this is beyond my control.

Within the last few weeks I have been hit, sworn at, and intimidated by men. All in broad daylight which makes me want to go out even less. Which makes me want to make less eye contact – ignore people who randomly start talking to me in public. But I have to go out – I have a family to feed, a house to run and a life to live. I just wish people would take my feelings into consideration – my experience is mine. I wish people would understand that there’s a lot more going on than a simple matter of hiring a babysitter to come and see them. And that that is beyond my control – nothing personal.

But I can’t make people help me, I can’t make them visit me, I’ve done all that I can to help them understand and they just don’t hear me. And that’s ok, I don’t take it personal but I hope people don’t take my lack of appearances personally either – this is beyond my control.

Slipping

I think they key to me is regularity. I love it. It’s probably why I like patterns – I like things that are fairly predictable. Which is something I do not have and that sends me off the edge more than anything with parenting.

My husband’s work hours have always been an issue – but more-so since we had a child. Because instead of just the absence of him and my missing him – there’s another person who reacts to it too. And not only that – there is a lot more that falls into my responsibility and I have to do it alone for an unpredictable amount of time. Deadlines are always shifting, end hours and always being extended. Weekends are taken away, plans are always getting scrapped.

Toddler is still only two, so I can’t explain it to her and she begins to react in a myriad of challenging ways. The one at the moment is anger towards me, screaming and screaming at 4AM and refusing to sleep – no matter what I do. This is when all the Super Nanny tactics and 1, 2, 3 Magic things just do not work. Because she is reacting to a new situation. Of course, writing this I feel for her and I want to comfort her – but in the midst of it I resent her. I resent everything, I resent husband’s job and I resent extended family.

So combined with husbands completely consuming and unpredictable work hours there’s no sense of regularity in family life either. There’s no sense of belonging, love, or family.

My incredible friends offer as much as they can – my mum helps at times ( she too works long hours ) but with their young children and lives and sometimes I feel like such a burden. Lily and her melt downs. I want to help them – I just want things to be OK. To be regular. To be normal. Predicable.

But it’s not and now I am getting to a point where I ask Husband where in the world will your work hours be regular??

Let’s go there.

Necessary loss

Coming back to Australia involved a lot of loss.

Sad, but necessary loss.

I left Cardiff where I gestated, birthed and became a mother. I found a letter last week with the details of the tree that was planted in honor of my daughters birth – for every baby born in Wales they plant a tree – and I cried. I never got to see that tree because I spent a long, long time healing, then winter with a newborn – pushing a pram through snow – and then we left.

I left Berlin where I found myself - professionally and personally – many years ago, where I had some of the most amazing times of my life. Where my relationship strengthened, where we dreamed about moving to and then moved to it – with a baby. Where I kept trying and trying and trying and yet still couldn’t be satisfied. Where my daughter began to crawl, talk ( in German ) and walk. Where I did it pretty much on my own and then reached my breaking point. Then I see other peoples pictures of Berlin – and find old photos on my phone – and I think of how well I know those streets, those cobblestones, the corners, the buildings, the graffiti, the mess, the smells – and then I cry because all the memories of my baby growing up are on the other side of the globe.

But it was necessary, and it’s a grief I can bare. As opposed to when I was in Berlin where almost two years in I was so unhappy my chest often felt like it was splitting open.

I still go over these memories and feelings to try and understand myself in the here and the now. What is important to me – what makes me happy. There’s a lot of reasons why I left Melbourne in the first place but these reasons became less important as my life took on a different shape. I see the difference in places and culture in ways that sound pretty obvious but I didn’t really know or understand before living life as an expat. Melbourne still leaves me stumped in many ways – the six degrees of separation really being two or one here. Everyone knows everyone. I’m OK with that, I wasn’t in 2008 – I didn’t know how to navigate that and I take everyone and everything less personally now.

( This post has taken on a different shape to what I initially thought it would.. )

Still I am trying to find out what is important to me – what makes me happy and what I want out of my life. I’m OK with that too – not being where I thought I should be and not having what I think I should have. I don’t own a home – I probably never will. I don’t drive – I probably won’t know how to for a very, very long time. Or own a car. I don’t have long friendships that span over my childhood, teenage years and early twenties. I don’t have people I have known since Anja’s birth – and bonded over birthing around the same time.

My career as an artist is proving trickier than I anticipated – things beyond my control are making me ask new questions. This isn’t a nourishing industry – I never went into it thinking that it was – by by golly, it just feels like obstacle after obstacle and some days I feel so fucking worthless and then conflicted about feeling worthless because I have so much that means so much so perhaps it is this career that is damaging – and not me.

If so, then I need to get away from it – because if it is repeatedly hurting me what the hell am I doing. Life is worth more than this, I am worth more than this.

Anyway, as I said – this took on a different shape to what I had started out with so I’ll write about that in my nest post. My daughter is getting frustrated with me and I am still in my PJ’s.

 

Exhausted.

I’m exhausted. I feel like I’m just pushing paint around on canvases and it doesn’t look like anything, I feel like I am coming up with new routines that no one will settle into – I feel like I’m pushing sh*t up a hill for no good reason.

Every spare moment I get I work ( art ) and every other moment I work ( on everything else ) also. I blog, I write, I socially network my finger tips off, I take photographs, I cook, I clean and clean and clean, I draw, I sketch, I think, I plan, I paint… I see my amazing friends because they are so amazing and I love them so much..

I’m working extra hard for this exhibition coming up and to look after my husband, daughter and the house while my husband works extra hours and days because of another approaching deadline and I’m just having a few of those days where I’m like OH MY GOD HOW AM I DOING THIS THIS IS SO HARD I JUST WANT TO SLEEP FOR A DAY JUST  DAY A DAY OF SLEEP PLEASE SLEEP THAT IS NOT INTERRUPTED WILL I EVER HAVE THAT AGAIN OH MY GOD WHY CAN’T I JUST QUIT EVERYTHING SO I CAN GET MORE SLEEP.

And NO ONE FUCKING TOUCH OR TALK TO ME I JUST WANT TO BE ALONE.

But – I love you all.

And then I seek comfort in chocolate and the internet and somehow the time passes and my mood changes and another artwork gets finished and we’re getting through.

At the moment it takes anywhere from two to four hours to get my daughter to go to sleep in the evenings and by dinner time I’m anxious because I know this is going to happen. I can’t work, I can’t read, I can’t relax – I can’t even fucking pee because I have to walk past her room to go to the toilet. So I’ve been feeling a little bit desperate. There’s so much to do. Is it so bad I just want those few hours in the evening to myself? No, it isn’t. But what can I do. Just keep going.

But OMFG.

 

 

Reflections on the article: Having kids is my biggest regret

I came across this article via twitter on Friday, I had clicked on it because the person who posted it had dubbed the author a ‘bitch’ for writing this, which sparked my interest: Having kids is my biggest regret by Isabella Dutton.

After reading it I was instantly offended by the person who had posted this and dubbed her a bitch – *click unfollow*

I cannot stand how women who do not take to motherhood the way that is expected are treated as monster – to have her words, thoughts and experiences diminished by name calling.

It’s all too typical.

This article broke my heart in the I am really feeling this kind of way. The reactions this article received I can barely read, because I feel like absolutely everyone is missing the point – and then it makes me really sad. She must face it everyday. Women who do not like being a mum are the ultimate evil, and are treated as such.

My journey through this project has seen me through some pretty unhappy times. There were times I really did not like my life or myself. There were times I resented, regretted, loathed, feared, wanted out. I expressed this as best I could because I was trying to understand it, trying to get a grip and trying to connect. Sadly I found some the reactions very negative, but also telling. If I didn’t subscribe to tiresome sayings such as “birth is such a gift” or “motherhood is the best job in the world” than there is something wrong with me.

And there kind of was – I was depressed – but I in no way believe that all of those feelings were a result of the depression, I think I didn’t know how to cope with these feelings and thoughts because of the depression. My point is – if a woman does not fall in line with these views it is assumed that there is something wrong with her. It leaves me flummoxed that those vapid statements or the wordlessness of what actually is going on are questioned and discussed. Birth, pregnancy and raising children, social pressures and expectations – these things still don’t have a vocabulary the expresses them adequately. They still don’t have meanings, the proper weight or space.

Parenting is a wild intense ride – it’s full of extremes, of contractions, of setbacks, compromises, surprises, joy, fear, anger, anxiety, hilarity and insanity – of course it is, you are making and raising another human being. The biggest clincher is you can never truly know how you will take to it until you actually do it.

So I ask why is it such a taboo for someone to say actually, I don’t like this. This is not what I wanted, I can’t back out. Why is there no space for people to express this?

This woman is not evil as many people have claimed her to be – she obviously has a very open dialogue with her children and herself. People seem incapable to stop and take it in and empathise – this is how it is for her.

How brave it is for her to share some truth and contribute to this discussion of how complex parenting is rather than hiding away. How amazing she is to feel like that and still give them everything of her because she loves them.

What a wonderful woman.

Big Hearted Business 2013

When I bought my ticket for the Big Hearted Business on February the 13th I had no idea what to expect. I had heard about it through various social media – I follow Clare Bowditch on facebook and twitter - then people started to email me about it. I guess I didn’t pay it much mind in the beginning because I’m still in the mind set that I’m not going to have a chance to do things so I try not engage, to not upset myself – WHAT A NEGATIVE NELLY.

So I bought a ticket.

I’m so happy that I did because it is the best thing I have done for myself in a good long time. How my brain was on Friday is very different to how my brain is today. I’m thinking about my future. Just mine. Something I haven’t done in years. And though I haven’t had a ‘light bulb moment’ – I still don’t have a clear idea of what I am doing – I’ve realised somethings that I have to do to get there, somewhere.

I am someone who is capable of many things and I have a lot to offer!

I was worried that this weekend would just be an isolated event for me. I never really have a chance to do things like this and think about my life and my future and after the first day I got back to a pretty bad tantrum – the kind of one that had us both on the floor crying. The outside world seemed to slip away from me, I lost the sense of future again and I went and had a sad shower. I thought that I was just kidding myself and I am never going to have an opportunity – and then Sunday happened and I feel different.. Sunday talked a bit more about motherhood and I heard a lot of things from very inspiring women that I really needed to hear.

Time to make plans and lists and doing things AND then hopefully I will work out what it is that I want and if that working out doesn’t happen, oh well – I’m doing things!

“ I’m a completionist, not a perfectionist.” – Catherine Deveny.

Things I Didn’t Expect ( when I was expecting ) by Monica Dux

In between helping Toddler strap her toy cat into the stoller I am trying to upload and write this post..

Monica Dux is a very, very funny author who has written many a poignant piece. So when I found out about the launch of her latest book - Things I Didn’t Expect ( when I was expecting ) - I booked my mother to baby sit – almost two months in advance.

( Sorry, have to strap the cat into the stoller again.. )

What really struck me about this book was not just the complexity of the many subjects that are addressed – which got me re-thinking things, especially in regard to breastfeeding, ‘scientific motherhood’ and placentophagy - but the ease that it is written in. I had many, many moments where I was like “ohhh yeahhhh” and “why didn’t I think of it like that!?”

I also had many moments where I laughed very, very loudly – mostly in public.

There’s so much in this, and I wouldn’t say that this is just a book for mothers either. I’ve marked many pages in this book to come back to and do more research on. I wanted to write something really lengthy and intelligent but I can’t.. So I’m just going to say, go get this book and read it, buy it for your friends, buy it for your mum for mothers day! It’s fantastic.

 

 

At night, when you are sleeping

At night, when you are sleeping I don’t work like I intend to. My workspace is out the back of our house, less than two meters from the back door, but the idea of being under a different roof to you seems too much. I can’t go out there unless there is someone else in here – keeping an eye, keeping an ear.

I can’t go out there because I’m still scared of the dark, even though I reassure you about it. I tell you not to be frightened, not to be frightened by the space. I tell you that you are safe.

These nights when I am so tired and we are alone I hear every voice on the street, every distant dog bark, every house creak and my ove- tired brain begins to frighten me.

I forgot about the space here, I forgot how much space Australian’s have between each other. Little plots of land with carefully chosen fences, gardens and airconditions that make houses hum and the sounds makes me think of spaceships. In Berlin while I listened to all the people living above, beneath and beside me I felt like there was too much life going on. Too much noise keeping me awake, worrying you will be woken up. But here, out in the ‘burbs, the silence keeps me up. And as I type this I think to myself jeez – will I ever win? Will anything ever satisfy.

But you’re only two. You’re world is me and him and Grandma and Grandma’s cat. Your world is answering anything phone sized and talking to Grandpa. Your world is putting your toys with simple names – platapus, bear, rabbit – to bed with my tea towels. It’s little dances and stone fruit and telling me that green is really blue when it’s really green.

And my world is to be here and worry about those noises, lock the doors, clean the dishes, maintain the quite and the routine. To check on you while sleeping, to tell you that the crickets are friendly and that the dark and the space are safe.

When really, I’m just as frightened as you.

Back to the kitchen floor

I love my little girl. This disclaimer is for no one else but her, for when she reads this she knows that I love her to bits.

BUT – the bad days are really, really bad.

Really.

Like the multiple tantrums this morning when we finally had her Dad to ourself – even just for a couple of hours. The hitting and yelling at me to go away.

Then the empty house after he leaves and the hours that loom before me and I think GET OUT. So I pack bags and say to her “we’re going on an adventure!” I explain that she has to go into her pram, we’ll go on a train but she has to stay in the pram and then we can get to the gallery and look at art. Paintings, drawings, sculture – we can do some drawing.

So we take the train and she’s about to kick up but I remind her of our adventure, of what I have explained and then a junkie gets on and he’s not looking good. He’s got blood on his pants and he’s zoning in and out and weaving too close to the pram. He takes off his fanny pack, then goes for his zip and belt and I move us away from whatever it is the poor guy is doing.

We read Green Eggs and Ham and we laugh and make animal noises.

Then we’re at Flinders Street and she’s running across the bridge, pointing at the sky-scrapers and old ladies smile and say lovely things to my girl because she is lovely. But then she decides she wants to go a different way and runs away from me. I get her and force her into her pram and she kicks and screams and hits and yells at me to go away and people are staring and I feel that dreadful hopelessness I’ve been keeping at bay for a while now.

I push the pram to out front of the Spiegeltent and lock it. She screams and screams and screams and I just sit. People are watching and staring so I put my head down so at least I don’t have to see it. See the judgement, the curiosity, the whatever. And then I think about my life and the years I spent in this area making art and money and how now I’m invisible except for the screaming child and how I’ve been doing so well but it’s one fucking thing after another.

Nothing is working with me.

I can’t study – I can’t afford it. I am not entitled to child care rebate. I can’t put a foot right. I don’t feel like I belong. I thought Melbourne was home but it isn’t – it’s just a place where I have history. I’m on a bench again, crying, like I was in Berlin.

No matter where I go.

I eventually hand her her dummy, I turn the pram around and we get back on the fucking train. I come back to the house and I sit on the kitchen floor and just cry.

Like I did in Berlin.

There’s never any time

I painted that.

It took me a over a month, many layers, many hours in the heat, many hours aching to get to it to finish it, but I painted that.

And while it sits on my mantle piece, unframed, I steal glances at it while I am vacuuming, mopping, being screamed at and told to go away. I admire that bit just above the little toe. I think yeah, that’s a pretty good painting moment Lily.

But I feel grief. I feel grief because this is just one painting, this is – really – just a study. I imagine what portraits and larger pieces would be like, if I had the time. Actually, I am delighted that I can’t really imagine them because I think I would surprise myself.

Except that I won’t. I can’t. There is no time. There is no space. There’s the heat, the chores, these long and lonely days with no visits, no help – the most dangerous days of them all. There’s the concepts that I have no time to conceptualize. The models I have no time to sketch and photograph. There’s all that money I will never make.

And it breaks my heart.

So I just tell you about it blog, and anyone who reads you.Then I’ll just get on with my day, trying not to think too much. Because in the thinking I do the realizing and in the realizing, I do the upsetting and in the upsetting, I do the depression and in the depression I do the falling and in the falling, I become someone I don’t want to be and in becoming that someone I don’t want to be – I hit the bottom.

And I have too much responsibility to go there.