Strong Independent Women don’t get Happily Ever Afters

Strong Independent women don’t get happily ever after – here’s why:

Most men want the damsel-in-distress, they want to be her hero. They want to be the strong one. They want her to be soft and dependent. They want her to need them. So the soft girls are the ones getting the grand gestures and romantic proposals.

Whether we accept it or not a lot of men are intimidated by strong women. Studies have shown that men generally don’t want to be with a woman who is more highly educated, more successful, earns more, or is more capable than him.

The men who do choose strong women? They generally fall into 2 categories.

1. The narcissist who wants to destroy her; or
2. The man who doesn’t want to put in the effort. The man who doesn’t want to step up and try to take some of the load off her plate. “She’s strong and independent – she doesn’t need me for that.” If anything, they want to add to her neverending to-do list. They want to let her take care of everything including them. They won’t make grand gestures or romantic proposals because they will say things like “Oh she isn’t that kinda girl, she’s not into those things. She’s a strong independent woman”

My personal experience has been both of these categories. I’ve had the man who wanted me to take care of him but simultaneously resented me for being the main breadwinner. And I’ve had the man who simply wanted to cruise through life and a relationship with minimal effort.

Here’s the thing about strong independent women that men simply don’t seem to understand. For the vast majority of us, It Wasn’t A Choice!

Now, I do not want to get any flack from other women. I know there are many women out there who will be absolutely horrified by just the title of this piece. So let me just go right ahead and apologise before going any further. I know so many of you who are perfectly happy in your masculine energy. So many who thrive on it. Who love being strong independent women. Who neither need nor want a knight in shining armor. As far as you are concerned, you already have your happily ever after, with or without a man. And I am proud of you and happy for you – please don’t come after me. Please understand that I, and a lot of other strong independent women out there didn’t choose this way of life. We didn’t step into our masculine energy because we wanted to but because we had to.

I can’t begin to count the number of podcasts and talk shows I’ve listened to where men are berating women for being too masculine, for emasculating them. Asking how is he supposed to step to these masculine women who are asking “What do you bring to the table”? What he doesn’t stop to consider is that it is exactly because of men that we have had to step up and take control. Whether it started in our childhoods or in adulthood, the message has been consistent. We had to rely on ourselves. We had to step into those shoes and take care of ourselves and our own. We were raised to be independent and taught that we had to take the reigns, by other strong independent women who learned the hard way. And then, that information was reinforced each time a man failed us. We ask you what you bring to the table because we are currently bringing everything. We need to know if you plan on bringing anything at all, or just intend to sit and eat at the table. And when you are done, are you just going to leave that dirty plate right there and expect us to pick it up.

I know how to change the oil in my car, do basic plumbing, and put up shelves by myself because I didn’t have anyone to do those things for me. I handle every aspect of my and my child’s life entirely on my own because there is no support. I’m the CEO, the CFO, and the PA. Im the Chef, the Chauffeur, the Maid, the Handyman, and the Groundskeeper. And I am exhausted!

Here’s the thing. I and many others like me would like nothing more than to step out of that masculine energy and back into our femininity. We would love to be soft. But we need to know that when we do, there’s someone there to pick up what we put down. We want partnerships, but partnerships don’t want us.

Now, on the other hand, the soft girls. the ones who were raised to only ever use their femininity, to thrive in that feminine energy, the ones who always knew they would be supported no matter what – They are the ones the men are rushing to be with. The woman who makes it very clear that she has no intention of splitting the bill, the one who expects the man to pay not only her bills, but for her hair, nails, and shopping sprees, she is the one they are dropping down on one knee for.

I want to understand why we are being punished for being capable. Why do we get persecuted for asking what you bring to the table, whilst those who simply expect you to bring everything to the table are getting diamonds on their fingers? They are demanding the grand romantic proposals, the rings that cost more than a mortgage, the dream wedding, the dream house, and the soft life. And they are getting it. Meanwhile, we can’t get a guy to bring half to the table! We’re not even asking for the mortgage ring, we’d be happier with something more modest.

We want the romantic proposal too; we want the dream wedding too; we want the dream house too; we want the soft life too; we want to be soft, but we’re Strong, Independent Women, and we don’t get happily ever after.

We need them to ‘Learn’ us!

There’s something that’s been bothering me for a while now. It’s the increase of this shared sentiment that relationships should be discarded the minute the other person fails to meet your fairy-tale expectations and standards of perfection.  I think we can all agree that relationships aren’t perfect. They require work, commitment, communication, listening in order to really understand, compromise, and at the end of the day, more than anything else a true wish to be together.

Generally speaking, women (at least the women I know) tend to be more sure of what they want from life, and therefore from a relationship. Men, on the other hand, are still figuring it out (again this is based on the people around me, and personal experience not a generalisation of men the world over).

Also as women, we tend to talk to each other more about relationship issues. A close friend and I are constantly messaging each other about the men in our lives. We are happy to share when he does something nice and makes us happy, but more often than not, we are venting about the things he does that upset us.

For a few weeks, we had both been in a rather troubled area in our respective relationships, and the messages were generally quite negative, with us questioning whether we should still be in these relationships. What was truly interesting to me, was the amount of similarities in the way we were thinking, even though the issues in our relationships were different. In the heat of the moment, the most logical thing to do seemed to be to end the relationship. But after I had had time to think about it and really considered it, I realised the issues that I had allowed to build up to colossal proportions were in fact small issues that I was lumping all together, instead of looking at them as individual smaller issues to be tackled each on their own.  

Again, I know that as women, this is generally how our brains work. A man will look at a list of things that need to be done, and he will systematically check them off one by one. Whilst he is working on one, his brain has no space to consider any of the others, his sole focus is on that one thing. Women, we look at the whole picture, try to decide which is the most important, but also try to get as many as possible done simultaneously. Let me use household chores to try to explain. You put in a load of laundry first, because whilst that is washing – you can unload/load the dishwasher, make breakfast, sweep the floor whilst you get on the phone to the electrician, hit send on the email you had drafted earlier, and get ready to wake up the kids. It’s just how we function but at times, it can be overwhelming. We take this approach to relationship issues as well. We look at the whole picture as opposed to fragmented parts, and whilst this can be productive in some aspects, it can also cause us to see problems as obstacles that cannot be surmounted.

Now we have this lump of issues overwhelming us, and we start the question the value of the relationship. Here is where the real problem is, I think. There is too much of this sentiment of the value of a relationship. I absolutely believe you should balance the worth of the things to which you give your time and energy. However, I also feel that there are a lot of unrealistic expectations out there. Right now, if I go on my feed, the number of reels and posts giving relationship ‘advice’ is ridiculous. Some of them proclaim that you need to love yourself before anyone else can love you. Know your worth. Men telling women ‘the secrets’ about men; “if he hasn’t by now he never will.” Women telling other women not to waste their time on men; “focus on you sis, your goals and your growth.” Not to mention the sheer number of ‘Red Flag Posts’. At times it seems that merely the act of breathing is a red flag, in a man. Whilst some of this ‘advice’ has worth, I think we need to take it with a pinch of salt, and have some perspective.

I believe we have been brainwashed to a certain extent by social media and society. We have been told that as strong, independent, intelligent women we shouldn’t take any crap from men. If we do we are weak, we are antifeminist, we don’t know how to love ourselves, and we are setting bad examples for our daughters. As someone who has been in an abusive relationship in the past, I totally agree there are some things you should never put up with. However, I also think we take it too far at times. Not every tiny mistake is indicative of a toxic partner.

 I am starting to realise that we take too much of the generalisation we see online as the ‘bible’ of what we should and shouldn’t expect from men. When in reality all men are not the same. They are individuals, just like us. They are all different in their own ways, just like us. They have their own traumas and fears, just like us. They are growing and becoming their own people, just like us. They have their own timelines, just like us. I think we sometimes forget that they are human, just like us.

If a woman says she isn’t ready for marriage or children, we not only encourage her, we applaud her. But if a man says the same thing, we villainise him. We say he is wasting your time, stringing you along, he will never commit, you aren’t the one. Maybe, all it is, is that he needs time, just as he said. I think we have let all this so-called ‘advice’ make us so suspicious of their intentions and so impatient with them.

This brings me back to the relationship issues that seem like the end of the world at the time. Perhaps, instead of expecting men to know off the bat exactly how we want and need to be treated, we need to give them guidance. You’ve seen that post “you shouldn’t have to teach a man how to treat you”, well maybe you should. I know we all want them to buy us flowers, without asking for flowers, because that just means he was thinking of us and wanted to buy us flowers. But here’s the thing, aside from Rom-coms and raunchy novels, men generally don’t think of their women and immediately think “oooh flowers”!

 We need them to ‘learn’ us. Just as each man is different, so is each woman. We all have our own ways we want to be treated. We have different needs and wants from a relationship and a partner. He may come with experience from previous relationships thinking he knows what he is doing, when in reality he is applying things learned from another woman to you. You might be getting mad because he isn’t spending enough time with you, when he learned from a previous partner who liked her space that he should give you alone time. Now he is confused and upset because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. All of this can be avoided, if you simply teach him. Guide him.

I’m learning this now. To be more patient and to teach him what he needs to know about me in order to be the right man for me, because here is the thing – I don’t believe Mr. Right is simply out there existing, all-knowing and perfect. I think he can only become Mr. Right when you trust him enough to provide him with the tools to do so.

I’m also learning that I shouldn’t let the judgements of society override what I really want. No matter what the world sees. No matter how people outside of our relationship view this relationship, what matters is what I see. And what I see, is that he is really trying! I can see that he doesn’t want to lose me. I can see that he is struggling to balance what he wants and needs with what I want and need. Just as I, a woman, shouldn’t have to sacrifice my wants and needs or be rushed, neither should he. We need to compromise. Most importantly, we need to accept that a man is a human being with human needs and thoughts and feelings, that matter just as much as ours do.

The B-Word : A dirty little secret!

Want to hear a secret? I want a baby. Yes, I want another child. And you will not believe the amount of crap I get when I say that out loud.

I’ve mentioned before that I am a single mum. I have someone in my life, and although we have been exclusive for the past 4 years, I wouldn’t really call it a committed relationship. We do not live together. We barely even see each other during the week. But that’s not why I get crap.

I’m a single working mum. I’ve mentioned that before too. I handle absolutely everything on my own. With no assistance in any capacity from the father. I work hard to make it happen. I balance work and home life to the best of my capacity. I am stretched thin and exhausted. But that’s not why I get crap either.

I have a full-time job and a consultancy on the side. I enjoy working. Of course, there are times when u wish you could hold your colleague’s or client’s head underwater out of sheer frustration. But generally, I enjoy working. Or perhaps, I should say, I enjoy being financially independent. I enjoy not having to rely on anyone else to put a roof over our heads or food in the fridge. Moreover, I definitely enjoy not having to ask anyone for anything when I want to spoil myself. It’s how I was raised – to be a strong independent woman. And I’m glad for it. For me, work is about financial security, but it isn’t something that I want to dedicate all my time and energy to. I want a job that will allow me to live a good life and provide for my child, but not one that will mean sacrificing family life.

Here’s the thing. I am not, have never been nor will ever be career orientated. And my friends cannot begin to fathom this. When I say that I like working, but I like being a mum more, and I want more children. That’s when I get crap. From other women. I’ve been judged for not taking a job because the hours were not conducive to raising a small child. I’ve heard things like “maybe you feel that way about a career because you just haven’t found your calling yet, you haven’t found something you’re passionate about” and I resent that. Does it never occur to them that maybe I don’t feel that way about a career because I have different priorities? Maybe where work is their passion, family life is mine.

We are, all of us, different. There are no 2 women in the world who are exactly the same. We may relate to each other on some levels. We may share war stories and battle wounds, have been through the same types of experiences, and felt the same way about certain things, have had similar momentous occasions and achievements. However, we are at our cores different. Some women are perfectly content to be on their own, others feel the need to have a partner in their lives. Some want children and some don’t. Some like to work, and some like to be kept. Some like monogamy and some don’t believe in it.

Our needs and wants are different, and no one need or want is more acceptable or more worthy than the other. I have never judged my ambitious friends for focusing on their careers. If what you need and want is to climb the corporate ladder, then jump on and start climbing, hun. Also, I am absolutely not saying you cannot have both. I’m sure you can. That is not in the least my argument. I just don’t understand why it is, that when I say I prioritise home life and family over work, I prefer to concentrate on and grow my family than my career, they jump down my throats.

God forbid I say the B-word. I immediately get looks of horror and hear things like: “why on earth would you want to go through all of that again?” or “one is more than enough” or even “I have 2 and I can tell you it isn’t easy”. I’m sure it isn’t. But does it ever occur to you that maybe I would find greater joy and satisfaction in handling 2 children than I do in bringing home the bacon?

I’ve even had people treat me like an anti-feminist for suggesting I’d be happier as a stay-at-home mum. But here’s the thing. I’m pretty sure feminism was about fighting for our rights to a choice. To be able to choose, whether or not we wanted to work, whether or not we wanted to focus on a career, whether or not we wanted to get married or have babies. Choice and autonomy over our bodies and our lives. Oh, and of course the right to vote and choose those who made big decisions on our behalf. Nowhere, in any of the literature I have come across, was the purpose of feminism to put down women who wanted home and family life.

So can someone please explain to me why I feel like I need to keep my mouth shut and not say that I want a baby? Why I feel like it’s a dirty little secret to want one? … Asking for a friend.

Taking back the reins

I’ve been feeling really crappy about myself lately. And this isn’t the depressive intrusive negative thoughts kind of crappy. I know because I haven’t been feeling low on a whole lately. Just low in regards to specific things. Like my body, for example.  This is a tough one to navigate. Obviously, I want to encourage body positivity in my almost teen daughter. She is tall and lithe, has the body of a dancer. However, if this ever changes I do not want her to hate her body or feel bad about herself. At the same time, I can’t help but hate my body. I need to feel good about myself, and to do so I need to feel good in my body. Right now I don’t.

I am not tall and lithe. I am petite. Tiny in fact, at 1.54m. My entire life, up until about 2 years ago, I was a size 6. I wore XS clothing. I even shopped in the kid’s section a lot of the time. I was able to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and had no issue keeping it off. My metabolism was incredible. The most I’ve ever weighed was 55kg at 9 months pregnant and 10 of those kilos was the bump (that may sound quite low to a lot of people, but considering my height I was well within a healthy BMI  scale). I didn’t put on weight anywhere else whilst pregnant and went right back to 45 kg after giving birth. MY body bounced back almost instantly so that with the exception of a slight c-section shelf, I was perfectly fine with my post-partum body.

I’m not grossly overweight, but over the last few years, I have packed on a few extra kilos that do nothing for my minuscule frame. The fact that I am so small, with small breasts and a nice but not Kardashian bottom, means that when I get a few extra layers around the midriff, I end up looking like a stocky little boy. Almost square-ish. To make matters worse, whereas before, when I would put on weight it would only be on my tummy, recently I have noticed much-dreaded back fat and an increase in the size of my thighs. To make matters even worse, I live on a tropical island. All year round is bikini season!

I’ve also started to notice the effects of aging. Again having looked much younger than my actual age for most of my life, and having been blessed to have not had to deal with acne through puberty, I’ve never really adhered to a strict skincare routine. I’ve also been really bad about wearing sunscreen! Whilst I wouldn’t say that I have a lot of sun damage or wrinkles, I definitely need to do something about my double chin and my WTF lines!

I have a very demanding schedule. Between work, running my own business on the side, and parenting by myself, I can hardly find the time to be a gym bunny. But, honestly, even if I could – I don’t enjoy exercise. Some of my friends love it. They have treadmills and use PTs, they go for boxing or HIIT sessions. That’s really not my thing though.

I am not a lazy person. I try to get my steps in. I enjoy yoga. I even don’t mind using an exercise bike. I prefer cycling outside, but that requires too much forethought and effort. I do not, however, like cardio. I would go as far as saying I hate it. Then, there’s the fact that it takes forever to see results, which in itself is discouraging.

I also enjoy food. I’m not a glutton. I eat decent portions for my size. I eat healthy meals – junk at an 80:20 ratio. I’m not going to deny myself pizza, but I also am not going to overdo it. I don’t really eat sweet things – chocolate or ice cream on the rare occasion but no cakes or biscuits or sweets. I love savoury snacks like pastries and crisps, but I make a conscious effort not to have these often. I do enjoy my wine in the evenings, or a night out having cocktails, but again I have cut back on these drastically.

Something’s got to give!

First, I decided it was time to get into skincare. Especially since I have become fixated with Korean Women’s complexion! (my daughter is obsessed with K-POP, and recently got me to start watching K-Dramas with her, and my goodness do these women glow!!) I’ve ditched foundation and all the heavy make-up I used to wear. I did that to make myself look older anyway, and now that I’m closing in on 40, I don’t really think that’s necessary anymore. I read up on the secrets to the Korean skin glow. Aside from raw eggs on the face (which I refuse to do – cannot stand the smell), I found that most of it was actually quite doable. Some serious cleansing and hydrating are required, so now instead of just face wash and the occasional mask, I am a lady who washes, scrubs, uses cleanser and toner, applies hydrating serums, uses sunscreen in her daily moisturizer, and massages her face with her rose quartz crystal Gua Sha set nightly. I also make a more concerted effort to drink lots and lots of water. It’s only been a few days and already I can see a huge difference.

I also decided to bite the bullet and try the WONDER treatment. It’s this new technology, developed in Spain, that uses electro pulses to stimulate and work the body to burn fat and build muscles. (FYI this is not a paid endorsement, just sharing my experience). I was always reluctant to do something like this because I thought people would judge me and say I took the easy way out. However, having done a couple of sessions now, I can tell you it is far from easy. Also, I am now at an age where I respectfully do not give a flying rat’s arse about other people’s opinions on how I choose to deal with my body. This is for me the perfect solution. It takes less than 1 hour of my time twice a week. I don’t have to work myself up for it, like I do a workout session. It costs me about the same as I would pay for a PT. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, faster visible results will encourage me to take my cycling and yoga more seriously as well.

I’m taking back the reins, people, and I am loving it!

I’m a single working mum – That’s my superpower!

I am a single working mum. I have an almost 12-year-old. A full-time job, a consultancy on the side. I have a partner who I only see on the weekends. I have a house in constant need of attention – be it fix-ups or improvements. I have an amazing mum I know I can lean on when it gets to be too much. And I am exhausted. Do I still dream about a new baby? Absolutely! Do I want to continue doing it all on my own? Hell no! CAN I continue doing it all on my own? Hell yes!

I was 25 when I had my daughter, and she is everything I could have imagined and more. Everyone who has ever met her always says the same thing to me. She is the sweetest, most polite, and well-brought-up child they have ever met. And I can’t even take all the credit for that! I mean yes for sure, I am the one who raised her, I’ve taught her manners, and compassion and kindness. But honestly, a lot of it is just her. Her character. Her personality. I really hit the jackpot with this kid. I am one of those lucky mums who everyone jokes about when they say this is the kind of child that tricks you into believing you can handle 2.

But despite how wonderful she is, it has not been easy. There have been intense moments of self-doubt and self-loathing. There have been moments where I have had to make really tough choices. And in everything I do, I no longer consider just my needs and wants. I am responsible for a whole other being. It’s my job to love and care and protect. To make sure she is safe, healthy, and happy. It’s one hell of a responsibility.

When she was 2 going on 3, I went through the process of a very messy separation and divorce from her father. A decision that wasn’t taken lightly. Everyone will tell you a child needs both parents. But I will argue that what a child needs more is healthy parents. Having 2 parents in the same home, but having one or both of those people, broken and defeated is not in the least bit beneficial to the child.

So I made the decision to split up her home. A decision that I have felt guilty about on more than one occasion in the past, but that I am now a hundred percent confident was the right one to make.

Even before the separation, I did it all myself. I woke up every day and went to work at jobs I hated so that I could afford rent, and pay bills and buy food and pay for school. My now ex-husband contributed very little financially. I woke up every day and handled everything around the home and the child. I prepared her and myself to leave the house. I took her to school. I went to work. I picked her up at the end of the day. I took her home. I cooked for the family. I fed her. I bathed her. I cleaned the house. I put her to bed. X contributed very little to the chores and general running of the home and parenting. I stressed and fretted over everything, I was always afraid of saying something to set him off and start a fight, I couldn’t sleep, I was a mess and I couldn’t talk about it, to anyone. X contributed plenty to emotional and psychological caging.

In the years since the separation, he has gotten better at spending time with her and making sure she knows how much he loves her – for which I am eternally grateful. As someone who has felt unwanted by a parent the last thing I ever wanted was for my own child to feel was that one of her parents didn’t care about or love her. So for this at least I am grateful to him.

Through it all, though, I’ve remained the main caregiver. I’m still the one who finances her tuition and all extra-curricular activities. I’m the one who throughout the years has stayed up for nights on end keeping down fevers and wiping a runny nose. I’m the one who does all the pick-ups and drop-offs, sometimes working around impossible schedules, and stressing that I will not make it. I am the one who has to nag about homework and chores. I’m the one dealing with stressful dentist appointments (she has a serious phobia), attending all parent-teacher meetings, balancing work from home, and homeschooling during lockdowns. You name it, I handled it. Sure he took her some weekends, but the weekdays – the everyday life. That was all me.

6 months ago, he decided to move back to Europe (he is not originally from Seychelles), and this threw me a whole new curveball. Once again the dynamics shifted. Now I had a pre-teen daughter on the cusp of experiencing hormones and emotions as she has never experienced them before, and her father suddenly not being around anymore. She wouldn’t get to see him or spend time with him like she used to. My heart ached for her.

And my heart ached for me. I know that may sound selfish, but hear me out. I was heading into unchartered territory – the teenage years, I had no idea what to expect. I wasn’t the worst teenager in the world, but I wasn’t the best either. What if my baby girl turned into me when she hit puberty? What if my sweet, kind, polite, wonder child turned into a monster? Of course, I didn’t want to add fuel to that fire. Add to that the fact that now, I got no reprieve. Whereas before she would spend some weekends with him and I could have time to breathe, or go out or just break down and cry from frustration and exhaustion (something I try not to do in front of her), now this was no longer an option. I was, no, I am petrified.

Till now, she has remained a trouper – she is still sweet and kind and funny and loveable. And if she is hurting for not having him around, she isn’t showing it. I ask sometimes, I want to make sure she is ok, but I also don’t want to make things worse by constantly bringing it up. She says she is fine, and I beg the universe that she isn’t just holding it all in and trying to be brave.

Meanwhile, I’m stretched thin. Between work, handling home issues, trying to maintain a social life, exercise, stay hydrated, have a personal relationship, and keep my relationship with daughter running smoothly, I feel like a hamster on a wheel. I run around trying to make sure she never wants for anything. I work hard to make sure we always have enough to be comfortable and keep her in private school and dance school. I’m her chef and maid and chauffeur and study partner. I am friend and overbearing mother. Sometimes I worry that I’m not doing enough, that I’m not spending enough time or giving enough attention – that I’m not truly listening when she talks. Then at other times, I marvel at how even when it seemed impossible I still made it happen. “Aut viam inveniam aut faciam” I feel like that should be the slogan of single mums like myself. I bend myself backward to make sure that she is happy because her happiness is the most important thing to me.

Do I wish I had someone to help me, to take some of it off my plate? The answer is an incontestable yes. But in the absence of that, I just have to remind myself, that no matter how hard it has been, I’ve never dropped the ball. I am a single working mum and that is my superpower.

Brace for impact

Have you ever tried to glue back together something (a vase, a plate, anything) that had shattered? It’s not easy to do. First, you need to find all the pieces, which is near impossible. Invariably some pieces will remain missing. Then you need to figure out where those pieces go, how they fit together. Then you need to somehow hold them together long enough for the glue to dry. When you finish, the end product isn’t very pretty, but at least it’s somewhat whole again. Perhaps even functional. Now imagine that broken shattered vase that you somehow put back together is knocked over and shatters again. This time when u put it back together, there are even more pieces missing. The holes are getting bigger.

I have been broken and shattered so many times, I can barely piece together the pieces anymore. I still try, but there are unmistakable gaping holes all over, and the pieces are just about holding together, one more fall, one more break and I don’t think there’ll be anything left. I feel like stamping a huge “FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE” sticker on me.

I am not fragile. I am not weak. I have put myself back together more times than I can count. I am just so tired. My arms ache from holding the pieces together long enough for the glue to dry. I feel empty from all the good that’s seeped out through the holes. At first it was a trickle, but now it’s a waterfall. All that seems to have remained inside is sadness, hurt, and an intense feeling of loneliness.

I don’t want a lot and I don’t need a lot. But I do want love. And contrary to what I used to believe, I deserve love. I deserve someone who looks at me and sees me, truly sees me. I’m not hard on the eyes. I have a good head on my shoulders. I can hold my own in the boardroom and in the kitchen.  I’m fiercely independent. I can take care of me and my own. But more than that. I am kind. I am generous. I love hard, with every fibre of my being (even if I keep getting crushed, I refused to let my heart harden) I’m loyal. I’m dependable. I am a good woman.

I don’t need a man to take care of me. But goddamn it, I want to be taken care of at times. I want someone in my corner. Someone who won’t let me struggle alone. Someone who will respect that I can do it all on my own, but who won’t want me to. Someone who will say “I’ve got you” and mean it. Someone who wants me more than anything else. Who will choose me over anything or anyone else. Someone who will look at obstacles or hurdles and say, “hold my hand let us weather them together.”

Someone who looks at my past and sees my growth and my strength, not mistakes. Someone who understands that everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve done has made me who I am today. Someone who understands that I never regret a single thing in my past because they have all been lessons, some good some not, but I’ve learned from each and every experience, and I have tried to use them to make me a better person.

Someone who cannot imagine their life without me, who doesn’t want to imagine it. Someone who wants to build a home with me. Who wants to live and grow, and grow old with me. Someone who will fight for me. Who realizes that I’m worth fighting for. Who realizes I am worth everything – because I would do anything for them. Someone who wants to shout from the mountains, who wants the whole world to know that we are made for each other. Someone who wants to put a ring on my finger and claim me. Someone who daydreams about what our child would look like. Someone who looks into their future and always sees me standing by their side. Someone who looks at me and thinks, “I am the luckiest man alive.”

I’ve been patient. I’ve waited for this. I’ve waited for you to feel this way. I think you are worth waiting for. But if I am completely honest with myself. I think I’ll be waiting forever. I don’t think you will ever be that someone. I don’t think you will ever see me. I don’t think you realise how much I love you. I don’t think you think I’m worth it. I don’t think you think we are made for each other. I don’t think you see a future with me.

So right now, I’m braced for impact. Waiting to see how hard I will shatter this time. Waiting to see how many pieces I’ll be able to find. And whether or not there will be anything left to salvage.

You don’t belong here!

How often do you question your self-worth? How many times have you told yourself that you don’t deserve to be where you are – be it work related or a social setting? Do you struggle to find the right response to a compliment – and in the back of your mind do you tell yourself “they are just being polite – they don’t really think that”? Are you highly critical of your appearance, and constantly feel like people are staring because something is wrong (is there a stain on my shirt? is there a hole in my trousers? Is my hair ok? Did I smudge my lipstick?). Are you highly critical of your work? Do you go over it 10 times before submitting it because you are sure there is a mistake somewhere, and not just a tiny little typo, but some massive erroneous statement that is finally going to expose you for the fraud that you are, and everyone will finally realise that you have no business being employed in this company at this level, in fact you have no business opening your mouth and talking about anything because you just don’t know what you are talking about. You haven’t researched it enough, you cannot back your statements, your opinions are all wrong.

I’m guilty of all of this and more. But it would be really hard for you to notice because over the past 25 odd years, I have mastered the art of exuding confidence. I’ve very carefully crafted a persona for the outside world. She is smart and witty and confident. She commands the room. She can speak eloquently and with conviction (I mean for fuck’s sake, my job requires me to speak to crowds at gatherings and give interviews… amongst other things) and despite being petrified every time I need to do this, petrified that someone will call me out and I will be seen for the fake that I am, I still manage to do it, and to do it well (I’ve used various little aids over the years all taken from tv –  repeating the mantra “I’m the intellectual equivalent of every person in this room”, Bridget Jones’ Diary, in my head; assuming the superhero posture, Grey’s Anatomy, before going out in front of crowds…). I prepare, and over prepare for presentations, to make sure that I absolutely cannot say the wrong thing, and that no one can find fault with my work. And I survive these, I better than survive them. I leave there with a pat on the back, and a “good job, keep it up”. And yet when I get back to my desk, the self-doubt, and fear of failure settle right back into the pit of my stomach.

I read a lot, any subject that piques my interest I go look it up, I read numerous articles and papers about it, try to get as many different points of views on the subject as possible. I do this particularly with mental health issues. I like to know what’s going on, it feels like I can take back just a little bit of control. Some 10 or so years ago, I came across a concept – the imposter syndrome. Although not classified as a disorder, it may have links to some mental health issues, such as depression and anxiety. It’s basically defined as “A psychological phenomenon in which people are unable to internalize their accomplishments.” The term was coined by clinical psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes in 1978, when they found that despite having adequate external evidence of accomplishments, people with imposter syndrome remained convinced that they don’t deserve the success they have. Knowing this, I realise that whenever I feel this way about work, I need to remind myself, through conversations with others, and by looking at the evidence of my work itself, that I am simply going through an Imposter phase, and I need to redirect the negative thoughts.

But then this happens to me in my personal life too, and here it’s a lot harder to redirect the negative thoughts because there is no evidence to refer to. Why do I feel like an imposter amongst my friends? Why do I feel like the odd one out in any group gathering? Like they asked me to come, but do they really want me there? Why do I find it hard to join the conversation at times, afraid I may say the wrong thing, and make everyone realise they really do not like me, or that I am not on their intellectual level, that I’m actually an absolute idiot, and have no business being there within their circle?

Is it the imposter syndrome rearing its ugly head when you doubt yourself, or is it the depression? Are they mutually exclusive, or do they feed off of one another?

I know that a lot of this self-doubt is a result of the depression, but at the same time, its really hard to simply dismiss it. Imagine having this voice inside your head that you just cannot silence, constantly telling you that you are not enough. You are not good enough. You are not smart enough. You are not pretty enough. You are not creative enough, not fit enough, not strong enough. You are not a present enough mother, you are not an entertaining enough friend, you are not a captivating enough girlfriend, partner, lover. You don’t keep your home tidy enough. You don’t have enough interesting hobbies. You are not qualified enough to be doing the job you are doing, but if you left, you would not have enough of any other skill to do any other job successfully. You simply do not have enough to offer the world. You are irrelevant. You are dispensable. More than that, you are a burden. You cause unnecessary pain and grief to those close to you. Perhaps it would be better if you just didn’t exist.

Imagine having to constantly fight tooth and nail to not give in to those thoughts?

And imagine not knowing half the time, which is the real you? Is this persona you so carefully crafted really just a mask, or is there some of you in there in reality? Because when I’m good, when I’m not going through a depressive episode, I see myself differently. I see this woman, well dressed, smart, got her shit together, funny, creative, sexy, and I think – that’s me, surely that’s me, that cannot all be just an act. Surely? So which one of those 2 people is the imposter? Which one is the persona, and which is the real me? And can 1 exist without the other? If the depressed, anxious, negative person disappeared tomorrow, would the other person be me, or would an imposter have taken over?

The cogs are turning…

I had a revelation recently.  No great big epiphany, no life changing realisation. Just a little insight into what makes me the way that I am when it comes to a particular issue I have. Ideally, this is exactly what therapists attempt to do through CBT, is to help you get to the root of why it is that you react a certain way to certain things. Having not kept up with my therapy sessions (I know, 1 step forward 2 STEPS BACK) I’m actually really happy to have gotten to the root of this issue myself.  In fact, part of the realisation was also that it IS an issue. Before this, I always assumed that it was just a character trait.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am anal when it comes to punctuality. I am almost never late for anything. If I’m late its because it was well and truly out of my control… and I mean well and truly out of my control. I factor all possibilities into my timing. If I need to be somewhere at 8, all likelihood I am there by 7.45 latest. Why? Because I will leave the house way earlier than I have to – because I have considered (i) traffic; (ii) possible pit stops; (iii) any other eventuality (a flat tyre, an accident on the route, you name it..). That’s not to say that I have never been late in my life, but when I have there has been much distress associated.

Whenever people ask me how come I’m so punctual I always tell them its how I was raised: time is a very precious commodity, once lost you can’t get it back, and being punctual is a question of respect for others. I do not like others taking my time for granted and I in return refuse to be disrespectful of other people’s time (ironically this usually means that I end up waiting for people in any case, but at least it isn’t because either party was late). Now there is some truth to this, it is how my mother raised me… but a few nights ago I realised there is another element to it, also deeply rooted in my childhood. Let me try to explain firstly, how I came to this realisation.

I started seeing this guy a little less than 2 years ago now, and generally its going quite well. We have ups and we have downs, but the ups far outweigh the downs. He is a wonderful person, handsome, kind and caring. I, am cautious and sometimes a little too scared. I often find myself stuck between not wanting to repeat old patterns (not let him take advantage or cross certain boundaries I have let others do in the past) and not make him pay for others’ transgressions….its a fine line and its hard to navigate at times. But I give him the benefit of the doubt because I realise he is not them, and he shows me as much as he can that he is different. In some ways he is a lot more mature than I am, despite being younger. He is very much a “let’s sit down and talk about it” kind of guy which is disarming. For someone whose job revolves around communication (and who is really good at her job) when it comes to my personal life, I’m brilliant at written communication, but utterly crap at verbal – I get choked up and pitchy and I can’t get the thoughts out in a coherent order, its terrible – but he is making me work through it, and I’m grateful. But most importantly, he puts up with my breakdowns, and tries to understand and appease my insecurities without compromising or changing his true self, and this is an important factor in how I came to the realisation.

Now, he is the exact opposite of me when it comes to punctuality. Sometimes, I think the boy just can’t tell the time. This is of course just a joke, but in all honesty I think he just isn’t affected by time. Unlike the majority of us who are slaves to time, he refuses to allow time to dictate to him how to live his life. As you can imagine, this can cause me some severe discomfort. One example – we were an hour late for our dinner reservations for Valentine’s Day – I kid you not, I nearly had a panic attack in the car. I think it’s the first time he realised just how bad it can get for me. (my own fault, its ridiculous how hard it is to open up to people you love about the things you hate the most about yourself).

It drives me absolutely insane when he says he will be here at a certain time and then isn’t, or when he says he will be gone for 2 hours, but doesn’t turn up until 3 hours later. Now, you take my issues with punctuality, how I feel about respect for people’s time, and you can imagine when I am not good, when my brain is doing that thing where it makes me doubt everything and everyone, particularly myself and my worth … well then I start imagining the absolute worst! First I run through the most terrible scenarios, he is hurt, he’s had an accident, he is lying in a ditch somewhere! Then I somehow banish those thoughts from my head, I rationalise to some extent. Then begins the next level of torture – he isn’t back yet because he is with someone else. He isn’t here because he doesn’t really like spending time with me (I mean how could he, I’m broken and moody and no fun), he is just killing time with me because he is bored or until he finds someone better, he doesn’t respect my time because he doesn’t love me… the list goes on and on. But, once in a while, when I’m not bat shit crazy, I remember, this is the guy who wants to talk about and resolve issues – why would he bother if he didn’t want to be here? Surely with my craziness he would have walked away by now if he didn’t love me? I know that when he isn’t here he is at his own place, or with family or the boys, so why does it bother me so much when he is late? Why is it one of my biggest pet peeves waiting for others?

And then it hit me! Just like that. My sister always tells me that I can’t remember anything from when we were younger and she remembers everything and she is younger. In this case it wasn’t that I didn’t remember it, its just that I had never attributed any importance to it. I do feel the need to clarify right now that although I am all too aware (I’ve heard it from enough therapists) that most of our issues as adults stem from childhood trauma – I’ve never considered myself as someone with childhood trauma (in fact I have gotten angry at therapists for suggesting it in the past). My childhood wasn’t bad. No one DID anything TO me. Sure my parents got divorced, who’s didn’t? But I learned something alongside this revelation – trauma isn’t always horrific, it isn’t always death, or sexual or physical abuse, its not always the stuff that makes for a good book or movie – but that doesn’t make it any less of a trauma.

So there I was, laying on the floor with a rum and coke, waiting for him to get back and trying to understand what it was about his lack of punctuality that bothered me so much, and I suddenly remembered that I hated that feeling of sitting and waiting for my father.

When my parents split up, I was 10 and my sister was 2. Everyone made such a big deal about how traumatised she was by the separation, but nobody made any mention of how it affected me (to be fair, its not like I showed it – whilst she was throwing tantrums and screaming her head off, I kept quiet and kept my thoughts to myself – ever the high functioning depressive) but it did bother me, and their comments bothered me. I remember at first being so angry – how could she be traumatised? She was only 2, she barely knew him. I’m the one who had had a dad for 10 years and now didn’t, how could she miss something she barely knew? (Later in life I would understand that we both missed him and missed out in our own ways and that neither hurt was greater or lesser than the other). After some time I decided since no one gave a fuck, neither would I. The divorce meant nothing to me. It changed nothing. It was better to have divorced parents than parents who were constantly fighting right?

But I remember, from the age of 10, until I was about 15 or 16, every Saturday morning my sister and I would be up by 6 and ready by 7 for him to pick us up at 8. 8 would come and go, then 9, then 10. Sometimes he’d call and say he was running late, sometimes he’d just show up at lunchtime, sometimes he wouldn’t show up until 2 in the afternoon, no word of apology, just excuses (mostly about how we had to understand how tired he was having played a gig the night before (a musician yes, I know!)). Whatever the excuse, as a kid, nothing can make you feel more unwanted than that (except maybe hearing about how he never wanted kids he just gave them to “her” cos she wanted them… or how he isn’t even really sure that I am his (I am, for the record) – another story for another day). Yet every Saturday, like the one before we were sitting ready by 8. And that is why I hate people being late. It took me 24 years to figure that one out. Still better late than never eh? (yes pun fully intended).

Not Lazy, just Overwhelmed.

When I started this blog I told myself I needed to post something up at least once a week. As you can see from the date of the first to post, and the date of this one, that has not happened.

 I want to take a moment then to discuss motivation or lack thereof.

For the longest time I called myself a procrastinator – at times when my brain was being particularly cruel, I’d think myself simply lazy – I’d question how the hell I got to where I am (But this I’ve come to realise is a whole other side symptom of my depression, which I will expand upon in a later post (hopefully)) with my terrible lack of discipline and crappy work ethic. And the reason I came to realise this is because, I also realised, that when I am not in the depths of despair, my work ethic is actually irreproachable.

When I’m good, I work fast and I work smart. I pay an incredible amount of attention to detail and am very careful to not make any mistakes (possibly very mild OCD), I can problem solve and am fantastic at crisis management, I have a million ideas and projects bouncing around in my head, and most importantly I have the energy and drive to execute them.

And this isn’t just on the work front, but at home too. When I am good – I can do anything! I DIY; I landscape, I gym, I do art projects; I want to spend time outdoors; I play games – I can literally do everything. For example, since we have been in lock-down, I have built a dog gate that I’ve been “meaning to get to” for ages. I built a work station for the kitchen, I’ve repainted half of my downstairs and have plans to paint the other half in the days to come… and I’m back to writing (as evident from this post).  

In contrast, during my low periods, even the most mundane of tasks seem larger than life. Work seems incomprehensible – like I have no idea what the people around me are talking about, and I cannot focus on anything. Something as simple as answering emails requires superhuman strength( I use this phrase a lot… because it the only way I know to really depict how hard it is and how much it takes out of you). Even conversations with people at home – my mum, my child, my partner are hard to follow; I drift in and out of them and feel constantly dissociated. I can’t even focus my gaze on them whilst they speak (and I am someone who truly believes that eye contact is an integral part of communication – not to mention shows respect and the fact that you are present). Once I get home, its hard to get off the couch to do anything. I just sit there till it is bedtime and then go to sleep get up and do it all again. During the first 2 weeks of lock-down, I had trouble gearing myself up for anything, and the only reason I got out of bed at all, was because I had to for my child( from now on referred to as T), I had to be with her, play with her, home-school her, cook for her… had she not been here, I’m certain I would have just stayed in bed.

When I’m good, I’m a morning person, I’m up with the sunrise, I pay special attention to my looks, I enjoy my coffee and am ready to tackle the day with all that I am and all that I have. No task is too great. I’m on top of my game, I have genius ideas, I’m playful and silly, I’m outrageously funny and most importantly, I’m fun.

When I’m bad, I stumble out of bed groggily – like someone with a bad hangover. I can barely get myself into the shower let alone plan an outfit (though I do make a concerted effort to look “normal” when I’m going to work so that no one notices any changes in me). 4 out of 5 days I end up spilling coffee on myself as I rush out the door, because I cannot abide being late. I’m moody and unresponsive. I do the bare minimum to avoid getting fired. I give my family as much as I possibly can without emptying myself up to the point of resembling dry cracked earth.

When I’m good I’m a wonder in the kitchen, I have so much inspiration, I cook amazing meals, both healthy and indulgent, and I eat with gusto.

When I’m bad I can just about put frozen chips and nuggets into the air fryer – and fluctuate between zero appetite, a mouth that feels like straw and stuffing my face to the point of wanting to throw up.

The contrast in my energy and motivation during these 2 periods is so great that its almost like its 2 different people.

The absolute worst part of it all, is that when I’m bad, when I have no energy, when I have no motivation, when I have no inspiration – I make up for it with insurmountable levels of guilt. I feel guilty for sleeping until noon on a Saturday. I feel guilty for laying on the couch staring incomprehensibly at a movie instead of doing something productive. I feel guilty for resorting to fast food instead of cooking a wholesome meal. I feel guilty for not spending better quality time with T. I feel guilty for not keeping in better touch with friends. I feel guilty for not providing my partner with the kind of person you want to come home to. I feel guilty for being a worthless waste of space.

I think if there’s one thing I really wish people who don’t have depression could understand and appreciate, it is that the people in their lives who do have depression, aren’t lazy. When you see them laying on the couch staring into the distance, not being productive, please try to understand that they aren’t trying to be unproductive, they simply are unable to be productive. They aren’t lazy. We aren’t lazy we are simply overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the disease itself, by trying to manage it, and by all the stimulus around us whilst we try to manage it. Please be kind.

Start A Conversation

Whether its the first or the hundredth time, its never easy … so how do you start a conversation about mental illness?

This most recent bout started back in October of last year. It usually starts with an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion, more often than not, coupled with a sense of being overly wired. This means I’m extremely tired, all the time, but I cannot sleep. At first I did not recognise it for what it was. I have grown very good at identifying it  and can usually see it coming a mile away, but this time, I missed it. I had recently taken over the Marketing Department at work, so was convinced that the symptoms I was noticing were a result of the stress of taking on a new role, and of cleaning up the messes left behind by my predecessor. It was only normal that I’d feel wired and unable to sleep, because work stress was keeping me up at night, and subsequently it was normal that I was feeling so tired, since I was running around like a headless chicken during the day, dealing with overwhelming mounds of work, and then not sleeping well at night.  That was my first mistake – I didn’t see it coming, and so I didn’t do all the things I know I need to do to pre-empt it.

This is only the second time in my life that I have reached out for help, despite living – is living a good word, maybe existing is better – despite existing with this illness for over 20 years, throughout much of my childhood, teenage years and early adulthood all the way to now my mid-30s. Over the years I have developed a number of coping mechanisms, both healthy and unhealthy. I know the right things to do to “manage” my depression. To keep it under control – because that’s all it really is – is keeping it under control. It isn’t treating it, it isn’t getting better, its not even keeping it at bay – its just keeping it under control. Not letting it flare up – not letting it reach its full potential. I also know the quick fixes, the feel better for 10 minutes, one hour, one night fixes. The healthy coping mechanism include eating right, exercising, meditating, spending time in the sun, creating (anything really – writing, drawing, painting, arts and crafts, home and garden DIY). The not so healthy – well you can imagine – usually include indulging and usually in things that aren’t good for you – comfort foods, alcohol, burrowing down. The problem with the good coping mechanisms, is that even though they are extremely effective, they require 2 key elements – energy and focus. Unfortunately these 2 key elements are very much absent in a full blown bout of depression. For this reason, healthy coping mechanisms are preventative in nature. They are completely useless once the depression is in full swing. I cannot even begin to describe how frustrating it is when someone tries to be helpful and suggests you “get some exercise” as a solution to “feeling down”  – its like “yay…you read somewhere that exercise is good for combatting depression, well done you – and how exactly do you propose I go for a run, or to the gym or for a swim when my limbs feel like lead, when it required superhuman strength to drag myself off the bed this morning, when it requires all the willpower I can muster to shower, dress and get to work?” I know that they are just trying to help, but at the same time, I think sometimes it would be better if they said nothing at all. And its even worse when you are a high functioning depressive (read more about high functioning depression here https://www.psycom.net/high-functioning-depression) – this literally means I do not wear my depression on my sleeve – I’m not walking around unkempt, un-showered in the same clothes I’ve been wearing for a week –  I have been THERE .. and I’m under no illusion that I won’t end up THERE again at some point, though I am working really hard to prevent it – I am fairly successful – senior level in the company I work for; own my own house, my own car; I send my child to private school; I’m doing ok as a parent – I show up, I care, I provide a safe and loving home for my child; I’m fairly sociable – so as far as the people around me are concerned how could I possibly be depressed? The thing is though, I don’t exactly have the luxury of NOT being high functioning – because if I don’t get up every day and do all those things I mentioned above, who will? Who is going to take care of me and my child. Who is going to make sure that my child is fed, and cleaned and has clothes to wear and a roof over her head. Who is going to keep a roof over MY head? Being a strong, independent woman has its pros and cons… in this case its pros and cons are one and the same. I am a high functioning depressive. I get up in the morning , put on my face, brave the world and mask an already invisible illness way too well – ultimately when it comes to the point where I cannot cope, when I am barely hanging in there it’s hard to explain to people or to make them understand that it is because I am battling an extremely consuming disease.