Fraud

I went to see the oddest Ruby Wax show in the West End earlier this week.  If you are thinking acerbic, quick witted humour, well sure there is a bit of that.  However, the show, entitled "Losing It", was more like a painful public airing/therapy session dealing with Ruby's personal battle with depression.

It was an exploration in using humour as a sort of group therapy.  It was messy and uncomfortable.  She had taken it to The Priory and played to the inmates (is that what you call them?).  Her line is 'If you can make depressed people laugh then you've got a good show'.  I am not so convinced.

I went with a friend who has been living with a seriously depressed partner for many years and I have seen this condition ravish the family's strength and reserve.  For my friend the whole performance left her unsatisfied and angry, neither relieved from a great laughter release nor buoyed by a sense of connection and support.

Ruby's demise into depression is covered in detail in the first half.  The usual suspects were covered; parents, upbringing, school bully's, being/looking different etc.   But she also talks candidly about Motherhood and careers, loss of confidence and jealousy.

She talked about feeling like a fraud.  From being the one at school who everyone picked on or ignored, to then becoming famous and applauded.  Asking herself, "When are these people going to discover I am really not this person but rather the bucked tooth loser from high school?"

I have had the fraud conversation a bit lately.

A friend recently described this feeling (the fraud one) as part of the female condition.  The self doubting, the guilt, the lack of confidence.  Do men feel the same sense of fear?  I am sure they experience fear, but does it come from the same place?

I am going back into the real life workforce after a reasonably pre-longed Mothering break.  I describe quite regularly to my friends the sense of fraudulence I feel.  On the one side claiming/believing I am capable and experienced and on the other seriously doubting my ability and worth.

But apparently even woman who haven't had breaks from work and hold lofty respected positions of power are secretly questioning themselves, doubting their ability, all the while clearly being applauded and accoladed for their skill.

I had lunch with a friend today who reminisced about the old days before kids and remembered having moments back then, as she produced huge TV commercial shoots, of thinking to herself, "Am I really doing this? Can I really do this?"

My sister and I wondered if this is all because, for as much as feminism has done to free us, we still feel deep down like it is a man's world, we are not really on an even playing field.  We are posers and fakers in a world that doesn't really belong to us.  Interestingly Ruby does mention the man vs woman earning equality divide.  Comparing the salaries of the husband to the level of subservience of the wife, and the fact that in reverse it is never the case.

I think the fear us Mum's feel stems from the invisibility of Mothering.  From being unseen and unheard whilst giving up so much of ourselves to this relentless job.  There is no question that we relinquish ourselves to the job through pure hearted love.  But the fact that there is no professional 'man's world' recognition for the skill and dedication of Mothering well can make it feel like a huge black hole in the landscape of your experience.

This isn't a question of whether I think you should stay at home or not, the whole issue has always been a spiky one for me.  I won't lie either, Mothering has provided me some of the greatest highs yet also the lowest lows.  Depression is something I know about too now.  I do believe the job of Mothering is completely undervalued and any woman who can navigate sanely through those murky waters should be awarded with any job they desire.

So facing up for work in the real world again is slightly frightening.  Fronting up from the trenches with the confidence to say "Hell yeah I can do that" takes so much courage.

All the while the little man in the back of your head is yelling out "FRAUD FRAUD".

Silky Smooth

I live in an area of London with quite a large Turkish population.  Amongst the many kebab houses and Turkish cafes serving jaw grinding coffee there are a lot of places dedicated to hair.

It is an obsession.

Both the coiffing and the removing of hair is big time around here.  Much time and money is spent upon these pursuits.  I am not just talking about the chicks either.  You want an old fashioned hot cloth and shave, there are a million barbers to do the job.  Back hair?  No problemo.  For a princely sum a course of IPL will transform you from Fozzie Bear into Bear Grylls in a matter of months.  Well, perhaps not quite.

"You Don't Mess with the Zohan" is a favourite movie round at our joint and "silky smooth" is definitely something I like to be.

Best thing about removing my downy mouse coloured fuzz around this neighborhood is that I don't feel freakish at all.  As an hirsute whitey, it ain't nothing compared to some of the stubborn thick black stubble these 'removal' girls face on a daily basis.

I do get a peculiar kick out of sitting in the waiting room and seeing girls in the full niqab coming in for a Brazilian.

http://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/n/niqab.asp

Threading is where it is at for the face and especially eyebrows.  I didn't see much or any of this available whilst in Australia and perhaps for the most part it is all going on behind closed doors.  But for the face there is nothing better for fine blonde hair, or darker hair for that matter.  Forget the mo bleach girls.  And for eyebrows, threading really offers the most precise and longest lasting results.

My Mother took me for my first 'mo' wax somewhere toward my later high school years.  All the other girls were using the bleach which only seemed to accentuate the situation.  Sometime after that I probably got my first leg wax too.  It was some time later I first heard talk of bikini shaping and trimming or vajazzles for that matter.  More than twenty years later I hate to think what I have spent on the pursuit of silky smooth.

Threading is an ancient Middle Eastern method of hair removal.  It involves using a long, thin, twisted length of cotton thread and rolling it along the hair line pulling the hair out from the follicle.  It is obviously something someone has to perform upon you and I reckon takes a fair amount of practice to perfect the technique, it is practically an art form.

According to Wikipedia, threading the entire female face is a practice common in Middle Eastern culture as a sign she has reached maturity, done for special occasions such as weddings.  Who started this whole obsession with women needing to look like twelve year old girls on their wedding day?

I don't have that much unsightly facial sprouting but a nicely shaped brow makes the whole face seem different.  Threading is by far a much less invasive practice than smearing hot wax on your face.  It is actually almost mesmerising and nearly relaxing.  (You really do know you are a tired and stretched woman when you can have a wee kip whilst having your bikini region attended to with a bucket of hot wax.)

Silky smooth.....mmmm

Browbeaten

Huddled on the floor of the living room.  Wet cloth in hand.  I rested my head on the new carpet.  My heart lay heavy in my chest and I could feel tears welling up from that lump in the back of my hoarse throat. 

He was upstairs in his room.  Sobbing his little heart out.

"Please don't yell at me Mummy".

Motherhood.

It is not always rosy.

I spend a bit of time checking out other blogs,  mostly interior porn but the occasional Mummy blog too.

There are a lot of rose tinted versions of family life to take your pick from and thereby feel totally inadequate.

A parenting failure.  

A lot of photos of cute babies on jaunty sepia toned European holidays.  Of neat little corners in colourful homes tended by SAHM's who's lives appear to be totally fulfilled with the baking and making and crocheting of wonderful wonderful.

Parental gloating.

It is not really like that.  Surely?

Fleeting moments only.

I sometimes lie in bed at night fretting about my children.  Feeling the leaden weight of their future upon my shoulders. 

They fuck you up, your Mum and Dad.  And with the best intentions.  We just really can't help it.

This Be the Verse  BY PHILIP LARKIN

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   

    They may not mean to, but they do.   

They fill you with the faults they had

    And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn

    By fools in old-style hats and coats,   

Who half the time were soppy-stern

    And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.

    It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

    And don’t have any kids yourself.

We are not infallible.  And sometimes the decisions we make as parents are going to have repurcussions we are not proud of. 

Sometimes, when we are discouraged by a difficult situation, anger does seem helpful, appearing to bring more energy, confidence and determination. And while it is true that anger brings extra energy, it eclipses the best part of our brain: its rationality. So the energy of anger is almost always unreliable. It can cause an immense amount of destructive, unfortunate behavior. - Dalai Lama

Is it rational to lose it over spilt milk on the new carpet? 

Is it rational to lose it when children do childish things? 


Is it rational to raise our voices?

In the Buddhist teachings it tells us that there is no such thing as righteous anger.  However, none of us are immune to the destructive forces of anger.  Life is constantly throwing up difficult situations and we have a choice whether or not to react.

The tears on the carpet incident occurred mid school holidays.  Things have greatly improved now we all have a little more focus and routine.  But the fact is I really don't enjoy losing it or raising my voice.  I always feel totally defeated.  

If we can remember to take a deep breath during these stressful moments, and remind ourselves that we have a choice, more often than not the more rational options will then have an opportunity to be heard. 

No need to hand on the misery.  Avoid the browbeating and embrace the loving kindness.  


Sometimes easier said than done.