What's in a name...

When I began this blog about a year ago it was for a number of different reasons but mainly because I felt like I was drowning in my life. I was so utterly lost in every way. I had so many things going on in my head and inside of me that I felt like a volcano, with simmering and mounting pressure. I felt like I was going to burst trying to hold it all in but didn’t know where to turn for support or help. Right or wrong I didn’t feel that I could turn to those who I’d usually turn to in my moments of need; they either had their own problems to deal with or they were entwined and tangled up with me in my problems.

This blog was initially about a place to let go of all I felt and all I was going through without hurting or involving other people. It was to be a way of talking about my family without causing damage to our relationship, because that is the funny thing about words once you say them you can’t take them back, there is no way to unsay them. This blog was about protecting them and holding on to what we shared no matter how tattered and shredded I felt it to be. But, ultimately it was more about protecting myself and dealing with it all in my way at a moment and pace of my own choosing. A large part of this decision is about my inherent belief that ‘No one can take care of me better than me’ which is tantamount to saying ‘I’m afraid to trust people when I’m vulnerable’. Let me rephrase that: ‘I don’t trust people to be there for me’. I don’t let people in, I don’t trust easily and I don’t rely on other people. In all my relationships, past and present, there is always a part of myself that I hold back, that I keep separate and secret. I know it’s a self preservation thing, a way of pushing people away and preventing them from getting too close. But that’s where the clarity ends, I don’t why I do it, I’m not sure what happened to make me feel that this is necessary.

I thought keeping a blog would be a way of talking about things and a way of getting it all out without making myself vulnerable and without running the risk of being reminded of what I was going through. I wanted it to be a place I could go to that was all me and had nothing to do with the people that had hurt me. Which is a strange contradiction considering the driving force was them and the hurt, so the reality is that it has everything to do with them and it. Looking back over the last year I can see a large part of this desire was the desire to find myself. I can see now that I had got lost; lost in my emotions, lost in my hurt, lost in where I was going, what I wanted to do, lost in worrying a great deal about what other people thought or felt about what I was doing or wanted to do. So, my keeping a blog was really a way of me mapping a way back or finding out who I was. It was a way of thinking out loud and giving voice to all the things that threatened to choke me if I didn't say them. It was and still is a way of finding the familiar to ground me on my onward journey.

At this precise moment I don’t feel like I’ve figured anything of significance out, but I think I might be half way there. Perhaps that’s why I’ve finally started to use my first name here on this blog rather than a pseudonym...

Mothers and Daughters

My mum came for the weekend and with her came a rollercoaster of unwanted emotions for me, but looking back on our conversation what strikes me most is the anger I directed at her and the resentment I feel toward her.

When you’re a little girl you want nothing more than to be like your mum. No one is as smart, as funny, as attractive, or as amazing as she is. You play dress up in which you put on her clothes, her jewellery, her make up and totter around in her shoes hoping you look just like her. Your mum, is in short, as perfect as she can possibly be on the pedestal you have placed her. When you become a teenager things are different, she doesn’t understand you or what you’re going through and you’re absolutely convinced she was born an adult. It’s a tough time filled with anger and frustration, and lots of stomping up stairs and slamming of doors. By the time you’ve reached your twenties you’ve come to realise your mum has been through some rough times herself and definitely knows a thing in two about life and growing up. Suddenly you begin to realise she might not be perfect and that while she is human with flaws of her own, you understand she always has your best interests at heart. The advice your mum gives you in your twenties starts to resonate within you and she becomes your best friend as well as your mum. A subtle shift happens and your relationship changes to one of mutual support, out of somewhere and seemingly overnight you are steady enough on your own feet to lend a supporting hand to her – you start to be there for her through her trials. This change, this movement away from being the dependent child into a mature adult continues throughout your life and relationship together. Inevitably there is the possibility that there will be some events in your life that will be so shattering they shake you to your core, and you revert back to being a child needing comfort and support. In such instances the one person you instinctively reach out for is the one person who has never failed to let you down in the past – your mum.

Perhaps because of this when your mum does lets you down the aftermath is devastating and hurts in ways that only time can reveal and hopefully mend. My mum and I have, just like every mother and daughter, had our ups and downs. We’ve fallen out and disagreed and been there for each other even if it meant putting aside our own hurt. But fairly recently my mum wasn’t there for me when I really needed her and the magnitude of the hurt from this goes much deeper than I’d previously thought.

We’ve talked about it and continue to do so but somehow the hurt doesn’t lessen and now I’ve the anger to contend with too. And there is so much of it. I’m angry that her whole attitude seems to be ‘It’s in the past you should just let it all go’. Just like that. Like it didn’t hurt, like I’m not still hurting, like it doesn’t reduce me to tears, like it all doesn’t matter any more. It does hurt. I am still hurting. It does reduce me to tears, often and it does still matter. It matters very much. Initially I was angry because she let me down, because I needed her, desperately needed her - my mum - like I had never needed her before. I wasn’t an adult in that moment of need, I was a child and I needed the comfort and support that only she as my mum could give me and she wasn’t there for me. I fell and she wasn’t there to catch me. She wasn’t there to pick me up and make me feel better. She wasn’t there to hold me and to reassure me that everything was going to be okay.

I’ve made all the right excuses for her and my hurt and anger aside I know I am right. I know every insight I have of her situation from her perspective is right. I can (and I do) put myself in her shoes and experience all that she was feeling at the time. I know she was going through a difficult time herself; her own mother was dying and they weren’t on the best of terms, indeed they hadn’t been for a very long time. If I take a step back from myself and all my roiling emotions I can see the similarities in our situations; mum was feeling like an abandoned child just as I was. Mum needed her own mum and was subsequently let down too, in much the same way I was. She was hurting and she had retreated into herself in order to protect herself.

I know this and I feel that it is right but ... and perhaps it is the hurt little girl inside of me that makes me feel this... but I am still so angry with her about all of it. The whole thing. I am angry that her advice, the advice I have always followed and accepted as right before, is to just let go. I don’t accept this. More than not accepting this I completely reject it. Somehow I feel that by just letting go I send the message that it was okay for her to hurt me and that I am okay now. It’s not okay and I am not okay and I won’t pretend that I am because other people have decided that I should be, or because it makes their life easier. I won’t sweep it under the carpet because I can’t. It is still fresh and raw and all pervading for me.

Will a time come when I can? Will a time come when it will hurt less and I won’t be so angry? I hope so because I love my mum, I love her very much and without her I don’t make sense. But I won’t pretend, not for anyone.

The Patch

That title may well confuse many of you but those who are married to men or women serving Queen and Country will know exactly what I am referring to.

This is a bit of a difficult topic to want to talk about and I fear that I am not going to be viewed in a positive light when I say the things I do...

Living on a patch is a lot like living in a goldfish bowl and it is the most unnatural thing that I have ever experienced. Generally speaking the whole thing provokes conflicting emotions and thoughts inside me. Let me explain... as best I am able. The estate where I live is six miles outside of a major town and right in the middle of a village, not giving too much away, but here is an incredibly odd thing - no one in the village seems to aware that here is a housing estate for military personnel. I know we have become a nation who makes no effort to befriend their neighbours or get involved in community life – at least that was the trend and things are slowly changing but this leaves me dumbstruck. As a Londoner I was not on first name terms with my neighbours, to be entirely frank I did not even know their surname and the only thing I did know was the one thing that I would have chosen NOT to know – that it was a home of a destructive marriage.

Getting back to where I live now – our housing estate is incredibly closed to outsiders. That is not to say that people here do not have outside interests (I am sure there are a few that do) but as a sociable person I find it... disturbing and incredibly unnerving how self-contained our estate is. Take for example the fact we have a playground area for the children of service families, and as these go it’s pretty good (I’ve given the swings and pulley a go and found them more than pleasing) but only estate children use it. No other children, and I mean NOT ONE, come on here to play and mingle. Surprising but not sinister ... although I have noticed there is a certain ... Stepfordness about the place.

It isn’t that however that makes me uncomfortable, rather it is the behaviour of some of the adults. To get to the point I guess what makes me frown and feel cold inside in the ‘us and them’ attitude that seems prevalent among some, and I do say some not all, of the residents here. Our estate is predominantly made up of RAF families but there are a few, our numbers are gradually increasing, of Army families. Yet there doesn’t appear to be much mingling. Worse, my neighbour, bless her outspokenness, has made it abundantly clear ‘this is a housing estate for RAF personnel and their families’ which was closely followed by a list of what she perceived to be the apparently endless faults of Army service men and women. I’ve excused her ...how can I phrase this politely ...her insulting and patronising opinions as laughably inaccurate. Actually if I’m being really honest I’ve dismissed her opinion as the postulating of an uneducated immature little girl with an odious personality and poor taste in music, decor and attire. So, yes you would be right – her words stung. I didn’t however tell her this, no, rather I interrupted her tirade to point out I found the whole thing childishly pathetic, bordering on playground bullying and I really wasn’t interested in patch politics. Okay, so that was the abridged version, I might have added my own little rant to include something along the lines of wishing people would get a life outside of pulling back their curtains to see what everyone else was doing and just learn to get along together like adults. I might also have added something akin to expressing that not having been the one to sign the contract with the Army, I was just married to a soldier, so that quite frankly was where my involvement with it all ended. I know, I know I’m just as bad. But her words did sting. I hadn’t been here long and I was feeling incredibly fragile and like I’d been thrown in at the deep end. The phrase square peg, round hole springs to mind.

It isn’t a gripe but it is an honest observation to say those who serve have the security of their job and the people they work with. Army personnel can be posted every 18 months, in laymen terms that could mean packing up your house and moving to another part of the Country or another Country entirely every 18 months. The chances are when your husband or wife is posted out they will end up with people they have either worked with before, be it on Ops, on exercise, or on a general day-to-day basis in their Squadron. This isn’t the case for their partners. We do not have the security of knowing our job stays the same and we are going to (however small a chance there is of this there is still a chance) be working with familiar individuals. We have to start all over again each time we move.

The same could be said of any family which move I’m aware, however you are forgetting Military personnel go away and often for long periods of time. When you keep in mind you may originally be from London and more than likely have moved away from there, as is the case with myself, in addition to your family not being conveniently placed just around the corner, all we have for support is each other. During such trying times of loneliness and emotional stress all we have is our next door neighbours regardless of the uniform our spouses wear. This isn’t something I ever thought I would hear myself saying but I find myself wishing there was a greater sense of support here, that is to say, we made more of an effort to take care of each other. Do I pop next door to say I’m off to the shops and would they like me to pick anything up for them? Yes I do. I have also offered a number of times my babysitting services for when hubby returns from Afghan or for any occasion that it should be needed. And I do this not for any other reason then because we should help each other out and because it’s how you make friends – by making an effort. You never know when you are going to need a favour or a helping hand or even just a friendly ear, so if by making an effort to get to know others who are in the same situation as you paves the way for securing people to fulfil such roles I’m all for it.

I’ve lived here for over a year and I’ve found two such people already, it was three but one has moved away - it comes with the territory – and between us we are there for each other in ways that seem small but important nonetheless.

I admit to a certain degree we are what I would term circumstantial friends (I’m slowly beginning to come around to the idea that there might not be any other type of friends) I am very thankful for those that I have and know I am lucky to have them. Obviously that EXCLUDES her next door and her opinions - I'm still sulking over that encounter, but I count my blessings that I have two such people that are close at hand to call upon when I have a need and hope they feel the same about me.

A Learning Curve with Linc...

The next adventure Linc decided to take me on was an educational one.

Linc has taught me as much I’ve discovered for myself over the weekend that dogs are much like children. Nothing can prepare you for the fun , laughter and havoc they bring into your life, in light of that observation here are a few things that I can see that they have in common;

1. They must see what you have in your bag just in case there is a treat in there for them, and if not they are being helpful in emptying it for you.

2. They will get themselves all over excited about a trip somewhere and run around the place banging into you, chairs, furniture – anything and everything that gets in their way – until they get outside.

3. They will eat undesirable things that they aren’t meant to eat and then promptly be sick – everywhere.

4. They love to be cuddled and fussed over but only when they are in the mood to be loved and fussed over.

5. They have great imaginations, a stick is not just a stick it is a sword or a battering ram to knock you off your feet as they run passed you.

6. They have this compulsion to walk in every puddle or dank muddy bog that they come along and to nose around it in just in case there is something of interest that you just have to see.

7. They do not pick up their toys or put them away and will insist on leaving them in places that are hazardous to your limbs.

8. They will always want to share or eat whatever you have on your plate or are eating and will make you feel infinitely guilty if you don’t share it with them. Jedi mind tricks I tell you.

9. They wake and want to play at ridiculous times – usually in the middle of night when everyone else is asleep.

10. They do not wipe their feet and protest by running away when you attempt to help them out. It all becomes a game of chase.

11. They will avoid bath time at any cost and when you do finally manage to wrestle them into it more water ends up on the floor than remains in the bath.