Feelings on Father’s Day

How am I doing this year?
I’ve been thinking about Dad extra amounts this week. More has reminded me of him. I’ve felt quieter and more subdued. I’ve been nervous about how today would be. 

This morning I’m trying to keep busy, but also keep in mind the knowledge that I can still celebrate Fathers Day. I have a wonderful Dad, that in twenty six years with me, gave me a wonderful childhood, advice and so much love. 

Looking forward, this time next year, we will be celebrating Father’s Day in a different way. We will be parents, caring for our gorgeous little boy or girl. A child far less fortunate than myself, in regards to parenting. Jim will step into that role. He will be wonderful. He is so much like my own Dad. 

Please don’t feel sorry for me, or any other grieving children today. Just promise me you will spend time with your own Dad’s while you still have the chance.

Hate breeds hate

I am saddened to see so much hate on my newsfeed this morning. 

So many close minded opinions, sharing of religious statements taken out of context and articles plucked from thin air to prove your way is right. 

I love a healthy debate. One in which each person in turn airs their views, open to be swayed by others in a way to understand eachother and consolidate what you believe.

I agree we have to challenge those that are doing wrong in our eyes, not to condemn but to understand why they think differently from us.

Next time you see hurtful comments or articles shared, instead of tutting and ignoring it, or sending hurtful comments straight back why don’t you ask a challenging open question?

E.g.

  • I am intrigued by your point of view. I would like to understand how you came to think this way?
  • I understand your anger, I am saddened by what is happening too. What do you think you or I can do to help on a day to day basis?
  • I am trying really hard to understand where you are coming from. Could you please send me useful links so I can research this for myself?

Can you hear the difference? It is obvious you are from another opinion, but you are open to be swayed or challenged. 

Maybe this way you will either:

  1. Receive a very well thought out answer that may help you understand where they are coming from.
  2. Have the opportunity to share your beliefs also in an open and relaxed discussion
  3. Or more hateful statements will be returned and at this point you can choose to leave the conversation or ask another kind and considered open question.

I am going to be selective on what I write and when. Maybe private messages rather than comment sections will be more amicable?

I have no idea if it’s going to work, but I can’t swipe passed anymore hate without doing something about it.

I would appreciate your support.

Please share your kind and open opinions on what I have said in the comments section below.

Remember love online, offline, always.

The same black dress

 

I didn’t think yesterday would hurt as much as it did.

But it’s still so soon. It seems like only a fortnight ago we had the whole family round for my Dad, and now this.

I woke up in the morning with a huge knot in my stomach. With gritted teeth, I put the same black dress on I had worn last summer. I painted on war paint. Heavy makeup so I couldn’t cry. Nothing could pass through my mascara. Like filling a hole. Like glueing my insides shut. Nothing would get in, nothing could seep out.

I got in the car.

I told Jim that I wasn’t going to cry. I was determined for this not to get under my skin. Not to reach me. I would build a wall where no emotion could pass. Self preservation at it’s finest. I didn’t take tissues in with me. I didn’t need them.

I sat through the Crematorium part of the ceremony. I was in a daze. My mind kept drifting away. I wasn’t concentrating on the words or what was in front of me. Like it wasn’t really happening. I stood up and walked away. I gave no-one eye contact. I refused to let them in.

I kept moving, flitting from one group to the next. Avoiding small talk, questions and conversation without looking alone. All a tactical ploy. All part of the plan. I swerved conversation to happy things and I dodged the curve balls.

It was working. My mascara hadn’t moved. I felt in control. Now onto the church.

I opened the order of service.

It hit me.

The same song. The same song as last summer. Sitting right there. How could I possibly sing that? How could I hear others sing that? I flicked through the pages to find other songs repeated. How could I get through this? I felt like I had been set up.

I decided I wouldn’t sing. I would stand crossed armed and closed mouthed. I would let the words pass over my head and then sit back down. no one would even know.

The organ introduced the first few chords.

My throat felt like it was going to burst. A single tear leaked onto my right cheek. I didn’t wipe it away. I just felt it trickle down my skin.

But then more started seeping out. This time from both eyes. I closed them shut and leaned into Jim. I felt my shoulders shaking and my fists tighten.

I lost it.

I cried more than I had since my Dad was diagnosed fifteen months ago.

All of my anger and sadness and confusion and frustration poured out of my body.

My sister passed me her tissue.

Why was I crying? I was so angry at myself. I wanted to be strong. I thought I could do it.

 

My eyes kept leaking right into the evening.

I was a mess.

Over nothing and over what happened then and now and everything.

I couldn’t even put into words why I was so overwhelmingly sad. Only that everything I had been holding in all this time was bubbling up and I couldn’t stop it.

 

 

It was lovely though. The day. Everyone being together.

 

I finally got home, slipped off my black dress.

And went to sleep.

 

I am feeling more myself today. I think I still have more to let out.

But that can wait for another day.

Not enough tears

I am sorry that I have run out of tears to cry.

You deserve far more than I can give, you wonderful wonderful man. 

You inspiring, eccentric, jolly and passionate man.

It has been an honour being your first born grandchild.

Your passion for family and the arts has made me the person I am today. 

You deserve rivers of tears and processions in the streets to celebrate all you have achieved, with your wonderful beautiful mind.

Sleep well. 

May you leave peacefully, believing whole heartedly that you are joining your wife and son in heaven.

Mummy’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the incredible Mothers out there. You do a relentless job and are incredible. I watch your love for your children. I can see you love them so much it hurts. I can see the excitement and joy in your eyes when they learn something new. I can see that your child loves you by the way they look at you too, by the way they need you and follow you. I can see that when they push you away you only hold closer. You fight for them. You work for them. You change your body for them. You change your life for them. They are your first thought when you wake and your last when you go to sleep. You are amazing. Thank you.

Amazing You

I heard a worrying fact yesterday.

 1 in 4 women self harm.

That is one quarter of women that want to hurt themselves because they don’t think they are good enough.

That is 25% of all the women I know have or have had this feeling.

I did it briefly as a teen. I didn’t know I was self harming at the time, but I hated the acne on my skin and would scrub my face with acetone (nail varnish remover) when I got sad about it, until my skin was more sore and red than it was before. 

We can hurt ourselves in lots of different ways. 

I hate that not feeling good enough made my young mind think that was an okay thing to do. 

Now it’s even worse. Young adults (boys included now) are bombarded with perfect images on social media constantly.

They can not get away from it, always in their pocket. 

And they can never meet that heightened sense of perfection because it doesn’t exist, it is fake.

I feel horrible that I contribute to that. I can confirm it is all fake. I edit every single one of my photos.  I patch over my spots and I smooth over my skin. 

Even now, at 27 years old. Even now when my skin is so much better than it used to be, I am hurting and wanting to cover up my skin. 

This time it’s worse, this time I’m part of the problem with my perfect pictures plastered all over social media of my perfect life, with my perfect family, my perfect home and my perfect skin.

I love my life, but it’s far from perfect. As you all well know. 

Nobody’s life is.

Too many of my friends do not love themselves.

But you…

You reading this. It’s amazing you even exist. 

It is amazing that this Earth just happens to be perfect for humans to survive and thrive on.

It is amazing that one night your parents decided to have sex, that exact moment they would conceive you.

It is amazing that your mother could carry you as long as she did and that you formed to be you.

It is amazing that your skin forms and grows like it does to mould your body as it is today.

It is amazing that you have learned to speak, make and keep friends, contribute to this planet like you do.

You are amazing. So many things could have happened differently and you wouldn’t be here. You would never have existed. 

But you are here. Before you were even born, you were amazing.

So you’ve got this incredible body and are living on this incredible earth.

Now…

What are you going to do with it?

Are you going to compare your perfectly formed miracle of a body to a fake one you see on the internet?

Yes probably. I know I will be.

But hopefully next time you do, you’ll think over what has been said here and not hurt yourself with bad thoughts about yourself, but fill your head with how amazing you are.

Saying Goodbye

It wasn’t as hard to leave as I thought it could be.

During my last two visits I have known my Mum has to sell our lovely holiday house in the alps.

it has been our holiday destination for the past 12 years. It holds so many memories for us.

but as I walk through the house, I remember it is just concrete, wood and plaster. There are no memories stored away under the beds. They are in my head. I can take them anywhere with me.

I feel much closer to my Dad there, I can’t help but think about him. Imagine him soaking in the sun on the balcony or getting giddy at the pizza restaurant. I need to remind myself that these are all memories, that are too precious to sell. I still have all of them in my head at all times. Photos and videos will help me remember.

Now it’s time to start a new adventure. In fresh and exciting places. Exotic places.

I am grateful that my Dad made the decision to sell the house upon diagnosis. It takes some of the pressure off of Mum. 

The decision to buy the house was lead by him, and so was the decision to sell.

I am so proud of Mum. 
You can find my short film of Saying Goodbye [in a minute] over on my YouTube channel.  

Click here to go to the video.