Woulda Shoulda Coulda

Back when we first moved in, whenever Angelica kicked off and had a strop, or was nasty to people and stomped off, I would go up to see her later in the evening to talk through what was bothering her - once upon a time, she liked me. Then she would complain to me about pretty much everything and everyone. I know this is part of being a teenager. So I listened, was sympathetic, offered possible options, solutions, or tried to find out what we could do to make things better.

One of the things she complained about most vociferously was that her brother was treated faaaar better than she was (in her opinion). She admitted that this was especially true at her mother's house, where she was required to undertake many chores and he was required to do none. I had not noticed any unfairness in the way the two children were treated - we didn't ask them to do any regular chores, although Jason occasionally got Mark to set the table and clear it at meal times, and Angelica occasionally helped him. Anyway, I promised to keep an eye out for it but said that we couldn't affect the rules at her mother's house.

Cut to a meal some time later where Jason asked Mark to clear the table after dinner. Mark agreed but immediately launched into an excited retelling of something that had happened at school that day. Angelica groaned loudly and began clearing the table.

Jason asked her to stop, please, because he would like Mark to do it. Angelica says "But he's not doing it!" Mark says that he will do it as soon as he's finished his story, which he's still really excited about - he hasn't seen his father in three days and soooo much has happened since then!

Angelica groans again and continues to clear the table despite Jason's protests. So we all get up to clear the table together and Mark tells his story while we do it. Then Jason tells the children that he would particularly like Mark to do the drying up as a chore for the weekend. Mark agrees and picks up a tea towel. I always try to do the washing up to give at least one of the kids additional time alone with their father after dinner. Jason wanders into the living room and Mark and I set about the dishes.

Angelica approaches Mark and asks him to move his bag which is currently lying on top of hers in the dining room, about 5 steps away from her. Marks promises to do it as soon as he's finished. Angelica insists that she wants it moved right now as it's on top of her things.
"But I'm drying up!" says Mark
"I don't care! Move it now it's crushing my clothes!" Angelica is shouting by now.
So Mark drops the tea towel and goes to move his bag. Angelica then steps in to take the tea towel and continue drying up.

I ask her to leave it as Jason asked Mark to do it. She smiles. And ignores me. And continues. Mark returns and asks her to give him back the tea towel so that he can continue with his chore. She ignores him too.

I remind her of the fact that she complained about Mark not having to do as many chores as she did. I point out that this is one of those occasions where we're trying to keep things equitable between them, as she wanted, and could she please give Mark back the tea towel and go relax in the living room. She keeps smiling. And ignoring me. And drying up. Badly.

I point out that she can go and spend time alone with her father, and how she once said she wanted more time with him to herself. Again, she keeps smiling and ignoring me.

In total I asked her five times, calmly and kindly, while Mark was also asking her, not so calmly but not unkindly and she ignored both of us until the last time I asked when Jason came into the kitchen to see what was going on. Then she slowly put down the tea towel, grin still on face and said "But he doesn't do it properly...." quietly, before going to put her arms around her father and take him away, lest either Mark or I explain what was happening.

Later, it occurs to me that I should have asked once, and then left myself, with Mark in tow, to spend time with Jason ourselves, and let her do the washing up too.

Maybe next time.

I pray there won't be a next time.

On blogging...

Lots of the people who write blogs that I read religiously are beginning to make them private. This has led me to think about exactly how private blogs really are, and how vulnerable we make ourselves when we blog.

I realise, reading back over my other posts that the person I project when I write is not the real me. However, as the writer of 'A New Beginning' points out, blogging is often about allowing someone a place to vent safely without being judged. How you will respond in person is very different to how you respond to an event, or react to a situation when you discuss it in a blog. On your own blog, you are able to voice all those tiny demons that eat away at your thoughts without fear of reprisal, judgement or criticism. At least that's what we hope when we write. In reality, the minute you press that 'publish' button to share your thoughts with the ether you allow a million others, most of them strangers, to see you, sometimes at your worst, and cast judgment on your thoughts. Not fair, but not unreasonable.

Personally, I love to read blogs. Especially those of others who are in similar situations to myself, in order to feel a little less lonely in my angst. I also like to write when I'm upset. It's cathartic to see your thoughts in print, and it allows you to respond calmly to those around you as you've already vented your feelings elsewhere, where you couldn't hurt them with your words. However, I am also terrified of being judged. I love having other people comment on my blog as it makes me feel validated in my reactions, even when I know I'm being more extreme than I should be - but I'm also more than a little afraid every time I look in case someone judges me badly, misunderstands my motives, or just doesn't like me. Even though I know this isn't the real me, or all of the real me, I still want people to like me. Who doesn't? I know that I would think twice about leaving a hurtful comment on anyone's blog, but there are plenty of people out there who feel liberated by the anonymity of the internet and use it to express forthright opinions on others with less care than they might exercise face to face.

I am also a lurker. The world of blogging can open up opportunities for friendships that might never otherwise have existed, but I sometimes find it difficult to comment freely for the first time in case I'm not welcome. So I have been faithfully reading many blogs for a long time without leaving comment. However, I think I have been allowing fear to rule my life for far too long, so I've begun to be brave and introduce myself. In the interests of openness and honesty, then, I thought I'd do the same here - albeit with a view to blanketing some of those details that might compromise my own anonymity to BM etc.

I like reading. Love it. I can devour books like they're candy. I also like candy, especially tangfastics and those old packs of popping candy you used to be able to buy freely at local stores. I adore food and there's almost nothing I won't eat - tripe being a notable exception. I love wearing killer heels, but my feet love comfy flats. I prefer Margaret Atwood to Jean Auel, but only when I'm feeling happy enough to cope with her, and have been known to curl up with a soppy romance and a glass of red when I think no one will catch me.

I like movies, and sports, and Brad Pitt. Would buy Benefit and Guerlain makeup constantly if I could afford it, but often can't. I love to buy presents and live for the smile on the recipient's face. It makes me happy. As does bouncy music and milk chocolate and endless summer days spent with friends and ice-cream. I'm hopelessly neurotic but fiercely loyal; and hopefully becoming braver everyday....

A Card on the Table...

I am angry. Isn't that an ugly word? But I've said it and, according to some psychologists, that is a great step for a woman. Apparently we rarely admit to being angry. We admit to being hurt, we admit to being upset, we admit to being lonely and feeling betrayed, but we struggle to admit to when we feel angry.

I think this is because we don't want people to think badly of us. We don't want anyone to think that we are as ugly as the word 'angry'. Yet it's a natural human emotion and a natural response to certain situations. I don't think feeling angry makes anyone a bad person. I think it's how you respond to that anger that shows what kind of person you are.

I am angry because I feel that I have been treated unfairly for a long time, and that the people who should have looked out for me, who should have been fair to me, and whom I loved regardless have hurt me. I feel betrayed, and lonely and hurt, and, yes, angry.

As a result of my anger, and the shame I feel for being angry at all, I feel that people judge me. There is a paranoia and a defensiveness that I carry with me. I worry that I am wrong to feel angry and that those who treat me badly are justified in doing so because of that. This leads to further hurt.

Still with me?

I began this blog as an outlet for that anger, and also to put my point of view out there, like so many others who also blog. However, I have realised that I vent only when I'm angry and this makes me sound ugly. I have also realised that I don't want to be defined by my anger. So I decided to stop feeling ashamed of it and to do something about it.

Step one was admitting to it. I told my partner how I feel. Step two was explaining why I was angry. I did that. And you know what? He understood. It's nice to be understood. Now we're working on step three together: trying to fix the things that make me feel angry and hurt and betrayed and lonely. It's a long list of things; it's amazing how much women can silently put up with for years before they finally explode. It's a slow process, but we're getting there, and he's trying, and that means the world to me.

Last weekend, Jason inadvertently did something that ended up causing me a lot of physical pain. For the first ten or fifteen minutes of pain, I felt guilty that I might be ruining his plans for the weekend. After that, I felt angry at him for putting me in that position. We were two miles from home. He sat me down on the grass verge by the road and walked home to get the car to collect me and put me safely onto our couch with a bucket of painkillers and a mug of tea. He was gone for ten minutes and I was angry for five before I decided there was no point. If he had thought about what he was doing in detail, I would not have been in pain. However, if he had, for a second, considered the pain he would eventually cause me, he would never have done what he did. Besides, I've had enough anger this year to last me a lifetime. He was careless with me, but he regrets it - and what's more, he worked to make it up to me. He got back with the car to find me, still in pain, but joking about it now and smiling instead of cross.

Anger can be a useful emotion, when it drives us to act, when it makes us do something about whatever it is that is causing us pain. After that, it becomes destructive. I'm grateful that I have this blog as a place to vent, but I'm also glad that the things that made me angry are being fixed, so that I don't have to feel angry anymore.