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 Well, not so much fun and leisure as...get some damn writing done, you fool! |
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A while ago, I attended a writers' workshop and the lady who hosted it told us all to go away with this bit of advice - to write for just ten minutes a day. I was determined to go ahead with it and I did...for two days. So today I remembered that I'd resolved to do so and I whipped out my journal and wrote for fifteen minutes. I'm typing out pretty much the same thing that I wrote earlier, with some differences. I find I can go a lot more in-depth when I'm typing than when I'm writing by hand. Writing by hand is such a chore! I've struggled with loneliness a lot throughout my twenty-nine years. I struggled with it when I was the only one home with my mum when I was a teen and everybody else had other places to be. I struggled with it after marriage and when we moved into our own house for the first time. I struggled with it after my son was born and I felt torn between pursuing my writing and being a good mum, because my culture seems to indicate that a woman has absolutely no chance of living her own life - or at least, she has no chance of attaining any goals she hasn't already attained - once she has children. I feel it occasionally still, even though I get so little time to myself nowadays that any alone time is simply awesome. I've tried to come to terms with the idea that being alone isn't a bad thing - and a lot of the time, it isn't. My friends don't live nearby so I don't get to see them often, and even when I do, I feel like there isn't much depth to our conversations. I'm surrounded by people who do not think like me, who do not share any of my interests and hobbies. I feel like I've become desensitised to isolation. Loneliness is my preferred way to be. I walked into my college cafeteria at lunch today and it was the usual hubbub of activity. Youngsters walking around, chatting animatedly, shouting across the room, laughing, eating, socialising. I could recall how that clamour wouldn't have bothered me ten-twelve years ago, when I would have been one of the youngsters talking excitedly with her friends. But, as this moment, I just found an out-of-the-way little table and sat down. I watched the crowds for a while, wondering why it was only at moments like these that the sense of isolation became so strong. In the middle of a crowd, I feel most alone. |
| 20:12 I am knackered! I figured I'd do a bit of a counselling journalling while I'm blogging so I'll get that out of the way before moving onto the challenge. I have a physical journal for my counselling but I've not touched it in weeks, if not months. I just can't be bothered to write with a pen and paper (which is probably why I'm so incapable of doing any decent writing; I feel it doesn't work if I'm not behind a computer). Anyways, the tutor gave us all some questions she wanted us to explore in our journals. Our journals are supposed to be private but what the hell. We're studying attachment theory and parenting styles at the moment and today, we touched a little bit on Donald Winnicott's good enough mother (or something like that, I don't even know if "Theory" goes after it or what). From my limited understanding (I was starting to switch off a little bit at that point), Winnicott said that society as a whole could be improved if mothers (or primary caregivers, nowadays) were...good enough mothers. So anyway, the questions the tutor told us to explore were: How was I/am I parented? How has that affected the way I relate to people? And how does that affect my view of myself? My parents were quite strict with my siblings and me, growing up. It was a little bit of "do as you're told" and "don't speak unless spoken to", if I was to try to sum it up. We were expected to be doctors or nurses or dentists or teachers - you know, the good jobs that would make a parent proud of their children. Because that's what everybody aspires to! I don't hold it against them - that was just their expectation of what they had to do as parents, I guess, beyond the basic necessities. But my parents grew up in villages, where life was simple and all they had to do was toil, toil, toil all day. From sunup to sundown, there were tasks to be immersed in. The house had to be cleaned. The fields had to be maintained. The animals had to be released/fed/milked/whatever. Food had to be cooked and for that, fires had to be started. I get the barest taste of that life when I go back to Pakistan, because I go as a guest. Sitting here now, with all the evidence of my entirely different life right in front of me, I do wonder what kind of thoughts my parents must have about my choices and my lifestyle. Coming to the UK was a huge opportunity for all of us - we got to see things we normally wouldn't have. We got to live in a completely different way from my cousins back home. So many doors were open to us just by being here - doors labelled "Doctor" or "Nurse" or "Teacher" or "Dentist" probably. So my parents must feel that we squandered all the opportunities we had. They must feel that we're ungrateful. It's a sad thing, realising these sorts of things for the first time. I suppose I can tie today's challenge into this now. I haven't ever thought of my parents feelings in this way. I never saw before that they may have wanted the best for us, which might not have been available had we stayed in Pakistan. I was of the opinion that my mum just liked to nag a lot. I thought that she would never be satisfied with the person that I am, even though my try my best to be the best person that I can be. Maybe there's some bitterness on her part because I didn't try harder at school, or because the books I read aren't about medicine or dentistry. Maybe she wasn't just nagging - maybe she was trying to impress upon me that I had so many chances to make something of myself, but I never took hold of them. I am very much still parented in this way. My mum likes to remind me often that I should have been things that I am not. It affects the way I relate to people because I don't have a lot of confidence in what I can do - I'm getting better, but very slowly. My dad, I must explain so my next bit has some context, is a very, very confident person. He will say anything to anyone. My siblings - specifically my brother and I (my sister has always been an obedient daughter so she never got any tongue lashings from my dad that I can recall) - were often shown this. My brother doesn't suffer that many ill consequences (he's always been a bit of a rebel and used to leave the house a lot) but I withdrew into myself. I didn't say anything to anyone. I sort of became my dad's antithesis. Where he was loud and sort of the centre of a crowd, I became quiet at the sidelines. Where he would effortlessly scold someone for any wrongs committed against him, I would just hold it all inside, afraid to even defend myself. Where he was opinionated and strict, I kept to myself and was very laidback (in most things - I've discovered that as a parent, I am also quite strict). Interesting stuff, once you get down to it. I could probably carry on all day. I'll quickly finish the last of the three questions and call it a day. This is most likely my longest entry yet! Is anybody still reading?  In regards to the above, how does this all affect my view of myself? I think that's pretty clear. Staying on the sidelines, too afraid to give your opinion in case someone might get angry or hurt by it, is a very lonely place to be. At my core, I think I could be quite a fun and lively person, but that side of me only ever attempts to come out when I'm with my very closest friends, of which there are...two. I'm getting better. I don't bully myself the way I used to. I'm finding it harder to feed myself garbage like "You're the worst person ever" and "Nobody wants to know you" and things of that nature. I'm learning to see myself as just another person, with the same rights as everyone else. 20:51. WOW! That took ages! Apologies! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
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