20 May 2019

Fair go or ego?

Somebody asked me on Sunday how I felt because 'I lost' when the coalition won on Saturday night.

Let me be clear about something.

I didn't lose anything.

I'm a white, middle class, female in a heterosexual relationship. I have two daughters, both my husband and I have jobs, we have access to healthcare, education and all the other stuff that makes life relatively easy in a first world country.

The only way I could possibly be better off is to be male.  And a lottery win would be nice.

Let me repeat this because I think it's really important - I didn't lose anything.

I didn't vote to improve anything for me or my family. We are already sitting pretty because of the system - by and large, the system works for us.

I am heartbroken and devastated because maintaining the status quo might be good for the economy but it's devastating for us as a society.
"The true measure of any society can be found in how it treats its most vulnerable members"
I'll be honest - I don't understand how we can say we don't 'like' Bill Shorten and yet vote in Dutton, Christensen and Joyce. I don't understand how we can vote in a government that has repeatedly demonstrated it's unreliability, traded in cruelty, trashed our economy, had us formally recognised as a country that consistently violates human rights.

I don't understand how people can say they don't want to pay taxes. That's what you do, that's how a functioning society works - that is what pays for our roads, our politicians, our art, our culture, our healthcare, our defence forces, all the bits that we like to complain about when they are not working efficiently. Which they can only do if we pay taxes.

I don't understand how so many of the parties on the voting slip were so blatantly racist or focussed on only one issue and we somehow thought that was okay. I don't know how Queenslanders voted for the companies that are going to destroy that which they are most famous for - beaches, great barrier reef, rainforests. 

I don't understand how one man spent $60 million dollars on a campaign just to get the current government back in, when he could have used that same $60 million dollars to do good things that would have genuinely made Australia great again. 

I don't understand a lot.  And not because I don't try. I've travelled, I've volunteered, I've talked to people whose views and experiences are comprehensively different to mine. I read far beyond my comfort zone, I researched every single party before I voted and that included reading a lot of policies that made me feel sick.

I really really wanted Labor to win over the Coalition. I did. I'm not going to deny that. I liked that they played a steady game and told us what they were going to do. I didn't agree with all of it. I never will. Because a government should be working towards what is best for the whole, not the individuals. Truth is, it's been a long time since that happened - so maybe we've forgotten how to live in a country whose government is about governing and not about personal power.

I didn't vote for change because I need it. I voted for change because I can see that Australia needs it. We need to be better at caring for the environment, for refugees, our elderly, our Indigenous Australians, our children, our women, our queer folk, our farmers, our businesses... for everybody and everything basically.

I am not heartbroken for me. I'm heartbroken for a country that prides itself as being the land of the fair go, when it's not. It is the land of the ego. What is in it for ME, for ME, for ME, for ME?

Gough Whitlam summed it up in a piece he wrote for the London Daily Telegraph in 1989 when he said "The punters know that the horse named Morality rarely gets past the post, whereas the nag named Self-interest always runs a good race."

And so I ask myself now - when my heart genuinely aches when I think of how many people are going to be genuinely affected by the return of the Coalition to government - the people who will die, the people who will be incarcerated, the people who will be traumatised and persecuted, and the opportunities and minds that will be forever lost to Australia - what can I do?

Probably channel my inner Gough and contain to maintain both my rage and my enthusiasm. I need to stay mad at the inequality and the injustice, I need to maintain my enthusiasm for change, and most of all, I need to retain my belief that people are inherently good.

Change does not have to wait for a change of government. If we continue to speak for those who are voiceless, or have lost heart, if we maintain the rage on behalf of those who have been beaten down, if we enthusiastically campaign and advocate for change, if we believe we can - anything, anything is possible.

ScoMo need not be the only person to believe in miracles.
It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake. (Fredrick Douglass)
If you want to see more of what goes on when I'm not writing this blog
follow me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram


7 May 2019

Dear New Mum

The Western Sydney University has this great initiative called the "Mother’s Day Letters Project". It came to my attention via a friend studying to be a midwife. The project is about supporting new mums and promoting resilient motherhood.

And my one piece of advice from me to every new mother I meet since I become a mum myself is "trust yourself". But the project was asking for letters - so a letter I wrote.  Mine is below, but if you want to take part in the project you can do so RIGHT HERE. This is in no way sponsored or anything interesting like that - I just like the idea of coming together and supporting new mums before they get sucked into the vortex that is 'online mothers groups' or 'in my day...' or any of the other well meaning advice that doesn't take into account the exquisite individuality of each and every child and associated parenting experience.

My daughters aged 1 and 0.
Dear New Mum,

Trust yourself.

You have just spent a number of months growing this small human inside you. Depending on the kind of person you are you have either turned to family for all their advice, read all the books, joined every forum, faithfully read all the things the nurses or doctors or doulas have recommended. Maybe all of the above. You have bought all the things you need, and all sorts of things you will never need. And now, now you’re a mum.

You have birthed that baby by pushing it out of you or by having somebody slice you open and then stitch you up. Either way, you’ve just done something magnificent – you grew a human. Like seriously – all on your own. Sure, you got some help getting it started but in the end – who is the legend that did most of the work? YOU.

So trust yourself.

Nobody is an expert at raising a child. Not your mum, your friends, your sisters, aunts, cousins, nor the woman offering advice from the next bed who is up to her 68th child. No medical professional is an expert. No baby guru. No author. No midwife. No nurse. Nobody.

So trust yourself.

Babies just need love, food and regular changing. They have no agenda. They can’t be manipulated into behaving into a certain way unless that’s how they go naturally. Good sleepers are just sleepy babies. Good eaters are just hungry. Babies that sleep through the night from 2 days older are mainly mythical creatures who will cause their parents grief in different ways further down the track.

So trust yourself.

Nobody is going to love that baby like you. Despite their relentless opposition to learning to speak in the womb, that baby of yours will learn to communicate with you. Initially it all just sounds like crying. And it still will for a couple of years but generally if you pick them up and cuddle them, or feed them, or change their butt – they’ll quieten down. You will learn when a small smile is your baby farting or actually smiling. You will learn the little cues they offer up. Because you love them, you’ll work it out.

So trust yourself.

If you are having a really crappy time and you feel sad and down and you’re not enjoying it – that’s not you being a bad parent. That’s your brain. Go and speak to the doctor – get some help whether its medication, or a therapist, or a massage. You are a good parent. You’re a great mum. Being tired all the time is a given. Being sad all the time is your brain being an arsehat.

So trust yourself.

I have never met you. I probably never will. But I know this – your child might sleep perfectly for three months and cry for the next or all the other things that you will spend time feverishly googling to see whether or not they are normal - but they are doing things right on schedule for them. And no matter what happens, whether they are diagnosed with ‘a thing’ or they cruise through the first year like the poster child for children, the only thing you can be sure about is that you know your child better than anyone.

So trust yourself.

You will lose time marvelling at their tiny toes or weird dimples. You will see beauty where others see one of those weird fur-less cats. You will marvel at your child’s uniqueness - just like everybody else. You will discover that wiping poop off your shirt is not as gross if it comes from somebody you grew. You will marvel at the fact that you just whipped snot out of your child’s nose with your own two fingers (which you know is totally disgusting but the tissue box was out of reach and buggered if you were moving).

So trust yourself.

Loving your child is an evolving process. Just when you think you are at breaking point, they smile, or giggle, or just look at you as if you are the most wondrous thing they have ever seen and all of a sudden, it’s bearable again. Loving a child is a visceral experience. Go with your gut every time. You are never wrong. Yes, even now. Right now, when you think you don’t know anything.

Trust yourself.

You. Yes you. You are a perfect mum. Just as you are.

Much love

Me x

If you want to see more of what goes on when I'm not writing this blog
follow me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram


3 May 2019

Old correspondence feels

Last weekend I spent a pleasant couple of hours sorting through a box which I have moved many times over the last twenty years but never unpacked.

It was full of old correspondence from my late teens into my late twenties.

Birthday cards, letters, invitations to weddings, invitations to birthdays, invitations to christenings, postcards from friends and family, blank valentine cards from my long term mystery admirer (my dad) that had arrived every year without fail, short notes from my Grandpa and assorted elderly relatives who have long since passed away.

As I sorted through it, I chuckled at the various assortment of couplings that had occurred within my friendship group that I could track through the shared signatures at the bottom of cards, but that ended with wedding invitations that I dug up deeper in the box.

I got all teary at the letters from my baby sister. I moved out of home when she was 8 and I was 18 and her letters are the sweetest things, detailing the minutiae of her life as well as big announcements about what was going on at school and with other siblings.

The postcards from my friends and family travelling the world. The different perceptions of the same cities. The different priorities when they travelled. Their different adventures and loves scrawled in cramped script with my various addresses squeezed into a square and partially covered with a stamp. A long letter from a friend that died unexpectedly a couple of years ago poignantly recalled his particular style of storytelling and brought him fleetingly alive again. 

There were other clues to the end of the last century and the beginning of this one. The different styles of wedding invites over the years, the more sophisticated printing styles for the 21sts. The letters that people enclosed in their annual Christmas cards summarising the last 12 months for you - sometimes accurately and sometimes not.

The long letters from friends living and working abroad. Sorry letters. Love letters. Cards made out to me and boyfriends who always seemed like the one. Some postcards written by me to others and returned to me so that I 'could keep the memory' which I always thought strange since I kept travel journals.

There are newspaper clippings featuring me or people I know. Old departmental newsletters. Memes from the olden day of faxes. Newspaper or magazine articles that clearly resonated at the time but for which I have no memory now of why. Appointment letters for jobs and other positions. Christmas and birthday cards from people whose names no longer spark any recognition. Congratulations cards. Bon Voyage cards.

The departmental pass I had lost so never handed back in. Some IOUs. Some photographs of babies who are now older than the parents that took the original photograph. Plane tickets. Movie tickets. Itineraries. A badge from the US Air-Force. Part of a love letter written to me by somebody now dead. Four cloth badges featuring 'Condoman' from some long forgotten safe sex campaign.

Some beautiful cards and letters from people that cared for me and saw my strengths long before I ever learned to appreciate them.  All carried from city to city, from house to house. 

image source: my heritage blog

It is not just me that is still hugely interested in the lives of our families and friends. We still want to know what is going on, stay connected.  We use email, social media, chat forums, share photos digitally. We are just doing it differently. Invitations are sent via email, websites are set up for weddings and we have family WhatsApp groups to keep people connected since they no longer live around the corner and can pop by for Sunday night dinner.

There are positive and negatives to both. I enjoyed sifting through the box, marvelling at what version of me thought keeping a Christmas card from my then chiropractor a good idea. I recycled a bunch of the cards - from people I didn't recall, and even from people I did but who are no longer part of my life and whose words no longer hold the meaning they did. 

But I enjoy the immediacy of communication these days and I love a daily remember of what I was doing this time a year ago, six years ago, ten years ago. I love seeing my girls' faces on the couch beside me as we look at younger versions of themselves, or recall funny things they said and I had shared. I have saved every email from the guy who turned out to be the one and I have over 29,000 photos on my phone alone which allows me to be nostalgic without sneezing through a dusty box.

I like scrolling through photos of my friends and families lives - the good, the bad, the ugly and the occasionally questionable. I love seeing the faces of babies turn into toddlers turn into children even though they all live on the other side of the world. I love hearing about people's holidays or being able to send support and love when the world is an arse.  I love the immediacy of the news and being able to share or save or the output of my accomplished and clever friends.

Basically, I like my tribe and staying connected to all the wonderful people in it.  Both old and new.

If you want to see more of what goes on when I'm not writing this blog

follow me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram