In my long career as a mother there is one topic of conversation that I rarely enter into because I find it incredibly uncomfortable. The topic of role models.
I do not want my children to look up to different people; celebrities, actors, musicians, politicians, athletes and think that they should be just like them. I do not want my children to aspire to be anyone but themselves.
Absolutely, I want them to look to those who are around us and take courage from their strengths and learn from their weaknesses. I want my children to know that it really is ok to fall down because eventually they will get back up. Those who we love have struggled and overcome chaos, some continue to struggle. I want them to look at the one who was wildly feral in her teens but had straightened up by the time she turned 20, the one who had an horrific car accident and was not expected to achieve all that she has, the one who struggles every day with mental illness - sometimes he falls down hard but eventually he rises up, the one who survived mental illness and the one who was sexually assaulted as a child.
I want them to look to me, their Mumma, and see that every single time I get kicked down I find a way to stand back up - stronger than before.
My childhood was not pleasant it featured parents who should never have been permitted to conceive then exposure to alcoholics, drug dealers and users, criminals, occupants of maximum security prisons, vicious and violent people. The piece de resistance being when the woman who birthed me married a vile, abusive psychopath.
Everyday I battle Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (the real deal not the tag people who are anal give themselves), when I gave birth to my second child I struggled with severe post natal depression. I fled a marriage of domestic violence during the first semester of my final pregnancy. We lived in a women's refuge because we were not just homeless but it was a way to ensure our safety. I gave birth on my birthday, alone. I moved us to a safer area, found us a home and bought us a little car that is not fancy but gets us from here to there with minimal trouble. I am now studying so that I can work with women who are experiencing what I have experienced.
When I look at my body in the mirror I know that it appears faulty; it's chunky and bumpy and has all kinds of lumps, it's saggy and discoloured but that's not what I see. I see a body that is so incredibly strong. It has been beaten and bruised. It has experienced pleasure. It has grown and birthed three beautiful babies. I guess, mostly, I'm proud of it.
Ultimately, I want my babies to look inside themselves to know who they are not look for others to imitate.
I do not want my children to look up to different people; celebrities, actors, musicians, politicians, athletes and think that they should be just like them. I do not want my children to aspire to be anyone but themselves.
Absolutely, I want them to look to those who are around us and take courage from their strengths and learn from their weaknesses. I want my children to know that it really is ok to fall down because eventually they will get back up. Those who we love have struggled and overcome chaos, some continue to struggle. I want them to look at the one who was wildly feral in her teens but had straightened up by the time she turned 20, the one who had an horrific car accident and was not expected to achieve all that she has, the one who struggles every day with mental illness - sometimes he falls down hard but eventually he rises up, the one who survived mental illness and the one who was sexually assaulted as a child.
I want them to look to me, their Mumma, and see that every single time I get kicked down I find a way to stand back up - stronger than before.
My childhood was not pleasant it featured parents who should never have been permitted to conceive then exposure to alcoholics, drug dealers and users, criminals, occupants of maximum security prisons, vicious and violent people. The piece de resistance being when the woman who birthed me married a vile, abusive psychopath.
Everyday I battle Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (the real deal not the tag people who are anal give themselves), when I gave birth to my second child I struggled with severe post natal depression. I fled a marriage of domestic violence during the first semester of my final pregnancy. We lived in a women's refuge because we were not just homeless but it was a way to ensure our safety. I gave birth on my birthday, alone. I moved us to a safer area, found us a home and bought us a little car that is not fancy but gets us from here to there with minimal trouble. I am now studying so that I can work with women who are experiencing what I have experienced.
When I look at my body in the mirror I know that it appears faulty; it's chunky and bumpy and has all kinds of lumps, it's saggy and discoloured but that's not what I see. I see a body that is so incredibly strong. It has been beaten and bruised. It has experienced pleasure. It has grown and birthed three beautiful babies. I guess, mostly, I'm proud of it.
Ultimately, I want my babies to look inside themselves to know who they are not look for others to imitate.