Gender

I said in my very first post that ‘I am not saying all women are the same, but that more often than not we are alike.’ I honestly believe that. There are a few universal female experiences that can bond strange women together in an instant. I have listed a few of them below. *Male readers may wish to think of something decidedly ‘blokey’ for the next few lines. I’ll let you know when its safe to read again.*

• An early period and the embarrassment of asking a friend (or stranger) for some feminine hygiene products.
• All mothers are bonded through the experience of pregnancy and labour. Trust me it not something you ever forget.
• Wardrobe malfunctions. Namely breasts popping out where they shouldn’t be seen. We have all been there.
• Inappropriate tears. Most women have cried despite silently threatening their body with grievous harm should it betray her.
• Complete and utter confusion with the males of the species. I am yet to meet a woman who hasn’t been left scratching her head at how he could have missed the toilet bowl and not seen it.
• Speaking of toilets every woman has been stuck in a line 10 miles long for the ladies room while there isn’t anybody in the men’s toilets because they are busy pissing on a tree at a music festival. That line is like an express bonding session and if you are brave enough to march into the men’s room the women who you meet there are like your soul sisters for life.

*Male readers can tune in now. No more talk about periods, breasts or toilets. I promise*

On a less superficial level than periods and bathroom queues women have a lot in common. We are all daughters, most of us are loving partners, some are mothers, many are sisters and aunties too. We all experience heartbreak, we birth the new (for some the new generation for other new companies and new ideas) & we work damn hard (in fact it is estimated that women are responsible for 70% of the hours worked globally – much of that unpaid). We think differently to men, we lead differently to men, we experience the world differently and we have a different, not better or worse, contributions to make to the world than men.

So why is so so frowned upon to bond with other women? Why is it such a social crime to refer to ones gender? I seems totally insane to me for it to be ok for us to talk about our womanhood in context of lip gloss and tampons (Sorry guys. I promised didn’t I?) but not in context of the number of women who are abused by their spouses, of our rights around how and where we birth our children and the consistent statistics that women earn less than men in the industrialised workplace to the tune of around 80c in the dollar.

I am tired of hiding from the term ‘Feminist’. I am tired of being told the glass ceiling no longer exists. I am tired of study after study identifying new prejudices against women in the workforce. It is time to discuss gender again, not so we can use it as a weapon to beat men up with or beat women down with, but to understand and encourage the complementary contribution of both genders.

Are you woman enough to put your gender on the agenda? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

The female connection

When I moved back to Sydney I had a dream about a kitchen table. And a couch. But the table was the important part. I desperately wanted a table that people [read female friends] would gather around and share, connect, eat and laugh.

It didn’t quite happen that way.

I am persistant and determined, some may even say stubborn. So I tried to artifically create my dream by holding ‘women’s circles’. It didn’t work becase it wasn’t the spontaneous, authentic connection I (I’d like to think we) wanted. So I gave up for a while.

I believe there is something immesurably powerful in women connecting with other women. Sharing, teaching, supporting eachother. In times gone by this kind of connection and support was inherent in the way our societies were organised. The gathering of women was vital to the passing down of wisdom; about womens bodies, cycles, birthing, childraising, relationships. Femininity was respected, honoured, revered and even feared. It was fear that drove the religious aristocracy to foster competition amoung women  & stamp out  women’s gatherings.

We may have been out in the wilderness for hundreds of years, but we are coming back. Instead of gathering in ceremony we attned conferences and womens networking events. Instead of cooking over the hearth we are meeting for coffee. We are bringing birth back into our homes and entursting our babies to midwives. We gather. We connect. We harness the power of Web 2.0.

Yes we are women of a new millennium, but we have ancient bones. We still deeply yearn for female connection and the power we generate when together is a force to be reckoned with.

Be careful what you wish for…

…because it just might come true.

“Whatever is the problem with that?” you may ask, wistfully dreaming of sun-baking surrounded by beauties whilst someone else is parking your sports car/arranging your designer shoe collection by colour. Well, nothing in part… except for the secondary consequences you may not have considered.

Allow me to illustrate my point with some personal examples. A few years back I wished for a challenge. I was pining for something new that felt just right. Something challenging and rewarding. I though it might be a new qualification, an extension to my practice or a new therapy. Instead I fell pregnant. Yup. A baby. Granted motherhood is both challenging and rewarding but the secondary consequences included nappy changes, breastfeeding through the night and well a life turned generally upside down.

Another good example is when I was 18-21 all I wished for was some serenity. My life was a huge drama, verging on directly competing with The Bold and the Beautiful. I was either elated, anguished, anxious or irresponsibly cavalier. All I wished for was a way to be calm and grounded. To be one of those people who seemed to take life in their stride, without fuss or resorting to extremes. What I realised, just recently (read last week) was that I had achieved my wish. I realised that I am best described as calm and centered at the exact moment I was lamenting (read whinging) that I had lost my ‘Raaaa’. You know the in-your-face confidence, the arrogance of your limitations, the general boisterous-grab-life-by-the-balls-and-manipulate-and-fight-until-it-looks-like-you-think-it-oughta vibe.

The secondary consequences of my serenity were the loss of my false bravado (Raaaa) to be replaced by a much less flashy quiet confidence, the acceptance of my humanity and the limitations that accompany it & a humility that recognises that I don’t have all the answers.

In short, while you are alive you will always be learning and refining your wishes and wants. Regardless of what you wish for and achieve you will be, at least in part, dissatisfied with the outcome. You will always want something different, something more, something befitting the new you.

Lesson: You always get what you ordered. If you’re whining about the present then you are best served to look at the past and honour just how far you have come. This is what the you of yester-year wished for.

Have you experienced any unexpected consequences of getting what you always wanted?

Solid ground

Getting your footing is a double edged sword. It is a beginning and an end. A life raft & a trap. It is a welcome reprieve from running in shifting sand, the earth crumbling beneath you, keeping you moving constantly searching out something firmer, safer. Ironically, as soon as we feel solid ground beneath our weary feet and calm breathing replaces our panicked panting we begin to move again. Even if we are taking a well trodden path there is no telling when the earth beneath our feet will give way again. Or else we stay here too long, clinging to the relative safety until the wind and weather erodes our rock and the earth shifts beneath us yet again.

For the longest part of my teenage years I never wanted the house in the suburbs, the husband or the kids. The prospect of my life revolving around nappy changes, bills and constant compromising of my wants and needs crushed my burgeoning spirit. Yet here I am. The perfect lesson of ‘you become what you most fear’. But I’m happy none the less. Proof that when you release your judgements you can learn to love anything.

I took a few Big risks around 19-20, they blew a massive hole in my life plan – the solid ground gave way to shifting sand. I found safe ground when the first risk paid off with a solid career in banking. I ran head long into shifting sand when I moved interstate, abandoning my career, to begin life with my boyfriend of 4 months (my second risk). I found solid ground again and really enjoyed our time in self imposed exile together. Since then the earth has fallen away and I have ran to and from solid ground many times.

Something I know for sure is that if you get too comfortable somewhere your rock will turn to sand and force you to move on, to grow.

I feel like I have been on solid ground for a little while now and I am feeling the gentle warning tremors on the earth readying itself to move. In the past I have been the one to run into the next challenge. From the outside looking in I’m told it appears fearless (or stupid). In reality it is a compulsion to grow & develop.

This time I find myself wanting to cling to now; to watch my son at this beautiful age forever, to live by the beach, to continue to have family as our focus as we quietly build the foundations of our lives. But alas, the winds of change are rustling in the leaves. I don’t know what they will bring.

Mother crafting

Motherhood is an interesting word for an indescribable experience. I prefer the term mother crafting for its accuracy. Mother crafting suggests that it is a skill to be developed and not simply a gift bestowed when a child is born. Mother crafting suggests a uniqueness; that each relationship is one off and hand made with love. Mother crafting suggests a beauty in the imperfection.

Mother crafting to me is about a swelling of the heart, the heart opens and swells and encompasses so much more. The pain and tears of your child become excruciating, to witness their smile becomes euphoric, to watch them contentedly sleeping or reaching for rattles becomes a deep meditation. The emotions are so strong that they bring with them tears; tears of joy, sorrow, pain, helplessness, bliss, love, laughter.

Mother crafting is not a skill belonging only to a child’s birth mother. I have known adopted mothers and childless women perfect this skill so beautifully that they elevate it to the level of art. I know young women who have birthed their lives and tended to their dreams the same way I tend to my son. This perhaps is a no less beautiful but more difficult calling, because realised dreams can’t say ‘Thanks mum I love you’.

True Family

My family is the centre of my life, but I don’t consider a’ nuclear family’ as my family. Don’t get me wrong – its a great starting point – it’s just not my definition of family. Family to me is far more fluid and subjective than DNA or marital status.

As I blogged recently is was my son’s first birthday at the end of June. In the end the day was a roaring success, mostly despite my planning. It was the people and the love that made the day so special.

On the day I found myself sitting alone  in the beautifully decorated living room (while the guests peopled the kitchen and yard – neither of which were decorated) meditating on my son’s experience. To him everybody there was ‘family’. He doesn’t discern between ‘blood’ aunts & uncles and my closest friends. To him every baby-boomer in the room was his grandparent. He doesn’t rank his affections based on whether the person is a member of his immediate or extended family and he doesn’t discriminate against friends.

Family are simply the people who love him. He favours those who support and serve him most. Those who wipe away his tears, change his nappy and provide lunch get the most cuddles.

Family is not a birth right nor should it be an obligation. Family is not just genes ans has nothing to do with geography. Family is a term used to describe a connection. A connection that compels us to consider the other’s needs, to support them in their joy and pain and to want to bear witness to their journey.

The litmus test: if someones presence in your home feels relaxed, effortless, comfortable then they are, by my definition, family.

My Birthday Lesson: The fancier you make the cake and decorations the higher the bar you have set to surpass next year =)

Memories

Have you ever noticed that the events that, by far, should be the happiest and most memorable usually aren’t? The nights out on the town that are planned and hyped up, flop. The weddings where the bride has merticulously planned every detail are remembered for the mismatched napkin rings and the bumbling priest instead of the joy. The special dates are overshadowed by fish and chips by the beach. The nights in swanky hotels and not as fun as crashing on the floor of a friends apartment.

Despite the many couples getaways I have had in swanky hotels my most memorable night with my partner was sleeping on the floor eating pizza the night we got the keys to our first apartment together. I looked forward to my Debutant ball for months (the equivelant to a senior prom) imagining it as a magical night with friends, family and my boyfriend. It was a huge disappointment; The dress didnt fit right, my hair was wrong, my boyfriend was a jerk (and spent most of his time with my ex!), the afterparty was a non event and the best part was McDonalds at Circular Quay afterwards. By contrast a ball that I spontaneously bought a table at and invited my friends to was magic, memorable and so much fun.

My baby turns 1 this week and I am terrified. I have been planning his First Birthday Party in my head for months. I have ordered lollies and decorations, I am making 3 different kinds of desserts, we have bought him a cute outfit, organised friends to play live music, invited our near and dear, written out a menu, we pick up helium balloons on Friday and I am getting my hair done so I look decent in photos that will be on display for the next 20 years at least. We are making a time capsule for him and a DVD of his life so far. And I am terrified.

I am scared that I have forgotten something, that the cakes don’t turn out, that the decorations don’t arrive, that the guests don’t get along, that the baby gets overwhelmed, that I am a bad hostess, that guests get lost on their way, that everybody buys him the same gift,  that he gets sick or has a bump on his head for the photos. But mostly I am scared that everything will go to plan and that the joy of the day will be overshadowed by showy cakes, balloons and presents.

Lesson: The best memories are made of substance; love, joy, connection, friendship, laughter, peace. We remember feelings not decorations, price tags or menus.

The power of positivity

It is passé these days to speak of the difference a positive attitude will make to the outcome of any endeavor. It is almost a truism. Everybody knows the difference positivity will make, yet it is the first casualty when things get tough. Perhaps this is why I found Mel Hayde’s message in ‘Terrific Toddlers’ so refreshing.

‘Terrific Toddlers’ is a simple, practical book about a revolutionary concept; that we can teach our toddlers values like kindness, respect, gentleness, patience & compassion. And the assertion that compassionate, gentle, patient toddlers throw less tantrums.

Mel, who has used the philosophies and techniques of ‘Terrific Toddlers’ to raise her own 3 children, offers real-world mum friendly advice. The book is concise (I was able to read it cover to cover whilst my toddler had his afternoon nap) but contains no fluff.

The take away for me was a reminder that my actions are a greater teacher than my words. That my tone, body language and reactions mean as much as my words do. That calm words won’t mask inner frustration and that there is a better way.

This review was completed in conjunction with Connect2Mums, my online family where mums, mumpreneurs and inspirational women meet.

Jack’s Back

John Farnham just announced another tour. Now I know that there have been varying reactions to this; his biggest fans are elated that his ‘Last Time’ tour wasn’t the last time at all and a former fan is making claims of misrepresentation. It’s all a result of his very short set at sound relief. Which, come to think of it, made me cry.

I’ll set the scene:

Chicken (my baby) is in his highchair eating lunch. Sweet potato spread from his eyebrows to his nappy. Sound relief on the radio. Coldplay and Farnsy performing ‘You’re the voice’.

I flash back to dancing around the living room with my Mum and sister as a kid to the Whispering Jack album.

Chicken raises his little hands into the air asking to be picked up. Moments later we are dancing around the living room together. He starts singing, remarkably in tune for a little tyke.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I realize it has come full circle. (Or perhaps as I realize that I’m turning into my mother.) I know deep in my bones that I’ll do everything I can to prevent my son every looking at anyone ‘down the barrel of a gun’.

Girlfriends

I had a client a few years back who was in her 70′s. Although her husband had long since past and her children, and grandchildren, lived interstate she enjoyed the richest of family lives. A book club that started some 40 years earlier was still meeting every Tuesday. The women of that club had seen each other through thick and thin. They advised on children’s illnesses, helped out with housework in emergencies, helped pick out mother of the bride outfits and organise coming of age celebrations. These were the women who held her hand at her husband’s funeral.

In our adolescent years our girlfriends keep us going. They are our rock, our companions, fellow explorers of the world and our partners in crime.

As we get older our girlfriends become something different. They are our sounding boards, inspirations (if you are lucky enough to have friends like mine), bringers of chocolate and wine when necessary, ass-kickers when needed, voices of reason, guardian angels, proof readers & loving guides. If you are really lucky your children will call them ‘Auntie so-&-so’.

Life gets busy and we all take different roads. I know I never imagined myself where I am now, and in many ways its is a long, long way from my girlfriends. The blessing is that I have true friends who meet me where I am, forgive me my transgressions and support the best in me.

So a big, no HUGE, shout out to all of Coopers ‘Aunties’ who enrichmy life and now my sons. I am proud to say that I, like my client, enjoy a rich family life.

The Soap

I chuckled to myself as I fished yet another random object out of my son’s mouth this morning. It wasn’t the first time I have tossed a drool covered chunk of soap in the bin. It tastes as foul as I remember; my Mum once followed through on her threat to wash my potty-mouth out with soap. I even tasted some to make sure I didn’t make the mistake of buying yummy soap. It may be organic, but it sure as hell isn’t tasty.

I didn’t instantly wash his mouth with water in the hopes that the taste would remind him not only not to eat soap, but not to pick up random things and try to eat them. A gentle lesson from the school of hard knocks. Or so I thought. Not a minute later I spy the cheeky devil skulling water from his little green sippy-cup.

Lesson: When you make a mistake trust your instincts – you know how to fix it.

He is still picking up random things and trying to eat them, but this afternoon he is quick to spit out anything that tastes bad.

Lesson: Don’t let a bad experience stop you from trying new things. Learn from the bad and move on.

Change

The only constant is change. Perhaps that’s why we don’t notice it. Until the change reaches tipping point that is. Then everything is different.

We don’t notice our faces age every day; The millimeters children grow every day; The changes in the length of the day. We do notice laugh lines before 30; that the baby can reach objects on the table; thatall of a sudden it seems to be dark before we leave work.

Our blind spots extend beyond the simple observations of things we take for granted. We don’t notice changes in our lives, our habits, our opinions, our feelings, our behaviors. We are often oblivious to the way our environment changes us, but it does. Have you ever been changed by something you witnessed? Something you experienced? The loss of a loved one that makes you more aware of your blessings? The end of a relationship that changes your outlook on love? The loss of a job that makes you re-arrange your priority list?

I have had a few experiences changed me instantaneously; a car accident and the birth of my son. The irony here is that the changes those experiences precipitated were a long time coming.

• I had 9 months to prepare for motherhood. I changed every single day of my pregnancy. I became less and less selfish, more and more aware of the needs of my baby. I became more and more focused on the present, because the future was too uncertain to imagine. I relied more and more on loved ones as I became less and less physically (and at times mentally- who leaves their wallet in the fridge?) capable.

• After the accident I deferred Uni and took some time to re-assess my life direction. If I am honest with myself, the decision to scrutinize my life had its roots 18 months earlier in the first few weeks of Uni. I realized shortly after the novelty of drinking between lectures had worn off, that Uni wasn’t the fertile ground I was looking for. It wasn’t until the accident that I could see the subtle ways my life direction had changed.

Change is incremental more often than it is monumental. You change every moment of every day. You change to become more like the people you spend time with. You change to become more like the thoughts you most think and the emotions you most feel.

The only constant is change. Perhaps that’s why we don’t notice it.