Approximate reading time: 12 min
Can I just say there is nothing more annoying than spending a whole afternoon typing out a blog post and then forgetting where you saved it.
(Or if you saved it!)
Moving on:-)
It’s always an interesting week when the universe decides to hold a mirror up for you to admire yourself in.
Last week Monday I was scrolling through youtube shorts looking for videos on ‘Mielle Rosemary oil’ for my hair.
(It’s my latest hair experiment)
I came across a YouTuber who posted a ranting post about how upset she was that ‘us white women‘ keep on using up all the products originally made for black hair.
(Aka ‘Mielle Rosemary Oil’)
She was furious because she had gone to the supermarket and LOW and behold all the Mielle was sold out.
She even posted a picture of the empty shelf.
(It was truly tragic I tell you.)
Bless I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself.
Imagine spending your entire life living with such a scarcity mindset.
(Has she never heard of Amazon?)
The comments that she got were truly cutting and I felt a teeny bit sorry for her.
The next day, Tuesday I was watching the Behaviour Panel and Chase Hughs
was speaking about people who have a Zero-Sum mindset..
Mmmmm interesting….
(I thought….)
that’s CLEARLY what bereft YouTube chickie suffers from.
(Shame poor her!)
On Wednesday while scrolling through YouTube I landed on an interview with Megan Fox.
Halfway through the interview, I started to see red.
Is it not enough that she has a body to die for and looks like a Greek goddess….
but now she has written and published a book of ‘confessional’ poetry.
In the interview she explained how writing the poems had been so cathartic for her and how she truly felt if she didn’t get all the negativity inside of her out then it would have started to poison her and make her sick. She spoke about childhood trauma and how we need to learn to recognise the patterns and beliefs that we picked up from our parents and how we so unknowingly recreate them through our romantic relationships.
How dare she articulate so beautifully what the writing of my poems has done for me.
How dare she explain so elegantly how healing writing poetry can be!
How dare she steal my idea!!!
And then it hit me with earth-shattering clarity
Me and Youtube chickie are in the same club!!
Don’t you just love it when the universe sends you a succession of tiny little pointers to remind you of what you still need to work on?
Rest assured I have consequently made a concerted effort to forgive Megan Fox.
(It was hard work…but I did it!)
I eventually came to the very grounded conclusion that I most certainly do not have any ownership on ‘confessional poetry’.
That I am just one of millions who have found out how therapeutic and healing writing poetry can be.
And frankly, I’m just jealous that she has published hers!
(One day I will publish mine!
At the moment I am just happy writing.)
I also decided that Megan Fox is allowed to heal too.
And if she encourages other people to open their hearts to writing their own poetry then surely that is a good thing!
And then to round it all off beautifully this week my lovely flatmate Teresa shared a poem with me that she had written to commemorate the anniversary of the death of her father.
It was beautiful
We laughed
We cried
We hugged
(PS For the record Teresa assures me that
was her inspiration and NOT Megan Fox!
Not that it’s a competition or anything……
just saying:-)
So anyway my point is this
Poetry is amazing.
And the best part….
It is absolutely free!
Jealousy has always been
A deep struggle of mine
I’ve been thinking about
How to better define
How it was developed
And modelled from way back when
And it’s not just jealousy
Defined to men
It’s deeper than that
It’s been this struggle in my core
Why does everybody else
Always seem to have more?
The youngest girl in a family
Of all boys
I was my father’s favourite
His love and his joy
(Although that’s a fact
My brothers might not endorse
But arguing is futile
They know this of course;-)
I don’t remember my dad shouting
Or ever reprimanding me
All I remember was his affection
His hugs that were free
To say I was a daddy’s girl
The understatement of the year
I have a positive father complex
(So it would appear)
Of course, he wasn’t perfect
He had no ability to talk
All our in-depth conversations
Could’ve been written with a piece of chalk
I’ve had to let go of the anger
That he always walked away
That he never stood up for me
When my mother would rage
But no matter the disappointment
About the mistakes that he made
I have always felt grateful
To be able to say
I had a father that adored me
To the absolute core
I don’t think any girl
Could ask for any more
But the difficult part of this love
(That stood out for me)
Was my struggle with my mums
Silent jealousy
This underlying guilt
That I was causing her pain
This recognition that my dad
Didn’t treat her the same
I rarely remember my father
Embracing my mum
With the love and affection
That with me was always done
As long as I can remember
Part of me ached
for her to have
The genuine love and adoration
That I always got from my dad
I remember doing the dishes
With my dad one day
Listening to music
Just having fun and a play
I decided to surprise my mum
(She always worked so hard)
By spring cleaning the kitchen
That looked like a junkyard
So my dad and I spent
The afternoon doing that
Cleaning every little cranny
Every tiny little crack
I was so excited for her
To get home and to see
A spotlessly clean kitchen
(She’d be so proud of me)
It always felt like whenever
She walked through that front door
She was angry and frustrated
About some household chore
This time it would be different
This time she’d feel relieved
This time she would feel
‘Somebody loves me’
But alas, no,
It never played out that way
All I felt was irritation
At how we’d spent the day
I remember her saying thank you
through slightly gritted teeth
She didn’t smile
She wouldn’t look at me
It felt for me like
I had done something wrong
(Had I intentionally insinuated
she didn’t clean her home?)
I remember feeling devastated
As she got angry with me
“Where are the papers
I left by the TV?”
My dad walked to the garage
Not a word was said
Inside my heart
Silently bled
Why can I never
Be enough for you?
What is it you want me
To exhibit or prove?
Another incident that
Happened similarly
On a Christmas visit
With my family
Every year my mum
Would cook an elaborate meal
Inevitably she’d get overwhelmed
It would become an ordeal
It always felt like THAT meal
Was this huge labour of love
That we could never ever value
Value enough
Some drama would unfold
Something would go wrong
She’d get angry for the things
That we had or had not done
This particular year
I desperately wanted her to feel
Loved and cherished
As I cooked her a meal
So, she was banned from the kitchen
I wanted her to relax
But honestly all I really wanted
Was to counteract
The status quo of Christmas
Always being about stress
I wanted to change the dynamic
(That I felt was a mess)
When called to the table
Mum was sullen and withdrawn
No eye contact was made
I felt slightly ignored
She inquired with disdain
About my pumpkin pie
“Is there sugar in that?”
“Yes”
was my reply
“Well, I’m diabetic you know
I can’t eat that!”
Yes of course I did know that
One little fact….
I felt shame and embarrassment
Like I had planned it so…
But I was also conscious
Of something else I did know
My mother was someone
Who loved to indulge in treats
I’d often catch her devouring
Something off-limits and sweet
She would laugh and have a giggle:
“Oh, come on darling
It’s really OK
One little cheat
Won’t hurt me today!”
With this mischievous grin
this zest for life
this was the mother
I loved for dear life
But that day at the table
I didn’t have that mum
All I felt was her resentment
At what I had done
It felt like this power play
As I tried to figure out
What all her bitterness
And irritation was about?
Why was she so angry
So resentful of me?
Why did I always feel
This underlying jealousy?
It was clear for me
That Christmas day
If I wanted to be myself
There’d be a price to pay
The subconscious lessons
Taught repeatedly
Don’t you dare try
To be better than me
It’s like there was never enough space
For us to exist separately
For her to share in my accomplishments
without feeling this jealousy
Years ago, the first time
I noticed this
When it dawned on me suddenly
That something was amiss
I was walking on the beach
With a friend and her family
I was intrigued by something
That mildly fascinated me
Her daughter who was
about 19 years old
was hanging on her father
as they casually strolled
Arms wrapped around him
she was so relaxed and at ease
I remember asking my friend
Don’t you feel any jealousy?
She laughed, and said:
“Don’t be silly of course not
I truly love the relationship
that those two have got.”
She found it bizarre
That a mum would be jealous of her child
I found it intriguing
That a mum wouldn’t be riled…
I shared that my biggest fear
About one day having a girl
Was that my own jealousy
Might start to unfurl…
It was one of those vulnerable conversations
Where something just clicks
Where I realised that being jealous
Wasn’t the normal bag of tricks
That I might be able
To be more conscious and aware
That this didn’t need to be a trait
That I would necessarily share
So, there is a reason
I’ve been thinking so much about all this
I have recently noticed
Such a huge mental shift
It’s taken 10 years of being conscious
Of my own jealousy
How it manifests
And how it plays out in me
I’m not cured
Im not fixed
I haven’t found a magic pill
But simply learning to notice
Has become a pretty great skill
Because when we pull our struggles
Into the light to see
We gain so much power
We start changing our beliefs