Friday was a special and horrible day for me. It was my daughter Allana's birthday she turned three. After a hectic and wonderful morning I sent an excited birthday girl to nursery for her party, whilst I sauntered of to the hairdressers. I got my hair done at Boo, Kathryn the owner works wonders with my hair and I wanted to look my best for the wedding I was attending the next day. When I left the salon I felt really positive about how I looked, going to the hairdressers does that. You feel great when you leave if you have a good hairdo.
I travelled up the arcade and I was lost in thought at the hundred small little tasks I had to do before leaving for Liverpool in the morning, when a young lad who was part of a small group of hoodies, spat on me. Some went in my face but the majority ran down the sleeve of my coat. The others laughed whilst the idiot shouted racial abuse as they carried on walking. I had nothing to clean myself with so I took my coat off until I got to the car.
So what does that do for someones confidence and well being? Well I'll tell you. It crushes it.
The act of spitting on someone is ONE of the most demeaning and insulting things that can happen to a person. There are worst things that can happen of course; but this was really bad for me as I hate spitting. At first I was shocked, I don't know why, because it's happened before. Sad to admit but it's the price I pay for being mixed race, overweight and unusual looking. To be who I am comes at a price living in a place like Carlisle. I am considered a fourth class citizen, lower down the ranks than the unemployed drug addicts. You see no one fucks with the drug addicts they are to unpredictable and you could end up with a syringe in your eye socket. Fatties are an easy target though, yet the insults are predicable and unimaginative they still get it pretty bad. Now the blacks, well they get eyed balled a lot with suspicious eyes. They are put in the category of dangerous villain, protect yourself at all cost. I actually saw a black woman being followed around Tesco's by a security guard, she bought a few groceries and left. The same security guard didn't stop the unsavory looking white male walking out with a laptop tucked under one arm and 20 bottles of Becks in the other despite the alarms going off. And then you come to me. I'm ripe as a target. I am a woman, fat and mixed race. I'm like sweetie land to the thugs and ignorant people.
All my life I have tolerated racial abuse, when I was a little girl I was the skinny bean pole, a paki, wog wog, a gypo nig nog, and a nigger. As a teenager, I was fatty, bessy bunter, Somali shagger, nigger or paki. And as a woman the abuse got worse when I put on more weight due to my PCOS and insulin resistance (Blog to follow on this topic) plus I married a white Englishman from a small city. Stephen had experienced terrible bullying in his younger years but he never had to suffer racial abuse, he never knew what it was like, until he married me.
Over time I have developed armour, I have become hardened to the abuse, I get angry and hurt because I am a person, with a voice, a heart, a mind and a soul. I am not an animal to be spat on or punched. I am not there for your own amusement to torment and ridicule. After the anger subsides then the pain starts to set in. I guess it's the knowing that even if the President is black today, I will still get spat on tomorrow, and my child will also get spat on. The feeling of worthlessness that follows is always the crippler, I'm made to feel my position in life with spit and vicious words from children. And then I get strong again, stronger than the last time. Strong enough not to worry about those people; then I think of my little pooh bear. What do I teach my little girl? How do I prepare her for the jaunts and teasing she will get at school because of how her mum looks. How do I explain to her why people spit on her mummy? I don't know. Maybe between now and the next time I get spit on I'll have figured it out.
I couldn't wait to see my Allana that evening. She had a lovely day at nursery and we ate cake, sang songs and danced before she went to sleep. A good dose of Larney cuddles and daddy cuddles was enough to remind me of my worth. I got loads and loads of comments, calls and support off friends and family that day all of whom I'd like to thank for piecing back my confidence. The older I get the less it hurts, don't get me wrong, when it happens I feel awful, but the recovery for it takes less time than it used to. I feel sad and pity for the spitters, for those are the people who will spend theier whole life seeing without looking. If they had the foresight to look beyond my shell they would see someone worth knowing.
Monday 30 May 2011
Wednesday 18 May 2011
Spiders
I have been afraid of spiders since I was a small child. I don't know why I developed this fear, maybe it's a survival code gentically embedded within my conscious mind to fear anything with 8 eyes. Anyway the orgin of my arachnophobia is not important, the fact that I have an irrational fear of spiders is.
Well since my daughter was born, I swore that I would not pass on my phobias to her, and so when ever I saw a spider I would encourage her to be inquisitive rather than afraid. This has helped me face my own fears. Now I don't scream, hyperventilate and run out of the room when I see a spider anymore. But I still don't like them.
My fear was so intense I would have my husband tear apart the bedroom to catch the spider that crawled under the bed, because I wouldn't be able to rest with it in the room. But he had to catch them, I wouldn't let him just stamp on them. All life is precious to me, even the ugly creepy spider that makes my skin crawl. He would moan and grumble about having to get out of bed at midnight to catch the spider that had trapped me in the bathroom. The spider would sit in the doorway waiting for me to take a step before it would make a dash for the other side, trapping me like an evil genius. My brother would often catch spiders and then throw them at me, or he would chase me around the house with the spider for his amusement.
But over the last 3 years I pushed my fear to the edge, with trembling arms and sweat pouring of my forehead, I'd catch the big hairy bastards in a glass then run to the nearest window to throw it out shrieking the whole time. But like a true huntress, I became adept at trapping the little demons and then releasing them back into the urban jungle.
My final obstacle and fear to conquer, was to actually hold a spider. And my daughter forced me to face the ultimate challenge. I was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by revision papers when my daughter started bringing me pirate treasure. She would go into the garden and collect small stones that she would hand to me. I would then inspect the stone and deem it worthy or unworthy for the pirate chest. Can you guess what happened next! Yep. 'Mummy mummy ook wot I foud,' Without thinking or looking I opened my palm, I assumed it was another rare gem from the garden of treasure. But she handed me a big black hairy but dead spider. My daughter looked at me with those big adorable brown eyes, searching for praise at the wonderful gift she had just given me. And I frozen with fear. But I couldn't show her my fear, all that hard work would have been for nothing. I could hear my heart thumping in my throat, My eye balls and mouth dried up and I held my breath wondering what to do. Then It happened, the dead balled up spider suddenly began unravelling it's long black legs. It was ALIVE!!!!!! I took a massive breath in. I felt like I was going to pass out, then the spider darted up my arm. 'Mummy it wants to go home now.' The paralysis soon wore off as I shot out of the chair as composed as I could. I tried creating a force field between my stretched out arm and the creature. I slowly walked to the back door as if I was carrying a bomb which was about to detonate. And then tried to shake the thing off. But it just kept on clinging on. The more I shook the further up my arm it went. Allana began giggling before she rescued me from this living hell. She grabbed the spider and put it in the flower pot next to the back door like it was her best friend. 'pider home now mummy.' She had put the spider back where she found it. I stood by the back door for a few minutes just trying to breath properly, because of the huge amount of adrenaline that had surged through my body I found it difficult.
Now I am calm and in a safe place, I can reveal that I have NOT overcome my fear of spiders, I don't think I ever will. But I didn't lose my cool in front of Allana. It paid off, lessons taught, courage in the face of fear and to be inquisitive rather than fearful of strange things. Phew.
Would I do it again? Hell No! Not at least without an element of choice involved. So My next challenge on the spider battle is to catch a spider with my bare hands. Yeah I said it. It may take me another 3 years to do this. But I held a big, black, hairy, eight eyed spider yesterday and so it feels more possible today. Although I'm not going to start looking for opportunities.
Well since my daughter was born, I swore that I would not pass on my phobias to her, and so when ever I saw a spider I would encourage her to be inquisitive rather than afraid. This has helped me face my own fears. Now I don't scream, hyperventilate and run out of the room when I see a spider anymore. But I still don't like them.
My fear was so intense I would have my husband tear apart the bedroom to catch the spider that crawled under the bed, because I wouldn't be able to rest with it in the room. But he had to catch them, I wouldn't let him just stamp on them. All life is precious to me, even the ugly creepy spider that makes my skin crawl. He would moan and grumble about having to get out of bed at midnight to catch the spider that had trapped me in the bathroom. The spider would sit in the doorway waiting for me to take a step before it would make a dash for the other side, trapping me like an evil genius. My brother would often catch spiders and then throw them at me, or he would chase me around the house with the spider for his amusement.
But over the last 3 years I pushed my fear to the edge, with trembling arms and sweat pouring of my forehead, I'd catch the big hairy bastards in a glass then run to the nearest window to throw it out shrieking the whole time. But like a true huntress, I became adept at trapping the little demons and then releasing them back into the urban jungle.
My final obstacle and fear to conquer, was to actually hold a spider. And my daughter forced me to face the ultimate challenge. I was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by revision papers when my daughter started bringing me pirate treasure. She would go into the garden and collect small stones that she would hand to me. I would then inspect the stone and deem it worthy or unworthy for the pirate chest. Can you guess what happened next! Yep. 'Mummy mummy ook wot I foud,' Without thinking or looking I opened my palm, I assumed it was another rare gem from the garden of treasure. But she handed me a big black hairy but dead spider. My daughter looked at me with those big adorable brown eyes, searching for praise at the wonderful gift she had just given me. And I frozen with fear. But I couldn't show her my fear, all that hard work would have been for nothing. I could hear my heart thumping in my throat, My eye balls and mouth dried up and I held my breath wondering what to do. Then It happened, the dead balled up spider suddenly began unravelling it's long black legs. It was ALIVE!!!!!! I took a massive breath in. I felt like I was going to pass out, then the spider darted up my arm. 'Mummy it wants to go home now.' The paralysis soon wore off as I shot out of the chair as composed as I could. I tried creating a force field between my stretched out arm and the creature. I slowly walked to the back door as if I was carrying a bomb which was about to detonate. And then tried to shake the thing off. But it just kept on clinging on. The more I shook the further up my arm it went. Allana began giggling before she rescued me from this living hell. She grabbed the spider and put it in the flower pot next to the back door like it was her best friend. 'pider home now mummy.' She had put the spider back where she found it. I stood by the back door for a few minutes just trying to breath properly, because of the huge amount of adrenaline that had surged through my body I found it difficult.
Now I am calm and in a safe place, I can reveal that I have NOT overcome my fear of spiders, I don't think I ever will. But I didn't lose my cool in front of Allana. It paid off, lessons taught, courage in the face of fear and to be inquisitive rather than fearful of strange things. Phew.
Would I do it again? Hell No! Not at least without an element of choice involved. So My next challenge on the spider battle is to catch a spider with my bare hands. Yeah I said it. It may take me another 3 years to do this. But I held a big, black, hairy, eight eyed spider yesterday and so it feels more possible today. Although I'm not going to start looking for opportunities.
Tuesday 17 May 2011
Music and Grief
The Foo Fighters have recently played a gig in Carlisle for Radio 1's Big Weekend. I of course never got to go, I wasn't lucky enough to get tickets, but my husband went with his sister. And what a performance I made about not being able to share in that experience. I sulked, I moaned, I threw wobblers, I had tantrums and cried. Eventually at the dinner table he asked me 'why' I wanted to see them so badly and 'why' I was so mad about not being able to go. And so for the first time I told him the truth...
There was a time in my life when I lost everything. And when I say everything. I mean everything. I had to cope with the deaths of 9 relatives in a 12 month period, 3 of those were very close. I was told I couldn't have children and so I lost my womanhood, I lost my husband to an 18 year old beauty, I lost my home, my husband's family (divorce does this), my job, my self respect, my self worth, my self confidence, my spirituality, most of my friends, and then my hope.
I felt a loneliness and grief that I can only describe as a black hole inside my body. Everything I loved was pulled into the black hole and I was left with emptiness that consumed me from the inside out. I woke up one sunny Saturday morning feeling like the universe had imploded in my chest and that I was dying. How I even functioned was a miracle. I remember asking myself, over and over, 'What do I do?' I was completely lost with no direction. I got showered jumped in the car and headed North. I always run North when I'm in trouble and I ended up in Scotland. I drove until the fuel ran out, I was lost, I had no idea where or how I got to where I was, and I just sat in the car with radio one playing. I cried until I couldn't breath anymore, I was drowning in my own sorrow. The Foo Fighters 'Times like these' was playing in the background as I planned to end it all. Then I heard the lyric 'It's times like these you learn to live again.' I listened to the lyrics and they somehow found me in the darkness and brought me back to life. They gave me air when I had none left.
You see from my point of view the music the band played that day is a symbol of my hope and my inner strength. A musical chorus from a rock band I hardly knew saved my life one sunny Saturday in Scotland. And it reminds me how music crosses all boundaries, it rips down emotional walls and can tear through the fabric of a crumbling universe. Music can make you dance, move, sway, jump and scream. It can make you cry, make you happy, make you feel sexy, give you inspiration, give you strength and reach you at a level that can change your life. Of course music cannot heal grief. Only time can do that, but it can help you move through grief. Music allows us an escape portal, it allows us to let our grief flow through lyric, beat, rhythm and rhyme when words fail us. Take away the glamour, take away the music star persona, take away the money and the industry and you simply have one person connecting with another.
I have tried to get to see the Foo Fighters now for the last 4 years and I have finally got tickets for Milton Keynes. And I will jump, scream and sing until my voice and my back breaks; because I want to celebrate their music the only way I know how, by throwing my hair up and down very fast. It is my way of saying THANK YOU!!!
There was a time in my life when I lost everything. And when I say everything. I mean everything. I had to cope with the deaths of 9 relatives in a 12 month period, 3 of those were very close. I was told I couldn't have children and so I lost my womanhood, I lost my husband to an 18 year old beauty, I lost my home, my husband's family (divorce does this), my job, my self respect, my self worth, my self confidence, my spirituality, most of my friends, and then my hope.
I felt a loneliness and grief that I can only describe as a black hole inside my body. Everything I loved was pulled into the black hole and I was left with emptiness that consumed me from the inside out. I woke up one sunny Saturday morning feeling like the universe had imploded in my chest and that I was dying. How I even functioned was a miracle. I remember asking myself, over and over, 'What do I do?' I was completely lost with no direction. I got showered jumped in the car and headed North. I always run North when I'm in trouble and I ended up in Scotland. I drove until the fuel ran out, I was lost, I had no idea where or how I got to where I was, and I just sat in the car with radio one playing. I cried until I couldn't breath anymore, I was drowning in my own sorrow. The Foo Fighters 'Times like these' was playing in the background as I planned to end it all. Then I heard the lyric 'It's times like these you learn to live again.' I listened to the lyrics and they somehow found me in the darkness and brought me back to life. They gave me air when I had none left.
You see from my point of view the music the band played that day is a symbol of my hope and my inner strength. A musical chorus from a rock band I hardly knew saved my life one sunny Saturday in Scotland. And it reminds me how music crosses all boundaries, it rips down emotional walls and can tear through the fabric of a crumbling universe. Music can make you dance, move, sway, jump and scream. It can make you cry, make you happy, make you feel sexy, give you inspiration, give you strength and reach you at a level that can change your life. Of course music cannot heal grief. Only time can do that, but it can help you move through grief. Music allows us an escape portal, it allows us to let our grief flow through lyric, beat, rhythm and rhyme when words fail us. Take away the glamour, take away the music star persona, take away the money and the industry and you simply have one person connecting with another.
I have tried to get to see the Foo Fighters now for the last 4 years and I have finally got tickets for Milton Keynes. And I will jump, scream and sing until my voice and my back breaks; because I want to celebrate their music the only way I know how, by throwing my hair up and down very fast. It is my way of saying THANK YOU!!!
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