R.E.S.P.E.C.T

Yesterday I attended a family birthday of a darling niece, and as is to be expected in our country, each event has a few cultural norms, rules and order you should adhere to.  There’s the arrival kissing of aunts and uncles in age order whispering something  special to each of them – how nice their hair looks etc. even if they do bestow a gummy, often yummily wet (as my chickens would say) kiss.   There is a marvelling of the spread the mother lays out – no matter how full or sparse.  There’s the presenting of the gift to the birthday child –  or a proper penned IOU, if a birthday landed at the wrong time of the month.  Then you would need to drink something, and I would often marvel at being offered BOILING HOT tea and coffee in the middle of a South African summer which according to the elders, cools you down.

Then birthday singing, and eating of food, or eating of cake or all of the above.  Then suddenly, most of the young adults would need a bit of “fresh air”.  They would hide around the corner and have a cigarette, and more often than not, a drink or two.  Now I encourage neither, but am a smoker, so joined sneaky smokers, billowing clouds of smoke hidden away from their elders, they think.  And whilst standing there, I smiled remembering why.  In our community, it’s not ok, if you’re younger, to imbibe pretty much anything in front of your elders, like ever.  Until a certain point.  To demonstrate the seriousness, I was standing with 50 year old sister in law, happily smoking, in secret.  Now we can have a debate of whether these elders deserve respect, and there are probably very many who don’t.  But that’s not what I was feeling and not what young people upheld at the birthday.

I felt that everyone that was in the little circle wanted to respect their moms, dads, aunts and uncles because of what they’d done for them.  How they’d loved them.  Even how they wronged them, and what they’d learnt from that, if that makes sense.  Because mistakes are pretty instructive in my experience.  And we exchanged little anecdotes of the family’s children, past, and those that had gone ahead.  And there was respect.  Respect for each other.  Respect for our family and how important it is.   And how it is the backbone of our community.  And I thought for a moment, if we could all do THAT – respect each other – show respect, teach, learn and earn respect, we would live in a very, very different world. Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.  I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom,

Oceans of Expecations

I live my life by quotes that I read, inspiration from other writers, inspiration from other bloggers.  The one that struck me most recently was one that said: “Don’t swim oceans for people who won’t cross puddles for you”.   And I thought wow.  I thought ocean swimming for very little in return was the norm.  That a girl like me shouldn’t expect much in return.    But no, I don’t believe that in my heart.  Because in my mind I go beyond extreme to demonstrate that I love you – I would take on (and have pictured myself) gale force winds, tsunami’s and other life threatening situations to aide my declared love (with much drama and wind blowing).  I would.  And the minute I feel like I’m not getting it back, I recoil completely, and spit angrily at what I believe is injustice at me, the ever trying, ever innocent, ever mood free somebody.

My son points out that this may be a little bit off the mark, because like for example the mood free thing.  Well he rolled his eyes. DRAMATICALLY.  And whilst he noted they all appreciated the “dedication”, sometimes some of the “smothering” was a bit much.  And also the fact that they do try and show me that they love me.  But sometimes I can’t see it.  He does blame this on the fact that I have a goldfish memory, and I unfortunately have to agree.  I would very happily be walking to the kitchen for something, and by the time I got there, either remembered a reason I was cross with my chickens / support person and strike up a fight, after having say, made everybody tea.  I would leave the room and come back and forget we’d fought.  Ok erase.  That I had fought about something we’d (me) had forgotten about.

But althought I have a memory of a goldfish. I’m moody on a good day, I have ants in the pants insomnia most times, and I strike up firey conversations at the least expected times.  I also cry frequently (and sometimes I’m not sure why) and I’m prone to depression.  I have other challenges too, but I’m not about the negative life.  Because what is happening is that I am becoming demanding about what I want and deserve.  And I am prepared to match those demands with standards that are much higher which I impose on myself.  Yes, another thing to unlearn.  But you’d be surprised at what I have learnt.  I can make Peanut Butter fudge.  I have my own brand of pizza / pasta / toastie sauce (well marketed exclusively in my fridge).  Oh did I say I can make fudge?  Because I’m starting to think that I deserve being treated well.

Walking quietly with someone holding their hand.  Silent conversations.  Lively ones.  But never one that is too tired, too sighed out, too supported out.  Because that happens.  Mental illness is lifelong and this girl has been a massive, huge, challenge.  And although I would never ask anyone to do this for me – I do want the tsunami, life threatening situation kinda guy to be rooting for me.  If he can come in uniform that would be nice too.  Because this goldfish girl is worth that.  And my expectations are great.  Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.  I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.