No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted

From Aesop’s Tales - The Lion and the Mouse (one of my absolute favourite books as a child)

What does it cost to be kind? It’s something as parents we probably says to our children when they are fighting with their siblings or in our mind when we see people do something we see as mean and hurtful. Today as I watched a short clip about compassion I asked myself was I kind, was I a kind person, did I do kind things, did I ever put myself out to do a random act of kindness, not something simple but something that took some of my time, or thought or action. Something that I could look back on and say to myself - well that made a difference. For years I have done things of a voluntary nature. I have organised lots of clothes for charities, I have fund-raised in some small way for charities and maybe I have done a few things that could be counted as kind. But while searching inside myself I thought about all the things that I have done that are really unkind, things like giving out about people behind their back, idle gossip that seemed funny at the time, being rude, saying things to my children and husband that really are unforgivable. It’s funny when you look back over your life and you start to think about the things you did and somethings just stay in your memory, for me it was an instance on a plane, and even now 16 years later I think how unkind I was.

While heavily pregnant and on a medium length flight, my seat was at the back of the plane. A woman sat in the seat in front of me and the seat moved into the lowered position. Now I could have leaned forward and said “would you mind putting your seat forward, but no, I was in a bad mood and I didn’t want to be on the flight and so I pushed the seat forward. The seat slipped back again, at this stage I was getting annoyed, even more so when the lady didn’t push her seat up despite being asked by the air hostess. Again I pushed the seat forward feeling even more annoyed. Eventually, as though she felt my annoyance this little face peered around the seat at me. It was a little old woman, a nun no less and she very gently said “Could you please tell me how to fix the seat; I can seem to get it to stay forward". I told her what to do but my God if a hole could have developed and swallowed me, it would only have eased my shame a tiny bit. I felt so utterly unkind, not because she was a nun but because of her kindness to me in the manner she asked for help.

This might seem trivial in the great scheme of things but it really bothers me. It bothers me because I took the easy option, I didn’t try the kind option first and then if needed be more assertive, no I went straight to unkind all because I didn’t have the guts to say something, to put myself out there and see what happens, because in truth I was not brave, I was a coward and I hid the way cowards do behind anger, bad feeling and unkindness. Reading more in compassion has these days made me really think about things. It doesn’t always stop me from being unkind, that is something I need to work on a lot harder. I do know that over the course of our lives we will get the chance to be kind but we can make those opportunities more frequent by putting ourselves out there, taking a chance on someone or something and by doing random acts of kindness not to make ourselves feel good but for the good of others, with no hype or glory. I leave you with this thought not mine but that’s ok too.

“Kindness and compassion comes in many forms. It comes from different people in all walks of life. It knows no bounds. It has no limits. Because a good heart sees no barriers. “ ( I couldn’t see who wrote this) 

How do In know if I am a good parent?

The other day I read an article I think in the Irish Times about how we know if we are a good parent. It’s something I have asked myself nearly every day of my life as a parent. My own self-doubt about my parenting abilities comes most definitely from the fact that as a teenager I was prone to periods of depression. It was something I couldn’t even put a name to as a teenager and even into my young adulthood. There were numerous periods of time where I was lost in my own world of a deep seated sadness; which I couldn’t escape. When I first gave birth I had so many expectations of motherhood, being a good mother, being perfect.  The expectations of perfection I had set for myself were rudely awakened when despite my best efforts I failed to be able to breast feed my child. There was no way I was going to give in this this imperfection, I kept at it attempt after attempt. A member of the healthcare team came to the room on about the third day and said that my son was not getting enough food from me and they were going to have to give me a bottle. I couldn’t let them do this as this was me accepting that I was imperfect, that in truth I had somehow failed as a mother. It took for Shay to come in and make me hand over our son before I would let them feed him. Even after this I kept going with the feeding myself, driving myself into further and deeper depression. Eventually, while at home the district nurse called and realised that there was something wrong. Again, I resisted, I couldn’t accept that I was a failure. What ensued were years of feeling depressed, years of self-doubt and years of believing I just wasn’t good enough. There was a real need in me to prove I could keep a good job going while being a good mother.  I have genuinely struggled with the doubt of whether I am a good parent or not so this article really hit a cord for me. For the past 15 years I have sought to be a good parent as I have long accepted that I cannot be the perfect parent. I have tried to have open conversations about my depression and depression in general with my children. I have sought to ensure that they were confident, articulate, honest and value themselves; values that I believe are important in this day and age. Every day I look at my children and delight in their abilities, their confidence, their seeming ability to try new things and conquer their fears. Sometimes when I see this I think that I am doing a decent job parenting, but the reality is that you really don’t know if you are a good parent or not. Children have a way of making you feel special but they also have a way of making you feel bad. Tonight as I write this I have a child who is struggling, a child that despite my best efforts I can’t seem to help, a child who I know will grow despite this struggle. I just wish I could be a better parent and help them, guide them and let them know that no matter what happens your parents are the ones who will always love you the most and while we might not always agree, it is the parents that love you that are prepared to take the risk that you might think less of them so that in the end you can have a better life. 

The dreaded "H" word and I am not talking about Hilary!

For the last few weeks I have simply been unable to write, even as I sit here and type I am wondering what in God’s name is going on that I can’t think long enough about any subject so that I can manage even the slightest of views. Has my life become so mundane, grey and boring that there is nothing to write about? But that couldn’t be further from the truth so much is happening I can barely keep on top of things, there simply isn’t enough of me to go around all the things I have to do, and that’s saying something. I have however, come to the conclusion that I need to prioritise what I do with my time. All too often I am easily led off on a path that really has no benefit in the long run, now don’t get me wrong many of these paths are with friends and I couldn’t live without them but sometimes I find myself doing “nothings”. Sitting endlessly watching the latest posts on Facebook; mindless, mumbling's about nothing, well nothing of any real interest to all the things I have yet to do. So it seems I must try to establish some priority areas, the problem is these “priority” areas aren’t really that much fun, in fact several of them are mind numbing and several are well to put it mildly “just too boring for words” like housework!

Housework is my arch nemesis; I can’t stand it, I despise cleaning the house, it very rarely if ever fills me with a sense of delight, a sense of achievement or even a modicum of anything other than boredom and dread. On reflection over the years with my mother on the topic of housework her advice is a very sensible start with just one room, pick a room, any room and give it a good clean from corner to corner. I listen to her advice and have on occasion really taken it to heart and tried to give one room a very comprehensive “going over” well in my mind. In reality the truth is a little bit more well let’s just say grey.  I start with a flourish and I pick a room, I walk in, I challenge myself to get to it, I spend about 15 minutes thinking about where to start and what makes sense. I pick as many of the big things I can to start and then I just get bored, so bored I can’t stick the room. So bored I convince myself I need coffee and maybe a biscuit to keep my energy levels, so I take a break. Now this is where it all starts to go pear shaped, because as I am on a break and feeling tired, I decide to text or tweet or go on Facebook or look up something of extreme importance on the net. When I eventually convince myself to go back to the room, motivation is at an all-time low, I peer into the room and see the utter chaos, everything that needs to be sorted is all over the place, there are no homes for this stuff, it’s a mess of clutter, its calling me, it suffocating me, I can’t breathe, I have to escape… and so I return to the bliss of something else that is important for me to look up on the computer, another text to send or a tweet to compose. I convince myself that these are all highly worthy causes and the “room” needs to wait. I will never have a tidy house, I’m not sure I even know what that truly looks like, but I am going to blame the man or should I say priest whose name I was given. He really put a hex on me where housework is concerned, he told Mammy that our house was not untidy just lived in, and that people weren’t coming to see the house they were coming to see us. Our house just like my parents’ house is  one built on friendship and an open door, so if you call here you will always get tea but I may have to move a couple of boxes of this and that to find you space at the table. 

When the essence of you goes...

Its official, I have lost my va va voom, my chutzpah or that which made me quirky, confident and funny. Love me or hate me at least I evoked a reaction. I sat down this evening having declined the offer to go out with friends and realised that it’s gone. It upped and vanished and I never really saw it go. Yeah, I knew that something wasn’t really the same, that there was something slightly amiss, but I didn’t pay enough attention and now I realise it could be too late to get it back.

Before I got my hip replaced I went through a relatively bad phase. Extreme chronic pain wore me down, I stopped going out as much for a number of reasons and I started to let things slip. I had myself convinced that after the surgery things would be better. I would have less pain, be less cranky, more patient, an all-round better person. What happened or should I say what I let happen was nothing short of a disaster. I couldn’t get over the feelings of dependency that I experienced after the surgery. I allowed myself to be a patient, but as usual I wasn’t going for any short term approach I was in this for the long haul and now well after a year I am still dependent on my family to get me through the day.

I am still in chronic pain and looking at getting my other hip replaced but its only now that I realise how much I allowed my negative thoughts about needing help to affect me. Instead of seeing it as a temporary situation I let it take control of me, to dominate my thoughts to take over my life. Every day I look around my house which is really in a state and I think where will I start, then I think hmm well that could be too much of a task to do so I won’t even start it. This self-talk continues in my head until I convince myself to do the bare minimum and have myself convinced that I will be in dire pain by the end of it. This is a situation that only I can stop and one that I feel I need to change today, tomorrow and for many days from now.

Now at this point you might be thinking that I have forgotten the whole point of this post but fear not I’m getting to it. You see by being so completely dependent I stopped looking after myself, I let myself gain even worse eating habits, I am sitting more, doing less and generally putting on weight – lots of it and yes I know it, I feel it, I seriously don’t like it. I have more excuses now real ones as to why I can’t do anything about it but who am I kidding? Well I am not kidding the people in this house that’s for sure. By putting on weight I stopped wearing my clothes, I stopped with my make up something I adore; I stopped even caring about my hair. I let my va va voom walk right out the door bring all my designer bags, the best of my make-up and the essence of me with it. Now maybe I can’t get the chutzpah back (I hear some of you saying “Thank God”) but I can certainly claim back some of what made me me. So tomorrow, no seriously tomorrow I am slowly possibly very slowly claw back my essence, my laughter, my dreams and all the things I like small or big, the things as I say that make a difference. So if you see me with an emotionless face, tell me to cop on. I would rather be laughing or crying but the one thing I can’t stand is nothing, empty vessels, droning conversation, or not caring. I don’t mind quietness if fact I welcome periods of contemplation but just don’t let me get boring. 

For my friend

I want to wrap my arms around you

To hold you and ease your pain

I see the sadness in your eyes

The love you wanted to let grow

The plans and dreams for a different life

All crashed to the ground

In your voice I hear the crackle

I know your thoughts have been invaded

It’s hard to focus, to let it go

Just when you think you’re moving past

It covers you with it's ghostly veil

And brings you back to the past again

It’s ok to feel this sadness

To feel the anger and the pain

Time is the only healer,

Dip in and out and take control

Know that I am with you, I feel your pain

And while I can’t make it better

I will always listen, I will always care

So while I am not with you now

Feel the warmth of my arms

I hope they provide you with a haven

To know that you are loved

What doesn't kill us makes us stronger...

This has been a really hard week for me. I made a decision that I wouldn’t let my chronic pain take over my life about three weeks ago and that at 46 I was too young to just give up on having a career. So with that in mind I applied for a few jobs and I considered a few others and put feelers out. What I learned is that people can make snap decisions about you and there is nothing you can do about it. People hurt people. Their words hurt. Their actions hurt. This week I was told I wasn’t good enough for three positions, and you know what, it hurt. I have always valued honesty and tried to be honest while being considerate and sympathetic. I know I have made mistakes but who hasn’t. But for me knowing that someone would take their personal perceptions of you and try to hurt you in a professional way is a new low. I always knew taking the moral and ethical route would be difficult but that’s the way I was brought up and I am too old to change now but it still hurts to the bone when you realise that others don’t play by those rules. So I ask those people because I know that some of them are reading this…

Who are to judge me? What have you done that makes you so spectacular, so superior to me, what makes what you have to say so much more important than what I have to say. Who are you to talk over me, to fail to listen to me, to disregard me?  I don’t do these things to you, in fact I actually listen attentively, I want to hear what you have to say, I think it’s important that I hear your views that we can discuss and converse about things that matter.

It angers me that people are like this and it angers me more that some of these people are women beating down on women.  It makes me so mad. I often wonder what it is about a person that makes them not care. That makes them believe that they have the right to influence other people’s life negatively even if they don’t really know the person. What makes them think that their opinion is the only opinion that matters?

So if you are reading this and you don’t give a shit about me, just stop, run along, there’s nothing to see here. If on the other hand you care about me, then know I am a survivor. Know that when I am told NO it makes me more resilient, it makes me stronger and I always come back fighting. There is nothing surer in my life than when I feel my back is against the wall, I don’t cringe, I don’t fall down, I grow and I make sure that the next hurdle is on the horizon.

Women like me… well we like a challenge!

Dear Politician

I am one of the many people who elected you. I have been voting for 28 years, my vote has given many politicians over these years the opportunity to represent the views of those that elected them. We place our trust in you, our beliefs and our dreams. Not because you are better than us or more educated than us but because in a lot of cases you have the ability to do what some prefer not to do or are uncomfortable doing. You have the ability to talk in public. In my own case, I could challenge many of those that I voted for to have a better formal and academic education than mine, I could also say that in many instances I am more articulate, better able to converse and more driven, I only lack the desire to be centre stage, the willingness to put myself into the full public view. I don’t do it not because I am unable but because I have thought too much about how I wouldn’t be able to tow the part line, how I might need to vote with my conscience, how I am not sure that I could argue the case about something that I don’t believe in.

Today I spoke to a politician who firstly couldn’t even remember meeting me despite conversing with me for well over 30 minutes less than 6 months previously. But it wasn’t the lack of recognition that bothered me but the fact that despite me offering my assistance in an area that I have worked in since well before this politician was elected, it was his look of arrogance and disdain. I am not part of the clique or the specially selected groups, I am however, someone who has a real interest in a particular area, someone who has spent over a decade highlighting the need for real engagement, someone who has ruffled a few feathers; in fact I am someone who has been tarred as others have with untruths. Instead of accepting my assistance given without any expectation, I was given a fail save statement, met with a perception that I somehow might not be at the same level as the great heights that this politician portrays they are at. I had great hopes for this politician, I thought they might actually make a difference, little did I realise that they too would succumb to the curse of listening too much to one group of individuals. When you fail to ensure true engagement you fail to safeguard those who elected you. It doesn’t matter if you were not in that position when something goes wrong as by your inaction you have perpetuated the wrong doing, you have facilitated the inaction. You are the keeper of the gate and whether it happened on your watch or not you will face the consequences.

The right to vote is a privilege, one that I since I was 18 years of age considered a responsibility. I take my vote seriously. On occasion I discuss my voting preferences, my political thoughts within my social networks. 

When the next election comes around, many hopeful candidates will call to my door, the doors of my friends in Blanchardstown, Glasnevin, Skerries and counties around Ireland.

 I will be asking all my friends, family and colleagues to consider the following piece that I will be saying to the politicians in my area, and ask these politicians a simple question and its goes like this.

“You don’t know me but I am well aware of you. Over this election period many of you will call to my door asking for my support. You will tell me how you plan to change things, to make things better for the likes of me. But when I close the door I will think about the fact that you don’t know me or my family or my circumstances. When I look for your support you won’t remember the person in 83 with the three children, a strong academic background and chronic illnesses that lost her job at an awkward age. You won’t remember that I made a contribution to society; that I sought to improve it. You won’t see the tears run down my face or the low self-esteem because I can no longer support my family the way I want to. You will see me as a statistic, a person on social welfare bleeding the state. So when you come to my door in the coming months I only have one question for you. If I support you will you remember to support me? I will ask this even though I know in my heart you will answer yes but in your heart you will say no.”