Pink or Blue? A Question of Dress

My collective decisions about my son’s and my daughter’s environments shoehorns them into an identity. My sons clothes are brown. Dark blue. Green. Black. Mini combat trousers. Mini puffer jackets. Mini sweatshirts. My boy is only allowed to be a soldier, a rapper, or a sportsman.

A Day of Parental Paradox

Today when I arrive at nursery, my daughter is playing outside with the other children. I see her hiding behind a screen and popping out like a jack in the box to the repeated amazement and delighted applause of her teacher. ‘Ta-dah’! She does it 5 times before she spots me. And when she finally does see me, she leaps out and runs across the yard …

Why Mothers Should be Selfish

I don’t of course expect anyone to take care of me. I don’t expect to be taken care of, period. Surely that’s not a mother’s lot. But by not taking care of myself and my own needs, by not living my own life, my therapist says I am not taking responsibility for my own happiness. Because I have been taught to believe that my happiness should be found in my children.

How Maternal Narcissism Grinds Self-Confidence into Dust

It’s taken me a long time to admit that there is something wrong with my adoptive mother and not with me. As the adoptee, it was I who bore the scar of the primal wound, and she – the martyr – who tried so hard to heal it. Who would criticise a woman who had given up her whole life …

A Recovering Yummy Mummy

Richmond in the outskirts of London is a simply beautiful town. It nestles on the bank of the Thames with a the biggest park in Europe containing deer, nature walks and the most breathtaking view from Pembroke Lodge (throw in a few scones with jam and cream from their coffee shop and you’d make even the Gods on Mount Olympus jealous). We …

God Moves in Mysterious Ways

But here was another curious thing. My parents were together in the same room. Yet they were divorced. My father was around a lot more often in my dream, it seemed. And they were going to the supermarket together. What was that all about?

Birth Trauma

Pethidine locked me away in my own pain prison far away from the delivery room. I rocked myself moaning quietly in the foetal position whilst blue shadows flitted across the room ignoring me, now I was ‘manageable’ and in an altered state of reality.

The Maternal Narcissist

My schooling was assisted by three scholarships. I studied piano for 12 years and was accomplished enough to perform in public. I won every form prize in my junior school, countless competitions for speech and drama, poetry reading, the bishop chorister’s award and played the lead ‘Alice’ in Alice in Wonderland, all before the age of 11. People who knew didn’t congratulate …