On NZd's Darkest Day

I am writing because I was too upset to press 'refresh' on the news pages any more times.

I am writing because I tried to read my bedtime book and I cannot focus.

I am writing because I just want to eat salt and vinegar chips until I pass out but I have no chips left.

I am writing because I need New Zealand to know what in spite of what Jacinda said about why they chose us, and in spite of what many are saying across social media* we have to own our shit and recognise that New Zealand is still largely a racist nation.

Yes, the nutbar gunman social media live streamer said he chose us precisely because he wanted to demostrate that 'this' could happen in even the quietest place.  And yes, that nutbar gunman was Australian.  But if you think he and the other gunman acted alone then you are kidding yourself.

How did they get access to weapons here?  How, under our strict gun laws, do you think that happened without help from people here?  And why would this happen in Christchurch?  Why not Auckland where we have bigger, more populated mosques?

I cannot recall the amount of times I have witnessed racism during my life because it is countless, but I can recount some events.

Like how when my Kiwi Chinese Uncle got beaten up in Kaitaia so badly that his jaw was broken and needed pins put into it just because some randoms decided he was a 'g**k.'**

Like how in my first ever job an older colleague told me knowledgeably that all Islanders were lazy which I thought was an odd thing to say given there were almost zero Islanders in the small town we lived in and I had said nothing at all about Pasifika peoples.

Like how when I called the local police that time our neighbour was beating the shit out of someone on their deck their response was 'Are they coconuts?'  They're probably coconuts.  They're always beating each other up.  Don't worry about it.'  I was too gobsmacked to say anything (I was 18).

Like how my Kiwi Chinese boyfriend wouldn't tell people his ethnicity in certain circles and just let them assume he was part Maori so he could keep skateboarding in Helensville without dramas.

Like how I've only seen my POC boyfriends*** get punched in the face by random strangers and never my Pakeha boyfriends.

Like how the first time I visited the Gold Coast I found it so racist I cried and wanted to go home after the first two days but the thing is, the people who were most racist were all ex-pat Kiwi's who said things like 'at least they know how to treat their Blacks over here.'

Like how I had an argument about anti-Muslim ideologies with certain family members whilst on holiday in Rarotonga and was told to walk away so as not to ruin our holiday.

Like how I'm still having to argue with people on social media about systemic inequality and why Māori scholarships are not racist.

Like how I'm still having to explain income inequality due to ethnicity using basic statistics anyone could easily find themselves if they could be bothered.

Like how I had to tell my four year old that her friend telling her she should only be friends with white people was wrong.  And I had to hear her friend was bullying a new kid at Kindy because of her skin colour.  And how I then had to front up to Kindy and tell them this awful thing, in a place we had chosen for our kids because it reflected the diverse community we live in.  And I had to remind my daughter that her friend was not a bad person, she had just been taught unkind things.

I see and experience racism in New Zealand on an almost daily basis.

And this is what this terrorism is about.  The gunman's manifesto is largely anti-immigrationist and separatist.  In one part it states: “We must crush immigration and deport those invaders living on our soil. It’s not just a matter of prosperity, but the very survival of our people.”

So it is no surprise he chose New Zealand as a place to carry out this horrific act of violence.  Here, we are all immigrants or descendants of immigrants.  From the Māori who traveled here from Hawaiki, to the Pākehā who have arrived here steadily over the past 200+ years, to our Pasifika, Chinese and Indian communities and our refugee communities.  We, or our parents or Grandparents or distant ancestors came here to Aotearoa to find a better life.  In this, we are all the same.

Yet still, so many of us are focused on our differences.

No, casual racism is not the same as spitting bullets in a mosque during prayer time.  But it builds the culture that grows extremists.
 
We spent some time in our honeymoon in Brunei, and what struck me about being in this predominantly Muslim country was how friendly it was.  We were welcomed into the homes of strangers.  We got into cars with strangers.  We experienced hospitality and kindness from this community every day we were there even though we were different.  Even through we were travelers who were not only not Muslim, but not religious.

If any good is to come of this horror it should be that we think about how we treat others.  We need to acknowledge our failings as a nation and accept that we need to change.

We can do better.  We need to do better.  And we need to start now.



*Fucking Aussies!

** Just a heads up - this isn't a euphamism for 'geek'

*** And no, they weren't getting lippy.  Both times, they'd not even engaged in conversation with their face puncher.

Why I will not listen to Michael Jackson any more

So this morning while driving to Pak n Save I was startled by the opening throngs of Thriller on full blast.  And I wanted to cry.

Thriller, reinterpreted by Taika Waititi in Boy.

But I wasn't surprised.

Because this is the world I've grown up in.  A world of rape culture.  A world where people will fight for their right to keep the status quo at any cost.

Jimmy Safechuck with MJ                    

While I was gladdened by Mediaworks and NZME's response to the Leaving Neverland documentary I knew that by pulling Michael Jackson from their playlists there would be backlash.  That many, many people would say James Safechuck and Wade Robson had made it all up for a little bit of fame and money.  That people from Jackson's past would come forward to protect his image, his legacy.  I knew the likelihood of hearing more classic Michael Jackson tracks pumping out from sound systems around the world.

I know this because this is how society responds to rape accusations.  This is how society responds to any kind of abuse accusations against anyone who is not a random scary guy in the bushes.  Especially when that person is deemed exceptional, as if talent translates directly to moral fortitude.  I have lived with the consequences of standing up for myself against abuse*.  My abuser was not exceptional, just a regular charismatic and likeable person.  But no matter what my abuser had actually done, speaking out would put me on the stand to have my personhood questioned.

I know what it is like to struggle to find the language to articulate what was wrong in my life because I was a child.  I know how it feels to grow into an adult and find a voice and words to express what happened.  How I've had to do this tactfully, with minimal detail.  Because I still love the person who impacted my life in this way.  And because I am still fearful of the consequences of speaking out**.

Because even though I was only a child, and never possibly to blame for what happened, I would be blamed for speaking out.  When the truth is difficult for others to hear or comprehend, the fate of the speaker is to be silenced.

Me and a cousin as kids in the early 90's

I have experienced this silencing in many forms.  Firstly, I have had my personhood discredited.  It was my fault I could not process my abuse.  The abusers place in this was never mentioned.  The abuser was never a concern.  And this silencing began when I was just 14 years old***. 

I was told as a child I was 'too sensitive', 'over-dramatic', 'too contrary.'  When I did find words to wrap around my experience it was minimised.  I was told by people who never asked what happened to me that what happened was not that bad.  I was told the actions I was taking for self preservation were unfair and cruel to my abuser.  Sometimes I am still told these things now.

The hardest part about this is that the people silencing me were my family.

My family simultaneously saved me from my situation whilst never really speaking about it.  I never felt I was encouraged to speak, and to be fair I was also very scared of what might happen if I did.  Part of me is still fearful.  So it certainly wasn't easy for them.  In defense of my family, we are not taught how to speak about these things.  But a part of me believes that even had I been specific about the abuses I suffered it would have made no difference to my family's response.

This is Andrew.  He was always the
perfect gentleman.  He helped us get
gigs.  He helped me contact The Labour
Party when they were late taking their

hoardings down.  He is also accused of
abusing young women.

Because no-one likes to believe that people they know are capable of such acts.  Including me.  A few years ago Andrew Tidball was accused of having inappropriate relationships with very young women.  Initially I was shocked.  I was one of the many people who 'liked' his initial statement on Facebook.  He had never been anything but a gentleman to me.  My gut response was that it could not possibly be true.

But after thinking about it, and reading more about the specifics of the accusations I thought about his accusers.  What did they have to gain by making this up?  I was not his target demographic for abuse.  While I was young when I met him I was over 20, white skinned and bolshy.  Like most abusers he will have crafted his friend group and situation so that he was always seen as the good guy.  Like most abusers he hid in plain sight.  Like most abusers, he had most of us suckered even though, retrospectively, there were signs that things were not right.

My gut reaction was because I didn't want it to be true.  I didn't want it to be true because it meant I had, in effect, supported someone who abused young women.  And that was a horrible feeling.  I think this is a common response.  I suspect why now we are seeing all these articles by MJ's staff and friends is precisely due to this same gut reaction.  That if the accusations are true, we are guilty by association.

These days I have heard enough stories of abuse to just believe them without question.  These days I know that only 2% of rape accusations are false.  I know that of 100 sexual violations in NZ only 9 will be reported, and only one of those abusers convicted.  Knowing this, I know how few people will share their story.  How can I not believe that Michael Jackson sexually abused those boys?

I cannot believe they had motive in making this documentary other than to have their voices heard.  I cannot believe that the award winning director, Dan Reed, would stake his reputation in film-making on a flimsy premise.  What I can believe is that enough time has passed since MJ's death - almost 10 years, that they felt safe enough to talk about what happened to them.  That they needed to talk about what happened to them to assuage the pain and guilt they felt about not talking about it.

And I am glad they did.  I know how hard it is to talk about this stuff.  I know the likelihood of having your truth stomped on.  I know that 99 out of 100 times someone is sexually violated in NZ the abuser will walk away with no comeuppance.  And I know this is due to our culture.  This is because we don't want to talk about the fact that our friends, our parents, our siblings, our coaches and teachers are also our abusers.  Because we know what happens to people who talk frankly about their, and our, reality.

Michael Jackson's estate has sued HBO.  His estate will do whatever it takes to silence his victims.  They will discredit their words.  They will minimise their accusations.  They will call them thoughtless and cruel.  They will do what the rest of the world does to any one of us who calls out our abusers.

We have only to look at the changing face of Michael Jackson
to see how unhappy he was with himself.  How broken he was.

We know abuse begets abuse.  It's common knowledge that Michael Jackson was sexually abused as a child, that he was beaten by his father, that he had no normalcy in childhood.  This does not make what he did ok.  Rather than focus on the why, we should be focused on what we can do as a society to break the cycle of abuse.  Why did those boys, and countless others have to live through what they did when instead, their abusers pain could have been addressed?

We have the power to re-educate ourselves so our children do not have to live as we did.  We can teach them how to understand feelings, and that they have a safe space to express them to us.  We can encourage transparency by showing them unconditional love.  We can educate ourselves the impact of childhood trauma so we can recognise and repair it.  We can empower our children so they can live different lives than we have.

I know this is not easy.  We are working against what feels natural, particularly here in Aotearoa with our 'she'll be right' attitude.  Things are not right.  33 - 39% of our wahine will experience physical and/or sexual abuse from their intimate partner.  We have the 5th worst child abuse rate in the OECD.  Things are not right and we cannot change this until we acknowledge what is wrong.  We need to start building safe spaces for people to speak.  We need to start listening.

When I heard Thriller booming out on a strangers stereo this morning all I heard was an attempt to drown out the voices of the abused.  And I know this is not how most people will feel.

But I will not contribute to the drowning out of those voices.  Because mine is one of them and it is one of many.

* In my case the abuse I'm referring to was not sexual.  But it was still abuse.  Of course I have a litany of other sexual trespasses against me that will also inform this feeling.  You can read about them here.

** Like most of us, my abuser was known to me.  And like most of us, they too experienced horrific childhood trauma.  Trauma is cyclical.  Trauma is inherited.

*** Even earlier if you take into account the atmosphere of my childhood.

What I'm Crying About In The Bath

My brain is all over the place hence so many weird bath thoughts recently.  And while I think some of these thoughts deserve their own full blog post, I do not have the brain nor energy currently to write them.  But watch this space!  Both of these things will likely return of their own accord some day.  This is the life of the anxious, working, arting Mum.

So I'm not massive, but bigger and uncomfy.
(looking at goldfish in Kaitaia on holiday)

My Body
So my body is the largest it's ever been, almost larger in weight than during my second pregnancy.  And I am struggling with it.  The fact that I am struggling with it is the part I find the hardest.  I do not think poorly of bigger people.  I do not think they are lazy or stupid or any of the other awful stereotypes that come with being bigger.  But I am still not used to being bigger.

And I desperately want to be comfortable because this is just one of the side effects of a medical condition.  This is the reality of my life now.  I do not have the time, energy or headspace to dedicate to a full-on attack on my fatness especially in the face of the likelihood it may be futile anyway due to my body over-producing oestrogen.  And the silly thing is that the futility makes me sad and feel like saying 'fuck it all' and over eating anyway because I may as well derive some comfort while living with this body.

I am struggling to exercise in this bigger body because it feels unweildy.  Because it is different.  It is not that I dislike exercise - I love swimming and walking and waterwalking.  But wearing more flesh than I once did I feel nervous in swimwear and anxious about sports apparel.  And I know this compounds the issue of the body I am not yet accustomed to.

I am learning how to dress myself to feel better about this change.  I think in time this will help me feel more confident with my new shape and (hopefully) soon at the point of saying 'fuck it' to the fear of swimwear and yes to getting back in the pool.  In times where I struggle to simply dress myself I often think of my super hot bigger friends and think 'What would they wear?' and it helps me find clothes and confidence to face the day.

I feel silly about this struggle because there are so many bigger issues (excuse the pun).  But this is my truth.  I feel guilty over my discomfort in my body, because I personally love all body types.  I love the diversity that is the world and humans in it.  But from this overweight angle, it is crystal clear that many folk do not feel this way. 

I feel the prejudices that come with being bigger.  I've had the GPs asking about my weight in terms of existing health issues.  I've had the (many) people asking if I'm pregnant.  I've had friends genuinely concerned about my health.  I've had the disbelief that this could possibly be due to medical reasons, from friends and GP's alike (read a bit about women's health issues for a change why dontcha?).

I can see how bigger folk could be beaten with words their whole lives.  I can see how easy it would be to give up.  To believe the haters.  To feel worthless.  I want to give up often and I've only had to feel this for a comparitively short time.  I can see why so many of the bigger women I know are so tough, so fierce.  They have to become warriors to survive this fattist society.

Whenever I feel uncomfortable I try and focus on the gorgeous warrior women I know and emulate them.  Fake it til you make it.  I have hope, but I haven't made it yet.

So even if you don't consider yourself wealthy

if you are in the middle economically you are

much better off than those in the bottom.

Economic Abuse

Recent situations have made me realise how easy it is to become economically abused without even knowing it.  How easy it would also be to become an unintentional economic abuser.  And at the heart of it, I think it's just what happens when there are large wealth gaps.

Those who have wealth often have, or learn other things that ensure they maintain that wealth:

• If wealth has been earned they are more inclined to believe that wealth is garnered through hard work.
• If wealth has been inherited they will have more access to information about financial management.
• Once you have some wealth and are able to invest, you are able to grow more money.
• If you have wealth, you can more easily survive fiscal setbacks so have a more positive view on overcoming obstacles.

Those who do not have wealth often learn things that make it harder to have wealth:

• Those who work hard for a pittance understand that hard work does not always pay off financially.
• Those who have never experienced wealth will have less experience with fiscal management.
• If wealth has been lost people may become more risk averse and less trusting of professionals.
• When you are living paycheck to paycheck it is harder to survive financial setbacks.
• Being in debt costs money.

These differences in perception about money will impact on relationships between those in different 'wealth camps'.  When love or duty are involved it can mean that the wealthy aid the less fortunate.  Which is fantastic in premise.  But often it means those without wealth feel indebted to the wealthy, equally sometimes the wealthy may feel those without wealth owe them something.  This power imbalance can contribute to maintaining this hegemony.  Those without wealth working to repay those with wealth either financially or with gifts or time.  Those with wealth not understanding why those without wealth are in that economic position.

Within families/groups of friends this can mean that those with wealth have power in terms of decision making.  This power is easily maintained by those without wealth feeling they have a debt to pay to those with wealth.  This power means that within this dynamic there will never be equality, fiscally or otherwise.  And most of the time it is not an intentional dynamic, it is just one that naturally develops.

It is the same in broader society.  The best way we can shift to a more useful dynamic, where those who have less have more power and those who have more have less power, is by economically leveling the playing field.  There are many ways we can do this including: paying a living wage, raising income tax on the upper earning brackets, fairer taxing of property and investment, lowering costs for those on low incomes and providing free, accessible fiscal education at school. 

And at a personal level it is important to recognise our privilege and check our judgments and assumptions when making decisions that financially impact others.

What if you never live to see this money?

Kiwisaver 
Following on from this ^ the realisation the Kiwisaver is only designed for the well and the privileged.  Kiwisaver is based on a false premise - that all New Zealanders have equal likelihood of making it to retirement age.  This is just not true.  Māori men and women are expected to live on average seven years less than their non-Māori counterparts.  Most Māori men will pass away just seven years into their retirement if not sooner.

For those New Zealanders that discover they have an illness that will likely shorten their lifespan, this is equally unfair.  If you have already signed on to Kiwisaver yes, you can take a 'contributions holiday'.  But that money you have already worked hard for, to save for your retirement cannot be taken out any earlier even if you know you will not live to see 65.  And while you can apply to take some out for 'Significant Financial Hardship' you need to provide a ridiculous amount of paperwork, be in financial hardship and even then you cannot take out your government contributions.

The good news for your whanau is that when you die your Kiwisaver will go to your estate.  But this isn't exactly heartwarming news when you cannot afford to pay your electricity bill and will not likely see retirement.  Or if you have no living friends or relatives.

A fucking excellent book I highly recommend

Trans Health

Sooo many things here I'm just going to talk about my bath idea.
I've just finished reading a fantastic book called Transition Denied: Confronting the Crisis in Trans Healthcare by Journalist Jane Fae.  It made me think more about our current health system and how it manages our trans friends and whanau.  In a word - poorly.  I'm looking for advocacy in terms of support of someone I know and it is not easy to find (but I will find it don't you worry!). 

My bath idea was that it would be really awesome if there were a directory of services and GPs in NZ that are trans educated and trans accepting.  I know how scary it is for trans-folk to just go to the Drs, and I also know how high the discrimination rates against them are - particularly from the medical community.  Something like this would make it easier for those looking for help and support to hit less road blocks on their path to finding themselves.  And this is so important because sometimes those road blocks end lives.

So if this doesn't already exist, I'm going to try and find a way to build it.  And if it does already exist, I will promote the shit out of it.

Tattoos
I really want another one.  But they are EXPENSIVE.

New Year Fresh Start

Happy New Year!

I am not a New Years person. I am generally one who hunkers down and is in bed before midnight and have never been one for resolutions.  But this year I'm doing things differently*.
 

The metoo movement has actually been around for more than ten years now.
It was the Weinstein allegations and Hollywood that popularised it last year.

Last year was a tough year.  I think for most people.  I'm not sure what it was, but it felt like a year of a lot of change.  And I think it was tough because coping with change is tough.   In global ways with the #metoo movement gaining momentum sparking friction in gender politics and in local ways via Grace Millane's murder making more Kiwis aware of our atrocious rates of violence**.

On a personal level 2018 brought many changes too.  It was a year of conflict, and a year where I had
no choice but to learn how to manage conflict differently.  That it's just not possible to please everyone all the time.  That sometimes it is best to just put your energy where it is needed most, where it most resonates with your values.  That choices come at a cost but that cost is necessary.  I learned conflict is part of life and I have to learn to live with it rather than let my fear of it consume me.

Most folk know endo, when I was diagnosed
with adenomyosis I had never heard of it before.

2018 also brought me new health diagnoses which, whilst not a total shock, have been a struggle to come to terms with.  I have been reluctant to make the changes necessary to best manage myself due to no reason other than choosing to prioritise short term happiness over long term wellness.  Whilst I think this is an understandable response, it was certainly not the best response in terms of health.

And when my mental health started to fall by the wayside, an understandable result of processing such big changes, I had to make sacrifices in my art practice to get my health back on track.  This meant opting out putting on an exhibition of recent work.  It was a difficult decision to make, but definitely the best decision***.  In spite of all these changes and health crises I still managed to write one short story a month as I set out to do at the beginning of the year.  And I managed to get one of those stories published.

So while 2018 was a hard year, it was a productive year.  It was a year with a steep learning curve.  It was a year of struggle precisely because it was a year of change.  And change is hard for all of us.  But change is important.  2018 taught me that even though I might not feel like it, I can be quite resistant to change - both positive and negative.  For 2019 to be a better year I need to stop resisting.  I need to start to work within the change.

I am so loving watching these two grow up.   
I want to be here with them as long as possible.

And I need to do that simply.

And quite simply, when I weigh up the importance of all the facets of my life the two most important things are my family and my health.  And without my health, I cannot do what is best for my family.  So this years focus will be my health.  It feels weird not having an art project to work on, but I have to shift my thinking and view my health as one of my projects.

I also have to do this slowly.  I have a tendency to run gung-ho into projects and plans and then lose steam shortly after starting.  This needs to be different.  This needs to be a sustainable plan for life.

So, simply, my plan is this: to put in place three small things every six weeks that will be beneficial to my health.  Six weeks so I can focus on just those things.  Six weeks so I can build a habit and maintain those habits before I begin working on forming new ones.  Six focused weeks of small changes.

To start with I am doing the following:

• Eating a healthier breakfast
• Drinking plenty of water
• Eating 5 + a day every day

These three things may seem small.  But they are three basic things I haven't been maintaining.  I am pretty good with drinking water most of the time, but sometimes I do forget.  I am embarrassed to say my former regular breakfast included cheese**** - not ideal for someone with my current health issues.  And 5+ a day - we should all be eating 5+ a day, right?  Well, I haven't been.  And I LOVE most fruit and vegetables.  I was vegetarian for 12 years.  So I should be managing this no problem.  But I haven't been.  I have always found it hard to snack on fruit due to preparation requirements and mess, and with losing my favorite fruits to the 'shouldn't eat' list post diagnosis I was seldom eating fruit at all.  So all of my veges were crammed into dinner and even then it wouldn't have been 5+ servings most days.

LOVE this yoghurt!

So far I've maintained this change for a week.  I've managed this by doing things I know will work for me.  I changed up my breakfast from GF toast with ridiculous toppings to muesli with probiotic yoghurt and fruit (currently blueberries - thank you Summer!) which also gets me a headstart on the 5+ quota.  To increase my vege intake in other areas I've started making a simple carrot and lentil soup, and when I feel hungry I just have half a cup of that which contains about two servings of veges.  And I have started trying to have an afternoon fruit snack - I am better at doing this when I'm at work.  Just that gives me 4 serves before dinner.

It's a huge change for me.  But by just making little tweaks it's achievable which means it's hopefully a change I can maintain.  It's only been a week but I have managed to do these three small things every day.  And that's because they are just three, simple things.

And I already feel better!  Eating more fruit and veg plus drinking more water has helped me be a bit more regular in the poop department which in turn, takes the pressure of my painful lady organs.

On the tail of a tough 2018, I think making three small changes to better your life is not a bad idea.  It might not be 5+ a day for you, it might be about watching less Netflix or reading more books.  But if you do want to try my delicious carrot soup (because it is super delicious) I have the recipe below for you.  Like the rest of this years plan, it is very simple.

Carrot and Lentil Soup

 
Ingredients:
 1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp grated fresh ginger
1/2 tsp ground turmeric
A sprinkle of chili flakes
1Tbsp olive oil
300g grated carrot (about 3 large carrots)
3/8 of a cup of lentils (I use red but brown is better on your tummy)
500mls vege stock (I use Massels, vegan and gluten free)
1/4 cup of milk or coconut milk

Directions:
1)  Heat a large pan to a medium high heat.  Add the cumin seeds, turmeric and chili flakes and toast until fragrant (about 1 minute).  Add the oil and ginger and cook a further minute until you can smell the ginger.
2) Add the grated carrots and lentils and stir through until coated in the spice mix.
3) Add the stock and simmer on medium low for about 15 minutes until the lentils are soft.
4) Take off the heat and stir through the milk.  Let cool for about 15 minutes
5) Blend (I use a stick mixer) then season to taste.

This makes about 750mls of soup, so about 6 half cup serves of soup.

*  Not the New Years Eve part.  A last minute invite meant I did attend a party (next door), but due to codeine was drunk after just two large glasses of wine, so went home around 8pm, ate toasted sandwiches and was asleep by 10pm.  Great way to miss out on all the fireworks.

** It still saddens me that a foreign, white, pretty, privileged girl had to die before this happened given that this happens to women here on the reg but hey, if it helps change our culture of violence I'll take it.

*** I was struggling with basic social interactions at that time.  The thought of hosting people that were assessing my work was definitely not something I could have managed well.

**** GF toast with mustard, cheese and cucumber

On Bad Anxiety Round: Can I Count This High? FIGHT

The pro of having had anxiety for my entire life, and knowing it for over half my life is that I'm more experienced with managing it.  The con though is the weight of understanding the futility of my situation.  That no matter where I go or what I do poor mental health can, at any time, cut me down where I stand.  And this has been proven over years and years of experience.

And even though I've managed to get back up countless times before, and even though I know that I can, the thought of having to do it is exhausting.

Sooo Frustrating!  Sometimes it's hard 
to tell when you are actually sick.

This is not aided by the physical manifestations of this illness.  When I am well, these are not such a big deal.  But when I am ill, a body that cannot process food properly, inconsistent heart-rate, difficulty breathing and unexpected, sudden rises in adrenaline leave me muscle sore and exhausted.  And my ever racing brain feeds my racing pulse meaning whilst sleep is sorely needed it often sits far across an endless sea of circular thoughts, somewhere beyond my anxious brains reach.

And while I understand the physiology of my anxiety and its mechanics I still cannot prevent it from affecting me nor stop it on sight.  I understand my triggers, but because life is what it is - unpredictable - they could strike at any time.  And I know that once triggered my body goes into fight-or-flight mode over situations that are, from a rational perspective, completely safe.  And while I also know this is due to a logical process of how the brain manages childhood trauma, while my heart races seemingly of its own accord I both know this and feel frustrated that I can't just function like a regular person.  And the frustration at my situation feeds the anxiety.

I feel anxious because my body has been tricked into thinking I'm in a life or death situation.  Then I feel anxious because of the irrational nature of my body*.  I feel guilty because my anxiety prevents me from being able to easily do the simple things that help control my anxiety** and guilty that I feel anxious in the first place.  Anxiety feeds off itself.  And even when you know this is the case you cannot stop it from chasing it's own tail and still flinch at the pain of it's bite.

Obviously my reasons are different,    
but it's the same old crazy shit        

I know exactly what triggered my current bout of poor mental health.  It is nobody's fault.  I know rationally that what I am dealing with is something that would be emotionally difficult for even a 'normie' to handle.  I know my inability to manage is not my fault, that my brain has forged abnormal neurological connections as a coping mechanism.  Most of the time I know what needs to be done to get on track.  But it takes time, and while I get back to that place of almost normal, just managing each day is hard.

And this is what makes managing these episodes so hard.  Those spaces in between.

I have great support networks.  I have friends and family that have similar mental health issues that I can talk with honestly.  I have a partner and a plan in place for when this happens.  I am extremely fortunate in this department.  But none of this matters once I'm really sick.  Anxiety shuts down my ability to communicate.  Of late, I have been struggling even to engage on social media, (and this is usually a safe space for extroverted introverts like myself who genuinely like other humans).  And the guilt about my inability to communicate makes me feel guilty about my participation in relationships with others.  And that guilt feeds my anxiety.

In some ways it is hard being a functional anxious person.  When you spend most of your time being fairly capable in life, it is only when you drop the ball that anyone notices.  Consequently, it's a difficult conversation to have.  I am not, nor have ever been embarrassed by my mental health status.  I am afraid that people will not believe me if I tell them.  This too makes things difficult - I work harder to keep up the facade of being 'normal' for the sake of the areas that can't fall by the wayside; the kids basic needs and work.  And in order to do that I sacrifice other things, like being social, or exercising because I've used up all my spoons.  I feel extremely lucky to be functional.  And I feel guilty for voicing the associated problems with being functional.  And that guilt feeds my anxiety.

This time I caught things earlier than the last time.  I went to the Drs much sooner than usual, fruitless as that was.  I self-adjusted my existing medication.  I filled out the forms and am on the wait list for therapy.  I have attempted to limit my social interaction to a manageable level.  And it is starting to help.  I am still struggling with my energy levels**, still struggling with social interaction, still utilising unhealthy crutches to help me to stagger through.  But this is shifting.  Slowly.

Even when you know the cycle, it's still hard to
                       get out of the cycle... 

It's this point in time when the cycle can start up again.  Where it's easy to get too confident and overdo things.  Where it's easy to feel guilty about not doing things.  Where this guilt starts feeding back into your anxiety.  It's a tricky negotiation and this doesn't change with time.  It's a wearying process while you're in the thick of it; going to Drs appointments, organising therapy, preparing healthy meals, talking to friends.  Once sideswiped by the exhaustion that accompanies anxiety, managing the anxiety begins to feel insurmountable.  Just picking up the phone requires preparation and pep talks and if connection is thwarted by an answer phone or receptionist, it's even harder to do next time.  You want to get help, you know how to get help, but actually doing it is so hard.

But you do it.  You find things that tie you to the world that force you to keep getting up - family, friends, goals, causes.  What is frustrating is that when my health starts to unravel these ties are the very things that I struggle with.  How can I prioritise drawing when I barely have the energy to go to work?  How can I help others when I can barely function at a basic level?  It is hugely difficult to work out when to set these aside, for my health, and when to do them, for my health.  Having just finished reading a brilliant biography on Robin Williams I can see all too easily while so many cannot continue this struggle any more.  It is not for want of love or connection or use.  It is the guilt over not feeling that, for whatever reason, you do not deserve that connection.  It is the frustration and exhaustion over your own situation.

I get it, but I keep on doing it.

*          *         *          *          *         *          *          *         *          *          *         *

I love the Scholastic Book Club      

I had my first of what will likely be many conversations with the kids about my mental illness earlier this week.  I am grateful that this conversation wasn't prompted by my own health, but their interest in the book What Would She Do.  Whilst initially we just read the summary and quotes about the women included, the kids are now so interested they wanted me to read their 'big' stories.  When we read Virginia Woolf's Etta asked 'Why did she kill herself Mum?'

So I explained that she suffered from anxiety and depression, and that I did too.  I said that this illness can sometimes make a person so sad they do not know how to live in this world any more.  That for a pacifist like Virginia, World War II must have hurt so much.  That having this illness does not mean I will kill myself.  That many other people live with this and don't kill themselves.  That I have a more supportive community, and different circumstances to Virginia.  Etta said 'That's good, because I would miss you if you were dead.'

It is difficult for me to know for sure if this was the right thing to say.  No-one wants their children to consider their parents health or mortality.  But this is the truth.  And what I have learned as a parent to our two amazing children is not to underestimate their ability to grasp big ideas like war or prejudice.  The other day Etta said to me 'Why do they have wars?  If they disagree they should just talk about it until they agree on something.  Or they should just have a running race and whoever wins the race is who gets to decide.'  Introducing big topics when they are young in simple, non-biased ways allows them to start forming their own ideas about their values.  What I see as a result of these big topic conversations is opportunity to talk about empathy, equality and equity.

And honesty.  I hope that in being honest with our kids about my health and my feelings, it helps them know they can be honest with me.  Whilst my anxiety feeds me guilt about my ability to be a good parent, I can counter this with the knowledge that it also gives me the opportunity to talk about mental wellness with my children.  To role model asking for help when I need it, to name emotions when I feel them and to help them do the same.  I'd certainly rather that than to model the need to hide those differences that are not well perceived by society.  I don't want our kids to ever feel the need to be anything other than who they are.  Having mental health issues helps me teach our children how to have empathy for others, love for themselves and to feel safe talking about their own feelings.

I feel from my struggle comes understanding and power.  And I can gift this to our children.

* Getting Etta to school on time is not a life or death situation.  In my case the anxiety comes from the possibility of an increase in social interaction required (which happens if she's late), but a conversation won't kill me, my body just thinks it will...

** Sleeping, spending time with friends and family, eating healthily, minimal exercise - normal health stuff

*** Most folk who use anti-anxiety meds or other meds to help with mental health will understand this exhaustion is both a side effect of being anxious (overworked adrenals) and a very common side effect of altering dosage of medications.  It's a very difficult balance between being functional/non-functional with or without medication.

On Life After Incest

TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual Assault/Incest  
Please, if you choose to read this and feel you need some support phone Victim Support on 0800 842 846 or if in Auckland the HELP foundation crisis line on 09 623 1700

I write this in the hopes that in creating dialogue around this issue I can in a small way make it easier to talk about incestuous sexual abuse.  I write from the position of having family live through this, and it directly impacting on relationships within my family at the present time.  Incestuous abuse has affected many people within my wider family and there has been more than one perpetrator.  While I write this with one person in mind (I had her read this before I posted it), I write with all those people affected in my heart and I am sure there are more of you than I know.  I write from a place of love and sadness.  I write because I have hope.

Not just for my own family, but the many other families who live with this.  Because there are many.  Incest is not uncommon here in NZ, so it feels wrong that we don't talk about it.  One study of 3,000 Kiwi women showed that 1 in 8 women experience incest during their lifetime, which is about 12%*.  This may seem high, but given that in New Zealand we have the 5th worst child abuse record in the OECD, high rates of sexual assault (1 in 5) and extremely high rates of domestic and intimate violence rates (1 in 3) I think it may be even higher.

And we don't talk about it.

While we have the #metoo movement empowering those who have experienced sexual assault to speak out about their experiences, how many of those relate to incest?  Very few.  And while it is fantastic that people are finding their voices through this movement, for those who have experienced incest I can only imagine it makes them feel even more invisible and further alienated in their experience**.  And it saddens me because it is such a common experience.  So the truth is, victims are incest are far from alone in their experiences, yet can still feel so isolated.

In 2017 we elected the highest number of women MP's in NZ history; 46 women.  Of that number, statistically 6 of them will have experienced incest.  2,436,790(ish) women live in New Zealand, of that number 292,415(ish) will have experienced incest.  And those numbers do not include the many boys and men that also experience incest.  And those are not just arbitrary numbers, they represent real human lives.  Think about how many women there are in your family and do the math.

We don't talk about it, but it effects a great deal of us.

For those who live with the experience of incest the impact can be huge.  Associated issues include:***

• Problems with close relationships
• Depression
• Self-destructive behaviours
• Difficulty/fears around parenting
• Issues with sex
• Chronic pain/health issues 

Imagine living with this, living with the associated issues and not telling anyone?  Imagine how lonely and scary that might feel?

Why we don't talk about it isn't difficult to guess.  Shame and fear.  When someone close to you hurts you like this you wonder why they did it.  What did you do to bring this on yourself?  The perpetrator will often tell the victim that for whatever reason, the abuse is their fault.  For victims of incest, the fear is completely rational.  Telling someone can hugely impact every aspect of your life.  What happens when the abuser lives with you?  What happens if your abuser is your caregiver?  What will I lose if I tell someone?  What will happen if no-one believes me?  In speaking up, victims of incest stand to lose a lot.  Telling someone can feel like a huge gamble.

I am writing this because someone in my family gambled on telling us.

There is no need to go into specifics over the many abuses she has survived.  All I will say is that the abuse happened for years over her childhood and beyond and it was violent.  The reason it has only come out recently is because she (like many other victims of sexual assault) had repressed memories that started surfacing.  The impact on her life has been huge.  She cannot remember a time in her life before she was abused.  As a consequence, she is neurologically wired differently to those who grow up with healthy childhoods****.

There were a lot of signs that something was wrong, but we missed them.

So what happened when her abuse was finally revealed?  Suppression.  Minimisation.  Interrogation.  Thinly veiled disbelief.  Fear of the family being 'outed', fear of what others would think.  After years of keeping this to herself and her partner, when she finally did talk she was told to keep it to herself until her revelation could be 'managed'.  Her wider family did not learn of this until well over a year after she first told her parents.  Another lonely year.  Once her closer family members were told she gained some support, but not without cost.  And once the larger family were told what came about was anger, blame and abuse.

And amongst all this the craziest thing that happened was that none of the extended family***** reached out to her.  No-one called to say 'I'm sorry this happened to you, how can I help?'  No-one.  I cannot speak for how this must have felt for her, but for me it broke the illusion that our family was close.  Would they do the same if it were me?  Would my truth be met with silence?  Unlike many other families my extended family comes together regularly to celebrate.  So why is it that we couldn't come together to help when we learned one of us had suffered so much for so long?  I have waited in hope that this would change, but it hasn't.

I can only give an educated guess as to why this is.  My guess is that her parents response has set the tone for how others in the family respond.  I guess that this is something people don't know how to approach so they don't approach it at all, or that they feel it is not their place.  I know how difficult it is for many to believe they have spent so much time with the abuser and had no idea he was doing this.  I have faced this disbelief regarding my own history.  I know these things can be easier not to believe.  If the abuse never happened then there is no need to question our ability to judge the morality of others.  Then we don't feel guilty for 'letting' the abuse happen or stupid for not realising it could.  It is easier to blame the victim than to hold the abuser to account for their actions.  It is easier to pretend it never happened.

My current family situation reminds me of The Beach by Alex Garland; what will people sacrifice to continue living in 'paradise?'  What will they give up to maintain the status quo?

And this probably sounds like my family are terrible people.  But they are just regular people.  This response is very common.  It is awful, but it is normal and I think this is because so many of us are taught to value public perception over reality.  To value keeping things 'in the family.'  To say nothing, if we have nothing nice to say.  We are taught not to talk about this stuff and in not talking we allow the abuse to continue.  In this, our family is not unique and this is just so sad.

It's a cycle.  As a consequence of valuing family ties over honesty, victims are alienated and disempowered.  Abusers are free to continue on in their lives without consequence.  Society continues to support abusers and alienate victims therefore abuse can continue unchecked and violence begets violence.  I don't believe any well person wakes up one morning and just decides 'Hey!  I think I'm going to rape someone today.'  I believe getting to this point is a gradual process of unhealthy behaviours going largely unhindered and is aided by how women are treated by society.  And males who are abused by relatives in childhood are more likely to become abusers.  Abuse begets abuse.

So when we don't talk about incest, when we shut down conversations about incest, when we disbelieve victims of incest we perpetuate that cycle.  And this is not only in the worst interests of the victims, but the abusers too.  I have no doubt in my mind that most abusers feel as much guilt over their actions as their victims feel shame, and while there are many other factors involved, could this guilt also play a part in our high male suicide statistics?  I do not believe that all New Zealand's terrible statistics are islands unto themselves.  If we give abusers the opportunity to talk about what happened, the opportunity to make changes, the opportunity to raise their children differently, we may start to solve many other problems too.

While NZ is often touted as a pillar of Woman's Suffrage due to being the first to give women the vote******, our rates of incest, our domestic violence rates and our sexual violence rates (one of the top 5 in the OECD) tell a very different story of how women are treated here.  Because while these are issues for men too, the perpetrators of this violence are predominantly male and offending primarily against women.  And we have the capacity to change this.

So what can we do to prevent incest within our own families?

• Create a safe environment in which your children feel like they can trust you and talk to you freely.
• Teach your children about consent
• Teach your children the correct words for genitalia
• Know the signs of sexual abuse in children.  Read about them here.
• If you see any of these signs, talk to your kids about it.
• Get professional help and support if you need it

And what can we do if incest has happened within our own families?

• Believe the person who has been abused.  Remember that only 2 - 10% of victims of sexual assault falsely accuse the perpetrator.  That means that 90 - 98% of the time victims are telling the truth.
• Focus on the needs of the victim first.  What boundaries need to be in place to help them feel safe?  What can you do to ensure those boundaries are enforced?
• Make sure they have professional support.  For abuse of this type therapy is funded through ACC regardless of how long ago the abuse occurred.
• Make sure you have professional support yourself.
• Talk to the abuser and encourage them to get professional support.  Remember that many abusers have been abused themselves.
• If abuse is suspected to be ongoing, ensure your family is safe from further abuse.  It is possible to do this whilst still giving support to the victim and the abuser.

I for one do not want to maintain the status quo.  I want better for my family and my children.  Our silence leaves victims alone, and frees abusers to continue abusing.  There is no shame in being honest about abuse.

I am so proud of my family member for taking a gamble on speaking out.  I can only imagine how hard that was for her.  But in doing so, she is paving a way for all our children to grow up differently and she has my full support in this.  We have the capacity to change our statistics.  Silence is not the solution.

* To equate this to another statistic, this is the same reported rate as that which boys/men are sexually assaulted in New Zealand.

** There's a fantastic blog post about this here

*** Taken from the NZ Rape Prevention Education website

**** Just as I am.  I did an intensive Circle of Security parenting course because I have no idea how to be a 'normal' parent and raise healthy children.  All we can do is try and re-wire our brains using methodologies from psycho-therapy and the reality is that we will never 'get over it'.  We will never be 'fixed', all we can do is work on recovery and conscious acts of doing things differently for our children.

***** Besides my Mum and myself.  I think this is largely due to what we lived through, our understanding of how it feels to be a victim of abuse and what we have learned over years of therapy.


****** Sorry to burst your bubble here but that was mostly due to an attempt at getting prohibition through in NZ.  Kate Sheppard was a strong prohibitionist and a certain group of politicians believed if they allowed women to vote, Kate Sheppard's voice along other women's would aid in pushing through new laws prohibiting alcohol.  While women won the right to vote, they didn't vote for prohibition at that time as expected.  But this is why we got the vote so early, not because we value our women's rights, but due to drinking issues in the goldfields...

On How Time Flies... And Setting Goals

 Had I not gone off fiction I may    

never have read this wonderful book

 

So I've been feeling super guilty about the fact that I haven't blogged in about four months...

It's a ridiculously long time.  BUT, in my defense, the reason I haven't been writing here is because I've been working on other writing projects.

For my entire life I've had a 'long time listener first time caller' relationship with literature.  I love books.  Aside from when I was decimated by pregnancy and lack of sleep, I have always read every day.  I have lots of friends that are writers, and lots of friends that, like myself, are also avid readers.  With these things smooshed together plus my personality, I am quite critical of a lot of writing, and have a strong sense of what I think is good.  I mean, I have spent huge chunks of time only reading non-fiction because I'd picked up too many badly written stories and was scared to jump back in.                               

Being in this position has meant the idea of writing anything myself - outside of the sphere of blog land, is terrifying.  Poetry didn't really count.  Not because I don't value it, I wouldn't have produced two chapbooks if I didn't.  I've just always written it and each piece is so short I never got caught up in the loop of editing.  About 18 years ago I decided to write a novel.  I wrote a plan, a list of characters and I started writing it.  About 10,000 words in I decided it was awful and deleted everything.  This was not the last time I did something like that.  Any time I tried to write anything substantial at some point I'd deem it terrible and erase it so I didn't have to look at it and feel that secret shame.

       Me on stage with the Boomshack 5.
Looking absolutely terrified (lots of fun though)

I had thought getting through art school where you have no time to be a perfectionist or edit compulsively or obsess over anything would have helped me in this.  Because it really did with my art.  Not so with writing.  I think because I have not studied it formally I never had the confidence to overcome my self criticism and maybe that's why I saw it differently to art.  Attempts at writing reminded me of all I didn't know, like that one time I got to play with a big band in Wellington and discovered I was the only person there who hadn't studied music (besides Samuel Flynn Scott, but his Dad was a producer).  They terrified me.

But I've always wanted to be a writer.

And something changed for me last year.  I got through a whole year of photographing birds daily.  And while I knew that none of those photographs were perfect I kept doing it anyway and it ended up culminating in an exhibition that was, in my eyes, successful.  It showed me that sometimes, you just have to do.  And after that year I decided that I should do annual 'give it a go' challenges.  The challenge for this year has been to write one short story a month.  It doesn't seem like much.  But for someone who hasn't written any fiction besides poetry (and none of that for about five years) since High School, it's a decent challenge.

And I have been following through.  I am fairly up to date with my writing challenge (I owe one extra story this month for earlier in the year, but I've almost finished my first October story and I'm only three days in, so feeling positive).  BUT with time and brain invested in fiction my blog has fallen by the wayside.  And I'm sorry.  I do think that now I'm in the swing of things I may get back atop the blog writing horse.  I hope so anyway.  And the reason I am writing this today, aside from guilt, is that the kids are playing nicely!  So I have a little more time.  And maybe, this might happen more in the future.

So basically, the purpose of this post besides profuse apology is to say I think it's really important to try new things, and to set goals.  Not only does trying new things help your brain make neurological connections which keeps it healthy as you age, but you never know, you might discover you're really good at something.  My workmate told me her Aunt who is in her 70's just took up drawing and painting.  And her work is really good!  She has started having annual exhibitions and gives the proceeds to her brothers church to give to the needy in their community in the Philippines.  How cool is that?  And she would never have been able to do any of that had she not just decided to try something new.

I don't think it matters too much what your goals are, so long as you have them.  At the moment I set short, medium and long terms creative goals.  Currently these are:

Lefthanded Wax-eye from current drawing series      

 

• Take one bird photo a day (nearly up to two years now!)
• Try to do 2 - 4 drawings (of birds) a week
• Complete one short story a month
• Have one exhibition of visual work each year

It's not really a lot.  But with work and Mumming and family and attempting to manage actually seeing my friends sometimes, it's plenty.  I think the other thing about goal setting is making your goals achievable.  Not comparing your goals, or your ability or what you are doing with what other people are doing.  We are all different.  The time and energy we have available to dedicate to whatever is important to us is different.

But the key factor in achieving goals is just doing it.  Whatever it is.  Working past our fear that we are not good enough, and just getting stuck in and doing it regardless, gets it done.  Because the more you do it, the better you will get at it.  What has been really helpful with me in terms of feeling ok about writing is reading well known authors early work.  A lot of Stephen King's early stuff borrows from other influential horror writers.  It's not perfect, but it is published, and it is good.  I'm currently reading a collection of short stories by Tennessee Williams and seeing how so many of his stories were not published for more than five years.

And that if you hit a hump, like I have, you just keep on working.  The first story I submitted for publishing miraculously was published.  The only problem with that was my fear of failure got bigger.  What if I never write anything as good as that again?  What if it's the only thing I ever get published?  This probably isn't how many people think.  I think loads of people would have this happen and just think that meant they were bad ass and start writing themselves to death anticipating bigger victories.  I guess maybe this is one of the big differences between 'normies' and those of us with anxiety.  I had to work through it.

And yesterday, finally (first time since April) I sent some of my subsequent work off to a publisher.  It was scary.  It may be rejected.  But if I do not try, I will never know.  And the truth is, I really do like my stories.  And I feel there are so many more of them there.  And I never ever would have known this at all, had I not stopped thinking and procrastinating and being critical of myself, and just started doing.

With my first cheque from that first published story I decided to buy something special to commemorate the event.  I finally did that today.  What I bought was what I will call my muse bracelet, a bracelet featuring the covers of nine of the most influential books on my writing.  Hopefully, I will wear it while I'm writing to remind me what's important, what I'm aspiring to.

So excited for this to come in the post!

And then I will just sit down and do.