An insight into what makes a 41-year-old mother of 1 son tick.
Jump on, climb inside. Laugh at the humiliations that I have suffered and learn from my mistakes. Cry with me, tears of sorrow or laughter! Celebrate my mistakes and embrace what makes me human. Form an opinion. Share your views if you feel compelled to, be they negative or positive. It’s okay, that’s the point to my story. This is a coming of age tale, of learning to shrug it off and hold your head up high…. This is about finding the courage to be proud of who you are.
Hindsight is 20/20, as they say, but the road in front of you can be a bitch. Lesson 1: You never get this emotional clarity until you are as old as f—, shrivelled like a raisin and stuck in a council flat with a kid and a load of debt.
This will be a thought- provoking insight into my own life in the UK. (providing my publishers don’t cut me after a few editions!!)
A 360-degree reflective collection of blogs that will catalogue my life. Each week I will focus on a part of my life be it past or present. Its quirks and elations alongside the tears and disasters. I will share with you what I’ve learned and discovered. My hope is that by reading it, you might end up respecting me. You might learn something, or you might just avoid getting the clap! Whatever your reason… don’t stop reading now…. The fun’s about to begin…. Let’s get on with it…… Where do I start…?
Well, I am a princess in a tower. Always have been, always will be. That is not to say that I am bogged down amid laments over gender inequality or that I just love needlework and have had a life-long ambition to bang out children in return for a comfortable life!!! No, No, No. No, I just love the fairy-tales and I have always believed that one day all that challenging work will come together. That the everyday juggling of life and commitments will end and that we will all find our happy place. A place where work, social, romantic and family life all gel together and the stress lifts.
I no longer consider myself a princess that any man would be privileged to slay a dragon for! Life has sobered me enough to disregard this fantasy. However, I would still like someone to love me completely. Not necessarily to burst into song, but to love me unconditionally as I am, who I am, baggage and all.
Time was, I allowed myself to be a victim. I thrived off regret. The only time in my life that I have been truly happy was when I was pregnant with my son Xavier and the years that followed his birth. You become selfless as a mother. Parenthood has defined me.
Prior to Xavi’s birth I had never have believed in planning my life. Of course I had friends who did, right from the time of our primary school playground on into their teens. Planned with a meticulous consistently the shape of their lives. They had mapped out their intentions without even meeting their husbands. I must admit that I have laughed cruelly at those that do this… Married by 22, matronly house-frau by 25, baby 1 (Nathaniel, in one case I know) –already saddled with an email and domain name. (yawn.) These are the friends who leave me bemused and sometimes just devoid of compassion or respect. Their ‘yogurt-coated raisin’ approach to raising children horrifies me. If you want to get your kids to respect you, it starts with you! If little Seth-Asteroid-Syngent-Smythe recognises that his mummy that has a degree in medicine, met daddy at university, gave up her aspirations to lay on her back and get pregnant. Only to grow to resent both husband and child. To crow about her dissatisfaction at the school gates. To join the PTA (feeling that she could make a difference) and then within the timespan of primary education-To file for divorce. Claiming half, the value of the family home. Claiming financial abuse! Using the inevitable SEN (special Educational Need’s) statement that would be awarded to Seth as ammunition in a bitter divorce battle. These people stare down the noses at teen mums that rely on the state to house them???? The ‘Yogurt-coated raison’ brigade are the social piranhas of society in Britain today. Their kids experience more suffering because of wealth based divorces. I’m still a princess. But, a princess with different aspiration’s…
I broke my life into decades- That was about as organised as I was willing to get. To date I have followed that plan:
0-10. Being a kid, imagining and dreaming about which prince I would marry. I assumed I would have the pick of the litter! What I do remember feeling was an urgent need to grow up. Like every year that passed brought me closer to the goal of being a grown-up. What I over-looked was that everything was plentiful and available. I just didn’t appreciate it at the time.
10-20: Spent this decade being an angry dickhead. Hated everyone, started smoking, dyed hair black and became the world’s skinniest and whitest Rasta! I kid you not. I have a photo somewhere of me sat on Christmas morning in a bunny-rabbit embellished nightie opening my presents with my shoulder-length dreads snuggly housed in a red, gold and green Rasta hat. So, Marcus Garvey!!!
20-30: Having reached adulthood (the chosen destination). Realising that I hated it. Made the adult decision that I would spend the next ten years blocking out the pain by getting wasted on drugs and booze…. Hell-bent party years of my life….
30-40: Throughout the drug and booze fuelled haze I always knew there had to be a point where I stopped. I chose my thirties to breed. I’m glad I did. I think I have made a better parent of myself having waited.
40-50: Get a degree, change my life. Realisation that I don’t want the next half of my life to mirror the previous half. Make the people that I love proud. Challenge myself. Be a role model and execute the intelligence that was god given alongside the confidence and determination that I have acquired along the way.
Providing my publishers like this……. Choose a period in my life that you want to hear about and please comment….
===Danielle Le Roy===