Now It's My Turn: Helping Your Parents Fulfil Their Dreams

My mum has been an empty-nester for just over a year. This has happened later in her life due to being the mother of four Generation X children, one Generation Y child (the millennial - that's me!) and one Generation Z child. By the time my and my younger sibling were over eighteen, the job market and the housing market were such a mess that we wouldn't have been able to support ourselves if we'd moved out. All our friends, now adults, are still living with their parents too.

But for Mama, her children were finally all "independent". She'd desperately wanted us out of her house for years and was sick and tired of dealing with us. When the time finally came and she had the four-bedroom home she'd lived in for thirty years to herself, she wasn't ready for it. She was unmotivated, uncertain, sad and lonely. There was nothing to distract her from her discontent.

My mum finds happiness where she can, but moments of emptiness will encompass her and make she gaze blankly into space. She's often said she hasn't achieved all in her life that she wants to, which is strange because she can never say with certain what she wants to achieve. When she talks about what she wants to do in life, her answer always changes but she eventually arrives at the same conclusion; 'I just don't know.' Even saying the words makes her face crumple, on the verge of tears. My heart breaks every time.

I take after my mother a lot, in case it wasn't already apparent. I wonder if observing her is like looking into my own future.

Me and Mama have certainly had our struggles but naturally, I never want to see her miserable. Often she does things that sabotage her own progress when she starts something new. So maybe I can't help her at all, and she has to find her own truth. But I wish I could give her the kind of solace that, even living apart from her children, leaves her feeling fulfilled.

Star .

The Beauty of Minimalism

I was taken in by the idea of minimalism in 2018. It struck a chord with me because I come from a family of hoarders, generally speaking. The clutter was suffocating for me. Don't get me wrong - it wasn't awful like what you might see on a TV show, but my parents and many of my siblings had a bad case of 'Just In Case'. So countless things were kept 'just in case', gathering dust over the next decade.

Discovering minimalism was a breath of fresh air, and it wasn't at all how I imagined; I'd conjure up the image of a lone person sitting in a bare, white room with only a bed and a lamp. Understanding that this practice was actually about consciously and purposefully choosing what did and didn't belong in your living space was a profound realisation for me.

I began to see that it wasn't just about abandoning everything, including sentimental items with emotional resonance or practical items that weren't currently in use. An artist keeping a whole room of art materials that they actually used and added value to their life could be part of a minimalist lifestyle. Alternately, keeping a collection of books that are never read and could disappear without anybody noticing probably aren't adding value to that person's life. Even in a very clutter-free home, those books are an unnecessary addition and would probably be better off in a new and loving home.

My space has become so much lighter. I let go of so many things I hung onto needlessly, some of which I thought I'd never part with. The biggest challenge for me has been accepting that it's not a sign of failure to acknowledge that some of the things I invested time and money into no longer speak to who I've become and the place my life has arrived at. I'm not the person I used to be, so saying goodbye to those material possessions actually created the potential to engage in even better and more meaningful things.

Star .

Full Circle

After almost six years, I return.

I never thought I would be writing on this blog again. Logging in to see The Alter Ego Writer gave me such a visceral reaction - warmth in my chest, tears pricking at my eyes, my stomach kind of turning over. It was a whole different person that started this blog.

I came back because I wondered if taking up writing anonymously again could heal me. I have been fighting the increasing urge to commit suicide for years as my depression steadily worsened, but these past couple of months have been the hardest of my life. This week I have existed as a shell of myself.

I'm glad I did come back to re-experience this blog again because it made me feel something, after weeks of feeling completely numb. That said, I avoided coming back to this blog for years and years. I was scared to come back and - truthfully? I was ashamed of this blog. I knew how much I had changed and didn't want to come face to face with the old me - ignorant, naive, likely biased and prejudiced from my biased and prejudiced surroundings. The experiences I've had these past six years have shown me the limitations of my own thinking, gently nudged me to be more considerate, more thoughtful, more inquisitive day by day. One the one hand, reading my past thoughts makes me cringe so much it's unbearable. On the other, even having that reaction indicates that I have grown.

So, despite my itching fingers I have decided to leave everything on this blog the same, even though it is horribly outdated, and just continue posting.

Perhaps even seeing the clunky layout and colours I chose for this blog at 17 years old will be a cocoon of nostalgia for me. Maybe this blast from the past will help me remember, or discover, what I truly used to love, before the pressure cooker experience of being moulded by the people around me started to do real psychological damage.

I am exhausted, but despite not wanting to live any more, I do not want to die. I want to put to rest the version of myself I used to be and start over. Cut away the old, dead weight and rebuild myself again, and better.

 

Star .