Rosie Scribble

Why I blog

I was unwell when I started writing this blog, very unwell, but getting better. My search for the right help took many years (don’t get me started). There were many closed doors, and many many times when I was sent away with nothing and told to look elsewhere, yet there was no elsewhere.

When it looked as if I had run out of options, someone did finally sit up and take notice and I got the help and support I needed, just in time, I’d say. The rest is history. I’m well and happy and so is IJ. But for a long time the result of not being heard for so long left me feeling I had no voice. That no-one would listen, that I was not worth listening to.

I’d blogged before and given up. But I missed it and I missed the community and the chance blogging gave me to reach out online and connect with others from behind the safety of my computer screen.

So thanks to a little encouragement I decided to start again. My daily wittering, ramblings and ‘scribbles’ were written really for me, as I way of finding out who I was and if I really did have anything to say for myself. I discovered I did. I had plenty to say and amazingly, incredibly and movingly it seemed that people were reading my blog. I gained a sense of being heard, of being listened to.

So I carried on and this blog has developed with me as I’ve regained my health, found a voice, discovered my place in the world and grown-up.

Some would say it’s been a long time coming. I would say at least I got there in the end. And I’m not done yet.

So the confidence now to go out into the world and meet people, to travel overseas and agree to speak at Cybermummy has come from firstly connecting with others online, discovering an amazing community out there, finding that I do have a voice, and then taking that confidence offline and out into the big bad world. Which I have now discovered isn’t so bad after all.

Some people think blogging is simply writing an online diary about your life, or certain aspects of your life.

It is. But it can be a great deal more as well.

That’s why I blog.

Thank you for listening. I owe you a great deal.

On owning our own home

Reality is starting to hit home that we may never own our own home; a fact I am frequently reminded of when a cold caller interrupts my day and asks if I am the homeowner. I’m not, so he (it’s usually a he) can’t sell me anything, but more than once the caller has then asked if he can speak to one of my parents, as if I am a teenager, or about twelve years old.

I am, in fact, nearly 40. *shudder* Homeownership has never been high on my list of priorities; there have been many more pressing challenges in life to deal with first. But as I’ve grown up and caught up on a lot of lost time, I’d now like the responsibility of owning my own property and the financial security that offers for the future, rather than paying to live in a home which is very nice but which isn’t mine.

So I now feel ready for the house, the mortgage, the car and the retirement policy, but it suddenly feels as if I have been left behind. As if I have left it too late.

So when Homebase told me about their current range of sofas and dining room furniture, I wondered if we’ll ever own more than just our furniture. If we’d ever own the four walls we live in too.

IJ is imagining us in a tudor-style house (pictured above). Who knows what lies just around the corner but I’d say the roof on that house looks dodgy.

This post was created in partnership with Homebase.

Harmless attention seeking or something more?

The first time I saw a friend at school with a plaster cast on her arm, I remember being fascinated. I didn’t know anything about broken arms so seeing how they were mended seemed strange yet intriguing at the same time.

I secretly wished I had a cast too. I liked the idea of the whole class swarming around me with their felt tip pens eager to sign it and leave supportive messages. I suspect I secretly wanted to receive that same level of attention.

Now IJ is the same age I was then and she is looking at a friend with a broken arm in the same way I did. She has said she would quite like to have a broken arm too, although she doesn’t seem to understand it really would hurt.

But she does have a scab on her arm from falling over in the playground. She’s got tangled up in a skipping rope one lunch hour while playing with friends.

Yesterday she had planned to arrive at school with her arm covered in tissue. She’d picked the scab and had created her own cast with a white tissue. Thankfully the small wound healed quickly and she forgot about the tissue.

Was she simply wanting to appear injured like her friend or is she really in need of some additional attention?

I’m at a slight loss here.

Photo credit.

Mummy, sad people don't eat

Sitting down for dinner this evening IJ remarked that sad people do not eat.

It threw me off kilter and set alarms bells ringing. Immediately I knew we needed to have a conversation I’d put off for some time; a conversation we should have had well before now, because children are incredibly perceptive. And when there are only two people in one household, the behaviour of each party rarely goes unnoticed.

But in the past I had wimped out and brushed the subject of food and eating under the carpet. The pair of us talk about anything and everything, and have done for some time, but when it comes my eating habits at least, I’ve haven’t been quite so open.

Anorexia is not a word a seven year old needs to know. On the whole it is part of my past – a large part of my part - and something I know we will discuss in detail one day, but I have been kidding myself about the number of times over the last few years when I have slipped back, if only for a day or two, and assumed she has not noticed.

I haven’t wanted to burden her with adult issues she is not emotionally equipped to handle but by not saying anything it has led her to believe that sad people don’t eat. Without realising it I have given her permission not to eat when she is sad too, which is a dangerous thought pattern for any child to be developing.

So we’ve had a talk about how people cope when they are sad. The words ‘eating disorder’ have not been used but she now understands that some people eat more when they are sad, some people eat less and for others their eating isn’t affected at all. I’ve explained that the important thing is to say how you feel rather than focusing on food or anything else.

It might be a little premature to be talking about relationships with food but the outcome of not talking, in our case, could have been far worse.

I do worry for girls (and boys) growing up in today’s society. I hope IJ doesn’t feel the pressure too much to be thin. Today has proved a reminder to me to continue having these conversations with her about life and growing up, and to remember I’m her most influential role model.

Whatever I do, she will do too, if she wants to. Some days there’s no harm in being reminded of that.

If you are a family coping with anorexia, my Brit Mums article offers 14 tips I hope will help.

Photo credit.

The one where I steal another blogger's idea

As we’ve both been struck down with a stomach bug for a few days which is possibly the result of consuming too many Easter eggs has come completely out of the blue, I’ve made no effort to come up with a unique idea for a blog post. Instead I’ve stolen the idea for this post from NotSupermum who recently wrote about the things she has said to her daughters this week.

In my defence, Your Honor, I did write a post previously along the same lines, although it was probably stolen from someone else too.

As listing the things I’ve said to my daughter this week would result in a repetitive list involving such statements as no you can’t have chocolate for breakfast,  I’m listing the things my daughter has said to me this week instead.

• You’re not my mother
• I don’t want you be scared mummy but I think I can see some teenagers
• Who is Kate Middleton?
• Is Santa watching?
• I think you should have two husbands
• I’d rather go and play at Granny and Grandpa’s house
• Can I borrow your bank account details?
• I am the boss
• I don't think I should be watching Britney Spears
• I’ve written my Christmas list

It’s clearly a mother-daughter relationship based on mutual love and respect, not one where one seven-year-old girl thinks she knows best and is under the impression she is in charge.

Photo credit ilco with help from Picnik.