Treading Water

I’ve been here before. Unable to make it work. Overwhelmed by the debris of daily life, swallowed by both the details and the larger picture.

All this hatred and contempt makes me wonder how to guide my Muslim children into adulthood here in this atmosphere of intense malevolence. I want to run, but where? How do I protect them?

This country is degenerating. Is it? Or was it always like this and I didn’t know? The shield of my whiteness has lowered and all I see is pain and injustice and a deep, deep commitment to maintaining a hierarchy of racial oppression.

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The fight against misogyny and racism is so enormous, so much bigger than me, all I can do is offer it to God. Somewhere I read ‘God is my inexhaustible resource’. I read about a man who had seven versions of himself. I need to be seven. In the minutiae of my daily life it is hard to get the dishes washed or the clothes dry or something healthy cooked and ready for eating. We ate Indomie last week, that’s a register of how my house is falling into neglect. I cannot do everything, I cannot be everything.

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These are the times when I am all ideals with little application. Homelife feels like chaos. I’m seriously contemplating school. The questions I ask myself are

do I get a formal divorce?
are there any clean pants?
what is rotting in the back of the fridge?
will my baby be ok?
how do I guide my sons towards a healthy masculinity?
is crying in the car worse than being forward facing?
can I get up and pray without waking him up?
will Ramadan tip me over the edge?
are we looking down the barrel of a holocaust?
will I be able to cook dinner?
what is the real ‘Feminine?’
will I ever ‘know’ God?
am I making a mess of it?
should I try and get a ‘real’ job?
why is my arthritis flaring?
is this my fault?

and so on

All day, every day.

who am I?
why do other people not question themselves the way I do?
am I strong or self-pitying?
do I know what I am doing?
is homeschooling a mistake?
am I ruining them?

treader

I’ve been here before and I’ve learned to ‘chop wood and carry water’…be still and be carried. I turn to one small patch of my corner and give it my full attention. This small thing I will do well. I’m sitting quietly nourishing him at the breast, he breathes in and out, the curl of his hair wrapped around my finger. I am only one but I can still give it all I have, whatever I do I can choose to do in love.

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I’ve been here before and I know the days turn quickly. In my country there are people of beauty and goodness, soon my baby will be running and talking and I will make bread and soup.

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I am not a failure, I am just stretched thin.
I am not alone in it, this is our modern world. We are mothers, fractured, carrying weights that were once carried by many..we do it side by side, we do our best.

Joyful Mess

I talk about mess a lot. I guess for people who don’t have children or who haven’t been made responsible for a household mess it must seem kind of boring and irrelevant but for those of us who have been immersed in a life in which mess has become an

Enormous. Central. Factor of existence

it’s definitely relevant, it’s something we can’t get away from, it simply never ends.

floor

I’m a tidy person, my preference is definitely for things to be clean. Even in my student slum housing days I took a lot of pride in creating a beautiful home space, it’s just something I love. My Mum too always created a lovely home so I probably inherited it from her, I’m grateful for the effort she put into our home environment. There are various reasons why I can’t stay on top of the mess in my house though so it never remains in the state I feel comfortable with but rather than going into those causes I want to talk about how I cope with how things are.

Mess makes me feel anxious, if you aren’t this kind of person you can stop reading now!

I’m a highly visually stimulated person, I’m in touch with what it is about my environment that I enjoy and what it is that bothers me. The ways things LOOK matters to me because it impacts my psychological state. So conversations about roles and gender norms and women and housework only matter to me up to a point, in the end it is ME that requires a clean, organised and beautiful home. It is what I strive for but I simply can’t achieve.

So where’s the joy in mess?

It comes down to priorities. I tried for years to stay on top of it and tore my hair out failing. Who did what and when and how was also a highly contested and charged topic during my marriage. So mess brought with it a whole myriad of negative emotions for a while. It is why I came up with the term matriarchal homemaking. I have learned to discover what I do want through what I don’t want. I know what I can do through what I can’t do.

I’d love a clean and peaceful and beautiful house but the experience of family togetherness, of creative shared endeavours, of love and learning together, travelling places together, eating healthy time intensive foods, caring for the environment, mentoring and guiding the children through adolescence, these things are all more important, they are a higher priority.

joy
out and about having a picnic whilst ignoring the abysmal disastrous mess at home

And above and beyond dealing with the negative reactions and expectations of folk who are still attitudinally immersed somewhere in the nineteen fifties I had to come to terms with my own attitudes towards MYSELF about mess. I had to let go of trying to control my environment.

I still want to come up with strategies to make things easier, I still prefer the idea of a house that doesn’t look like it’s being squatted in by a horde of feral elephants but I know it’s going to remain just that, an idea, for at least another ten years and I am ok with that….I think….I hope.

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learning to knit, crafting, handwork, simple meditative togetherness, it’s all more important. 

So embracing joyful mess is what allows me to do things like spontaneous Summer Solstice happenings. I literally trod over boxes of unpacked fruit interspersed with clean washing that had somehow been dragged into the hallway in order to get outside and bask in the sun. I’ll spare you photo’s of our underwear interspersed with carrots and Bok Choy.

Priorities.

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Mess is joyful when it enables us to be. It’s as simple as that…