Softness: The New Strong

As August draws to a close, I find myself affected by the change that is all around us, and this year is no different.  I have never been a fan of autumn; it seems to me to be the season that most marks out the fleeting nature of our lives; underlines most clearly that ‘all things must pass’.  In years gone by it has signaled the start of the fight to survive winter, both psychologically and to some extent physically, but that too has changed.  I no longer dread the descent to depression that made the winter months a battle, alongside the struggle against physical illness.

I've also been reflecting on my life as the new academic year approaches.  I have time for such ponderings, which is a lovely indulgence.  In a weeks’ time I will be living very much in the moment: lists and dates will rule my life.  For the present I have empty days to enjoy.  It hasn't always been like this, of course, and it needn't be now.  I have a garden full of weeds and a spare room and bathroom that both need a coat of paint.  I could make myself a list of jobs to fill these last precious days so I return to my workplace ‘in apple pie order’.   I do have a list though, a list I wrote at the beginning of the summer holidays and I have just two more items to complete and that’s my summer jobs done.  If I make myself another list, then another, at what point will I stop and think ‘is this ok’?  I won’t, and the return to the workplace will be on adrenalin and fear, and three weeks into term I’ll have to sleep through an entire weekend to fight the bugs that have found my immune system weaker than those around me.  I’ll wake up shaky tired, wondering how it got this bad.

So this is what those self-help books call ‘self-love’; caring for yourself and identifying your own needs.  The sort of things which friends, both good and well meaning, and those who think they are, tell you are important.  I’ve said it myself to grey eyed middle-aged women I love dearly, as they sag, limp with exhaustion, from the demands of the mind that ticks incessantly behind those eyes.  The trouble is there is so often a higher force driving that mind, so that the words fall on stony ground.  How we work out what is important in our lives is one of those questions we only return to when life gets tough.  Psychologists have written extensively; therapists make comfortable livings from those challenged; doctors hand out tablets to others who’d rather not face it; supermarkets take lots of our money giving us what we think is important and mid-life crises are largely made up of those unable to face the trials.  My battle with those demons is well documented.  Being something of a perfectionist, I have struggled with the validity of my existence.

My ex-husband’s departure from my life has been very traumatic.  Accepting that I had a role to play in that departure was challenging, but I can see now that the life we led was not conducive to my long term welfare.  I was sitting in the garden of my friends’ house last week, a warm sunset was descending over the empty fields around us in their little bit of south west France, having a somewhat paternal chat about my new man who had come with me for their inspection.  Having known me more than 25 years, these friends have long ago proved themselves to be in the ‘best interests’ category of friends, rather than the ‘for as long as you fit my needs’ group.  They were fond of my ex-husband, and may well have contact with him now, but would be too adult to ripple my happiness with such truths.  They would not see him and me in competition for their friendship.  But my happiness is important in its own right so I was asked if I was happy with my boyfriend, and I replied, truthfully, that I am very happy.  The comment was made that the man is an ok sort, and approval, such as it was, was given.  This was followed by chat about the ex, and it was suggested gently that I was better off without him.  Not in a comparative or aggressive way, just a truth laid before me.  And as the bats whirled in the diminishing light and, as a glorious pale pink moon rose quickly above the maize and sunflower fields, I agreed ‘Yes, I am better off without him, and I’d never thought I’d say it and mean it, but I do’

So back here in Blighty, how do I turn that holiday moment into something I can take with me as the leaves die and the nights lengthen?  Then I remembered writing a list of things that I had learnt since my ex-husband left.  That was very much a list despite him, an ‘I Will Survive’ list.  So I thought about how I live my life now and what things are important to me, or not important to me.  It was a hard list to write because actually he has so little relevance to me now.  He is important only because he is absent in our children’s’ lives.   That selfishness irritates me, and to the outsider it could appear that I use my children as a vehicle for my own battle.  But nothing could be further from the truth.  It’s strange he is only 8 miles away and I have no idea how he lives his life, but as others’ have predicted, I just don’t really think about him much.  He was part of my life for more than twenty years, so most of my adult memories are bound up with him.  A lot of those memories are happy ones; but those and the pain of what he did to me have faded.  Indeed, even the lies he told me and the disregard he had for me are of little consequence in my day to day life. So here we are: 10 Things that don’t matter to me, OR matter to me more since the Absent Father left.  You might want to work out which is which, when it isn't obvious, of course.

1    The organisation of the spice cupboard: has to be alphabetical, A at the back, and all the labels have to be facing forward.
2    Washing clothes on a Sunday.
3    The presence of a respectable bottle of fizzy wine in the fridge at all times
- And beer in bottles that guests would like
- And decent white wine
Good job it’s quite a big fridge really.

4   When the car was last washed.  Actually it’s never mattered to me, just I felt guilty and failing if my car wasn't up to his standards.  I do take it to the East Europeans every so often, but when it suits me.
5   Soft Saturdays.  Oh, the big one – ‘Wasting the Day’.  The children still have so many issues about the demands of weekends when their father was around.  I couldn't do Soft Saturdays every week, but unplanned joy being in your pyjamas at 2pm having drunk cups of tea, chatting over prawn crackers at 11am. To just be ok that it isn’t all descending into chaos that others will judge is a great release.  It’s about tolerance and acceptance, the things he didn't have, and concluding from the radio silence he practises with his children, still doesn't.
6   Having my next hair and beauty appointments booked before I pay for the current treatment.
7   Spending money on decent:
-  Make-up
-  Moisturiser
-  Clothes
8    Hanging onto clothes that could be considered ‘posh’ but do not suit me.
9    My children.
10  My friends.