I woke up after having another dream that involved a man I used to know. He was lovely. We met briefly in 2001 in Tokyo. He was from there but lived and worked in the US. I was from Europe but lived and worked there. I was convinced that I could not date a Japanese man. Ever. They were too strange, too intense, too different. They weren't my type. They were too short. Well, this one was tall. In my twenties, I was convinced that I had a type. I also wasn't ready to settle down, even theoretically, in my head. Most of all, I was way too involved with someone very bad and very wrong for me at that very time. I was convinced that he was the one and made any excuses for him, waited for us to be happily ever after. So some nice blokes weren't considered because I thought I have met the one. I forgot them and I forgot the bad boy. But somehow, I never forgot the Japanese one.
The truth is, he didn't stay in Tokyo for long. We kept in touch over mails and phone. He did go back to Tokyo but I wasn't there when he was. Then, few years later, he got sent back to Japan by his company. He was a little disappointed, he did hope to stay in the US for longer, but Japanese work ethic is very strong, so he went back and carried on working. And as he settled again in his home land my time in Tokyo was up and I moved back to Europe. He was optimistic. He hoped that I would use his bonus miles and fly to holiday with him. But I was working and travelling in Europe and our schedules never allowed it. He did have some business trips to Europe, but again, nothing close enough to me. Plus, with his strict work ethic, he just wouldn't prolong his trip and take few days off for himself. I assumed that he just lived in a dream, he had an idea of what he wanted from me and believed I was it, but never really learnt who I really was. For me, I liked to be liked, and I did enjoy talking to him, but I didn't believe we had any future.
Then I met my husband. I moved to the UK. He told me he does travel to the UK sometimes. But he also politely wished me happiness and good luck and stopped writing, because I told him I was engaged now. And as a true gentleman, he wouldn't flirt with a woman who was to marry someone else. It was a strange little story, only possible at the time and age of easy travel and internet.
The funny thing is, I struggle to remember much about men I was with, I don't care about most of them, but I have never forgotten him. I would love to know what had happened to him, how his life went, how he is now. Not for romantic reasons, I would love to have him as a friend. And now, when husband and I went through a rough time with some arguments and fights, I keep thinking if I have made a mistake. If I should have taken the big step, give him a chance, and see what would happen. Of course, if true attraction was there, I am sure I would have go for it back then. It would be so romantic. And if we did stay together, we would have our own rough patches and difficult time and fights and I would feel lonely and isolated in Japan, a country so different and so far from what feels familiar and comfortable... It is a mind game.
The thing is, when it comes to men and relationships, I am done. I sometimes say to dear husband that he cured me of men forever. I would rather become a crazy cat lady, if we were to part ways, than look for someone else. I don't believe that the grass is greener elsewhere, I don't believe that a perfect man exists. So, when the mood is nostalgic and I feel sad, I rather look at the past and live of my memories then to search for Mr right. And the only person that can provide any sense of illusion and wonder is surely the one that got away. I never saw his flaws, never knew his bad side, never argued with him. Who knows, he may be a truly horrible person. But when I am angry or frustrated, it is nice to mutter: oh, if only I did leave for Tokyo with a one way ticket, it would have show you! You would never have met me!!
But, interestingly, I do dream about this Japanese man every now and then. Sometimes he is older, sometimes he is the same he was all the time ago. Usually he is quite cross with me for leaving him for other. It is all as innocent as it was back then. I enjoy my dreams about us. I also enjoy being back in Tokyo in the dreams. Does it mean something more than what it really is - my mind tiding up, which is what happens when we sleep?? Who knows. I wouldn't mention it to husband, he doesn't know about him anyway, so it is my sweet little secret. When I wake up after my Japanese dreams, I am happy, as if I have met with a very good friend. It feels like I can pack my bag and travel across the world without any worry about childcare or who will pay for it. It puts smile on my face...
Wednesday 4 July 2018
Thursday 14 June 2018
Ageing, Body Image and Me
In my early thirties I realised I no longer cared whether I was the prettiest/slimmest/tallest/best looking girl in the room. I didn't care whether I was more popular then others, more noticed, whether I was generally more popular or better at things. I would walk into a gym and not scan the room for potential rivals. I was happy in my own skin, happy with my life. And I felt relief when I realised that I don't care what other think or see because I am fine with myself as I am.
OK, being in the modelling industry earlier didn't help to automatically scrutinise and care way too much about how I looked. Looking at the generation living mostly through their online avatars, it was way easier in the years before internet, really, and I am quietly grateful for that.
I was lucky enough to enter the thirties in great shape and condition. Motherhood and life in general changed that a little. I changed. Not drastically, but I do look different. So that confidence I had is gone. I assumed that I will be top fit after having my baby as being a mum means having time to do some work out and look after myself, right? All I can say to my pre-baby self is: HA HA. No, not going out to work does not mean MORE time, it means no time for yourself. But I also don't fuss as much as I would years ago. Just yesterday my dentist started talking about how much progress was done in teeth straightening and how he could still help my slightly crooked tooth. What was a major interest in my twenties (when that crooked tooth lost jobs in the glory days of modelling) seemed like a very extravagant expense and, frankly, waste of time. Will it help in any other way than cosmetic? No? Than it is not needed. I would rather save three grands. I am healthy and that is all that matters.
But as I am settling in the forties now, I feel weird. There are things that seem like betrayal from body that served me so well until now. Chin hair. Two lines between my eyebrows. A sense that the skin on my face and decollete isn't as firm as it used to be. The general feeling that nothing is as firm as it used to be. Few grey hair. It is nothing, really. I am in a good shape, I can not complain and when my GP suddenly insisted on checking my health post 40 I felt offended. There is no change to me now and last year and it seemed like a scheme to get me on the statins so the pharmaceutical industry can finally get some profit of me. I refused, I know I am not overweight, blood pressure is fine etc.
In my twenties and thirties I always worked with what I had and assumed it will only get better. In my forties I continue to work with what I have but now I am not sure that it will get any better and it makes me feel worried. Not because of vanity but because I have to face the fact that my body will slowly age and eventually it will die and decay. We assume that it won't happen to us, don't we? We are surrounded by ageing people, by sickness and death and we know that we are mortal but there is a little corner in our head that believes we will live forever, stay young forever, keep going forever. Funny how the mind works.
I was very arrogant when I was young. I would look at women and assume that they don't care, let themselves go, don't have good taste. It is not true. Being perfect doesn't mean perfect life. There are more important things. Once you are settled with a partner that loves you for who you are you don't think that looking great will help you, other things take priority. There is nothing wrong with our body showing what it has been through - scars, stretch marks, cellulite... Shaving off your body hair is not necessary. Seeing the real colour of your hair is interesting and it actually suits you even with few grey strands in it. Stomach without defined muscles and legs without thigh gap are beautiful. Having a healthy child and happy home, doing something you enjoy, having good friends, experience things is more important now. There is so much more to life. I wish I could have enjoyed the young stage more without constantly trying to fit some ideal. I am not even sure where the ideal came from.
Again, starting up with modelling around sixteen didn't help. Most of us were told that we are fat, too fat the moment our booker would measure us, while our mothers and aunties and GPs were telling us to eat more. There was also a feeling that looking a certain way would bring me more attention from men and help me to find the right one. How stupid. A little Cinderella syndrome I think. In all fairy tales the beautiful princess is the centre of attention and gets her prince. Now I wonder how easy it is to exploit women, create insecurities that live in their heads, profit of them and use them. Men exploit it, women support it instead of finding sisterhood and quitting competing. I have so much to learn my daughter. I just hope that I will find the right way to show her and right words to tell her...
OK, being in the modelling industry earlier didn't help to automatically scrutinise and care way too much about how I looked. Looking at the generation living mostly through their online avatars, it was way easier in the years before internet, really, and I am quietly grateful for that.
I was lucky enough to enter the thirties in great shape and condition. Motherhood and life in general changed that a little. I changed. Not drastically, but I do look different. So that confidence I had is gone. I assumed that I will be top fit after having my baby as being a mum means having time to do some work out and look after myself, right? All I can say to my pre-baby self is: HA HA. No, not going out to work does not mean MORE time, it means no time for yourself. But I also don't fuss as much as I would years ago. Just yesterday my dentist started talking about how much progress was done in teeth straightening and how he could still help my slightly crooked tooth. What was a major interest in my twenties (when that crooked tooth lost jobs in the glory days of modelling) seemed like a very extravagant expense and, frankly, waste of time. Will it help in any other way than cosmetic? No? Than it is not needed. I would rather save three grands. I am healthy and that is all that matters.
But as I am settling in the forties now, I feel weird. There are things that seem like betrayal from body that served me so well until now. Chin hair. Two lines between my eyebrows. A sense that the skin on my face and decollete isn't as firm as it used to be. The general feeling that nothing is as firm as it used to be. Few grey hair. It is nothing, really. I am in a good shape, I can not complain and when my GP suddenly insisted on checking my health post 40 I felt offended. There is no change to me now and last year and it seemed like a scheme to get me on the statins so the pharmaceutical industry can finally get some profit of me. I refused, I know I am not overweight, blood pressure is fine etc.
In my twenties and thirties I always worked with what I had and assumed it will only get better. In my forties I continue to work with what I have but now I am not sure that it will get any better and it makes me feel worried. Not because of vanity but because I have to face the fact that my body will slowly age and eventually it will die and decay. We assume that it won't happen to us, don't we? We are surrounded by ageing people, by sickness and death and we know that we are mortal but there is a little corner in our head that believes we will live forever, stay young forever, keep going forever. Funny how the mind works.
I was very arrogant when I was young. I would look at women and assume that they don't care, let themselves go, don't have good taste. It is not true. Being perfect doesn't mean perfect life. There are more important things. Once you are settled with a partner that loves you for who you are you don't think that looking great will help you, other things take priority. There is nothing wrong with our body showing what it has been through - scars, stretch marks, cellulite... Shaving off your body hair is not necessary. Seeing the real colour of your hair is interesting and it actually suits you even with few grey strands in it. Stomach without defined muscles and legs without thigh gap are beautiful. Having a healthy child and happy home, doing something you enjoy, having good friends, experience things is more important now. There is so much more to life. I wish I could have enjoyed the young stage more without constantly trying to fit some ideal. I am not even sure where the ideal came from.
Again, starting up with modelling around sixteen didn't help. Most of us were told that we are fat, too fat the moment our booker would measure us, while our mothers and aunties and GPs were telling us to eat more. There was also a feeling that looking a certain way would bring me more attention from men and help me to find the right one. How stupid. A little Cinderella syndrome I think. In all fairy tales the beautiful princess is the centre of attention and gets her prince. Now I wonder how easy it is to exploit women, create insecurities that live in their heads, profit of them and use them. Men exploit it, women support it instead of finding sisterhood and quitting competing. I have so much to learn my daughter. I just hope that I will find the right way to show her and right words to tell her...
Tuesday 8 May 2018
The Perfection For Me
It took me a long time to accept that reaching the perfect amount of family members - mainly the number of kids- is something out of my power. There are people who have children more or less by accident, maybe with different partners, and just go along blending their ever changing family. There are also people who methodically plan each offspring together with house moves, holidays, and career progress. And those kids appear as planned.
Then there are people like me. People who aren't sure they will ever marry, almost hope they won't, and then they do. People, who don't know if they will manage to have a child. People who struggle to conceive but also think that if it never happens, that's fine, life will go on. The pressure comes mainly from want to be grandparents and friends from group number two, who demand others to have their plans coordinated with theirs as it makes socializing so much easier (plus they can see for themselves that their parenting method is really the best).
And then, one day, child number one arrives. The pregnancy finally works out, all goes well and the baby is here. Everybody is happy for you. They give you few months of peace before they start questioning when is the next baby coming. I was different after my child was born. Before parenthood, I did want a baby but I also thought that if it isn't meant to happen naturally, I will accept it as a fact and move on. But once we were aproaching first birthday something shifted, probably the dreaded clock started ticking, or the hormones took over, I really really wanted another child or two (preferably two as my mother and most 'perfect parents' friends had two and kept reminding me how super simple my life is, so three would give me the winning strike back). Even knowing how hard labour was, and terribly sleep deprived, I just wanted more... I also assumed that after difficulties before our first baby it would now go smoothly, because we were so lucky...
I had one miscarriage before my child was born and it took me long time to get pregnant again. After my child was born I did manage to get pregnant faster. But it led to three miscarriages in less than a year. With the first I thought: well, it happend before and then it worked out. It happened while we were travelling and I felt bad for not being able to be more careful, disciplined etc. Of course it would have happened anyway if it wasn't meant to be. The second time I thought: maybe second time means one more before it gets better? To be honest, it was a strange episode of prolonged bleeding and repeated visits to a very unhelpfull GP who kept offering me contraception to 'sort the cycle issue' without listening to my story or bothering to make sure there isn't some serious issue. When she repeated blood test for pregnancy hormones and saw that levels are falling week on week, she wished me good luck over my phone as if it was nothing. Being pregnant the third time gave me such pleasure! We just moved house. My first baby was conceived shortly after moving, too. The due date of my first one was near my birthday. The due date of this one was close to my husband's birthday. It is meant to happen this time, I thought. But it didn't happen. It ended shortly before the first scan. And this time, it took a long time to get over. Looking back, I believe I was depressed for most of 2016. I was low. My husband was devastated. And we both felt that we can't keep going like that. Charting, trying, hoping. Most of all, even though we wanted another child, we both couldn't face another loss like that.
So much was written about the lack of support for early miscarriages. I could write and talk without end. People who didn't experience it will never understand, people who did will never believe it was as bad as it was for them.... But to justify a family of three as a thing that is simply what it is is also hard. People are meant to marry and have children. Children, not a child. Even people close to us who knew about our struggles with conceiving our first baby would casually ask about next babies, even say that we didn't struggle more than average. Easy to see it that way if you never experienced it. We decided not to share our later issues widely. And with time, when the clouds in my mind cleared and I realized that being sad and unwell isn't great for my child, I thought it is time to accept and make a closure. If an accident happens and miracle occures, fine, but no more trying, no more pressure, no more pain. We are a family, all three of us. And once I got myself used to the idea I felt a strong sense of relief. I don't have to worry about many things. As my child grows I have more time to do things I like and enjoy and my energy can go into projects that are like babies to me, too.
By the end of last year, when child started reception, I was ready for our next step and filled our home with animals. I brought two budgies first, which my husband didn't want but now enjoys. They were supposed to sustain us while we search for our ideal dog. But as luck would have it we found our ideal dog only two months later. And having a puppy is so much like having another baby, it is not even funny. Sleepless nights, poo issues, health and safety.... But there we are. There is room for more but if it doesn't happen, it is fine. Life is good, we are a family of six if you count all souls under our roof (and accept that all being have souls).
When we travel I feel lucky, as big families mean lots of luaggage, full hands, stress, and at least one grumpy and/or screaming child. One of us has always a free hand and we can split and one can read a book for a while. Same goes for every day life. Being a parent of 'only' one child isn't selfish, it isn't a failure, it is great. It has its pluses and minuses, as does any other way your life works out. If we were still only the two of us, we would have a very different life, but it would be great in its own way, too. If more of my pregnancies worked out, it too would be very great. But to find a balance and acceptance and the good in the lot we were given in the lottery of life is truly very much the greatest.
Then there are people like me. People who aren't sure they will ever marry, almost hope they won't, and then they do. People, who don't know if they will manage to have a child. People who struggle to conceive but also think that if it never happens, that's fine, life will go on. The pressure comes mainly from want to be grandparents and friends from group number two, who demand others to have their plans coordinated with theirs as it makes socializing so much easier (plus they can see for themselves that their parenting method is really the best).
And then, one day, child number one arrives. The pregnancy finally works out, all goes well and the baby is here. Everybody is happy for you. They give you few months of peace before they start questioning when is the next baby coming. I was different after my child was born. Before parenthood, I did want a baby but I also thought that if it isn't meant to happen naturally, I will accept it as a fact and move on. But once we were aproaching first birthday something shifted, probably the dreaded clock started ticking, or the hormones took over, I really really wanted another child or two (preferably two as my mother and most 'perfect parents' friends had two and kept reminding me how super simple my life is, so three would give me the winning strike back). Even knowing how hard labour was, and terribly sleep deprived, I just wanted more... I also assumed that after difficulties before our first baby it would now go smoothly, because we were so lucky...
I had one miscarriage before my child was born and it took me long time to get pregnant again. After my child was born I did manage to get pregnant faster. But it led to three miscarriages in less than a year. With the first I thought: well, it happend before and then it worked out. It happened while we were travelling and I felt bad for not being able to be more careful, disciplined etc. Of course it would have happened anyway if it wasn't meant to be. The second time I thought: maybe second time means one more before it gets better? To be honest, it was a strange episode of prolonged bleeding and repeated visits to a very unhelpfull GP who kept offering me contraception to 'sort the cycle issue' without listening to my story or bothering to make sure there isn't some serious issue. When she repeated blood test for pregnancy hormones and saw that levels are falling week on week, she wished me good luck over my phone as if it was nothing. Being pregnant the third time gave me such pleasure! We just moved house. My first baby was conceived shortly after moving, too. The due date of my first one was near my birthday. The due date of this one was close to my husband's birthday. It is meant to happen this time, I thought. But it didn't happen. It ended shortly before the first scan. And this time, it took a long time to get over. Looking back, I believe I was depressed for most of 2016. I was low. My husband was devastated. And we both felt that we can't keep going like that. Charting, trying, hoping. Most of all, even though we wanted another child, we both couldn't face another loss like that.
So much was written about the lack of support for early miscarriages. I could write and talk without end. People who didn't experience it will never understand, people who did will never believe it was as bad as it was for them.... But to justify a family of three as a thing that is simply what it is is also hard. People are meant to marry and have children. Children, not a child. Even people close to us who knew about our struggles with conceiving our first baby would casually ask about next babies, even say that we didn't struggle more than average. Easy to see it that way if you never experienced it. We decided not to share our later issues widely. And with time, when the clouds in my mind cleared and I realized that being sad and unwell isn't great for my child, I thought it is time to accept and make a closure. If an accident happens and miracle occures, fine, but no more trying, no more pressure, no more pain. We are a family, all three of us. And once I got myself used to the idea I felt a strong sense of relief. I don't have to worry about many things. As my child grows I have more time to do things I like and enjoy and my energy can go into projects that are like babies to me, too.
By the end of last year, when child started reception, I was ready for our next step and filled our home with animals. I brought two budgies first, which my husband didn't want but now enjoys. They were supposed to sustain us while we search for our ideal dog. But as luck would have it we found our ideal dog only two months later. And having a puppy is so much like having another baby, it is not even funny. Sleepless nights, poo issues, health and safety.... But there we are. There is room for more but if it doesn't happen, it is fine. Life is good, we are a family of six if you count all souls under our roof (and accept that all being have souls).
When we travel I feel lucky, as big families mean lots of luaggage, full hands, stress, and at least one grumpy and/or screaming child. One of us has always a free hand and we can split and one can read a book for a while. Same goes for every day life. Being a parent of 'only' one child isn't selfish, it isn't a failure, it is great. It has its pluses and minuses, as does any other way your life works out. If we were still only the two of us, we would have a very different life, but it would be great in its own way, too. If more of my pregnancies worked out, it too would be very great. But to find a balance and acceptance and the good in the lot we were given in the lottery of life is truly very much the greatest.
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