To the woman sitting alone in her empty house Full of memories and mementos, wondering where it all went wrong, I was you. To the young girl crying her eyes out in the office bathroom, staring at herself In the mirror, not recognizing the person staring back at her With bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks, I understand. To the tired mother, using her last strength to dress and feed and play with her kids When she hasn’t eaten or had a decent shower in days, I have been there. To the friend that needs comforting and can’t control the tears from flowing, Feeling as if everything is falling apart, You will be okay. It doesn’t matter how strong you feel you need to be or how tired you are and How many times you need to start over, I want you to know that This too shall pass.
Okay, this book was difficult to read. As a mother and as a woman, I found myself gasping, cringing, feeling sad and heartbroken, feeling angry and frustrated. I experienced disbelief and a whole lot of other emotions that caught me by surprise. I’m not sure what I expected when I picked up this book but what I found was definitely not it.
Without giving too much away, I’ll provide a short summary.
Frida Liu is a young mother accused of neglecting and abandoning her young child. She is then sent to a school which is meant to retrain ‘bad mothers’ into becoming the best and most attentive mothers in human existence. (I’m being a bit sarcastic here and once you read the book, especially if you are a mother, I’m sure you will understand why.)
The training and exercises these mothers at the school go through are something else; I found myself frowning and saying “huh?” on many occasions while reading.
‘I am a bad mother but I am learning to be good’
An excerpt from the book.
There is so much I can say and want to say about how this book made me feel; when I got to the last chapter, I was in tears.
In a way this book highlights the unrealistic expectations society has when it comes to mothers. Don’t get me wrong, motherhood and children are a gift for women who want it, but it’s a very difficult journey to be on.
In the book, mothers are expected to always be aware of everything around them, never turn their eyes away from their children for a second, be able to soothe their babies by using the correct language and words and physical affection, be able to effectively comfort their children and provide quick, healthy meals and stimulate their minds all the while not losing their own heads.
In a nutshell; it’s a lot.
The thing is, mothers can do all the above but unlike the children in the book, we are not robots. We need a break and we are not always emotionally available for our children or spouses or partners. We won’t always cook healthy dinners and sometimes we want to shut down and be left alone and that is perfectly normal and should be acceptable.
Our own kids are 6 and 8 years old now; they have an abundance of energy which I don’t. There is always something that needs to be done. Laundry needs to be washed and folded and packed away, school lunches need to be made, shopping needs to be done, toys have to be picked up and put away, children need to be disciplined. All the while you are trying to think of the 20 things you need to remember, you are thinking about work, you are checking the time, you are trying to engage in conversations, you are trying to be a good wife and then you need to remember to take care of yourself; have a bath, drink your coffee, fall asleep.
You will fall short somewhere.
We were never made to be perfect.
The guilt and pressure mothers are put under is also a prominent theme in this book; not only by society but by family and surprisingly other mothers too. The pressure can become so crippling, that it becomes life-threatening.
As a mom myself, I’ve been judged, criticized, told what I’m doing wrong, what I should be doing and how I should be doing it. I’ve also compared myself to other moms and it made me feel like the worst person in the world. I’ve been told to plan ahead, prepare dinners, clothing, activities, grocery lists, an endless number of things that I am meant to remember and take care off. Being a parent is difficult but there’s a different kind of hardship that comes with motherhood. Sometimes it’s unrealistic and you have homes where there are two parents and both contribute equally but I think as women, we tend to put ourselves under pressure and that pressure is amplified when you become a mom. Especially when you have a full-time job, a side hustle, a marriage, children. When you do catch your breath long enough to tick something off your to-do list, it feels like a miracle, that’s if you remembered to write your to-do list!
Yes, I know. It sounds like I am venting and maybe I am a little. Reading this book might unlock feelings on the inside of you, that you never even thought you had. Some of those feelings you might not be ready to face.
Something else which stands out for me in this novel is how different the ‘bad fathers’ are treated at the school, which I will call, ‘parenting rehab facility’
The differences are like night and day, which again angered me a little because moms are not always extended the grace which they deserve.
I think the overwhelming message in this book is how one small mistake can change your entire life. The book is about a mother who needs to make decisions which are painful and difficult but she makes them and she doesn’t always make the right ones.
It’s also about regret and how it can hold you back but its also about forgiveness; forgiving others but also forgiving yourself for mistakes you made when you didn’t know better.
All in all, it was an amazing read. I could probably write pages and pages of analysis but I want you to experience this book and make sense of it on your own.
we are shaped by our experiences but we can choose how to live out those experiences. We choose how to live, we choose whether we give up or go on. We choose to forgive.
life demands of you to be intentional; intentional about your actions, your energy, your focus, your thoughts and emotions.
It hasn’t been easy but it has been fulfilling
love is one of the most if not the most powerful source of hope we have on this earth
Its not just okay to live as your authentic self, its absolutely necessary.
do not fear. do not tremble. do not question or second guess
These hard, tiring and busy days won’t last.
Your ability to nurture, love, care and encourage is God-given.
break out of the mould you created for yourself with all the things you thought you knew
I hope you relinquish all expectations you had of yourself for this next season and simply enjoy being alive.
Even if it fails, at least you know that you tried.
We all have a place in our minds where we wish to go, things we want to do and places we want to see but if I’ve learned anything, these last few years, is that you won’t get there if you don’t get moving.
It’s a beautiful day. The dog dreams. I breathe
Better to have a moment of awkwardness than to have a lifetime of regret.
The 11th of October. That’s the last time I wrote a blog post and in all honesty, I didn’t write it from scratch, it was a recycled post from years ago but still, that was the last time you saw anything from Words In Verse. I’ve been battling to write; I’m not sure if the battle stems from laziness, tiredness, busyness or a lack of creativity and ideas but I haven’t written in a long time. The problem is I want to write. I need to write. There are many times I find myself seeing something or hearing something and I want to turn it into a story or I want to write about it and explore it from my own perspective but I don’t. I let it slip away from me and disappear. And if you’re a writer, you know that once you have an idea, you better write it down because once it disappears, you won’t get it back.
So here I am, writing about not being able to write. Funny thing is, I love writing. I love reading as well but I haven’t done much of that either lately. Writing and reading go hand in hand; if you’re not reading, its almost impossible to write. I’m hoping to get back into the swing of things. I also want to reevaluate what I write about. I remember about two years ago when I had my very first WIV blog (which is now gone) the blog posts I wrote were raw and honest and relatable to many people. I felt fearless when I wrote and published my posts and I felt fulfilled when someone would tell me how they felt reading what I wrote. I knew I was fulfilling my purpose, my calling and my ministry.
My husband will tell you I have a ton of unfinished stories that I started writing (one or two are done) but which I either stopped working on and refuse to touch again. He has been my biggest supporter; always telling me to finish my books and get it published and telling me what a great writer I am and there are moments when I believe him; when I read some of the stuff I’ve written and I think ‘Woah, okay, I’m pretty good at this’ in a non- arrogant way of course, but then there are those moments, which come more often than the former, whereimposter syndromecreeps in and destroys all the confidence and belief I had in myself. Once that is destroyed, it’s really difficult to get it back.
Another reason I think I’ve been afraid to write is because of the content I want to publish. I want to be that brave person again that tells honest stories; I write from experience and we all know experiences are not always comfortable; for yourself or for others to share in or experience and I know when I write certain things, a lot of people might frown upon it and I think that has also been a huge block for me.
But I don’t want it to be anymore. I want to write. I need to write and I need to share. I always say to my husband or to people I interact with, you never know who needs hear your story and who will be inspired, encouraged or motivated by it. We all go through difficult experiences and I believe that if we choose to share our experiences, in whichever way we choose to do so, it will help someone else. I’m not suggesting we save the whole world but touching one person, might save another.
So here I am, putting my struggles out there ; of being a writer who has been unable to write and I’m hoping that by doing this and by sharing this, that it will help me be brave enough to start writing again and to start sharing again; despite the fear of being judged or criticized or not believing in myself.
The truth is, I need to see for myself where this journey will take me; this journey of writing and sharing and exposing myself to a world I have yet to discover. In the end, we will never know we are good at something and we will never know the impact we have, if we don’t at least give it our best shot.
Throughout your life you will probably hear phrases such as,
“A woman brought you into this world and she can take out of it”
“You don’t lay your hands on a woman”
“Be respectful toward women”
I can give you a whole list of things that you will hear but I will let you be surprised and experience it as you grow up.
All those things are correct, you never ever touch a woman in a way that makes her feel uncomfortable.
You never cross a line that has clearly been set out for you.
You do not hunger after a woman’s body as if she is something to eat.
You do not say things that will kill a woman’s confidence or shatter her character.
You never do.
Do not intentionally break hearts or lead a woman on.
There is no pride or glory in breaking a woman’s heart.
It only brings you shame.
If you do not love her, tell her.
Leave her with the truth rather than loving her with a lie.
Never assume that you are always right and never make a woman feel ashamed for what she is feeling or thinking.
Make her feel comfortable enough to express herself to you and make an effort to understand her instead of admonishing her.
You need integrity and compassion and the ability to love unconditionally and you need to have respect for everyone around you.
In order to respect anyone else, man or woman, you first need to have respect for yourself.
If you don’t have a certain standard to which you hold yourself then how you treat others will be a clear reflection of that and then that would mean that I have failed you as a mother,
And I, my dear boy, am not planning on failing.
I want you to be a man that loves woman but loves them in a pure manner.
Love how they are nurturing and caring.
Love how versatile they are.
Love and respect their intellect and be a man that provides a safe space for them to unearth their potential.
Love how they make you feel on the inside, how they make you fall in love.
Be a student of women and find out what makes them tick without ticking them off.
Pray for women and pray that you gain the knowledge and wisdom on how to treat them as a good man should.
Love your sister unconditionally and protect her with your life.
Mason and his sister, Morgan.
Fight for the causes of women and always be available when one needs you but never let any woman take advantage of your heart or your kindness.
Your heart will most likely be broken by a few girls in your lifetime and that cannot be stopped but never use that as an excuse to hurt another woman in return.
One hurt does not fix another.
Love is all there is and love is all that matters.
A woman is not your possession, you do not own the person you love.
A woman is a free spirit that will come into your life to teach and to be taught.
She will make you fall in love with life and she will enhance your vision for your own life.
She will make you want to succeed and she will push you until you do.
You cannot be a man without having had a woman touch your life.
You have been surrounded by beautiful women all your life and you will continue to be for the rest of it.
Be sure to treat every girl or woman you ever come across with the highest level of esteem and admiration because at the end of the day if it wasn’t for the fighting and equally loving spirit of all the women in your life, you would not be who you are today.
Be an example to the many men who will follow you throughout your life and be part of a generation of men that will never again take a woman by force, break her spirit or leave her blue-eyed and crying.
Mason and his dad.
I beg of you baby, be different.
Be strong.
Be secure in your faith.
Be humble.
Be dependable.
Be honest.
Be brave.
Be loving and compassionate.
But most importantly, be forgiving.
Do not let the hardships in life stop you from finding the beauty and romance that there surely is and sharing it with everyone you meet.
I hold you to these standards because I know and I believe you have it in you.
Female nurses healed you back to health when you were too weak to stand on your own two feet.
A female pastor dedicated you to the church.
Female doctors delivered you from my womb.
You are not above a woman.
She stands next to you, not under your feet.
I can only give you these guidelines but it is up to you to decide what kind of man you are going to be and maybe someday, what kind of man you are going to raise.
I know you are young now but someday you will understand this.
I’ve written about this topic before on a previous blog platform under the same title but I feel like I need to revive it. In all honesty, I dislikeHeritage Day. I remember when I was in school and this particular day came around, we would be told to wear our Heritage clothes and bring cultural foods and speak about our heritage. I never knew what to do. I don’t really know my heritage. All I know is my mother was born in Namibia and I think my father was born in the Eastern Cape (I’m really not sure about that )
Now I am in the position where my kids are going through the same thing. My daughter, who is now in Grade 2, celebrated Heritage Day at her school the other day and they were told to wear cultural or traditional clothing that is synonymous with her heritage. She went to school in pants and a t-shirt and a hoodie. She came home that day and told me how beautiful her friends looked in their African attire and how her friends are Zulu or Sepedi and the like. I felt defeated.
We are Coloured; we are considered a mixed race but the only problem is, I’m not sure, in fact, I have no idea which races fall into that mixed bag of culture and heritage. I know next to nothing of my father’s family or his heritage and sadly my mother is late so I can’t even ask her anything about hers.
Maybe the reason I dislike this day so much is because I personally don’t know anything about my own history. I wish I had had more conversations with my mother about my maternal side but alas, regret always comes too late.
I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe its time we as a family start building our own heritage.
My son on the other hand was also asked to bring a picture to school to discuss his heritage. We drew him the South African flag, he also drew a sun and a bowl of fruit and the earth. When he was done, I realised culture is what we observe. My son sees the sun in the sky, he sees the earth and he sees food and he knows he belongs somewhere. All the other technicalities of where we come from doesn’t really matter, at least not right now. My son then asked my husband what his heritage is and my husband replied, ‘Your heritage is South African’
That was the same response his father gave him when he was a little boy and had to dress up or participate in Heritage Day.
I don’t want my children to feel as if they don’t belong anywhere. I want them to know they can fit in everywhere if that’s what they wanted. That’s how I felt when I was in school; I felt embarrassed because while everyone else wore traditional clothing and spoke of their traditions and food and culture, I wanted the earth to swallow me whole or at least be invisible for the day.
My husband has similar stories and so do a lot of other Coloured people I’ve spoken to about this topic.
One the other hand, there is beauty in being ‘mixed race’; you are a cacophony of colours and sounds; you are a kaleidoscope of memories and history and you are a part of everyone you come across and you leave a part of yourself wherever you are.
I completely understand that its important to know who you are, to know about the people who came before us and to know where our bloodline leads. I am not dismissing that at all but maybe, if like me, you don’t know much about your ancestry, we can just start building our own cultures and create our own traditions and heritage.
I’ve made the decision to tell my children that our heritage is simply being human. If we start there, we can see that we are all actually a part of the same culture.
Sitting outside feeling pressed, smelling the dog next to me. The sun’s heat warms my skin. Hearing bird songs and little insects all around me. It’s hard to pinpoint in which direction it’s coming from. There’s a helicopter somewhere, flying overhead, the sound of it starts or far, then it comes closer and closer until I can almost feel the vibrations on my skin. I see the dog out of the corner of my eye, vigorously scratching himself. I’m hot right beneath the sun. I take off the pink cardigan and immediately feel a chill. The dog lies down on his side, baking. His white fur looks almost golden brown. A car whizzes past. A bird chirps in the distance. The sun is hot. I look up and squint. I’m still feeling pressed. It’s a beautiful day. The dog dreams. I breathe
