The Power of Mind.

 

As everybody else tucks into their mince pies and mulled wine, I have spent the last week wondering why my horrific nightmares have returned. I haven’t dreamt this way since living with my abuser and even in times of the worst stress, I have been able to wake myself up from these nightmares. However, recent nights have not allowed me to do that. Instead, I endure the horror and wake distraught, confused and panicked.

Only last week I dreamt my father attacked me and woke up suddenly, clinging to my wrist, letting out a jumble of frightened words.

I was convinced my wrist hurt for the rest of the day. How long had I been holding it? Long enough to hurt myself? Maybe. The fear, but the fear was so intense.

My father was never physically violent to me. I use the word physically specifically as there is such thing as emotional violence. He did that all the time. He never hit or slapped me. He didn’t throw things at me. Yet he would spit on the floor beside me as he called me a filthy pig and he would kick over a rammed dustbin to remind me it needed emptying.

Nothing was ever direct. How wrong of me for wishing it was.

He would not give me that. Physical violence would have been a privilege for me as he often stated. I did not deserve an ending to my “misery” with him, he would mock – he often joked about my life knowing he was the cause.

I dream the most horrible of things. Frightening, sadistic, gut-wrenching.

Some nightmares of the past will never be forgotten. The moments where I woke in the night dreaming that my father had slit my throat and I had witnessed my own death. The dreams where I see myself lying in a coffin with ligatures around my neck or that I cannot breathe as I sleep. Those dreams haunt me.

When most things are certainly better in my life, there is a great deal of other stresses to contend with at the moment. Things my husband and I cannot avoid and although we are supporting each other, times are tough. Mentally it’s tough.

It is something I cannot openly talk about on here with fear of who may read it but be sure, I will express what we are going through over the next few months as sadly, I do not believe we will be free of it for a while but when we are, well, god I pray these nightmares disappear.

The mind is magical. When you think you are coping, it shows you in ways you cannot expect that you aren’t. Positive thinking and all that jumbo is fine, but really all I want is freedom. I can deal with life stresses – what life runs without lows, troubles or faults? I just cannot deal with surprises, tricks, manipulation. I should not have to any more.

I should not have to dream of a man who tortured me so badly.

He is dead and gone and I should be free.

 

 

I would like to be remembered as a person who wanted to be free… so other people would be also free.

Rosa Parks

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drawing a line……for now.

I’ve taken a bit of time out from my last post. Time being the operative word as there never seems to be much of it. My husband and I received many responses from friends and well-wishers, all concerned about the state of our marriage and future.

There is not much I can do to reassure them.

I’ve weighed up the pros and cons to my marriage, to my husband. There are several on each side.

PROS: 

• Wants to change
• Great father
• Supportive of my dreams/goals
• Not nasty by nature
• Genuinely cares
• Sensitive
• ‘Gets’ me

CONS: (when he is at his worst)

• Moody
• Distant
• Bad listener
• Says hurtful things
• Acts before thinking
• Negative

When I look at each list I see great things and pretty awful things. I’m torn. On one hand I desperately miss my best friend and on the other, I long to be on my own, away from the endless stress.

The two of us have talked. We do see a future together but understand that it will be a very long road to travel before we feel truly happy. As arduous and trying as that may be, I have to draw a line in the sand if I have any hope that my marriage could work.

I grew up in a broken home. My mother and father’s idea of marriage was abusive and destructive. It led them to be terrible role models for me and my sister. I did not look up to either of them. I do not want this for my daughter. I want both of us to be fantastic role models for her, showing her what it takes to be a good parent, wife, husband and friend. We will make mistakes – no one is faultless but that too is a lesson she should learn. Except here, mistakes will be made in a loving environment not in a harmful, loveless one. I just cannot do that to her.

So this is it.

A line is drawn.

Let’s see where we go from here.

The dilemma.

I am currently on my maternity leave from work. I am now in my fourth month of it and am not entirely sure of where the time has gone.

My husband and I have been researching nurseries for the little one for when I return to work and I have to admit (even knowing that it would always cost more than I could ever afford) I never fully realised just how expensive nurseries in London are. Overpriced is a word that stands out. Some that we’ve looked at are more than my monthly wage for one month! It’s ridiculous.

So what are working mums, with a salary under 30k meant to do?

My combined income with my husband does not provide me with enough money to pay off a mortgage and nursery fees. So what do I do? Here is the dilemma.

Many ignorant people will comment that I should not have had a child in my circumstance. However, this is a stupid thing to say as I am not on state benefits. I am a working woman. My husband also works full time. We enjoy our careers. We have ambition and want to get somewhere in our jobs. This doesn’t mean I do not enjoy motherhood. I love being a mother and I dote on my amazing thriving daughter.

We as a society should be encouraging mothers back into work not depriving them of returning or continuing when nursery fees are through the roof.

I do not have a young mother who can look after her grand child nor do I have a large family base. I only have the option of a nanny or nursery when I return to work. When these options become unaffordable, what is one to do?

One thing is clear. My husband and I are going to have to spend a lot of time researching over the next couple of months to find somewhere of high standard and somewhere that fits comfortably into our budget for the little one.

 

2014 A Look Back: September – December.

September.

September was a very busy month for me. I had just gone back to work after a six week school break for summer and was really feeling the long days compared to my usual chilled and lazy ones. I hadn’t imagined going back to work six months pregnant in the heat would be so difficult. After all, it was not so hard before. However, as I hit my third trimester, all matter of things pregnancy related started to change. I felt more tired, more achy. Feelings of sickness had returned. I truly felt pregnant.

I only blogged three times this month. One was a post I had written last year that I decided to re-blog. After the decision to leave wordpress in August, I began blogging key posts that had a big impact on me or others. “Revenge” was one of these posts where a former colleague of mine questioned my motives to why I was writing about the past. It upset me that she felt it was necessary to be so heartless and give her opinions on a matter she could never understand.

The most significant moment of my life happened on the 23rd of this month. My wonderful daughter Ivy-Wren was born. A lot of people have asked about her unusual name. I picked Ivy as I like the nature side of it. Also, Ivy is a strong plant that withstands all conditions. I found Wren whilst searching through endless name lists on-line. It actually came up as a boy’s name but I loved that it is a little bird. My mum calls me “Tuni” which is a little Indian bird. We felt that adding Wren to Ivy’s name would be a suitable tribute to my mother. No doubt Ivy-Wren dotes on her loving grandma.

October.

Ivy-Wren was born premature by 7 weeks. Her actual due date was November 9th so we were growing used to having her with us so early. I mourned the fact I was no longer pregnant. I had looked forward to seeing the whole pregnancy through. She had spent the beginning of this month in hospital under special care. She was a tiny little thing. So very small and fragile. My heart ached to leave her every day surrounded by beeping monitors, endless strangers, wailing babies and lonely in her isolated cot. On the 6th October we were able to take our little button home after two weeks in hospital and although it has been unbelievably overwhelming and we have felt massively under-prepared, nothing can take away the fact that our little girl brings us joy every single day.

In October, I blogged about the lead up to my labour as it wasn’t at all straightforward!

November.

I was appalled to discover that there was a man claiming to hold all knowledge on how to seduce women this month. Not only that, but this awful human being advocated violence and harassment in order to do it! Julien Blanc was thankfully denied entry into the UK. The real horror however is the number of men who signed up to see him on tour. It truly is worrying that some men would consider these derogatory and abusive tactics acceptable.

December.

Well here we are on the final day of December in England (I’m sure many of you have already celebrated New Years’!). My husband and I aren’t planning to stay up. We have to embrace sleep when we can get it! Ivy-Wren has come on leaps and bounds putting on a massive six pounds since she came home. She is a delight, making us proud of her every day.

I look forward to 2015 and the journey we as a family will take together.

I am not going to draw on the negatives of this month too much. Many issues have occurred within the family and relationships have been tested but I continue to be positive when I look at my beautiful daughter.

Happy New Year to all my WordPress friends. May 2015 bring you inner peace, support and a determination to survive. You are all in my thoughts.

See you next year!!

Ros xxxxx

Here’s a little photo of me and my jewel 🙂

 

Sunday 21st September – No time like the present!

Having been sent home on Friday, I was preparing myself for a full week of last minute preparation until I was to be induced into labour on the 29th September. My husband and I spent the Saturday morning shopping for smaller sized clothes for baby. We then washed all of the baby’s bedding and clothes ready for it’s arrival the week after.

My mum had been planning a traditional Bengali party for me on Sunday a month before. When I was taken to hospital when my waters broke, we contemplated cancelling the get-together. However, as it had been planned to the very last detail and didn’t include a huge guest list, we decided it would be a greater loss NOT to go ahead with it. Obviously, I was under orders to relax and not overdo it and my mother understood that I may have needed a break during a five hour party.

I felt quite overwhelmed come Sunday at the prospect of dealing with fifteen people all asking me how I was and felt. I lingered before I eventually made it downstairs to greet everyone. My friend Kat found me stalling upstairs in my bedroom and coaxed me out. Luckily, it wasn’t too chaotic when I finally made my entrance. My husband headed straight for me knowing how uncomfortable large, interrogating groups of people made me feel when pregnant.

The party itself was a success. It lasted for around four hours and was very chilled. It was a much more relaxed atmosphere than I had expected which made the whole thing a whole lot better. After everyone had gone home, I felt an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. Putting it down to third trimester symptoms, I went to have a nap. Almost immediately after lying down, I got a tremendous ache in my side. I questioned it briefly but assumed it was nothing. That was until after ten minutes when it occurred again and after ten minutes when it happened again.

Regular cramps happening every ten minutes………..??

Where had I heard that before? Were these……….contractions?

No!

I ran a warm bath and took a long soak. Of course they weren’t contractions! Only two days before I was told that baby was nowhere near to it’s arrival. It could not be contractions.

Half an hour later, relaxed from my bath, I was relieved to see the cramps had disappeared. Yet, an hour later at dinner, they suddenly reappeared. Frightened, I mentioned the regularity to my husband and mother. They both seemed anxious and began to monitor each one. Unfortunately for me, it looked as though my fate had been made.

Was I in labour?

Yes. Yes I was. And at midnight, I made my way to hospital.

Baby just could not wait to come out!

30 weeks and back to work!

Can you believe it? On Monday, I will have reached the 30 week mark in my pregnancy. Since entering the third trimester, I have had a head cold, tummy troubles, insomnia and an asthma attack and it’s only been 2 weeks! Thankfully, all those ailments seem to be wearing off. Baby’s movements have changed significantly in the last five weeks. From light flutters and tingles, baby began ‘rolling’ in the tummy. Now, we are able to see clear little kicks and ‘bounces’. Baby is very active (unfortunately, this doesn’t bode well for after birth!) but we’d rather be feeling something than not.

We have listened to it’s heartbeat several times this month at numerous hospital appointments and of course at the hospital when I had my attack. Baby’s heart is sounding very healthy so we are all feeling relieved and happy.

Symptoms wise, I am not feeling too bad. The night time is the worst for me currently as my sleeping pattern has become rather unbearable. In fact, I am barely sleeping at all. It doesn’t help that I find it easier to sleep in the day which sadly, very soon, will not be possible as…………

On Monday I will be going back to work!

For some reason this has surprised a few people this month but there is no other way. My husband and I aren’t really in a position to reject another month’s wage and to be honest I would rather be busy than lounge around at home. I know it is good for mummy to keep up some light exercise during the third trimester and my hours journey to work and back should incorporate that much needed exercise. I think people are more shocked as I am not going to be sitting at a desk all day – if only! No, as I work in a school, my day is likely to be slightly more hectic! However, I have no intention to overdo it. I know my colleagues will be very supportive too.

So to all you worriers! DON’T WORRY!!

I’ll look after baby and myself 🙂

 

 

The Never-Ending Story.

Nothing to do with the film but everything to do with the story of my life.

A few months ago, I made a conscious decision to stop blogging about past, to focus on the happier things occurring in my life. Blessed with the news of the pregnancy, it seemed like a new start. A chance where I could finally look to the future. My father is no longer a problem physically yet his ever-controlling presence sadly still exists.
I am yet to see a penny of my inheritance as I approach the two year anniversary of his death. To make matters worse as I am still residing with my mother, I still have to endure the daily torture of passing my old abuser’s home every day to work and back.

This is something sadly I have grown accustomed to this past year however it annoys me slightly that the new owners have already moved in and re-decorated, moving forward with their lives and I am stuck waiting, without news, on a chance to move forward with mine.

Surprisingly, that I can deal with.

The real upset is my sister.

I have always said to David, to my friends, that one day soon she would begin to etch herself back into my mother’s life and today we discover she is continuing her journey back to our mum.

It all began last year on Boxing Day when my mother received a card from her. Slowly, over the year, she has found new ways to find an avenue to return. It is never consistent. Instead, every few months she re-appears and toys with her mother’s emotions. An opportunity allowed itself in April. A chance appeared by natural where she could have easily re-entered the family ‘fold’. However, it was her choice to reject that chance when I attempted to call her and inform my only sister that I was pregnant.

She would not allow it. She just would not speak to me and the sweet, innocent news was broken to her by email. Yes, I did not hold back either. I felt at that point, it was within my right to tell her a few home truths about her. Many, many times over many many years have I listened to her tell me my faults and I have always bitten my tongue in reference to her. Mostly out of fear to awaken the beast inside. Her anger has always been terrifying (at times worse than his). However, I am a thirty two year old woman and she is forty for crying out loud. Perhaps it is time to reflect on the reasons why you are so estranged from your family? We NEVER walked away from you.

Many would ask why it bothers me that my sister is back in contact?

Let me make it clear – she is not back in contact with me. Only my mother. Cards on her birthday only. Letters only addressed to her. Did she congratulate me on my good news? No. Has she mentioned the baby when writing to our mother? No. Her intentions are very clear. She wants my mother back only. NOT me.

Well let me make my intentions clear.

I will not go through it again. I will not participate in any mind games. I refuse to be controlled. You may think your trusted strategy will bring you great success again, after all it worked so well with our father. I cannot speak for our mother. I do not know what you intend to use for your advantage this time. Will it be the tried and tested emotional tactic of using the grandchildren? Or perhaps the fact that you’ve suddenly realised you ‘need’ a mother figure in your life again? Just hurry up and make up your mind.

To be honest, if you really wanted to move forward you would not be pushing me aside. Hurt does not even cover it. You abandoned both your parents yet offered your love back to them like nothing had happened. Yet that love has never been offered to me.

Just say it. You wish I’d never come along don’t you?

I look at my friends and people on Facebook sharing photos of their sisters and I’m jealous. After all these years, I’m still jealous.

At least it proves one thing.

I have a heart.

6 years with the man I love.

And yes, another year and I’m apologising to my hubby for not having the time to buy him a card for our anniversary. I am a bit of a useless wife in that regard! He knows I love him. So, to embarrass him a little, I want to blog about my husband, (keeping this as far from gushing and sickening as I can).

David:

Thank you for the last 6 years. You are the only man I have ever truly loved. Your open heart loved me so easily and although it is still a battle for me to surrender and open myself up completely to you, I am grateful for the journey you have taken me on. You are my best friend. Your loving arms and radiant warmth protects me. I know I can be ‘difficult’, I’m sorry for that. Even though I am apologising, you never see this as a fault. Instead another part of me that you love. Thank you. I love you too.

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
Lao Tzu

She can give it but she cannot take it.

I’m not really a fan of those who hand out criticism freely but cannot accept it when it is directed at them. My mother and I have just been in that situation. I am writing this straight after our heated talk. She is currently upstairs having a tantrum (or at least that’s what it sounds like). She is banging doors and generally stomping around. Not really the expected behaviour of a seventy odd year old woman. She is patently angry yet her anger is not justified.

My mother is very critical; of her herself occasionally but mostly of others. She is a fault finder and my husband and I are usually on her list. I am mostly used to it as this is not something new. I do not like the constant fault finding in my husband however. Soon, he will be unable to put a foot right. I know it’s getting him down. He is already afraid of failure and this is hardly helping.

This morning was not targeted at my husband. My mother woke up late with leg pains. For the last few weeks she has been suffering with them and after a day of long walking, her pains worsened over night. I had already been up for a couple of hours before her when she came downstairs. No “Hello” or “Good morning”, only chat about her disrupted night. I made her a tea and continued about my business. As David and I have plans to head into Central London today, I began getting ready at ten. After doing my make up, I headed upstairs to collect my phone and saw my mum sitting on her bead. She looked tired and weary so I went and gave her a hug.

I showed her my eye make up and asked if she liked it. She said that it was nice. As I left the room my mother spoke in a mix of English and Bengali and said,

“Why don’t you wear another pair of trousers? You’ve worn those yesterday. You got so many others that are nicer”.

This may not seem like an odd thing for a mother to say to her daughter but when her daughter suffers from BDD, it is not the most appropriate thing to utter. There was a similar incident yesterday morning where my mother thought it would be okay to criticise my weight and say that I needed to cut out fat in my diet. She was complaining about her own weight before she started to attack mine. I was still in bed as she ranted on. It immediately left me distraught. Every day I am aware of the weight that I have gained these last few months. The portion size at home has not helped as my mother eats very large portions of food. Cooking for her has become difficult as I tend to have to cook much more than I normally would. Temptation is always there and after a long and stressful day at work, it is enticing to have those extra five roast potatoes.

I made David explain to her that I suffered from BDD, that it is an illness and the slightest comment can set it off. She was incredibly understanding yesterday and apologised for her comment. Today was a different story. I had hoped that what my husband told her would resonate in her mind but it was almost like what she heard yesterday never happened. I got upset as soon as she criticised my clothes today. I tried to stay calm but as soon as I feel uncomfortable in what I am wearing I cannot shake the feeling off. I become very aware of what I look like and become defensive. My mother gets defensive all the time but cannot accept it when anyone else does. I tried to explain what she said had hurt me. She proceeded to stand by her comments. To her, it’s trivial. To me, it destroys my confidence. Why does she need to find fault in me? The same thing happened two weeks ago and she ruined my day out. She always does it as I’m about to leave the house.

I went a whole twenty four hours without taking my inhaler yesterday, I was so happy. This morning scuppered any chance of that lasting as after I got upset my mother fully lost her temper and launched into a rage. I ran downstairs struggling to breathe. I sat on the sofa as my husband looked on and covered my ears, quietly reassuring myself as her screams from upstairs echoed above me. When eventually her outburst had finished, I removed my hands – my chest was tight and a rash had appeared on my face. I fought hard to keep the tears back. She is just too stubborn to see past it all. She has turned the whole thing back on herself and is now playing the victim when all I needed was a bit of reassurance. Never in my whole life have I witnessed my mother shout and scream at my sister in the way she does with me. Why does the woman who bans her from seeing her grandchildren get more respect than the daughter that stands by her? Tell me?

Why do I still need to explain and describe to my family about who I actually am? For my entire adult life I have justified having emotions. They will not let me have a day off. To them I am to be happy and positive at all times. I am to be there for them and listen to their needs yet my needs are persistently neglected. I give up. I am too tired of it.

I am still a little tight now.

But writing this has helped.

I should be on the tube right now heading into London.

Instead I feel like shit.

2013 A review: July – September.

JULY

Summer had truly hit us in London by July. Scorching temperatures reigned over the city and finally the harsh winter had been beaten.

At the start of the month, I began recalling a series of events, linked to the exact date one year ago, that looked back on the journey towards the end of the abuse once and for all. It was a painful task. Remembering is one thing but looking back in detail, searching through old text messages and diary entries was hard. It transported me back to a terrible, stressful and bitter summer. The summer after my wedding. The summer my father, the abuser, died.

It was the month that my husband and I were told that our landlord wanted to sell the property we were renting. It came as a surprise as there had not been much of a warning. It was the last thing we needed. We were very settled where we were living. It was in an ideal location for both of us to get to work, there were plenty of shops and amenities around too. It was not ideal to move. I couldn’t bear the thought of moving into some dingy, poky apartment in a rush because we hadn’t enough time to search for somewhere decent. We made a decision. It would be a difficult one, a tiring and patience testing one but ultimately we were thankful she was willing to have us. My mother was our port of call. She agreed the sensible choice would be to live with her until my father’s inheritance was finalised and we could look for a new place.

July would be a very revealing month for me. Although I already knew my sister had begun a “secret” relationship with the abuser, I was not aware of how close they had become. After everything my sister had once accused him of, after all that she had witnessed him do to our mother (not to mention the misery of a life I led with him), I had not expected her to welcome him with open arms into her family unit. A unit she has been fiercely protective of for so many years. A family that she has banned me and any mother from seeing. Apparently, we are bad news, the cause of her depression and misery, the evil ones. Not our father. Not the man who abused me for fifteen years but the two people who spent most of their lives trying to escape his frightening hold. In her eyes, we were the enemy. I found out at the start of July that my father had planned a holiday with my sister, her husband and children. He could not go in the end due to his worsening health. I was flabbergasted. Horrified. The man that my sister could not bear to be in the same room as was now holidaying with her?? It blew my mind.

At work, I finished with a bang, holding our annual school talent show. It was a great success and the kids did me proud.

AUGUST

I continued to recall back to the events of last year on WordPress. I received several comments, mostly from friends who had no idea I was struggling so badly that summer. Even though the majority of them knew about my relationship with the abuser, most never questioned it. They never delved any further. It must have come as a shock to them to read the full truth.

I was well into my summer holidays at this point. The weather was unbelievable in London during August, we were very lucky to have so much sunshine. I couldn’t enjoy it as much as I would have liked to. I spent most of the holiday packing up our flat and surprising myself at how much rubbish we had accumulated over the past two years of living there. It was an endless and tiring job as my husband was at work for most of August. Even on moving day, when David’s parents had come to help, were we still putting items into bags and shipping them off to my mums’.

The end of the month would be very significant. On the 21st I celebrated the anniversary of my father’s death. I did not lay any flowers or sit down and pray. I did not shed a tear or think back to the “good times”. There were no good times. He was not worth my tears and I could not lay any flowers for I do not know what happened to his ashes. My sister only told me recently after a year of me badgering her, that after the funeral she had “picked them up”. So basically she gave me no more information than I had already assumed. I intend on letting her keep playing her childish game on her own.

As I prepared to go back to work, I was invited to a school reunion. Seeing my old primary school classmates after twenty years was incredibly uplifting. It was a wonderful experience and sent me back to a time of happiness. These people made me happy. It was lovely to be in their company again.

SEPTEMBER

Back to work!

I also began making some changes in my life. Some positive changes. I attended a course at City Lit on Assertiveness. It proved to be quite challenging. I enjoyed analysing myself and looking into types of behaviour. The course opened my mind as we explored passiveness, aggression, manipulation and assertiveness. It was very interesting to hold that magnifying glass up to myself and look more carefully at the person I had become. I am now trying to embody more assertiveness. My mother is the only person finding that difficult. For so long she was used to a passive daughter. A daughter who could not say “no” and agreed to almost everything in search for an “easy” life. Well no more. I have never had an easy life! It is time to get what I want and make a stand.

The Collins English Dictionary says – 

assertive 

Definitions

adjective – 

confident and direct in claiming one’s rights or putting forward one’s views