Archive by Author | Mrs Chakotay

That wasn’t flying. That was falling with style

Looking at the meagre offering of posts so far this year, I realise that I really am astonishingly inconsistent (with everything really, but blogging in particular).

Apologies.

Apart from struggling with a permanently inadequate organisation system in my brain, I dip in and out of mild depression, get distracted far too easy by shiny things like Facebook.

I do have lots of projects on the go, plates spinning, ideas forming. I’m doing stuff. It’s just all happening in a haphazard, hot mess.

I shall attempt to Bullet Journal my way to clarity (resisting the temptation to buy a new A4 journal), and return with field reports and mission logs or something.

Is anybody reading? Are there topics I should be covering?

Are any of my readers people with ADHD, or Enneagram 7 personalities who have cracked it and manage to keep it all under control?

Do I sound like a looney?

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Dream: Lost Girl

On Friday night I dreamt that I was on a train with my mother and my children including a baby who seemed to be about 6 months old. I don’t know the gender of the baby, and I can’t see details like what everybody was wearing, or what age my other children were.

We stopped at a station, and we saw my sister-in-law on a train going the other way (the logic of this doesn’t hold up in the real world of course – why were we going in different directions? how did her carriage exactly match up with where ours was, for example), and I made the baby wave to its aunt and she waved back.

Then the train started going again, and my mother took the baby (again, I can’t be sure of the reasons if there were any, or where they went, perhaps to the bathroom?) but my mother came back without the baby, with no memory of where she had left it, and of course drama and tears ensued. At the end of the dream, we were home (in my childhood home), and I was calling the police.

I woke up shaking with rage and fear and confusion.

So a number of things come to mind. My mother, in the real world, has dementia and of course I would never allow her to look after a child. Perhaps I might allow one of my older children to take care of her instead, but allowing her to take a baby would never happen.

 

I obviously know why I KEEP ON dreaming about babies and loss but what prompted this particular scenario? I wonder if, perhaps it is the sense in which I feel that I am actually losing my mother too?

The next day, I received word that the little girl we had been hoping to adopt from care was actually now going to go back to her mother (pending a court decision, I think), because firstly it had been determined that she was in fact un-adoptable (that is, that in the opinion of the social workers involved, any adoption would fail) because her trauma and damage was so great, and secondly because the mother had apparently sorted herself out, got a job and a flat, and the father was safely in prison.

I cannot put into words how crushingly disappointed I am, and how utterly wrong I believe this decision to be. However, it is what it is.

Even without mentioning names, it probably isn’t appropriate to go into any details about the case, but it really is just incredulous that this course of action is even a possibility on the table.

We obviously weren’t meant to have her, and I’m done now. I wish we had adopted ten or more years ago when my secondary infertility first started, but of course you don’t what’s coming, and we always hoped there would be another baby.

I hate that I am such a misery guts (and well, hopefully I hide it well enough that it doesn’t show elsewhere) and I hate the idea that my whole life seems to be so characterised by loss upon loss. But this is my ranting space, where I pour all my misery, so if you don’t like it, just scroll past. I write mostly for my own benefit, to get it all out, but maybe, hopefully it will help somebody too.

Just a quick reminder that I am a…

Just a quick reminder that I am a chaotic, klepto-blogger, who can’t refrain from creating new shit. If you’ve landed here from an #exvangelical post, you probably want my Mrs Chakotay blog:
http://chakotayhomestead.WordPress.com

Dream: Pink Beetle

I dreamt that I was watching a video in my room (I’m not sure where, it reminded me of the room we once had at my mother-in-law’s before we had children. Apparently the video was about fertility, and how to maximise your chances of pregnancy, so you can guess what’s weighing on my mind)

Then I noticed there was a fairly big beetle scurrying towards me on my floor, which looked black on its underside but then it flipped over and was like a ladybird (I know it doesn’t make sense that it was scurrying along on its back, it was a dream!), in fact I thought for a moment that it was a ladybird but instead of red it was pink with black dots, and it increased in size until it was the size of a side plate or a 45 rpm single record!

I ran in to the living room to tell my Dad, and he asked me if, by the way, I would like to take over his bureau (an old fashioned wooden desk with a pull-down leaf). I said I would love to, and he followed me in to my room to look at the beetle, but it had disappeared in amongst my papers and I couldn’t find it.

At the end of the dream, I was sorting out my papers into my Dad’s bureau. The pink beetle never turned up again, but the television suddenly started playing and I was embarrassed that my parents had a look at what I was watching.

Notes: I did once own a baby pink Beetle Volkswagen car, which I never drove for various reasons. But I gave it away because I was told it couldn’t be fixed, and the people that came for it actually fixed it on the drive and drove it away, so I was always very sad about giving it away. Does the pink beetle represent my car that I lost? Does the car that I lost represent my lost babies?

I often dream about my Dad, and I usually wake up sad, realising that he is gone. I feel like there is a lot of unfinished business there. I’m still angry with him for dying on purpose, and I miss him terribly.

I am embarrassed, because I am 47 now, 48 later this year, and yet I still desperately long for a baby. Why? I feel so stupid. Everyone I know my age was happy with the size of their family as far as I know, and accepted that that was that. Why can’t I? I have 3 teenagers and a 23 year old who is still not independent due to Aspergers. My middle child has Type 1 Diabetes. All of this seems like pretty good reasons not to have any more children even if it were possible. My brain knows that. Why can’t my heart get it? 😦

The other question is, why am I suddenly having so many weird and upsetting dreams? Well, I have had a pretty bad to the year health-wise, probably all related to food allergies and intolerances, I’m probably not being as careful as I could be, which could be a form of self-sabotage (although in my defence, it mostly hasn’t been my fault – our finances got so bad that we had to rely on food bank handouts, and honestly although I am super grateful for the kindness of strangers, all the tinned food made me super ill.)

Dream: Expansion

I dreamt that I was in somebody’s kitchen at a party. I didn’t recognise anybody there, but then a friend of mine arrived.

I was surprised to realise that, in the dream, my friend (who in real life is around a decade older than me and post-menopausal) was heavily pregnant. She was wearing a deep wine coloured woolen winter coat which she kept on, because the back door was open (it wasn’t winter though), and then proceeded to smoke a cigarette. Nobody else seemed to notice, and I didn’t want to upset her, so I didn’t say anything about it to her, but I was pleased for her about the pregnancy so I gave her a big hug.

There was a lady sitting at the kitchen table making a salad in a bowl, and she looked up at me and told me “The reason for your food allergies is food additives.” I was quite cross with her for saying that, because I thought it must be nonsense. There were other ladies in the kitchen, but since I did not recognise anybody, I decided to step outside into the garden.

I was surprised to realise that the garden was familiar to me – it was somehow the garden of the house that I lived in as a teenager (although I did not recognise the kitchen in the house). But the garden had additional rooms all along the left hand side, that were full of people (men, women and children, none of whom I recognised) sitting at tables, laughing and talking and eating.

I have a feeling that there was more to the dream, but it has disappeared from my memory now.

What does it all mean? Most of my dreams feature different houses and homes I have previously lived in or known, many include babies and pregnancy. Perhaps it’s just all my worries mixed up together?

October Anniversaries

I’m feeling a bit out of sorts today. October is always a bit of a downer. Not only is it Baby Loss Awareness Month, but it is also the anniversary of my own personal loss – of my twins. Thankfully, the weather has not caught up with the seasons, so the bright sun and blue skies takes the edge off. It has been 8 years, so although the grief still comes in waves, they crash a little less often, and a little less powerfully. I’ve been waiting for the event to come up in my Facebook memories, but I may have hidden it. What is harder to hide, of course, is the anniversaries of my friends’ babies’ birthdays, reminding me that my twins ought to be coming up for 8 years old. It’s not just the baby you lose, it’s all their future lives you imagined and hoped for.

I also received a reminder yesterday, telling me that this is my 8th anniversary of opening my WordPress account. I think that my original blog is now my very neglected Study Notes blog. I seem to remember that I was originally using it as a homeschool diary, but I shuffled the blogs around and the Homeschool diary is now at Ohana Home Educational.

I wonder if it was a coincidence that I started a blog around the same time as my miscarriage? I don’t remember ever writing about it at the time. Instead, I wrote on Facebook until I was told I was “over-sharing”, at which point I took to Twitter and created what I perceived to be safer spaces there to rant and cry and let it all out. It helped. I remember the most helpful book I read at the time talked about letting grief out creatively. Perhaps writing was not what the book had in mind, but it was my default outlet, and I would recommend it.

Today though, I don’t feel like doing much. I’m only really writing now because I want to get myself into the swing and habit of writing every day, for NaNoWriMo next month. It doesn’t really matter whether it’s worth reading. Most of my writing is mainly for my benefit – if anybody else enjoys it, or benefits from it in some way, that’s a bonus of course. But if you hate it, or just find it boring, it doesn’t matter. Just getting the practice in, and my feelings out, means it has served its purpose.

I’m also getting into the habit of writing Morning Pages in the form of a “Dream Day Journal” – that is, I write every morning about my ideal dream day. It’s supposed to be some kind of powerful manifesting tool by Law of Attraction folks. I’m not sure I believe it, but again, it doesn’t matter. It’s just practice, and it’s quite fun so far.

It can be dangerous to write thoughts and feelings on paper, so I do find that I censor myself. Most of my worst ranty, angry feelings are directed privately to my rant buddy. She’s good to have on my side.

Where do you vent your feelings? Does writing help, or some other kind of creativity?

Have there ever been times where social media didn’t feel a safe place to share?

NaNoWriMo: On Procrastination

I am a terrific procrastinator. I seem to be terribly good at it. I have written a couple of blog posts elsewhere already today, and I have even done most of my housework (which is usually what I’m procrastinating to avoid, ironically) – all to avoid the thing which I am finding the hardest, which is preparing for NaNoWriMo.

I have previously been a complete pantser – somehow managing, by the sea of my pants, to pull 50,000 words out of a hat without any kind of planning or preparation. A feat I have managed, or nearly managed at least 5 times now! But that’s not really the way I way I want to do it. I have never gone back to my previous projects to look seriously into the business of editing, and I think that is one of the drawbacks of pantsing – you end up with a very disjointed, undisciplined piece of work. I have done anyway, I don’t know how this business works for other people.

This year I am trying to graduate towards becoming more of a Plantser (a cross between a seat-of-the-Pants-er and a Planner) Perhaps if this all works out, I may have developed into a fully fledged planner by the time of next year’s NaNoWriMo.

So far I have downloaded a bunch of worksheets, plot outlines, and I’m trying to use the personality profiling tools of MBTI and the Enneagram to create more believable characters. But, oh my goodness, somehow this feels like very hard work!

How do you do it?

Are you a Planner, a Pantser or a Plantser?