Here's a question: Do you think the way you look on the outside is a true reflection of your personality on the inside? Does the shape of your body, your hairstyle/colour, the way you dress really communicate to others who you really are? For me the answer's no and from what I can remember, it's always been no. I was "blessed" with white blond hair. Starting from my early childhood this got me A LOT of unwanted attention from everyone. Pats on the head and the like from the elderly and well meaning complementors, through to the vulgar advances from foolish boys and jealous taunts from bitchy girls. Mostly, I just felt like a freak. My mother would laugh that she could spot me easily when picking me up from school. I was the glowing light bobbing amongst the mainly dark faces.
There is so much to say on this subject it overwhelms me. Just thinking of what to write here stirs up the waters. Since my teen years I have shaved my hair off, dyed it bright red, orange and other variations, made it stripey like raspberry ripple ice-cream, cut it all off again, made it spike out, grown it back, had dramatic fringes, had blond dreadlocks, dyed my dreadlocks red, cut them off, short hair again, dyed patches black....The list goes on...
Often, I have felt like a redhead trapped in a blonde's body.
This has lead to self sabotage.
I am now on the journey to (re)empowering the real ME.
Blogging this shit maybe part of it.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
"She's NOT a lady..."
My 5 year son old pulled a "mental health" day from school last Thurs. He told me he had a sore tummy just as we were about to leave for school...Perfect timing as I was already behind time, anxious that my 7 year old son would miss the bus to his swimming class. "Really?" I asked. Rumours of tummy bugs had been circling. "Mmhmm", he nodded.
"Truly?", knowing he had me, I caved and told him he could stay home...Within 10 mins of returning from the drop off he was miraculously better.
I took him with me to the supermarket. He rode standing, on the front of the trolley, facing me so we could joke and chat as we went around the aisles. The usual weekday shoppers were there...Mum's with toddlers and the elderly. As we slowly negotiated our way past the toothbrushes we had to momentarily pause to wait for a little girl to step back out of our way. "Watch out for the lady." Her grandmother beckoned. As we turned the corner into the next aisle my son cracked up, "She just called you a lady." He was incredulous. He went on, "I was just about to tell her, 'She's NOT a lady!'"
"You don't think I'm a lady?" For one fanciful moment I thought my 5 year old son was about to engage me in modern feminist dialogue. Thinking he was coming to my defence I asked him, "Well if you don't think I'm a lady, what or who do you think I am?"
He looked at me as if that was a crazy question, "You are a MOTHER."
Least I forget.
"Truly?", knowing he had me, I caved and told him he could stay home...Within 10 mins of returning from the drop off he was miraculously better.
I took him with me to the supermarket. He rode standing, on the front of the trolley, facing me so we could joke and chat as we went around the aisles. The usual weekday shoppers were there...Mum's with toddlers and the elderly. As we slowly negotiated our way past the toothbrushes we had to momentarily pause to wait for a little girl to step back out of our way. "Watch out for the lady." Her grandmother beckoned. As we turned the corner into the next aisle my son cracked up, "She just called you a lady." He was incredulous. He went on, "I was just about to tell her, 'She's NOT a lady!'"
"You don't think I'm a lady?" For one fanciful moment I thought my 5 year old son was about to engage me in modern feminist dialogue. Thinking he was coming to my defence I asked him, "Well if you don't think I'm a lady, what or who do you think I am?"
He looked at me as if that was a crazy question, "You are a MOTHER."
Least I forget.
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