Shame, shame, shame
On being sorry, what it’s like to live in a ‘community’ and why I’m ‘gentle parenting’
Dear Jasper,
It’s been a while since I last wrote, and I’ve been feeling very, very guilty about it. The guilt has further propelled the avoidance to create a giant ball of shame that accumulates more matter the heavier it gets and the faster it rolls downhill. I am now at the bottom of the slope, looking up.
I hate that I do this.
I’ve spoken to lots of shrinks over the years about this habit (procrastinating over easy but important tasks until they become disastrously late) and all have had different theories. Some think it’s a fear of failure (makes no sense). Others suggest it’s a fear of success (equally batshit). But all agree it doesn’t make me a BAD PERSON because if I was one of those, I wouldn’t be so haunted by it. I would just forget, or not care.
Every single day this year, I have fretted about not writing Dear Jasper. When I wake up in the middle of the night (correction, when you wake me up in the middle of the night, son) it’s the first thing that pops into my head.
It would be so much easier to just do the task, wouldn’t it?
And yet.
My brain chucks out responses including, but not limited to:
You can’t do it today, it’s not Tuesday, and you promised you’d start publishing them only on Tuesdays
It’s been too long since the last one. Are you even going to address that?
Why don’t you pretend there’s been a ‘technical error’?
COWARD
You could do it today instead of the laundry and the supermarket shop?
No, it’s not a Tuesday
That’s a long way of saying that I am very sorry. This is supposed to be a weekly letter, and I’ve fallen behind. It’s probably no coincidence that this has coincided with Julius being away on a ship in Antarctica and me being home alone with you, little boy. It’s been quite very full-on, but I have got used to it.
Life updates
We live in a residential complex now, which is the sort of place I never, ever thought I’d want to be. There’s a ‘community spirit’ and everything. As it transpires, though, I love it. There’s a beach which is never crowded, a playground, lots of boardwalk-type areas for you to explore, a ludicrously expensive village shop, two reasonably-ish-priced restaurants, a post box, an ATM and a dog park. I’ve even made a few sort-of friends (people who could pick me out of a line-up, and who I can borrow things from occasionally). There are also a huge number of South African expats here, and their accents stir my soul.
We found a new dream house to move into. Not until May, but that’s OK now because I’m happy where we are until then.
I wrote a few stories for The Telegraph that did well, which is always nice. One about being diagnosed with ADHD as an adult, here. Another furious rant about BA, here. And I wrote my first piece for The Independent, which I’ll link when it’s published, about how I cured my fear of flying. Also, my TikTok video about having a child (you) even though I didn’t think I ever wanted to, has more than a quarter of a million views already! So next week I’m writing about that, too.
On that note, you, Jasper, continue to be the light of my life; the ying to my yang. Which is lucky, because you throw a lot of tantrums at the moment, in a way that is developmentally appropriate, but if you weren’t mine and I didn’t love you so much, would be unmanageably annoying. As a ‘first-generation gentle parent’, I have to awkwardly stand by when you have rage attacks (you don’t want to be comforted and I refuse to scold you for being distraught) so it’s a very odd feeling, just standing next to you and saying things like “I’m here when you’re ready” until you’ve expelled the demons.
Gentle parenting (I know, vomitty term)
I distinctly remember being told off for losing my temper when I was little, or at the very least being told to be quiet. My mother is very evolved and would never do this now, but back then she didn’t know any better. The thing is, toddlers and small children (and indeed medium-sized children and teens) don’t have fully developed frontal cortexes. It’s not fair to expect them to respond to challenges as an adult would, and by yelling at them to shut the fuck up, you aren’t ‘teaching them to behave’, you are teaching them to behave as if they are OK, when they’re not.
It’s a bit of a social experiment, of course, because what I do not want you to turn into, is a yob who thinks he can do whatever he wants. But the distinction when it comes to gentle parenting, which I like, is that we don’t hand out punishments, we teach consequences.
For example, when you chuck food petulantly across the room towards the end of a meal, which is what all toddlers do when they are learning to eat, instead of saying: “JASPER! STOP DOING THAT” in a way that is shameful, I say (through gritted teeth, a lot of the time): “That tells me you’re all done,” and I take the food away.
And when you threw an absolute shit fit, like you did yesterday, because you were tired and I wouldn’t let you climb a really dangerous boulder on the beach, instead of saying what felt natural (probably because it’s how I was dealt with when I was little): “NO! FOR GOODNESS SAKE GET DOWN THAT IS DANGEROUS”, I said: “I know it’s annoying that you can’t climb that, you seem really upset, let’s go home and wind down.”
In both scenarios, the strop led to him being removed from the fun environment, but in the second instance, I hopefully didn’t make him feel like a bad human in doing so.
Doing new things
In other news, I’ve been making an effort to do nice things for myself. Not to sound like a martyr, but I haven’t really been doing that at all since you were born. It was my birthday on the 20th so I went shopping and purchased some proper clothes (i.e. not frumpy mum leisurewear) and that really lifted my somewhat lonely mood.
I also looked in the mirror recently and realised I don’t even have a sun tan because I never sunbathe. I’ve got a bit of colour where the sun hits my shoulders and my forearms and my nose, from chasing you around the park, but my stomach, for example? White as a ghost. So recently I’ve been going to the beach for 20 minutes while Antonia is here to lie like a slice of bread and toast myself. My stomach is now fire truck red. But as we all know, you have to go up to go down, you have to go red to go brown.
That’s all for this week. Back next week. I swear on all that is holy.
Love,
Annabel
P.S.
In the news this week: The Royal Family in the UK is having a mare (King Charles has cancer; K-Mid is MIA with a mystery ailment; Lady Gabriella Windsor’s husband shot himself). Global fertility rates are plunging. US President Joe Biden twice confused the wars in Ukraine and Gaza, in his latest blooper.
Fun fact of the day: There is only one mammal on Earth that can fly. Do you know which one it is? Clue, there are lots of them here and we watch them swoop over the pool every day at dusk during our pre-dinner splash around.
Highlight of the week: Watching you play with sand, in the same spot, for a full five minutes during our daily afternoon amble - an unusually long duration, which even enabled me to perch on a sunlounger and enjoy a moment’s peace.
Low of the week: You had one really bad night in terms of sleep, so I was extra tired and instead of working when Antonia got here I snuck into bed and slept - then felt guilty about it, which is a bit unfair of me.
P.P.S.
If anyone wants a subscription refund for the weeks I didn’t write, email me and I will figure out how to do so. Again, I am truly sorry.
P.P.P.S
The only flying mammal is a bat.
Raw and real writing. This is the stuff, my friend. Cheers. No refund needed.
Good to see you back. No, I won’t be requiring a refund thanks. 🙏