Saints and Superheroes

When we’re young and full of the joy that youth bestows upon you, everything seems so black and white. Most of us in the Western world have the privilege of not much more responsibility than maybe the dishes or walking the dog. If we are lucky, as we grow, problems always seem to happen to other people and that war is always far away and your energy stays intact along with the belief that you are somewhat invincible, weathering any storm. Our ability to bounce back as young humans is incredible, that resilience, (albeit part self-centred stubbornness). Even if by puberty, you’ve had your corners knocked off and life hasn’t been exactly a scene from the Brady Bunch, there’s still reserve in our arsenal to endure the curveballs that life throws at us. We still have an ideal of how we feel our lives should pan out; expectations for the future, in many cases in contemporary times, a privileged view of what rights our elders owe us; always a favourite. Often, as we age, the life path we took has had great impact on our psyche more often our bodies. Our bold choices have left scars and trauma as the Beatles sang: ‘when I was younger so much younger than today … etc’

As a young woman with a whole Women’s history module as part of my first degree under my belt. I quickly realised that this global ‘man space’ was going to be navigated on my own terms…my way or the highway! Hashtag no bra and armpit hair forever! hoorah! I was fiercely independent and head strong; anything that stood in my way was a total disregard for my entire humanity and a personal affront to my right to choose! Any tepid apathy offered up towards my visions and aspirations; I perceived as an atrocious, vicious attack on my existence as a uterus barer! … yes, I was one of those…I navigated adult life with a ‘hate something change something attitude,’ which sometimes was to my detriment both financially and psychologically…but I was always true to my moral compass, and I stand by that today. 

Having children armed with this fierce attitude, unfortunately only exacerbated the situation; birthing children with unhelpful, ‘old school’ partners only fanned the flames of my eternal struggle with patriarchal inequality. This wasn’t just at home either; I ran a gauntlet of ferocity with every obstacle that emerged on the horizon. I remember once, I was haughtily refused campus childcare whilst I sat a university entrance exam … so marched in and aced the exam with a baby in a pushchair next to me. I’ve directed a business whilst still maintaining a home, physio for my disabled son and very dodgy, unorthodox wheelchair maintenance. that’s how it always was; dust myself off and get on with it. I’ve got this... even when at times… I really hadn’t. I always told myself “My shoes may well be on the wrong feet but I’m still standing”. Hey, we laughed and shouted ‘I love you’ at each other and my kids believed I ironed their shirts in the morning before school so that they were warm to put on; we were fine … I didn’t need anyone.

The advent of my second child having Cerebral Palsy, however, was something that shook my reserve. When I got the results that his tiny arms and legs may never work, I remember being collected by car, by my mother and screaming and howling and making noises only a devastated parent could make. But me being the fierce lioness that I was, composed myself before we reached the house and had rationalised my grief to a degree and had a plan of action (which mostly involved holding him close and not letting go for the next couple of decades); why waste energy being distraught? 

My point is, if you’ve spent a huge part of your life being the default parent: constantly on the hamster wheel of nine to five: a breadwinner, who everyone looks to as the fixer of the Universe,

 (yep, once that Superman shirt is on there’s no changing it,) it feels like Sauron’s eye is upon you. We’re all scrutinised by so many institutions and other judges of circumstance that were forced into the role of saints/ superheroes and angels and nothing less than martyrdom will do. We must be seen to keep our halos straight and our golden angels’ wings preened and shiny; capes neatly ironed. When in actual fact, to maintain this thin veneer of perfection, most of us superheroes are running on pure adrenaline and mental steel; it does take an everlasting toll.

What I’m trying to say in this long-winded waffle is that no matter how resilient we are, how well we reinvent ourselves and rise from the ashes; No one takes you to one side and tells you, that for the rest of your life you will always run with your glass only half full. You only have half of yourself to offer because you have gladly given the other half away ... and two weeks holiday in Torremolinos or camping in Cornwall is not going to fix it Karen! You've given a part of yourself you can never recover and that’s just a fact and now we must learn to live ...well, just a little bit empty. Often, we don’t realise, all that get up and go, has got up and gone. The immense guilt and sadness, leaving Callum waving from the house knowing what difficulties he would face without me was the final nail in my crucifixion… believe me, Jesus had it easy. I left my halo at the door as it clicked shut with him, for the first time, on the other side. Existential annihilation doesn't begin to describe the devastation.

Our resilience and ability to bounce back, fades over time due to navigating an environment where perpetual striving for success is normal. Keeping up the spinning plate performance is expected. And unable to plateau, rest and replenish our anti kryptonite reserves ... eventually, as Edna Mode warns, our capes get caught in the engines. 

After my tragic departure, I arrived in France, like a bird plop on the windscreen. I had less va va voom; hell, my body knew it, but my head hadn’t caught up. In my mind I was still poncho swishing, arm wrestling, Huckleberry Finn who was going to take on the world single handedly. Stand back! I’m stepping into my dreams dammit! I look back now and admire my tenacity with a wry, sagacious smile (for, dear reader, my will was waning before my very eyes, I had arrived with said glass, empty!) But these trials could not stop me, so, as always, I rolled up my mighty little sleeves and viewed my renovation project as a mountain to be climbed. The French paperwork system had never encountered such a robust filer of reports and timely submitter of documents. So much so, I became infamous at the local Prefecture for my incessant enthusiasm and linguistic wizardry, (they loved me, I could tell?). After a year, they relented and let me have a job. Promptly broke my arm: the car was written off, got Covid…again. Had I kicked an old lady in my last life? Maybe at school, locking ‘Beaky’ Weatherall in his own store cupboard had come back to haunt me. I was beginning to wonder about some Karmic cataclysm I must have earned from my terrible deeds.

After much sitting, stropping, feeling sorry for myself about the hurdles I had literally run into, when the storm clouds passed the silver lining to ces catastrophes was the profound realisation to my uptight, tenacious self that I was actually surrounded by people that cared. Friends who had big hearts and bigger resolves and offered help. ‘What, me? Accept help ... how very dare you suggest I need it!... This is not my first rodeo and this little lady can fix her own wagon! Whispers of my ancestors' voices echoed “there’s no such thing as a free lunch “… “never look a gift horse in the mouth”. But, and it is a BIG but, I was exhausted. Exhausted carrying the torch as a formidable single woman and all that I had to live up to: exhausted from striving to be the best example to my sons. Right down to the fact I had to continue to navigate my life here in a second language. I was sick of having a broken toilet and battling for position with the spider in the bath. It was, I'm sick of not being able to find a simple rich tea biscuit kind of tired. For dear reader, it is always the little comforts that brings down an empire. 

But people came? Like a great safety net, scooped me up and lifted me high back on the trusty trapeze we all swing on as immigrants in this crazy circus. For these kind people, the weight of their offer, was far less a worry, than the weight I felt to accept it. The greatest and most gracious thing of all was I never had to ask .. for that, I think, would have truly killed me. In my book, accepting help had meant I’d failed; I was weak … or worse obligated and owed people; which is no good for anyone’s soul; and as much as I hate to do it …I had to admit I was wrong. (of course, for the record I’m rarely wrong; but I will quietly leave it there)

In a short soul searching, surprising, bewildering time, my situation had gone from hopeless with my cape in tatters; plummeting into self-destruction; to one of rekindled faith in humanity and renewed my sense of hope.

We are all in this chaotic performance here in France as immigrants’ to-ing and froing, tumbling and jumping through bureaucratic hoops of fire; and looking back, to think that I could have conquered this performance alone may have rendered me the red nosed clown. However, as I have said before I am a firm believer that fortune favours the brave. But in my personal epiphany, swinging high by one hand, have come to realise, that being brave doesn't always mean racing in to meet ‘the slings and arrows of your misfortunes’ head on; but rather, a quiet acceptance of oneself and ones advancing age and abilities in a foreign land. To step back and assess how far you are progressing alone, fierce and proud…and how much you can achieve if you let people in and embrace, ‘a leg up’.

Apart from leaving Callum on the doorstep that night as I selfishly drove towards my own destiny…it's the hardest thing I have ever had to decide. Yes, yes, yes … I know. I’ve experienced far worse in my several lives. This is nothing in a world of atrocities, gross injustice and cruelty, lies and abject absurdism; and yes, maybe my feminist of the year award went out of the window and is now nestled firmly in the mud, with my former belief system. But I am what I am, it’s what I’m made of... from maintaining healthy children on a budget; not being able to put a pound coin in the supermarket trolley because I needed it for the groceries; to accepting help has been a serious journey. It has been something I have had to accept or go under; and here I am, boots on the right feet, stealthily taking the walk back to myself. Thanks guys. It’s been an uplifting and surprising ride.