Break for some deep breaths - its hard to write like this sometimes. Easy to talk about it, hard to type.

First of all I want to say that I hated my mother for being weak. For being sad, for not fighting her depression with something other than alchohol.

To that end I have spent most of my adult life trying as hard as I can to appear strong, capable, independant and stable not neccesarily with a huge amount of success.

When bad things happened, such as breaking up with someone, or losing a contract, if I had that feeling of tears starting at the base of my throat and working their way up I would argue myself into a corner saying that it was enough to acknowledge that I was feeling pretty shitty but as long as I was aware of this fact I was still strong, was still managing, was still capable of controlling my emotions.

The trick was to control myself, to be better than whatever happened to me or to my friends, not to let external events dictate how I felt about myself, or what I showed the world.

Of course that didn't work sometimes but any time it didn't work I felt ashamed. Such as the time my ex came by the office, I couldn't stand that, my face went red and I became nauseous. I wanted to show her that nothing she did anyore had the least effect on me, which was ludicrous to be sure, but that's what I wanted to be true. So I did my best to act the part.

I know I am not the only person with this philosophy, in fact I am just part of a larger cultiural imperitive that hates displays of weakness, emotion or vulnerability. It is unnattractive and more to the point, it is a failure of logic and of control.

I am on such a rant I can't think of good cultural examples. But here is one I used today over coffee;

Look at the way the media discusses north american persons living with HIV. We glorify people who are on drug cocktails that make it possible for them to continue living as if they were just like the rest of us. ie; "Look at Frank he is still mountain climbing even though he has been hiv + for over ten years. What strength, he's sucking the juice from the marrow of life, not letting paltry circumstance get him down. Go Frank!". Not: "Look at this guy, all his ex-boyfriends died within a year of each other and he is crying like a baby every time he passes their old bar. What an incredible love and life-affirming display of emotion."

To me now, it is untenable that I should have all this time priveleged stableness and steadiness, perserverance at all costs, maybe even if it means I get an ulcer or refuse to honour the things which make me feel the most and in a way that helps me heal.

What's even shittier is that I feel betrayed by post-feminism which is all about girl -power and having the independance and the empowerment not to fuck it up. I mean I know it's feminism(s) and maybe my reading of the politics is more about how I chose to interpret empowerment to mean powerful enough to be free of my emotions. But still, fuck feminisms too if I can't sometimes admit that I am not as strong as what life throws at me.

Why can't we grieve together why can't people feel shitty when feeling shitty is called for?

It's like when someone gets laid off. Immediately afterwards they have an appointment with a professional axe-man who had been engaged to tell all the laid-off people everywhere that they should look on the bright side, that now they could go and start consulting or open a landscaping company or work on their tans. That this lay-off wasn't by any means a bad thing, but was in fact an incredible opportunity for them to take advantage of their individual strengths.

I am sorry but that's bullshit and we all know it, it's just that in this culture, of strength and boundaries and self-control, it is impossible that grief or loss or dissapointment can be allowed to exist except as shameful secrets.

I hate this. I hate sitting here typing all these stories into a big metal box hoping that this can somehow expiate me for thinking that the person who took the time to give birth to me and who loved me and who I treat, excuse me, who I treated like a case. That this is the one way I know to let everyone see that being strong for my mother is definitely not the answer.

Posted by Miriam at January 28, 2005 3:00 PM | TrackBack Posted to death and dying