Unbelievable!

This carries on beautifully from my previous blog post. I mean really? 

Choose Wisely

It’s nice to have a sit down and a read.  A cuppa and a book for half an hour, or maybe a magazine to enjoy.  You have to choose carefully though, because some reading material might leave you with a bad taste in your mouth.

I first noticed it as a teenager, I would buy a magazine, read it, look at the pictures of the amazing models with their endless legs, smooth skin and tiny frames, and then feel bad.   I was a bit spotty, shortish, my hair was frizzy, my legs didn’t go on and on and my boobs still hadn’t grown in (some things never change).  I would read those magazines and feel ugly, but still I bought them. 

   

I did lots of quizzes too.  There was usually one in every magazine. One that sticks out in my mind is; Are you an apple or a pear? This was followed by a helpful section on how to get dressed if you were  shaped like an apple or a pear.  Essential reading huh?   All those years I’d been doing it wrong!

The thing is, we are all susceptible to the influence of these magazines.  Even though I now know that most of those images are airbrushed, they still make me dislike my own body and feel inferior.  And you see I don’t want to dislike my body.  It’s perfectly fine, I have been living in it for 34 years and it has done the job.  It has its quirks, it’s not perfect, but I try and look after it and I am thankful for my health.  

So, back to the magazines, I don’t buy them, I avoid reading them.  Why would I want to pay someone to make me feel like shit?  And over the years I have noticed them become nastier and more obvious in their attacks on women.  Does the Heat Magazine Circle of Shame still exist?  Can you imagine being that person, the one who is paid to find a photograph of someone and point out their perceived faults, their sweat patches, their spots or wrinkles.  How nasty.  What must that do to you as a human being, to be that cruel to others in the name of entertainment?  And of course, how would it feel to be the object of such shame.  I know when I have sweaty armpits, I hope no one notices, so I can only imagine how I would feel to have it broadcast to the nation.   I have also noticed that the magazines that are stocked at the checkout in the supermarket often have  a picture of some celeb or other who is having a ‘crisis’,  the image has been carefully chosen to be as unflattering as possible, a makeup -less unsmiling shot, to emphasise the emotional turmoil that whoever that week’s victim is experiencing.

So my point is this.  When you buy a magazine, ask yourself how you feel after reading it.  If the answer is that you feel good, (or at least no worse) then great, keep reading, but if, like me, you find seeds of doubt nagging away at you, then ditch them.  Read something else, after all, there are plenty of good books out there.

An Education

In the months after starting all over again, while I was putting one foot in front of the other, I read lots and lots of books.  I have two daughters and the thought of them growing up in this world terrifies me.  There are two books that are essential reading for my girls before they reach adulthood and make their way into the world. The first book is by a woman called Patricia Craven.  Pat worked as a probation officer and listened to the stories of hundreds of men who had abused their partners.  She came to recognise and understand their behaviours and beliefs and she developed The Freedom Programme and wrote the book Living with the Dominator.  It was Pat’s work that made me see that I was in an abusive relationship.  In fact it appeared that she personally knew my abuser, such was the accuracy of her description of The Dominator. I read this book in one morning, and the clarity that it afforded me, about not only the abusive relationship, but the world that we live in and society’s role in perpetuating abuse was astounding. I can honestly say that I have never learned so much from just one book.

The second book that I want my girls to read is called How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran.  I started to read my sister’s copy and couldn't put it down, I hadn't realised that I was a feminist until I read this book and identified strongly with it.  It opened my eyes once again to the inequalities of today’s world.  I had grown accustomed to the sexism, the misogyny, the objectification of women and I think that I almost couldn't see the wood for the trees, so to speak.  Again it was a real eye opener and it made me laugh- a lot!  I awoke from my feminism apathy, ready to do whatever it takes to teach my girls about feminism and sexism and instill in them a desire for equality.  So far so good, my ten year old now has a keen eye for a gender stereotype! My heart swells with pride.

I feel that we are on the verge of a revolution . Feminism is a hot topic and rightly so.  Campaigns such as Lose the Lads’ Mags and No More Page 3 are gathering pace.  Women are not objects.  Women do not exist for male sexual gratification. These beliefs and the media machine that feeds them are part of the problem, part of the reason why some men believe that women are worth less than men, that women are less intelligent than men, that men have the right to control women’s bodies.  These beliefs help The Dominator justify his behaviour.  Let’s keep challenging  them! (I’m not even going to start on the body image/self esteem issue! )

LINKS

The Freedom Programme http://www.freedomprogramme.co.uk/lwd.php

How to be a Woman  http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0091940737

The Chameleon  http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Chameleon-ebook/dp/B00DBEGCWC

Lose the Lads’ Mags http://www.losetheladsmags.org.uk/

No More Page 3 http://nomorepage3.org/

The birth of The Chameleon

So here I go, my first blog post. I thought I’d start with a little story about myself. I want to share my reasons for writing my novel, The Chameleon.

The story starts with a moment in time, a day that I had been dreaming of and working towards for many years - my first day as a qualified midwife, the first day that I wore a blue uniform and a badge with my name and the word MIDWIFE emblazoned across it.  That day should have been the proudest one of my life; I’d worked damn hard to get there. In reality it’s a day that I look back on with pity and sadness.

I made sure that I was up nice and early and that I had the children organised. Finally I’d be earning a living.  I took the children to my mum’s and then I went to Asda to buy a cardigan to hide my bruised arms.

I arrived at work, worried that I’d be expected to remove my cardigan.  It was a community placement, so I hoped that I’d be able to work independently and keep my arms hidden.  The midwife that I was working with had been my mentor as a student, she knew me well.  She was happy for me.  I’d qualified and I’d also recently set up home with my new partner.  Life was looking good.  However looks mean nothing and the reality was very different.  So that was it, my special first day out there in blue, paranoid, bruised and on the verge of tears all day. Not what I had been imagining in the seven years that it took me to get there.

I’d met my partner through mutual friends.  They’d know him for 10 years.  He was a good guy, I could be sure of that. The first 9 months were fantastic.  He was attentive, caring and funny.  He was gentle, witty and adoring.  He was fantastic with my children. My family adored him and his family adored me. Result! I’d finally landed on my feet.  Onwards and upwards for me!

He’d cried tears of joy with me when I heard that I had passed my degree, he had celebrated with my family and friends and toasted my success.  Pride had shone from his eyes at the mere mention of my achievement.  I was so lucky. Little did I know that this was the first tactic.  Worship me, become indispensable, lull me into a false sense of security and seduce my family and friends with his charm. But his charm was an act, his pride was false, and I was far from lucky. I moved in with him, started afresh hopeful and happy and found myself in hell.

I lived with my abuser for five months. In that time, he called me the most disgusting names, stopped me from leaving the house, sabotaged my friendships, eroded my confidence, smashed furniture, kicked doors,  hit me, threw me and kicked me  (I had a lump on my shin for months and months). He would taunt me, follow me, call me names and wind me up until I lost my temper and slapped him and then he would say that I was the abuser, that he was the victim and what he was doing to me was self-defense . I also smashed and threw things and the environment was toxic. I believed I was going mad, a belief that led me to the answers, and ultimately shone a light on what was going on.  I sought help, in the form of counselling, to work out why I was so argumentative, and why I hit out in arguments. And guess what?  It turned out that I was in an abusive relationship! Who knew?  How had that happened to me? What would I do? How was I going to get him to see that his behaviour was wrong so he would stop and we could be happy? 

The answer, sadly, is that it was a job too big for me to get him to see, and thankfully I left him and started all over again.  I was angry, hurt and embarrassed too, and if he’d have made promises to sort himself out and attend the right sort of behavioural program, I’d have been easily swayed to let the cycle begin again, such was my self-esteem at that point in time.

 I had to start right at the beginning. I had no home, no car, no money, no appetite and very very bad insomnia and I decided that I would write a story about a woman in an abusive relationship, it was my way of dealing with the storm in my mind and so The Chameleon was born.  You can find it here http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Chameleon-ebook/dp/B00DBEGCWC  I wanted to raise awareness, and dispel myths.  Abuse is not usually obvious, even to the abused.

 I began to put one foot in front of the other again and make my way to a better place.  I’m proud to say I got here!