werk werk werk werk werk

Since popping out these babies, work wise, I've tried many different set ups. I worked part-time (out of the home), I didn't work at all, I set up a business and became a self employed WFHM (work from home Mum). Being self employed and working from home and around your kids timetable is a blessing and a curse. Actual work time is sparse when you don't earn enough to pay for childcare, and when you have no childcare you can't work or earn enough. Yay!

Believe it or not this is not a #grumblebrag post (made that up but feel like it's a winner), but a post about how sometimes the work you can manage in those tiny pockets of naps and bedtimes can make you feel like a motherfuckin superhero.

I love my job. I think about it and plan for it and look forward to it the way someone who doesn't get to do it enough should. I worry about it too; about my lack of marketing and clients and generally getting out there. I basically beat myself up about not getting enough done whilst full time parenting, even though, I'm full time parenting so DUH. There is always a little niggling fear that I'm missing my time, my place in the world to do more of what I should be doing. I'm ready for that voice to pack up and do one.

The things is (and as a Brit and a woman saying this doesn't come naturally) I think I'm really good at what I do. I deeply love photographing families. Photographing connections. It brings be peace and joy and satisfaction. I think I'm offering something a little different, something a little special. But selling that? Selling myself is not my strong point. So whilst I know I'll get there, I mean, I have to get there because we need to eat, the journey can feel rough.

...

I've been thinking a little about motivation lately, about comparison and competition and inspiration. Last year I read this piece about those things in relation to women, about how women are not encouraged to be competitive with one another and what bullshit that is.

'Why shouldn’t women be competitive? If you had told me that some magazine was eliminating the Best Dressed ranking or the Most Beautiful top 100 list, I could get with that rationale. Because encouraging competition over clothes and/or physical appearance can be problematic. But the power list is supposed to be based on achievement and accomplishment. And why shouldn’t women compete with their heads, compete by achievement and accomplishment? In taking away this list, does it mean that women aren’t capable of being competitive when the competition is about THE WORK?!? That women can’t handle the pressure AT WORK?'

I loved it at the time and was reminded of it yesterday with this follow up. I have a friend who is sooooo good at the business hustle. Extremely good at what she does. She works hard and imaginatively and it is so inspiring to me. I love when we get to talk business and geek out, and it made me realise how I need more of that. More conversation and support and motivation from women who are out there hustling. Because it's quite honestly magic to watch.

....

The last few weeks have been good work wise. Great even. I've found the two magic ingredients for a little work hustle - time and inspiration. Those two occurrences, simultaneously, are rare. Sometimes you need to write down and own the shit you have managed to do, so here is mine;

• I updated my website with images that I really love, regardless of what I think others might like
• I wrote about family photography and why I want to do it a little differently
• I shared some tips for taking your own photographs at home
• I started a google adwords campaign
• I'm actually updating my facebook business page
• hashtagging the shit out of instagram (which lead to my first insta-booking!)

There are always other things I need to do. A list that is added to with not much crossed off. I need to learn about SEO. I need to market myself. I need to get better at pushing through that uncomfortable-ness and sell myself. I'll get there.

In the meantime, the above is a pretty good start.

(and now for some random photos of my kids I took using tinfoil around the lens. obvi.)

When going easy on yourself feels like a radical act of self love and it really shouldn't

by Annegret Soltau

Last week, I gave myself a pass.

Yeah, I DID.

Wednesday was rough. One of those days which are thankfully rare but still totally happen. When you're up when it's dark and from the moment you open your eyes you feel it all slowly but surely slide downhill.

When dinner time came, I was so. over. that. shit. I was ill, we were all tired. I started with some notion of cooking some vaguely passable dinner. Then I wondered why I would bother with that cooking from scratch crap when I knew there were two little pizzas in the back of the freezer. Pizza? In front of the TV? Who's gonna call the police on me?

There's a lot of guilt floating around these internets. Up for grabs at any time, across a smorgasboard of outlets. Your kids should be playing outside! Eating some variation of spiralized vegetables! Doing activities you found on Pinterest! Wearing ethically sourced organic clothing! None of this is wrong per se, I don't have to tell you that. My kids do indeed eat vegetables, and I have even done a pinterest activity with them in the last 3 days. I'm not a massive guilt feeler in this sense, I genuinely think that 90% of the time we're doing a bang up job of raising them. But I'm still human. Sometimes I compare and judge and look at our lives as an outsider, trying to see what others might see, trying to see if I'm checking the boxes.

But this is not the only way to be. I could probably go one step further and say that in many cases and scenarios, it's just not a sustainable way to be. There has to be some give. Sometimes, there is a lot of solo parenting. Sometimes, we get ill. Sometimes, we're tired and grumpy and not really ourselves. Sometimes, being a good mother doesn't look like it does on Instagram. On Wednesday night, being a good mother came from giving in to that and giving my self a pass. The good mothering came from screen time cuddles on the sofa with frozen pizza and peas in their bellies and yogurt in their hair and chilling the hell out. Accepting my limit for that day had been reached and there was no more to give.

That's the great thing about being the adult though, no? Some days you get to say fuck it and everyone has to do what you want. Obviously, my kids were pleased as punch. They watched cBeebies and ate pizza and giggled and had a great ol' time. And you know what? So did I!

That collection of anti-instagram/not cooking from scratch/childhood plugged in moments, making us so happy and calm.

What a fucking revelation.

I put the baby to bed and instead of reading to Sach, I handed him my phone. I crawled into bed next to him and we cuddled whilst I watched Kimmy Schmidt he played Scrabble.

Since that night I've read two brilliant bits about self care that really resonated with me. This one by Michelle, who is a nutritionist shared how eating ready made frozen meals allowed her to look after herself whilst undergoing therapy. The idea of good and bad food, of eating a certain way and cooking a certain way..... it takes it's toll and I'm thinking about it more and more. Especially if you're making on average 21 meals a week and it feels hard at times.

The other piece is from Renegade Mothering. Now you're all going to probably yell at me that you've been reading her forver, but whatevs I've just discovered her brilliance so am going to wang on about how on point she is. This post in particular hit me right in the gut.


So I'm trying to continue the self care theme in the everyday. Some days that means giving myself permission to do only what I can/want to do. Allowing myself to not feel guilty about that for as long as I can make it last. And that's it really. The guilt. The internal/external pressure to do all the things. It's not that I've never taken time during her nap to read or watch tv or do something purely for me. The difference is giving myself express permission. Usually that time comes with a caveat - you can do this one thing for yourself, but then you will do 5 other things that need doing to balance it out.

There are many exceptions as I'm still keeping two people alive and fitting in bits of work, but even within that I can make time for myself. It's do-able guys. Sometimes it feels very much not do-able. It has taken me 2 kids and 6.5 years to be even remotely feel comfortable with this idea and practice of not doing all the things. Of giving myself permission. Join me? Let's see if we can make it stick.

previously, on 'the internet' #9

My Twitter bio states: Reading the internet since 2001. NO SPOLIERS. Based on a joke (ok, not really) about what I'm currently reading, which is always and forever, the internet. I'm about 50% done guys! Previously, on 'The Internet', is a weekly listicle of what I eyeballed. Down to business.

THE BEAUTY OF CAREFREE YOUTH CAPTURED IN FATHER’S PORTRAITS OF HIS SIX CHILDREN

by Alain Laboile

• Some fictional lolz. 

'Obviously I'm thrilled that the theme of men desiring sex with the naive and nubile is finally getting the literary revival it has long deserved. Mr. Colapinto is an American hero, an artist willing to ask the vital question: what if an older man wanted to fuck hot teens?'

• 'We restore order with imagination' I have no idea where this quote comes from, but I wrote in in my notes sometime last year. It calls to me this quote as it works in so many contexts for me. It sprang to mind whilst I was reading this over at The Atlantic, about narrative psychology and how we arrange Life's Stories. 

“Life is incredibly complex, there are lots of things going on in our environment and in our lives at all times, and in order to hold onto our experience, we need to make meaning out of it,” Adler says. “The way we do that is by structuring our lives into stories.”

• Why Do We Talk About Millennials Like They're All Middle Class?

• I like the things Dolly has to say about tackling life crises.

• My love for Rebecca's writing about motherhood, hell humanhood, is so deep. I choked up reading this, about the houses we are building and the houses that are neglected, about women and community and raising kids and everything. I am here and this is me. It might be you, too.

"People warned us years ago and we rolled our eyes because we were strong and capable. Of raising confident children. And maintaining a sturdy marriage. Pursuing a career...
"I'll never be like that," we said.
"I've got this. Muscle arm emoji."
We were right. WE ARE STRONG and capable. But somedays we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, shaking our heads... Somedays we yearn for the house we had all those years ago -- the house that was JUST for us. The house that we cannot, even if we wanted to, rebuild..."

• Loved this on how we read, and lies about attention. I am currently listening to one audio book, dipping in and out of two non-fiction, two books of poetry, and one fiction. Natch. 

"I read with continuous partial attention and I don’t care that I am frequently interrupting my own reading. I despise the discourse that says we are all shallow, that we are all flighty, distracted, not paying attention. I am paying attention, but I am paying attention to everything, and even if my knowledge is fragmented and hard to synthesise it is wider, and it plays in a vaster sphere, than any knowledge that has gone before."

• I watched a very interesting Twitter conversation play out this week, about 'me-ternity time'. Hang on, I'll wait here whilst you eyeroll. Done? Me-ternity is the idea that it's not just women who should get a time of paid 'leave', that anyone should be able to take paid leave from their job. There are m a n y issues with this argument, mainly using maternity leave as an example of some kind of holiday from your job. I obviously take umbrage with this. Making women, who often have no choice but to care for their children, the enemy is not the answer. It also fails to acknowledge the very real implications that women face taking time out of a workplace to child rear face. Laura Bates writes more in The Guardian. I do however support that anyone should be able to take time out if they want/need to, with minimal implications. To me, this surely seems like more of a case for universal basic income? 

• meanwhile, offline... I finished Mating in Captivity and can throughly recommend it if you have any interest in relationships, sex, commitment, or monogamy. Still obsessively listening to Lemonade. I have temporarily given up on two TV series this week - The Five and The Tunnel respectively. I just can't with all the prolific sexual violence towards women on screen. Does anyone else ever feel like that? It's just too much. I had nightmares for a week about both of these and it's not worth it. On a happier note, the final two episodes of Master of None were lovely. Not perfect, but realistic and witty and I'm looking forward to season 2. PASTA. I went to see Sunset Boulevard with my bestie (it was brilliant) and he even took me for a Burger at Five Guys and an awesome cocktail at ECC before hand. The last few episodes of Freakanomics have been particularly great - about getting better at stuff. In a nutshell. May in Brighton means FESTIVAL TIME! The city is buzzing and there is creativity everywhere. We're planning on seeing a giant marionette circus and some comedy and lots of drinking at the pop ups around the city. Roll on summer.

On possibility

I currently have six ill formed blogposts waiting on me in my drafts.

Six.

S I X.

So I obviously started a seventh, and here we are.

Those six posts are all on BIG THINGS. Marriage. Motherhood. Patriarchy. Love. Wanderlust. A scrambled mess of all the thoughts and all the feelings. A deep, thick swamp of what I'm working through on a day to day basis, trying to connect it to a bigger picture. To other stories and other lives. It's like walking from my sludge into someone elses, leaving big brown footprints in between. Immersing myself until I need to haul myself out, looking like some kind of swamp monster, then needing to shower and wash it away. Stripped back until I'm squeaky clean, before I can go wading back in all over again.

That's a pretty good metaphor for my mind right now. Add in the swamp monster continually driving around a roundabout at some point, and I think we've nailed it.

I want to get this stuff out. To talk it all over, put it down, share and be shared with in return. Desperately at times. I think it's interesting guys. I think you'd like it. I think it's worthy of conversation, and dumping it out here would feel like heaven. There are pages and pages of words. If only my brain could coherently arrange and edit and spellcheck, and I had built in wifi so I could upload it by merely blinking. The dream!

The reality? I just. can't. do. it. I can't get far enough into any of it. I keep bashing up against a brick wall, so then I start again. On a another topic. Another thread. Another tangent. And in a big way I feel like it's just a very accurate reflection of my inner workings right now. A lot of solo parenting, a lot of contemplation, a lot of reading and taking on other points of view has left me confused. Messy. Overwhelmed. A swamp brain filled with all the stuff.

There are also other reasons it's not working. Some are totally legit, and some... not so much. Shall I list my excuses for you?

• I have children. This feels less of a legitimate reason every time I trot it out.
• I'm not making the time. I could be getting up early in the morning like a good, organized creative person does. Do I? hahahahaha no. I do not.
• I've lost my creative mojo. The ideas are there, but getting past that first hurdle seems impossible. I feel a bit lost, creatively.
• It's hard and requires concentration. I'm not pushing through the uncomfortableness. I'm basically a toddler wailing on the floor at the difficulty of it all, waiting for someone to save me from myself.
• Something else is calling me. That book. This website. Those kids. The bloody dishwasher. All the other things are calling me, it seems.
• I'm not good enough. I wish I was a better writer. Coherent. Concise. No typos. That the words would come and feel like me.

Maybe that last one is the real crux of this story. If I felt good enough at it, good at all, would that make those other excuses easier to kill off? Is it hard because I'm not good enough, or am I not good enough because I'm not trying very hard? I suspect it's a combination of the two.

If that's the case, there is hope.

Finding your own voice in writing is fucking hard, right? It's not easy for anyone, and that's why (as with many endeavors in life) not everyone does it. So often I can't see myself clearly enough in what I'm writing. I can't see the nuance, or humour. Or the playfulness that can fly out of my mouth but feels so much clunkier and awkward in written form. I just can't see me, I guess.

Obviously the only real way to find my voice, to see myself here in these words, is to come the fuck on, Bridget. Write more. More and more and more until out comes me in that sentence, that phrasing, that paragraph, that whole piece. There I am and down I spill. Practice practice practice. To put in the hours. Deliberate practice and blood, sweat and tears.

Really, none of it matters. Or at least, it only matters to me. I only want to be better for me. To know that I can translate these thoughts into something that can exist outside of myself. Worked through and sorted, filed into an imaginary cabinet labelled 'Shit Laura thought about' (new blog name?) I mean really,  is there even any point? I don't know. But I do know that sometimes, I like it. This feeling of 'stuckness'. Of challenge. Of the possibility at becoming better at something. Maybe I will, maybe I won't, but it's possible. And sometimes it's just really fucking irritating.

Oh hi, life.

previously, on The Internet CANCELLED DUE TO LEMONADE

Guys, who am I kidding? What else has there even been on the internet this week except Beyonce?

Nothing. That's what.

Now you're going to need to either download Tidal or buy on iTunes, but here's a start for you.

"He Better call Becky with the good hair" - Beyoncé#holdup #beyhive #lemonade #sorryhttps://t.co/0btHa5Z6lx

— BeyHive Daily (@BeyHiveMore) April 24, 2016

I could talk about this visual album all day long. It is really worth your time to find the hour to watch the whole thing from start to finish. The music is woven together with spoken poetry, against a backdrop of some of the most beautiful scenes. I have screenshot it so many times, just so I can stare a little longer at that expression, or those shadows, or that colour palette.

Lyrically, it is powerful and vulnerable, raw honesty mixed with pure agression. A bleeding heart. When do we get to see women like this? Joyful in their destruction, bleeding on the floor at the hands of emotional turmoil, defiant and strong and tired and hopelessy devoted? Not enough. Maybe not ever, like this.

Constantly aware of it all
My lonely ear
Pressed against the walls of your world

Who the fuck do you think I is?
You ain't married to no average bitch boy
You can watch my fat ass twist boy
As I bounce to the next dick boy

Middle fingers up, put them hands high
Wave it in his face, tell him, boy, bye

True love breathes salvation back into me
With every tear came redemption
And my torturer became a remedy

Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Oh, already asked that, my bad
But you my lifeline, think you tryna kill me?

And we can't talk about Lemonade without talking about Warsan Shire. Her poetry is the most sublime undercurrent, pulsing throughout like a heartbeat.


Warsan Shire - "For Women Who Are Difficult To Love" from MovingOn on Vimeo.

"So what are you going to say at my funeral now that you've killed me? Here lies the body of the love of my life whose heart I broke without a gun to my head. Here lies the mother of my children both living and dead. Rest in peace, my true love, who I took for granted."

"You remind me of my father, a magician… able to exist in two places at once. In the tradition of men in my blood, you come home at 3 a.m. and lie to me. What are you hiding? The past and the future merge to meet us here. What luck. What a f--king curse."

"I tried to change, closed my mouth more, tried to be softer, prettier, less awake. Fasted for 60 days, wore white, abstained from mirrors, abstained from sex, slowly did not speak another word… I grew thickened skin on my feet I bathed in bleach and plugged my menses with pages from the holy book, but still inside me, coiled deep, was the need to know…are you cheating on me?"

Sign up for my #lemonade support group in the comments.