#we spend decades of our adult years recovering from being children and being parented but because we are all going through that it's fine??

[cassolotl]

The thing is, it's very easy to control/train a child by making them feel ashamed.

I get it, parenting is really hard and takes up a lot of time and energy, and we need to keep a lot of time and energy freed up for work to earn money to have houses and buy food and so on. That means that a lot of parenting techniques are geared towards "how can I get my child to behave in a socially acceptable way without having to pay attention to them or interact with them as much?"

I'm glad that as a society we are learning that it's not okay to inflict physical pain and bodily harm on our doofus babies who don't know stuff because they were born more recently, I think that's a really good step.

But also, I really don't think shame and punishment is good for any human at any age.

There's this trend in our culture, based on my own experience/vibes, for dog welfare to always be a little bit ahead of child welfare. So like, it has been illegal to beat an animal for many, many years around here, but in Wales hitting a child has been illegal only since 2022 (last year), and it's still totally legal in England. And looking a few steps ahead of that, there's a pretty strong trend in dog training at the moment towards force-free training, which has no punishment at all, but still people think it's okay to punish a child or make a child feel ashamed.

Stuff that isn't okay to do to/with an adult shouldn't be permitted for children. Children are people like adults are, they're conscious and sentient like adults are, and also they are much more vulnerable to long-term psychological harm. What would you ideally do with your friend if they did something you didn't like [and you had a responsibility to stick around]? You would sit down and talk with them, and/or facilitate them having the support and information they needed, until they understood why what they had done was wrong/inappropriate.

Yes, children are doofuses because they were born way more recently than us, and so there is a lot more that they need to learn to be healthy members of society. That means you will need to spend 73 hours per day teaching them and helping them think, so that they can learn how to be people. Yes, that means that two humans who work to earn money to exchange for shelter and food do not have enough time to be good parents due to the laws of physics. That's because society is broken.

And also, parenting using shame is harmful. Making people feel ashamed is bad, and children are (short, inexperienced) people, and it is nuts to me that this is news to anyone.

A lot of people around me are having kids and every day it becomes more apparent that hitting your children to punish them is insane because literally everything can be a horrible punishment in their eyes if you frame it as such.

Like, one family makes their toddler sit on the stairs for three minutes when he hits his brother or whatever. The stairs are well lit and he can see his family the whole time, he’s just not allowed to get up and leave the stairs or the timer starts over. He fucking hates it just because it’s framed as a punishment.

Another family use a baseball cap. It’s just a plain blue cap with nothing on it. When their toddler needs discipline he gets a timeout on a chair and has to put the cap on. When they’re out and about he just has to wear the cap but it gets the same reaction. Nobody around them can tell he’s being punished because it’s in no way an embarrassing cap, but HE knows and just the threat of having to wear it is enough.

And there isn’t the same contempt afterwards I’ve seen with kids whose parents hit them. One time the kid swung a stick at my dog, his mother immediately made him sit on the stairs, he screamed but stayed put, then he came over to my dog and gently said “Sorry Ellie” and went back to playing like nothing happened, but this time without swinging sticks at the nearby animals.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Eleven - Bonding Over Crickets

We stood before the old wooden doors, holding hands.

“We don’t have to decide anything yet.” Victor squeezed my shoulder. “We will just get some information.”

“I know.” I took a deep breath.

“Ready?” He gave me a loving smile.

“As I will ever be.” I offered him a weak smile in return.

He rang the doorbell, taking a step backward, his hand holding mine.

We were greeted by an old lady, with grey hair held up in a careful bun, deep wrinkles framing blue eyes.

“Victor! So nice to see you!” She took Victor’s hand, shaking it. “And you must be Andrea! Nice meeting you!”

“Andrea, this is Miss Dillon, the orphanage director.” Victor introduced us. I smiled, shaking her hand.

We were led into an old corridor, leading to what I suspected was her office. Inside, a table with tea and cookies was waiting for us.

“Sit down, let me serve you some tea.” She took the teapot, filling our cups. “So, Andrea, Victor tells me you would like to adopt a child.”

“We want to know more about the process, yes.” I said, taking the steamy cup from the table.

“It would be fairly easy, to be honest.” She sat down, her hands moving as she spoke. “Firstly, we have some standard procedures before we even introduce you to a child, like background checks, a full course you need to attend, a few sessions with a counselor. But I think, in your particular case, we can forgo all of those. Victor has been a good friend of ours for quite some time, and I think I know him long enough to know he is a good man and an excellent candidate for an adoptive parent. And knowing his standards, I can only assume you are no less than a remarkable woman.”

“To say the very least.” He smiled at me, taking my hand, and I let out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“I can see that.” Miss Dillon smiled. “Which is why I think you are good candidates to go straight to referral. What kind of child do you think would be the best fit for your home?”

“We haven’t really discussed it…” I hesitated, looking at Victor. “But maybe the younger the better, for a better adaptation?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“Very well. I will look into our files to see what we have that we can refer to you, and then we’ll set up a meeting.”

“So, what’s it like?” I fidgeted in my seat. “We spend time with this child and see how it goes?”

“Exactly. You interact with the child to see if there’s a bond.” The director nodded.

“But… What if there is no bond?” I started to panic slightly. “What do you say to that child? I’m sorry, but they didn’t want you ?”

“Well, you don’t exactly disclose to the child what’s happening…” The director hesitated.

“Sure, but they know, right? They are children but they are not idiots! What if we don’t feel anything? What if the child doesn’t like us? Do we adopt her against her will? How does that happen?” My hand flew to my forehead, Victor catching it midair and squeezing it.

“Listen, there is no right method to do this.” Miss Dillon leaned on her desk, speaking to us with a knowing soft voice. “Trust me, we have tried several. This is the one that brings less anxiety to the children. Of course, there is the chance of refusal from one or both parts, but I don’t want you to consider the worst already. Just the fact that you are considering the child’s feelings tells me you won’t refuse any child, and any child will feel it too.” She gave me a soft smile. “We will be contacting you shortly. Just come with an open heart. You will do fine.”

Two days later, Victor got a phone call from the orphanage, saying that they had found a good match for us: a three-year-old girl whose parents had died in a tragic accident, without any known relatives. We scheduled a meeting for Sunday afternoon, and we bought a ragdoll to give her.

Victor seemed calm and patient with the whole thing. I was a bundle of nerves.

“I mean, this girl has some recollection of her parents.” I spoke from the walk-in closet, as I changed into a dress. “Can you imagine being so young, living with a happy family, and then being told you will never see your parents again, but Hey, here’s a brand new set of parents for you, they have actually no idea of what they are doing ? She’s going to resent us on principle alone. She wants her mother, not me.”

“Firstly, I don’t think they will be telling her that.” Victor walked in to pick a tie. “Second, remember what Miss Dillon told you? Just go with an open heart and you’ll do fine. These children are mostly starving for affection and in need of a good home.” He came to me, holding my chin, making me face him. “Besides, I know any child will love you. Just show them that warm smile of yours.”

“What if I don’t like her for some reason? What then?” I sat down to put on my shoes. “What if I find I don’t have a maternal instinct? That I am better off not being a mother anyway?”

Victor kneeled in front of me, holding my shoulders, a slightly worried look in his eyes.

“Why are you actively creating scenarios in which things go wrong? Do you not want to do this?”

“I do… I just…” I trailed off with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being incredibly hard. I’m just afraid this won’t work. And this is our last chance. If we want to become parents, we need to do this right. How are you not nervous?”

“Being nervous won’t guarantee me success, quite the contrary. Besides, I’m not doing this alone.” He held my hand. “Neither are you.”

I would like to say his kind and wise words relaxed me, but they didn’t. The last time I had tried to become a mother it was only to get my hopes up and then see them crash down violently again. I wasn’t ready for another loss, I had just recovered from the last one. In retrospect, my intensive worry was my weird way of protecting myself in case it didn’t work. Should the worse case scenario happen, I was already protected.

It was a sunny afternoon, so when we arrived at the orphanage, all the kids were playing outside. We were told to wait inside, so our presence wouldn’t alarm the other children, while the girl was getting ready. We obediently stood in the corridor, waiting. Out of the blue, Victor got a phone call.

“It’s Goldman.” He read from his phone screen. “He knows I’m here, so if he’s calling it must be urgent. I’ll take this outside, send for me when they call for us.”

Awesome, just awesome. I was a nervous wreck, my palms were sweaty and I had lost my companion. I felt like a naughty kid about to be summoned to the principal’s office, the time dragging lazily. I looked at my wristwatch, only two minutes had passed since we arrived.

Trying to distract myself, I looked at the decorations. There were pictures of the kids in the orphanage taken every year, Miss Dillon present in every single one of them. It was clear that she was doing this for decades. In the children’s smile, a sad resignation, but a hope for better days. I could do that, I could give a child a happy life. I could give a child the dream of better days. And I would get those same days in return.

Lots in my own thoughts, I wandered through the corridor, when I noticed a small red-haired boy sitting on one of the wooden seats, holding a children’s book. Maybe I could talk to him a little. Victor was taking the longest time to return, and I was in dire need of something to distract me from my anxiety.

“Do you mind if I sit here for a minute?” I pointed to the seat next to the boy.

“No.” He didn’t even lift his eyes from the book to answer me, totally engrossed in the book. I read the title. It was the children’s book version of Pixar’s movie “A Bug’s Life”.

“That is an awesome movie.” I tried to make conversation, pointing to his book. “Do you like the pictures?”

“Pictures are for toddlers.” He scoffed, seemingly aggravated with my comment. “I’m already four, I am reading it.”

I was baffled. I chuckled to hide my surprise, hoping I wouldn’t aggravate him any further.

“Well, yes, if you’re four, you are certainly not a toddler.” I noticed the boy seemed pleased with my answer, the frown on his face relaxing slightly. “Who taught you how to read?”

“No one.” He shrugged. “I taught myself.”

“Impressive.” I nodded. “By the way, my name is Andrea. What is yours?” I extended my hand formally.

“Are you here to adopt a child?” He took his eyes off the book.

“I am here waiting to meet one, yes.” I answered, uneasy with his question.

“Then why do you want to know my name? You won’t see me again.” He looked straight at me, and that was when I really noticed his features. His hair was somewhat long and curly, and he was staring at me with sweet dark brown eyes that stood out from his very fair skin. I could see he wasn’t being defensive. He was genuinely curious as to why an adult thought of starting a conversation with him.

“Well, I could see you again.” I smiled. “If we were friends, I could visit more often, and we could talk about things you like.”

“Would you really do that?” His eyes seemed to be studying mine. “Would you visit me?”

“I would.” I nodded. For some reason, that idea excited me more than anything in this world.

And then it hit me. I was bonding with that boy. We were talking to each other for no longer than five minutes, and I already felt this affection towards him. And Victor wasn’t there.

“I’m Owen, Owen Cole.” His tiny hand reached mine, shaking it.

“Andrea Lee. Nice meeting you.” I melted with how adorable he was.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you!” I heard Victor approaching us from the end of the corridor.

“I’ve been busy making a new friend. Owen, this is my husband, Victor. Victor, this is my new friend, Owen.”

“Nice meeting you, Owen.” Victor smiled as the young boy formally shook his hand. “Andrea’s reading you a story?” He pointed at the book.

“I know how to read. I’m four already.” He explained to Victor, as he took a seat next to us. “I need to study hard if I want to become an insectologist. Better start now.”

Victor raised his eyebrows at me, surprised.

“You’re a very decided little man.” I complimented. “You know, when I was a little older than you, I would go to the forest next to my grandmother’s farm with my brother to hunt for crickets.”

“That is so cool!” His eyes widened. “Do you know that only males chirp, to call females to mate or chase away another male? They produce that sound by rubbing their wings together. And the females have their ears in their legs!” He laughed.

“Oh, I didn’t know about the ears!” I laughed as well.

“How did you catch them?” He asked, excited. “Did you use a special trap?”

“Just an empty bottle and some sugar, and a lot of patience. We would catch dozens of them sometimes. I can teach you how it’s done someday if you want to.”

I sense Miss Dillon approaching us with a smile, only to go past us without a word. Owen kept asking all sorts of questions and showing us what he knew about his favorite subject, which was in fact quite a lot. Victor would mostly listen, dropping a sentence now and then, apart from the time he shared his experience raising silkworms. When we noticed the time, it was getting dark, and Owen was summoned for dinner. We left him with another formal handshake and the promise that we would come back next week to visit him.

Back at home, I felt exhilarated, talking about how sweet that boy was, and so very enthusiastic.

“He learned how to read so he could learn more about insects!” I commented as I mixed the dressing into the salad. “That’s how determined he is. Reminds me of someone I know.”

“He’s a great kid, yes.” Victor smiled knowingly. “So, do you want to start formally visiting him for adoption?”

“What about the other girl we were supposed to see? Miss Dillon didn’t mention her when we left.” I frowned.

“Miss Dillon has been doing this for many decades. She must’ve canceled the meeting the moment she saw the two of you talking.” Victor replied as he finished setting the table.

I went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, tilting my head to look at him.

“Well, this is not a decision I can make on my own, and you were mostly very quiet. What do you think? Did you like him?”

“I liked him very much, he reminds me of you.” He kissed my forehead as he caressed my hair. “You know, the curls, the sweet brown eyes… He could easily pass as your child.”

“Our child.” I corrected.

“Yes.” He smiled widely. “Our child.”

“So that’s a yes?” I beamed at him. “Or a maybe?”

“A solid yes.”

He chuckled as I threw myself in his arms, covering his face with kisses. Carrying me to the kitchen counter, he sat me on it and took me in his arms, kissing me deeply.

“Is this really happening? Are we really becoming parents?”I whispered, afraid that somehow fate would listen and make things go wrong.

“We are.” It was Victor’s turn to beam at me. “To a very special little boy.”

“Are you happy?” I made him face me, so I could see his expression. His eyes were shining.

“Overjoyed.”

“I love you so much.” My voice was strained, overwhelmed with affection.

“I love you too, my light. Thank you.”

He held me tightly in his arms, and I could hear his heart beating fast with happiness. We had been through a lot, but we had finally made it. We were becoming a family of three. The happy family Victor never had, and the one I had always dreamed about.

[sternenteile]

How bitter he is about his job sometimes. It's an awesome job, but I don't envy having to sit there for years. ;;;

geno’s job is brutal.  when he was born and raised in starborn valley, he, as a sprightly and naive child, expected that it would just be sunshine and rainbows. he would make as many people happy as he could, and it would be all smiles. such a pollyanna view of the world and what makes wishes tic, however, was quickly destroyed once rosalina discovered him and noted his potential, resulting in his early ascension to star haven —— and therefore star road. poor rosie probably had no idea just how bad things would end up being on him, for while many other stars haven’t an issue with the system as it is today (at least during geno’s time of coming to adulthood), geno… was different.

as a little one and even today, he has a very strong sense of justice, almost to the point of being totally unwavering. with that comes stubbornness and, if necessary, defiance. when it comes to just about any old joe, geno is very quick to stand his ground, but when it comes to his elders, his superiors, things get messy very quickly.

at first, little geno waited on the star spirits’ hands and feet (nubs and nubs??), ready for their beck and call without question. however, as time waned on, he saw the tough parts of his job, how some wishes are literally impossible to grant, even for the most deserving of people. he’s had to turn down wishes for loved ones to recover from illness, children’s pleas to bring a parent back from the dead, prayers for a quick miracle that he couldn’t make it to in time (leaving said wishes null and void)… and so on. the very first time he had to deny a wish like that was a young boy pleading for his mother to ‘wake up’, and it made him sob like a baby.

to top all of that off, as things got mentally straining for geno and the worn mentality of an adult set in, he began to miss his own planet. however, due to the necessary seclusion of a star from every other lifeform in the shiver region, he didn’t get to travel beyond starborn. he was prohibited from going elsewhere, and he was only allowed visitations to starborn for strictly business purposes. it absolutely floored him that they were so stringent about where he could go and what he could do. 

making matters worse, sometimes there were no wishes to grant along with nothing going on that requires geno’s stalwart guard. he was a sentry first and a wish-granter second, ever vigilant about protecting star road from any intruders or threats. that said, not much really happened there until smithy shattered the peace (literally), so if all wishes had been divided among the other stars and there was nothing to defend, geno… still had to stand guard. he was still requested to spend long, boring hours doing nothing but keeping an eye out, ordered not to stray or to lollygag. 

it was a very secluding environment for being out in such an infinite expanse, often leaving geno alone to his own thoughts. in his younger days, his mind would be racing, but slowly, his mental state deteriorated. time spent in that kind of solitude and monotony could drive a man mad, and it certainly did for him. he was a fitful being, upset and angry that he’d been so limited, unable to fulfill his own wishes while working for others’. his elders didn’t budge, of course, and his complaints fell on deaf ears. it ended up in him basically screaming at nothing, left to battle with his own mind and his higher authorities’ disappointment in his ‘childish behavior’  ( ❝ you are an adult, starlight. act like one! ❞ ), finding solace only in helping to grant the wishes of the people on this planet. 

eventually, it just became too tiring, to the point that he became awfully robotic. his mind stopped racing like it used to. he began to blank out and gained the ability to practically erase his mind. it was like he wasn’t even his own person anymore. he totally forgot who he was beyond a vehicle for wish-granting and protection. while granting wishes gives him joy beyond belief, even that wasn’t touching his awful emotional state anymore, the one thing that he loved most. he was just jaded and apathetic, a far cry from the enthusiastic being we know today as ‘geno’. he was formal and polite, yet withdrawn and cynical.

when the events of super mario rpg happened, however, it lit a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in years. he felt that this was his chance to prove himself, to help everyone, and to break from the shackles holding him back, even if for a time. when he went down and fought bowyer, it was with great gusto, and he was feeling more alive than he had in ages. he jumped for joy when he merged with the geno doll. he faced bowyer with brimming confidence and told him to ‘chill out’. he laughed when mario and mallow were baffled at his ‘coming to life’.

coming out of his shell and figuring out who he was again, however, was still a slow process. while generally nice to mario and mallow, he was rather distant, fearing the idea of forging any bonds with them. as seen via his belome clone, his one-track minded thoughts were of the star pieces and nothing but. while belome clones were exaggerated caricatures, it showed just how important geno’s job was to him and how he tried to keep in line, even at the detriment of himself. as time wore on, though, he came more and more out of his shell, eventually bonding with the whole crew and conceding to the fact that he loved them all. they treated him better than eldstar and the rest of them did, the ones who knew him for decades compared to mario and the crew’s few weeks. he rekindled the fire in him that was his own sense of self, his own idea of justice, and he didn’t want to leave it. by the time the end of smrpg came, he was in so deep, and it clearly broke his heart that he had to leave his new friends behind, possibly for good.

     ❝ our journey is about to come to an end.      ——— and when the time comes… ❞

smithy was defeated. star road was repaired. geno returned to the heavens above, and even though he’d received praise from his elders, it was very bittersweet. he longed to return to the people he cared for again, and just as he used to be, he retaliated against the ideals of his brethren. eventually, rosalina came to a compromise, realizing how much he missed them all sorely. he’d defend the planet as well as star road, giving him reason to be there and to stand guard. the loophole brought him back to the doll, the very one he’d become attached to, the one that gaz kept for all of this time… and this leaves us with geno today.

he loves his job. he absolutely loves granting wishes and protecting his fellow kin. however, his beef lies squarely with eldstar and the gang’s traditionalist mindsets. being a more progressive person with a different way of thinking, geno’s values and theirs do not mix, even if they both strive for the same thing. they’re like water and oil. as such, he’s more of a vigilante nowadays, protecting star road and granting wishes while keeping his distance from them. while he is still permitted to use the star rod to do as he must, he and the other star spirits, especially eldstar and misstar, rarely speak. they rarely cross paths. it would just end in another fight, and he frankly is so done with their shit that he does not want to do that. he will stand by his own sense of justice, no matter what the hell they say or think… and that means getting justice for himself, as well.

[skinny-boy-endeavours]

Warning: this message might shock most people, although I assume only people with an interest in these issues are likely to read it till the end, and if you are an ex-anorexic or bulimic, or a person scanning the web in search for potential culprits against your good sense, this is perhaps not going to please you. All the same, I will write it.

Since I have been living with eating disorders, more than a decade, and very nearly two decades have elapsed, and since I have joined Tumblr in a hope of finding some comfort and expressing myself at times like “these”, not even one decade has elapsed. I am a boy, I am twenty-eight, I have suffered from eating disorders for as long as I can remember, at about when switching from childhood to adolescence. I have taken a lot upon myself, and am still taking quite a lot, either out of habit or by sheer automatic resignation. I have finished my studies, I have my university diploma, I have remained at the same workplace for several years and I am both reliable and disciplined. But in the last ten years, I have been hospitalized a dozen of times, most of which upon my own free decision, and always seemed to recover a little more each time from I knew not what exactly, but that made me heartsick to the extent of driving myself to suicide on several occasions (at least 5, almost successful, by severe poisoning). I did not heed, at first, that my parents and their controlling temperament and conduct towards me might have the invisible cause behind all my self-destructive behaviours. I still find it hard to evaluate to what extent their pressurizing and eternally unsatisfied influence has driven me to hate myself only, to bear all the pain and to live only a small percentage of what is normally called “life” only to justify my existence and temper their grave looks upon my miserable person. The first thing to be said is that anorexia, bulimia, eating disorders in general and all feverous afflictions, when befalling a young person, girl or boy, is never a “fancy”, nor an invention of problems that were nonexistent beforehand, but a real discomfort, if not a living pain that is being converted into self-destruction, for want of a proper way out to an every-moment-guilt of being alive, under the control pf one’s parents, for they are authorities that are not to be gotten rid of as long as the child is a “minor” or is under their tutelage. Even when this comes to pass, the sentiment of the child who has lived under such a control for years, legally speaking, may and sometimes will inevitably reproduce his unhealthy patterns, either by the constant skin-deep memory of his former captivity of lack of freedom, which, after all, and I understand it now, is the sole and only motive for eating disorders in an adolescent and for an entire-life-wrecking nervous indisposition. I have noticed that at a healthy distance from my parents, I thrive rather well, although I still am fragile, and that when I am intensely with them for at least three or four days, this fragility is increased twice, thrice or more, proportionally to the albeit small time I have passed in the fateful company of my parents, who, despite what might be concluded from the above-written, are loving and caring, and wish nothing but my wellbeing. How then is it possible to feel, to declare oneself oppressed and pressed if one’s parents do not beat or ill treat one ? This is the whole issue: the pain inflicted by controlling parents is infinitely more subtle than any amount of “Physical” beating or mistreatment. All the more, that it is involuntary, and the parents do not realize the pain they are inflicting, and their ignorance of their very own misbehaviour is greater as they don,t understand that their love for their children is being counterproductive and is actually undermining their child’s development into healthy adults, and most of the time, driving them to self-destructive behaviours. This is no victim-playing, one has better things to do than looking, and even finding, guilt where it dos not have an actual existence. But in this lies the problem of nervous disorders into young people and their subsequent mark left upon the young people who have become adults and have to live with their self-destructive envies or direct behaviours, probably until they die, having half-lived only, become the ghost of their either living or dead parents has taken much of their energy and has achieved its final task: make oneself self-hating although alive and “functional” in society. I know why initially, eating disorder suffering patients were rightfully and tactfully removed from their families, from the sickening environment almost entirely manifested by the parent(s) or care-giver, of whoever while wishing the best for one’s child, drives her or him to seek freedom from the yoke through means by which they can escape, both physically and emotionally, and breathe, and while in the presence of the yoke-masters, feel themselves free, at least temporarily, by taking control over the only things they have any over: in this case, food intake, calorie outtake, etc. Drug problems, self-harm, and the like, are all ways of coping with a pressure than has become internalized and persists even when the subject is withdrawn from his familial environment for one’s best recovery or when one is definitely away from it. So tis is what I feel today, and what I come to realize. Of course, I am aware that this may be my case only, and that for all sorts of people, all sorts of circumstances are accountable for all sorts of joys and pains, and consequent self-building or self-destructive behaviours; that all cases of nervous indispositions are not imputable to the familial environment or the parental controlling facies, yet, this is my case and for my wellbeing, I must try to formulate it in a rational manner both for myself and for those whom it might be of use to to read these sentences and find that, as invisible as it is, the cause of their nervous disorders (I must insist, also, that a nervous disorder is not a mere nervosity or stress felt from time to time, but a fundamental indisposition of the whole nervous system, that affect the entire life and both physical and mental health of an individual, and it often drives one from depression to anxiety and back again, until one either is taken into a hospital for rest, or commits suicide although the material conditions in which he lives are what most of our “gentle-natured philanthropists would consider to be far above 2/3 of the world’s average material conditions). The whole point of this is not to throw guilt everlastingly upon one’s parents for all that happens, far from it. But if one is of a fragile nervous disposition and his parental environment does not help this disposition otherwise than retrogressively, as in my case of a till-here lasting eating disorder and as I imagine, of several if not most other people, girls or boys, with eating disorders, then severance from those austere parents is perhaps the first and most important step to be taken, either by the patient’s initiative or by his therapist. It may not be advisable in all cases, as the patient’s have different personalities and have received the more or less bad influence from their own different environments, but I am quite certain that in many instances of anorexia or bulimia or other EDs, this severance is salutary, and may, at the patient’s will, be prolonged as indefinitely as needed, for the invisible controlling influence can follow the patient, as I have already said, like a ghost, it matters not if the parents are still “physically” alive or not, or have been “objectively” demanding/austere/controlling/oppressing. The goal of this is not to spend one’s life in accusation of one’s parents, nor to remain mournful of one’s past, but once this step made, this important step, for the patient to be able to distinguish the part of himself that WANTS to suffer, to destroy himself and punish himself (eating disorders are self-harming coping methods, again, that can become internalized and last within the individual even years after the last definite severance from the individual’s unheeding parental environment/influence. I have repeatedly insisted upon this point, because once understood, as an underlying rule to unlock a difficult calculus of mathematics or physics, it will become not only easier, but truly feasible for the patient, whether he his 12 or 30, to know herself or himself and, as I had started to disert upon a little earlier, to know that his unhappiness is rooted in a self-hated that is rooted in a distorted perception of one’s worth and value as a human, as she or he perceives herself of himself as the direct product of his parents and must be perfect in every way and every instance, until it becomes untenable and metamorphoses itself into an altogether endeavour for irreproachability and self-control, which in its turn becomes what we call an “eating” disorder”. This is no freudian explanation of the mother or father sense within the child who either wants to kill the latter in order to freely fuck the former or simply hates them and eventually, himself, and strive never to resemble either of them by saying yes when they say no and reversely. This only means that the motive for an eating disorder is, in many cases, whether felt immediately and clearly or not, or only later, and to various degrees, a consequence of one’s unhealthy parental behaviour. I have written all this because it has become clear over time, gradually, and not all at once nor in a very definite and clear perception, for it is likely to change over time, as I live on, but these two tendencies, I have observed to remain constant and increasingly self-evident over time, regardless of individual circumstances: that is, 1) that my self-observation has always led me to understand that my self-destructive tendency varies along with my frequentation and near-sensing of my parents, who renew my self-hate, diminish or augment it proportionally, 2) that as long as eating disorders have been observed, whether they had already received a name of some sort or this generally nowadays accepted name, the tendency of the observer was that either the mother or the father had a devastating influence upon their child, an influence which, albeit invisible or at least very subtile, is very real and real enough to drive the child to self-destruction although their material condition is either normal or above the average. They are unhappy and feel oppressed enough to starve themselves, or to purge themselves, or have suicidal thoughts and or behaviours. Even in ancient cases, such as the all-too-famous on of Santa Caterina da Siena, the anorexic behaviour was associated if not entirely attributable to the mother’s controlling influence. In some other cases, modern or ancient, it may be the father’s controlling influence, which, of course, might not be physically agressive, but, upon a subtler plane, emotionally, intellectually, agressive, often when he has achieved some degree of intellectual authority and tries to impress it upon his child’s senses that she or he is to be at least equally rigorous, important or what not, which the child would have fain achieved even, and better so, without this moral pressure upon her or his nerves. Now, there are things upon which one cannot go back, but it is important, at least for me at this moment, to identify this cause, and to work from the knowledge of that efficient cause of the nervous/eating disorder to move forward, and have a decent life, because one cannot have it unless one makes this turn upon oneself and sees that what impedes one is the parental ghost, and I mean this without any psychoanalytical sentiment, for I do not see it as intervening in the eating disorder instance. This is equally true in the case of the freudian explanation of anorexia, that the mother being the material feeder of the child, the child stops eating when his mother’s will she or he fells antagonistic to its own. This is good for allegorical mythology, but not for practical problems that demand a practical solution: in this instance, what has to be understood, and what indeed HAS a relationship with either of the patient’s parents or with both, is that across time and space, this relationship is the root of the problem, which itself is not a one-sided guilt, it would be too easy, but rather a bad or shock meeting of genetic nervous indisposition on one side and of an austere or controlling parental influence on the other. Eating disorders become the only way out imaginable for this situation that involves no culprit but that involves as surely as possible at least one victim: the child who seeks freedom from a legal bondage, and tries to grow and to develop herself or himself under this constant nervous strain. The formerly eating-disordered children who, like myself, have gone into the adult age still carrying their self-destructive patterns and have tried to be a good citizen while waking with the envy of suicide in the morning and going to bed in tears, sleeping by the grace of strong drugs and working like a normal person by who knows whose grace, must, I declare it bluntly, turnabout and sweet is the cause of their lasting pain and poor mental health, which, in this instance, affects the whole physical organism equally, and can damage it permanently (the nervous indisposition has already a disabling effect upon the entire being, both during the adolescent growth wherein the individual is normally meant to build himself, and after the end of hormonal growth when one is an adult; the added problem of an eating disorder, superposed upon this already fragile nervous system, may be very destructive physically, and even more so as time rolls on, but also on the mind and the emotional faculties, which become prematurely tired and strained, especially when entertained over years, and eventually decades). I therefore conclude my long word, and also congratulate my reader upon his patience, by saying that an eating disorder is controlling parental influence + genetic nervous disposition and that the recovery can neither be forced upon the patient as an evidence nor even occur in the mind of the patient while her or his father or mother has not been identified as the cause of her or his emotional imbalance, and subsequently and consequently, been put aside from one’s life and definitely either discarded or healthily dealt with (by regulating, if not abolishing, the rapports one has with one’s parents or with the one in question that has an unhealthy bearing upon the child’s nerves). Now, this is only my opinion, and I perhaps imagine everything and I am not sick after all and all this is but a bad dream... But, on the other hand, I know not why, I feel that most eating disordered people, young or less young, will relate with the few statements I have abode made, and find that they describe their own cases quite accurately, because what I have singled out as the one invariable ou almost invariable tendency across time and space, in the case of EDS, is the parental influence, and it is a tendency because it cannot, totally at least, be dissociated from the very problem of EDs, and I am quite sure that those who have read this hitherto shall feel that they are not alone, and that behind their apparent madness, and underneath their emotional pain, there is something quite similar across the cases, and that something subtle lies at the foundation of it, something that has its constancy across the circumstances, and that determines the appearance of the coping method known under the name of eating disorders.

Saturday the 18th of May, 2019

[cassolotl]

This is an impassioned rant that I periodically go on, and the only person I can remember vocally and enthusiastically agreeing with me is my therapist:

It is messed up that we as a culture [1] think it’s completely normal that we spend often decades of our lives [2] emotionally recovering from our upbringings as though it’s trauma [3] and we just think that is a normal part of being human and no one reacts to that as if it’s alarming or tries to do anything about it.

Like, no wonder we're so bad at recognising, accepting and processing trauma (and other mental illnesses) in ourselves and others en masse, right? We are all having anxiety nightmares about turning up to class naked or having surprise exams, repeating unhealthy parental relationships with partners that we recognise as "love", etc. and no one's like, hey, those are a lot like symptoms of unresolved trauma and PTSD, huh?

The one I come back to over and over is school. It might not be the most fundamental since you've probably had like 4-5 years of emotional fuckery beforehand but I just don't see how other people don't see it and talk about it all the time. In order to allow parents the freedom to (probably) work [4], we put everyone who's not old enought to work in what is essentially big childcare facilities together. Large groups are cared for by one person, like how farmers look after herds of animals. Kids largely only socialise with other kids their own age, with very little regulation, so it's totally normal for children to learn their social skills by trial and error interacting with other people who don't know how to human yet, and we conclude that bullying (for example) is just inevitable and something we deal with on a case-by-case basis. Children do all activities together, to a schedule, whether they’re in the mood for that activity or not, and break times are the same for every child and happen all at the same time in the same place. We send kids home with homework, something that is very unusual to do with adults in a professional situation, and all kids get the same homework regardless of relative ability or domestic situation. And then we assign children value [5] (grades, marks) based on how well they did, when those grades reflect not just the child's intelligence [6] but the skill of their teacher, the size of their class, the funding their school receives from their local authority, their culture's reaction to their race and gender and neurodivergence and physical/sensory impairments, their parents' skills as parents and teachers, their parents' wealth, etc etc.

And this is just scratching the surface. There are so many examples of common and permitted behaviour between kids in schools where if any or all of the participants were adults we would and should call the police, and I'm definitely not saying that we should call the police on kids, but more the fact that these behaviours happen between children at all is a symptom of a society whose attitudes towards children are so incredibly broken that 99% of the population just think that's a normal way of being and existing.

And no one has had the imagination to come up with literally any other way to raise children in our society - everything is just a variation on the theme of "children are animals that need training and keeping out of the way". Even I can't think of how it should be done, because we all have the same experience of being treated like unruly/inconvenient animals instead of people and thinking outside the box in that situation is incredibly difficult. I'm naturally inclined towards breaking broken systems and I have always been a neurodivergent weirdo who doesn't particularly care about the ages of the people they hang out with and I still unintentionally avoid hanging out with kids not because I don't want to hang out with them but because I've got this underlying knowledge that I don't know how to healthily interact with them because society is broken, and I just haven't worked out what to do differently on this so extremely fundamental and formative level, and I just can't feel okay treating children like that.

I know there are probably a bunch of other adults who get this. E.g. I know a few neurodivergent parents locally who are homeschooling and have a similar flavour of horror reaction to the school system that I do, and I imagine that's a big part of them homeschooling. So it's not just me. But still, it's not enough people and it's like a few drops in an overwhelming ocean.

And that's just school. That's not even getting to healthcare or discipline [7] or "potty-training" or parental leave or assigning gender based on genitals (and treatment of intersex minors) or the way this behaviour translates to governmental treatment of everyone or or or...

So yeah, I'm full of rage, endlessly.

~

[1] I’m in the UK but I know there’s other cultures that are familiar with this experience [2] Usually from late teens or so onwards [3] Because it is [4] Oh capitalism is a big part of the ongoing problem??? What a surprise?????? [5] Gosh so many adults have low self-esteem and spend their whole lives and often lots of money dealing with the results of that. [6] Grading people based on intelligence is so alarming to me, oh my god!!! [7] My subset of my country has just outlawed parents hitting children! In many situations in my whole country it is illegal to treat a dog the way it is fairly normal and acceptable to treat children????? I cannot emotionally deal with how horrific and disgusting that is, I have to just detach from it

Being a mom and an anarchist and trying to figure out the whole "parenting" song and dance from that perspective makes me think 8-year-olds have about got it figured out. I hate school. I hate tests. I hate bedtime.

[primatechnosynthpop]

A Rose Shall Bloom (And Then Shall Fade)- part 4

Once, at a holiday party, Claire and a few of her friends sat around the kitchen table, drinking and talking amongst themselves. Claire decided to tell them some entertaining stories about difficult customers she’d had at work. Her friends, most of whom no longer worked themselves, nodded along and laughed as she recounted a story of one woman who had come in two minutes after closing time and demanded to be served.

“And then she said, ‘but I have a reservation!’” Claire imitated the loud, squawking voice of the customer. “Turns out she had a table reserved for that night… for three hours earlier! So I asked why she hadn’t shown up then, and she said her husband had been out with her car all day.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Hiro jumped in. “Yesterday, Ando and I got a call from a man who wanted us to mow his lawn for him. Can you believe that?”

“We told him no, of course,” Ando added.

“Although,” Hiro sighed, “that was the only call we got all day. Our business just isn’t in demand much anymore.”

“Well, maybe you guys should retire,” Peter suggested. “I’d say you’ve earned it.”

Claire involuntarily flinched. It was true–all her friends were now at or above the average retirement age. Hiro, though… it was so odd to think that time affected even him. Wasn’t he supposed to be able to control time? Why did it have to retain jurisdiction over him? As immature as it was, she didn’t want her friends to acknowledge that they were getting older. If everybody could just pretend that everything was staying the same, that they would all always be there, then maybe it would be enough to convince her, even for a moment, that none of them would ever leave her life.

“Maybe you could wait until Satoshi is grown up and let him take over the business,” she suggested. “How old is he now, anyway?”

“He just turned nine,” Ando informed her with a proud smile. “You should see how much he takes after his mother.”

“Oh, he takes after Kimiko?”

Ando nodded. “So I don’t think he’ll want to take over the Dial-a-Hero business even once he is old enough–which won’t be for quite a long time.”

“It’s unfortunate, but once we retire, our little business will have to come to an end,” Hiro agreed.

“Well, that doesn’t have to happen just yet,” Claire said, doing her best to present it as a casual remark and not a desperate plea for everyone to stop getting so damn old and, god, I’m going to end up alone one day, and– “You guys can keep working as long as you like.”

Peter shot Claire a raised-eyebrow look from across the table. No doubt he remembered their conversation from a few months ago. They hadn’t spoken much since then, and while Claire hoped he had reconsidered her proposal, she got the feeling he hadn’t. However, he said nothing and simply took  another sip of his glass of wine.

“I don’t know, retirement is pretty rewarding,” Matt put in. “It gives me more time to spend with Janice.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t have to happen yet,” Claire repeated, a little more forcefully this time. “Nobody here is that old! You’ve all got plenty of your lives left ahead of you!”

A couple seats over from her, Tracy raised an eyebrow. She was still very poised and dignified even now that she was growing older. She almost reminded Claire of a light-haired version of Angela.

“I appreciate the compliment, Claire, but we’re all over the hill now, so to speak,” she said. “None of us are getting any younger. And for someone who has a dangerous job like Hiro and Ando do…”

“…No, I’m with Claire,” Hiro decided. “I want to keep saving people for as long as possible.”

“Really?” Ando asked, looking a bit concerned. Hiro nodded; Ando sighed and squeezed Hiro’s hand. “Well, if you’re going to keep working, I guess I can’t let you do it alone.”

Claire smiled to herself as she took a sip of her tonic. It fizzled on her tongue, providing her with a brief spark of enjoyment even though the alcohol did nothing to her. She couldn’t stop her friends from getting older, but just keeping things how they were for as long as she could was a small victory.

-

Unfortunately, nothing ever stayed as it was for long. It was a lesson she had learned time and time again, and would long continue to do so, but it still stung every time she was forced to relearn it.

One spring, during a particularly cold and rainy spell, Claire got a call from Sandra’s nursing home telling her that Sandra had fallen ill. Claire held out hope for a while that her mother would recover, but as days turned to weeks and then to months, she realized that it wasn’t going to happen. Sandra was transferred to a hospital, where she remained for several long, difficult months before she eventually succumbed to her sickness. The time leading up to her death was extremely hard on Claire, especially since Lyle was out of town for the whole ordeal. Once she called his number intending to call him out for not being there to support her, but when he didn’t pick up, she hung up the phone without leaving a message. She couldn’t blame her brother for avoiding her. She wished she could have avoided being there too, gradually watching her mother’s health dwindle, but unlike Lyle, she had no excuse.

Claire was there at her mother’s deathbed, and held her hand as Sandra closed her eyes one last time. She had long wondered if it was better or worse to be there to see it when someone she loved died, and now that it finally happened, she still wasn’t sure. She didn’t think she ever would be.

Now that both her parents were gone, Claire clung even more desperately to those in her life who remained. She even grew more attached to her boss at work. He jokingly asked if she was angling for a promotion when she brought him a tray of cookies she’d baked for his birthday. She put on a smile and said that it wasn’t her intention, but she certainly wouldn’t be opposed to getting promoted. Her boss chuckled and said, “how about a raise instead?” She was pleasantly surprised to discover that he wasn’t joking. But a 3% raise, while she was grateful for it, didn’t solve her problems.

When she told her coworkers that her mother had died, they reacted with varying degrees of shock and sympathy. “What happened to her?” asked a young woman who must have been about the age Claire appeared to be.

“It was natural causes,” Claire said. “She just got sick, and then…”

She trailed off, shrugging, as she turned her attention to a container of plastic straws. She distracted herself by fidgeting with the straws while the other workers pestered her with questions. Someone asked how her dad was holding up, and she considered lying and making something up, but she decided to be honest and say that he was dead too. This garnered a new wave of sympathetic murmurs.

Claire appreciated that her coworkers cared for her struggle, but they didn’t understand what the problem really was. Most of them didn’t know how old she really was, so to them, the mere fact that her parents were dead was a tragedy in and of itself to them. While she was of course sad about losing them, that wasn’t really the tragedy of it all. Noah and Sandra had lived long, happy lives, and nobody could live forever–except for Claire. She could, and most likely would, live forever. That meant that she would never be reunited with her loved ones, whether that be in an afterlife or another life or simply a boundless void.

(Claire wasn’t sure if she considered herself religious. Growing up in Texas, she had certainly had Christianity forced upon her for most of her early life, but it was hard to decide for herself what to believe, if anything. She wanted there to be an afterlife, though; it was the only thought that provided her any real consolation when she thought of all the people she would outlive.)

Summer came in, bringing leaves to the trees and grass to the earth. It was good while it lasted, but come fall, it all faded away again. Everything always changed. Everything always ended, from seasons to lives. But Claire stayed the same as she’d always been, and always would be. Oddly enough, people at work never seemed to notice that she didn’t age. Then again, few people kept working at the restaurant long enough to catch on. Her boss was growing older too, and had started talking about handing the business down to her one day soon. Claire had no idea what constituted “soon” in this case. The length of time was such a relative thing.

-

More time went by. Children grew up, and adults edged ever closer to the eventual but inevitable end of their lives. Eventually Claire’s manager retired and she took over as manager at the restaurant. Initially she thought it was insane for her to be a business owner, but when she thought it over, she realized that she was perfectly qualified. She had decades of experience, after all; despite her appearance, she was nearly sixty years old now.

Having so much responsibility was thrilling, but before long, people stopped coming to the restaurant. Nobody trusted someone who looked like a college student to run a business. As profits dwindled, Claire scrambled for a solution. She lowered prices, introduced new menu items, and offered more specials. It took a while, but eventually business started to pick up again. The restaurant–her restaurant now–wouldn’t be closing its doors anytime soon. As a business owner, Claire did her best to pay her workers fairly. It meant she made less money overall than the previous owner, but she didn’t need that much money anyway. She had a good life, and without any pets or children to supply for, Claire found that she was making more money than she needed. She began donating more often to charities, and got in the habit of spending more money on gifts for people. She figured that if she was going to be alive forever, it would be best to at least make a positive impact on the world.

During the weeks leading up to Claire and Gretchen’s thirtieth anniversary, Claire pestered her wife with questions about what she wanted to do. As long as it was nothing too over-the-top, Claire could probably afford it, and she really wanted to make the occasion as special as possible for the both of them. However, Gretchen always said the same thing: thay she didn’t care what they did, as long as they got to spend the day together. In the end, they ended up staying at home that day. Claire took the day off from work, and they spent most of the afternoon snuggled up in bed together, reminiscing about the old days.

“Remember how I found out about your power?” Gretchen asked, absentmindedly fiddling with a lock of Claire’s hair. “When I looked out the window and saw you sitting there putting yourself back together, I knew I was in love with you.”

Claire wrinkled her nose, recalling the mortification she had felt under her then-roommate’s incredulous stare. “Really? That’s what made you fall for me?”

“I mean, I had it pretty bad for you before that,” Gretchen said with a laugh. “But it was at that moment when I thought to myself, ‘I want that woman to be my wife one day’.”

“Well, Gretch,” Claire said, squeezing her wife’s hand under the blanket, “I guess your wish came true.”

They both smiled, looking into each other’s eyes, and for a moment it was like no time at all had passed since that day. Then Gretchen wiped sweat from her brow and muttered, “Can we get out from under this blanket? I think I’m having a hot flash”, and the illusion of timelessness vanished quicker than Claire could smile and say, “Oh, yeah, that’s fine”.

So much time passed by, and Claire did her best to appreciate all of it as best she could, but it was so hard to enjoy life when she was faced with constant reminders of everybody getting older. With people her own age or older it was one thing, but even people younger than her looked noticeably older than her now. Lyle, Molly, and Micah were all middle-aged themselves now, and Matt Jr. was in his late thirties. One day he booked a reservation at the restaurant for himself and a woman who Claire was shocked to discover was his wife. Even Natalie Petrelli was a grown woman in her late twenties now, and Satoshi Masahashi was currently in his final year of college. And then all those people just kept getting older, and more mature, a second generation who Claire would outlive as surely as the first.

Claire came to hate calendars. She didn’t want to think about the passage of time. Instead, she covered her walls with framed photos of times she wanted to remember. Before long, her walls became cluttered with memories. She wondered what she would do when she ran out of room.

-

One Sunday evening, after a long day of errands, Claire flopped onto the living room sofa, exhausted. All day, people had been mistaking Gretchen for her mother. A couple of people had even thought she was her grandmother. That was a new one as far as Claire could remember, and she absolutely hated it. She especially hated the fact that the people who’d jumped to that conclusion had been completely justified in doing so. There was so much gray in Gretchen’s hair now, and she had so many wrinkles, and recently she was starting to complain about arthritis. The worst part was that Claire had nobody to turn to for comfort. When Gretchen herself tried to offer consolation, it just meant that Claire had to look into her wife’s eyes and see a sixty-four year old woman looking back at her. That only made things worse.

Unfortunately, Gretchen was persistent in her misguided attempts to help. She sat down on the arm of the sofa and started running her fingers through Claire’s hair, humming a sappy song under her breath. Claire didn’t bother telling Gretchen to go away. If she didn’t have to look up at her, then she could just pretend that her wife looked the same as always. Besides, even if it only made her feel worse, she still appreciated the effort. She didn’t want to punish Gretchen for loving her.

Later, when they were in bed together that night, Claire scrolled through her phone’s photo gallery. Some of the pictures there were decades old now. She was running out of storage again, meaning that soon she would have to delete some photos on order to make room for more. But she’d already gone through this process so many times that all the photos she had saved to her phone now were ones she valued. How could she choose between deleting a photo of her with the Petrellis and one of her adoptive family? She just wanted to keep them both forever, and the same went for all the other photos she had saved.

“You know, honey,” Gretchen remarked quietly as she watched over Claire’s shoulder, “I think maybe you should make some new friends.”

“What?” Claire screwed up her face, unsure of how to react to the puzzling comment. “I have plenty of friends.”

“I know, I know,” Gretchen sighed. “But… you’ve said it yourself, Claire, countless times. The people you’re friends with now aren’t going to be here forever. When they’re gone–when I’m gone–I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Claire stiffened. “Don’t talk about that.”

“Well, why not? You talk about it to me all the time,” Gretchen pointed out. “I don’t want to die any more than anybody else, but we’re all going to some day, and I don’t want you be left alone when that happens!”

Claire could hardly believe what her wife was saying. Putting her phone down on the headboard, she sat up and turned to glare at Gretchen.

“So you just want me to replace people?” she said. “Like getting a new dog to replace an old one? Is that what you want me to do for you–for everyone?”

“Well, no…”

“I can’t just replace people, Gretch! I can’t do that!”

“You don’t have to replace anyone,” Gretchen told her. “But you can’t just spend the rest of your life wallowing in self-pity, either, especially not if your life is going to last forever. An eternity alone? I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. And, Claire…” She gulped, placing a tender hand on Claire’s shoulder. Claire realized that there were tears forming in Gretchen’s eyes. “Claire, you’re my wife. I love you. I need you to be happy.”

Claire tried to force a smile, but her face refused to cooperate. All she could think of was how, with every passing moment, she had less and less time left to spend with the people she cared about. Time had already run out for some of those people. Who would be next? What would she do after everyone was gone? She couldn’t go on living after that, she just couldn’t. For a few years, maybe–a decade or two, even–but not forever. And growing close to new people, knowing that the exact same thing was eventually going to happen to them… she didn’t see how that could possibly help her. More people to care about was just more people to eventually lose. It didn’t matter if she made friends with every person on the planet, because not one of them was going to be there forever.

“I’m not saying you should forget about me, or anyone,” Gretchen went on. “But memories can’t be all you have. You need to let new people into your life.”

Claire massaged her temples. She was so tired of this circular argument. Neither of them could really understand where the other was coming from, and she hated arguing with her wife. It was better to just put the issue to rest and call it a night.

“You know what? You’re right,” she said. “I’m going to try to meet some new people.”

Gretchen smiled and leaned forward to kiss Claire on the forehead. “Good choice.”

-

The morning after their discussion, Claire was woken up by a flashing sound followed by heavy breathing and gasps of pain. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she sat up to see Hiro standing in her bedroom, clutching a gaping wound in his side. With his free arm, he clutched a mangled body that Claire was horrified to recognize as Ando. As she watched, Hiro sunk to his knees, letting out a moan.

“Holy shit,” she whispered as she scrambled out of bed and to the drawer where she kept her syringe. “What happened?”

“W-we got a call… someone was being mugged,” Hiro told her, his face contorted in pain, while she jabbed the syringe into her arm and drew out a sample of her blood. “The mugger had superstrength. I tried to teleport us away, but my… my back went out, and…”

“Well, don’t worry. You’re going to be okay,” Claire said. She took Hiro’s arm and injected her blood into the first vein she could find. “You’ll both be fine.”

As the blood took effect, Hiro’s injury began to close up. He blinked gratefully at Claire while she drew another sample of her blood and prepared to administer it. Although Claire’s heart was hammering with anxiety, she tried to calm herself down. As she administered the second blood sample to Ando, she told herself that everything was going to be fine in a minute. She tried not to think that this was her fault. It didn’t matter that this wouldn’t have happened had she not talked them out of retiring a couple years earlier, because it was going to turn out fine either way. Hiro already didn’t have a scratch on him. It would be like nothing had even happened.

But something was wrong. Ando’s wounds weren’t healing up. Why wasn’t Claire’s blood working on him? As Hiro’s anxiously stroked his motionless friend’s thinning, graying hair, Claire noticed that there was a large, jagged rock jabbed into the back of Ando’s head. Shuddering, Claire yanked the rock out and held it up.

“How did this happen?” she asked Hiro.

Hiro shook his head, eyes wide with dismay. “I didn’t… I don’t know.”

“Well, now that that’s out of his head, my blood should work,” Claire said. She wasn’t even sure how much she believed herself. A few seconds creeped by, and then a few more. Nothing happened. “M-maybe I can give him some more blood.”

She tried this, but once again, nothing happened. Hiro kept glancing up at Claire, then back down at Ando, and then back to Claire. There was an increasing volume of desperation in his eyes. Claire’s throat constricted as she took a shaky step back and shook her head. Her voice caught in her throat as she reached an awful conclusion.

“Hiro, there’s… there’s nothing I can do.”

“No,” Hiro whimpered, his arms curling tighter around his friend’s sickeningly contorted body. Scraggly gray hairs framed his weathered, tearstained face. He’d never looked more frail. “No, you have to save him…”

“Claire?” Gretchen, who up until that point had remained soundly asleep, sat up on bed and rubbed her eyes. “Baby, what’s going on?”

Claire cursed under her breath. She didn’t want her wife to see such an upsetting thing. Gretchen was so easily disturbed sometimes.

“Go back to bed, honey,” she called over her shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

Gretchen blinked, stunned, at the scene before her. “What–?!”

“Just look away,” Claire told her urgently, rushing over to Gretchen and holding a protective hand over her eyes. “You don’t want to see this.”

Claire’s head swam with guilt. She should have just let them retire all those years ago, and they would be safe now, and this wouldn’t have happened. Ando was dead because of her selfishness. Hiro must have absolutely despised her now. She’d done this, it was her fault, one of her friends was dead and it was her own goddamn fault–

“Claire, what happened?” Gretchen demanded, dragging Claire’s hand away. “Is that…?”

“Gretchen, please,” Claire said, trying her best not to cry. She didn’t deserve the chance to cry for something that was her fault. “You don’t want to see it. Please.”

She heard the flashing sound again, and when she turned to look behind her, Hiro was gone.

He didn’t speak to her again for a long time.

[7r0773r]

The End of Policing by Alex S. Vitale

Excessive use of force, however, is just the tip of the iceberg of over-policing. There are currently more than 2 million Americans in prison or jail and another 4 million on probation or parole. Many have lost the right to vote; most will have severe difficulties in finding work upon release and will never recover from the lost earnings and work experience. Many have had their ties to their families irrevocably damaged and have been driven into more serious and violent criminality. Despite numerous well-documented cases of false arrests and convictions, the vast majority of these arrests and convictions have been conducted lawfully and according to proper procedure—but their effects on individuals and communities are incredibly destructive. (1. The Limits of Police Reform)

***

More than anything, however, what we really need is to rethink the role of police in society. The origins and function of the police are intimately tied to the management of inequalities of race and class. The suppression of workers and the tight surveillance and micromanagement of black and brown lives have always been at the center of policing. Any police reform strategy that does not address this reality is doomed to fail. (1. The Limits of Police Reform)

***

The reality is that the police exist primarily as a system for managing and even producing inequality by suppressing social movements and tightly managing the behaviors of poor and nonwhite people: those on the losing end of economic and political arrangements. (2. The Police Are Not Here to Protect You)

***

When slavery was abolished, the slave patrol system was too; small towns and rural areas developed new and more professional forms of policing to deal with the newly freed black population. The main concern of this period was not so much preventing rebellion as forcing newly freed blacks into subservient economic and political roles. New laws outlawing vagrancy were used extensively to force blacks to accept employment, mostly in the sharecropping system. Local police enforced poll taxes and other voter suppression efforts to ensure white control of the political system. 

Anyone on the roads without proof of employment was quickly subjected to police action. Local police were the essential front door of the twin evils of convict leasing and prison farms. Local sheriffs would arrest free blacks on flimsy to nonexistent evidence, then drive them into a cruel and inhuman criminal justice system whose punishments often resulted in death. These same sheriffs and judges also received kickbacks and in some cases generated lists of fit and hardworking blacks to be incarcerated on behalf of employers, who would then lease them out to perform forced labor for profit. Douglas Blackmon chronicles the appalling conditions of mines and lumber camps where thousands perished. By the Jim Crow era, policing had become a central tool of maintaining racial inequality throughout the South, supplemented by ad hoc vigilantes such as the Ku Klux Klan, which often worked closely with—and was populated by—local police. 

Northern policing was also deeply affected by emancipation. Northern political leaders deeply feared the northern migration of newly freed rural blacks, whom they often viewed as socially, if not racially, inferior, uneducated, and criminal. Ghettos were established in Northern cities to control this growing population, with police playing the role of both containment and pacification. Up until the 1960s, this was largely accomplished through the racially discriminatory enforcement of the law and widespread use of excessive force. Blacks knew very well what the behavioral and geographic limits were and the role that police played in maintaining them in both the Jim Crow South and the ghettoized North. (2. The Police Are Not Here to Protect You)

***

Today’s modern police are not that far removed from their colonialist forebears. They too enforce a system of laws designed to reproduce and maintain economic inequality, usually along racialized lines. As Michelle Alexander has put it,

We need an effective system of crime prevention and control in our communities, but that is not what the current system is. This system is better designed to create crime, and a perpetual class of people labeled criminals … Saying mass incarceration is an abysmal failure makes sense, though only if one assumes that the criminal justice system is designed to prevent and control crime. But if mass incarceration is understood as a system of social control—specifically, racial control—then the system is a fantastic success. (2. The Police Are Not Here to Protect You)

***

This increase in the number of school-based police is tied to a variety of social and political factors that converged in the 1990s and continues today. First, conservative criminologist John Dilulio, along with broken-windows theory author James Q. Wilson, argued in 1995 that the United States would soon experience a wave of youth crime driven by the crack trade, high rates of single-parent families, and a series of racially coded concerns about declining values and public morality. He predicted that by 2010 there would be an additional 270,000 of these youthful predators on the streets, leading to a massive increase in violent crime. He described these young people as hardened criminals: “radically impulsive, brutally remorseless … elementary school youngsters who pack guns instead of lunches” and “have absolutely no respect for human life.” Dilulio and his colleagues argued that there was nothing to be done but to exclude such children from settings where they could harm others and, ultimately, to incarcerate them for as long as possible. Dilulio’s ideas were based on spurious evidence and ideologically motivated assumptions that turned out to be totally inaccurate. Every year since, juvenile crime in and out of schools in the US has declined. 

However, the “superpredator” myth was extremely influential. It generated a huge amount of press coverage, editorials, and legislative action. One of the immediate consequences was a rash of new laws lowering the age of adult criminal responsibility, making it easier to incarcerate young people in adult jails, in keeping with the broader politics of incapacitation and mass incarceration. It was also at the center of efforts to tighten school discipline policies and increase police presence in schools.

The second major factor was the Columbine school massacre of 1999, in which two Colorado high school students murdered twelve classmates and a teacher, despite the presence of armed police on campus. This tragic incident received incredible attention due to its extreme nature and the fact that it occurred in a normally low-crime white suburban area. It was easy enough for middle-class families to ignore the more frequent outbursts of violence in nonwhite urban schools, but this incident drove them to want action taken to make schools safer for young people. 

In keeping with the broader ethos of get-tough criminal-justice measures, the response was to increase the presence of armed police in schools rather than dealing with the underlying social issues of bullying, mental illness, and the availability of guns. While there was some focus on bullying, much of it took a punitive form, driving additional “zero tolerance” disciplinary procedures and further contributing to suspensions, expulsions, and arrests on flimsy evidence and for minor infractions. 

The third major factor was the rise of neoliberal school reorganization, with its emphasis on high-stakes testing, reduced budgets, and punitive disciplinary systems. Increasingly, schools are being judged almost exclusively based on student performance on standardized tests. Teacher pay, discretionary spending, and even the survival of the school are tied to these tests. This creates a pressure-cooker atmosphere in schools in which improving test scores becomes the primary focus, pitting teachers’ and administrators’ interests against those of students. A teacher or administrator who wants to keep their job or earn a bonus has an incentive to get rid of students who are dragging down test scores through low performance or behaviors that disrupt the performances of other students. This gives those schools a strong incentive to drive those students out, either temporarily through suspensions or permanently through expulsions or dropping out. (3. The School-To-Prison Pipeline) ***

What we are witnessing is, in essence, the criminalization of mental illness, with police on the front lines of this process. This is especially true for those who are homeless and/or lack access to quality mental health services. Both groups of people have grown significantly in recent decades. While the Affordable Care Act holds the promise of some improvement, as recently as 2011, over 60 percent of people experiencing a mental health problem reported that they had no access to mental health services. Even when mental health services are available, they are often inadequate. A lack of stable housing and income exacerbates mental health problems, makes treatment more difficult, and contributes to the public display of disability-related behaviors, all of which make it more likely that the police will be called. (4 “We Called for Help, and They Killed My Son”)

***

One of the lessons learned in the last twenty years is that the best way to get people off the streets and out of the shelters is to make immediate permanent housing available to them at very low or no cost, and to provide a range of optional support services to help them stay there. This is known as the housing-first approach, and it is growing in prominence. In the past, homeless programs focused on proving emergency and transitional shelter, in the belief that if you stabilized someone and got them a job or necessary benefits, they could then enter the housing market and obtain stable long-term housing. This is not the case. This mismatch between low-wage work or government benefits and increasingly expensive housing makes the process untenable. Governments are going to have to intervene in housing markets by building large numbers of heavily subsidized units. The federal government could help by bringing back Section 8 subsidies on a large scale that could be pooled together to provide financing. But local and state governments have to want to build the housing, and right now many do not. (5. Criminalizing Homelessness)

*** The use of police to wage a war on drugs has been a total nightmare. Not only have they failed to reduce drug use and the harm it produces, they have actually worsened those harms and destroyed the lives of millions of Americans through pointless criminalization. Ultimately, we must create robust public health programs and economic development strategies to reduce demand and help people manage their drug problems in ways that reduce harm—while keeping in mind that most drug users are not addicts. We also need to look at the economic dynamics that drive the black market and the economic and social misery that drive the most harmful patterns of drug use. Harm-reduction, public-health, and legalization strategies, combined with robust economic development of poor communities could dramatically reduce the negative impact of drugs on society without relying on police, courts, and prisons. (7. War on Drugs)

***

Researchers like William Garriott have shown that use and dealing are concentrated among the under- and unemployed and those working in dirty, dangerous, and repetitious jobs with low pay and poor working conditions. Strict enforcement, forced treatment, and police-driven public education campaigns have been a total failure, because people’s underlying economic circumstances remain unaddressed. Until we do something about entrenched rural poverty, this trend will continue. Unemployment and bleak prospects drive people into black markets, which become the employers of last resort. (7. War on Drugs)

***

Nevada and California have developed sentencing enhancements that add many additional years to sentences based on loose definitions of gang membership. Anyone the police want to assert is affiliated with a gang can find an extra decade added to their sentence. Neither state has seen a reduction in gang activity; the enhancements have further overpopulated state prisons without providing meaningful relief to youth or their communities. 

Gang databases are another problematic area of intervention. California has a statewide database populated with the names of hundreds of thousands of young people, the vast majority of whom are black or Latino. Officers can enter names at will, based on associations, clothing, or just a hunch. There are very few ways of getting your name removed from the list; many people do not even know whether or not they are on it. In some neighborhoods, inclusion on the list is almost the norm for young men. Police and courts use the list to give people enhanced sentences, target them for parole violations, or even target entire neighborhoods for expanded and intensified policing. The Youth Justice Coalition in Los Angeles has documented cases where information in the database has been shared with employers and landlords, despite legal requirements that the database not be publicly accessible. (8. Gang Suppression)

***

Today there are seventy-five thousand noncitizens in US prisons, about half of whom are there for immigration violations. Many are held in for-profit private prisons. ICE uses forty-six such facilities to hold 70 percent of all immigration detainees, despite repeated reports of abuse, overcrowding, and inadequate medical services. In addition, ICE subcontracting opportunities have encouraged a boom in jail and prison construction across the Southwest. Both local jurisdictions and these corporations have a financial stake in maintaining high rates of detention, further perverting the politics of immigration. In addition, large numbers of migrants are held in local jails on immigration detainers or awaiting transport. Conditions in these facilities, whether public or private, are inadequate. In 2010, the New York Times documented widespread problems with the delivery of health care services; according to a 2016 report, eight people have died in recent years of preventable causes such as diabetes, because of inadequate health care. (9. Border Policing)

***

If we want immigrants, documented or not, to be more integrated into society, more likely to report crime, and better able to defend themselves from predators, we should instead look to end all federal immigration policing, remove social barriers in housing and employment, and acknowledge their important role in revitalizing communities and stimulating economic activity. (9. Border Policing)

***

Border policing is hugely expensive and largely ineffective, and produces substantial collateral harms including mass criminalization, violations of human rights, unnecessary deaths, the breakup of families, and racism and xenophobia. Unfortunately, both dominant political parties have embraced its expansion, whether as part of a system of restricted and managed legalization or as part of a fantasy of closing the border. Rather than debating how many additional Border Patrol agents to employ, we should instead move to largely de-police the border. Borders are inherently unjust and as Reece Jones points out in his book Violent Borders, they reproduce inequality, which is backed up by the violence of state actors and the indignity and danger of being forced to cross borders illegally. 

Until the Clinton administration, unauthorized cross-border migration was widespread, yet it did not lead to the collapse of the American economy or culture. In fact, in many ways it strengthened it, giving rise to new economic sectors, revitalizing long-abandoned urban neighborhoods, and better integrating the US into the global economy. When the EU lowered its internal borders, there were fears that organized crime would benefit, local cultures would be undermined, that mass migration would create economic chaos as poorer southern Europeans moved north. None of this happened. In fact, migration decreased as the EU began developing poorer areas within Europe as a way of producing greater economic and social stability. (9. Border Policing)

***

Despite our concerns about political liberty, the US police have a long history of similarly abusive practices. The myth of policing in a liberal democracy is that the police exist to prevent political activity that crosses the line into criminal activity, such as property destruction and violence. But they have always focused on detecting and disrupting movements that threaten the economic and political status quo, regardless of the presence of criminality. While on a few occasions this has included actions against the far right, it has overwhelmingly focused on the left, especially those movements tied to workers and racial minorities and those challenging American foreign policy. More recently, focus has shifted to surveillance of Muslims as part of the War on Terror. (10. Political Policing)

***

There really is almost no legitimate reason to deploy armored vehicles and snipers to manage protests—even those where some violence has occurred. Officer protection is an issue, but so are police legitimacy and constitutional rights. (10. Political Policing)

[vestedbeauty]

Empty Nest Got You Feeling Sad?

New Post has been published on https://vestedbeauty.com/empty-nest-got-you-feeling-sad/

Empty Nest Got You Feeling Sad?

I knew having an empty nest would feel strange. I just didn’t realize it would feel like it happened so fast. One minute, I was rocking my babies to sleep, smelling that sweet baby shampoo smell, and grinning in the dark as I savored the moment. The next, I was trying to nail down plans to get together with them for Thanksgiving. 

How on earth did it happen so fast?

Ever seen that poem about the series of “lasts” in your time as a parent? 

You haven’t ugly cried until you’ve done so as the mom of grown kids. Seriously. Just about as gutting as those posts about how our dogs stay with us after they cross the rainbow bridge, just to make sure we’re okay. Worse, even.

What’s Weird Is, We Knew It Was Coming

All along, we know the kids will grow up and move out someday. In fact, we spend decades trying to prepare them for that next stage. They can do laundry, cook food, drive, handle money, maybe even floss their teeth.

Yet still…

When they move out, knowing they’ve moved on is almost too much to bear. Not that we want a failure to launch situation. We’re thrilled for them, proud that they’re out there doing their thing and building a life of their own.

But at some point, our ranking on the list of what’s most important to our children drops. We don’t fall off of that list. The drop is years in the making, starting sometime in middle school. But it becomes obvious when they move out - and move on.

It’s as it should be. Even if it hurts like hell sometimes… and especially when I really think about it. If you’re going through this now, maybe this will help.

Some Things I’ve Learned about Life with an Empty Nest 

There are some good things about being an empty nester, of course. I mean, you and your sweetie can run around naked and have sex without worrying about being walked in on. That’s pretty great.

You can build a daily routine that suits you, with long uninterrupted hours to do what you want or need to do. It’s possible you’ll become more productive than you’ve been in decades. Also pretty great.

Keeping the house clean has never been easier. With just hubby and me here, there’s less laundry. No mess magically appears overnight. Dishes don’t pile up in the sink. I’m not one bit mad about any of that. (Although midlife rage brain is a thing!)

But those are pretty surface-level perks. Let’s go a little deeper.

There’s Delight in a Purely Voluntary Relationship

When our kids are little, it’s not like they’ve got a lot of options. We’re their parents. They’re our kids. Pretty much, it stays like that (unless something strange or tragic happens). There’s a degree of compliance in the relationship. We talk to each other and spend time together because we live together. It’s normal. It’s expected.

But then our kids grow up and move out. There’s no “rule” that they must call. Nobody is obligated to spend time together. No matter how much we might want their time and attention, we can’t compel them to give it to us. I mean, what are you going to do? Ground your adult child? Force them to visit?

That’s nuts. 

And that’s also one of the best things about reaching the empty nest milestone. Relationships built on compliance have their limitations. 

Relationships where both parties engage on a voluntary basis, by choice… Now, that’s where life’s sweet spot is. 

Think about it like this. Let’s say your hubby brings you flowers, dances with you in the kitchen, or holds your hand. Wouldn’t it suck if he only did that stuff because he felt obligated to? And isn’t it much sweeter knowing he did it because he WANTED to?

Same deal with our kids. Every call, text, email, and Facebook haha is that much sweeter knowing our kids interact with us because they want to. For them to choose to spend time with us is far more soul-satisfying because they choose it.

var quads_screen_width = document.body.clientWidth; if ( quads_screen_width >= 1140 ) []).push(); if ( quads_screen_width >= 1024 && quads_screen_width < 1140 ) []).push(); if ( quads_screen_width >= 768 && quads_screen_width < 1024 ) []).push(); if ( quads_screen_width < 768 ) []).push();

We Have Secret Bliss in Our Hearts

You probably have a whole slew of blissful memories stored up from when your kids were little. My son loved wearing a Buzz Lightyear costume and jumping off the sofa to explore the strange planet. I watched him do this so many times that I can replay it in my mind at will. My daughter loved when I read her the “Froggy” books, and I can still hear her belly laugh when I’d do the voices.

Those moments are gone. But are they, really? At will, I can remember them and fully immerse myself in some truly joyful flashes from the past. As long as my memory is intact, I can visit those and thousands of other happy times whenever I want.

This is one reason I’m passionate about people writing their memoirs. When you do, you’ll uncover happy memories you’d tucked away and forgotten. Also, your kids, grandkids, and great grands can catch a glimpse into what your life was like so long ago. They can hear in your own words what you loved so much about being a mom.

Of course, sometimes the memories are sad, even regretful. No parent escapes without some measure of regret. 

That feels heavy. I know I have deeply wounded my kids at times. That’s the worst feeling of all. But I also know they will understand more and find healing as they get older - especially when they have babies of their own. Even now, we’ve had some tender conversations, sent each other some heartfelt notes. I am humbled by their grace, understanding, and wisdom.

Two Freaky Things about an Empty Nest

Okay, maybe these will blow your mind as much as they have mine. They’re pretty cool.

If your parents are still around, they probably have the same feelings and thoughts about you as you have about your grown kids. I found an odd sense of comfort, of coming full-circle or something when I realized this. My parents probably savor memories of me playing, jabbering away, or floating on rafts at the beach with them. They probably smile when they see my number on caller ID. Nothing’s sweeter than to be loved by choice. That doesn’t change with time.

Before you know it, your kids will also be empty nesters. Mind-boggling, right? Mine don’t have kids, but I suspect they will at some point. And those babies will grow up even faster than mine did. I want to be around to help them through their empty nest adjustment - and it brings me joy to imagine spending the next several decades being there for them as they walk the path I’ve just finished.

Feel Your Feelings. It’s Okay.

I have several friends - six, actually - whose children died as young adults. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about them, pray for them, and hope they will find comfort in their good memories of their kids. Some say a parent who’s gone through such a profound loss never recovers. They keep living, but they are never the same. 

There are no words I can offer that will help. Only love - that’s all I can send them.

If you look at your empty nest and feel profound grief, go ahead and feel it. Our feelings pass and change with time. If the sadness feels too heavy to bear alone, that can be a gift, too.

It can nudge you to lavish kindness and care on yourself. Maybe it will push you to nurture new relationships or to go volunteer for a meaningful cause. You may discover that you have this child-shaped void in your heart. But maybe it’s more like you have love that needs a place to go. 

The Best Is Yet to Come

Now’s our chance to create the next stage of life - and now we’re wise enough to recognize that we are more “at choice” than ever before. We can spend our time with the people we want to, doing what we love, and not worrying so much about tending to everyone else’s needs.

But even more, we can blaze a trail into midlife that not only satisfies our souls - but that also holds a light for those who come behind us. Younger women may one day call us inspirational. Even our own children, facing an empty nest of their own, may one day thank us for lighting the way on this stretch of the path, too.

var quads_screen_width = document.body.clientWidth; if ( quads_screen_width >= 1140 ) []).push(); if ( quads_screen_width >= 1024 && quads_screen_width < 1140 ) []).push(); if ( quads_screen_width >= 768 && quads_screen_width < 1024 ) []).push(); if ( quads_screen_width < 768 ) []).push();

[mwongihiwehi]

Week 1.1

Ihi Wehi

Ihi (authority charisma, awe-inspiring, psychic power)

Wehi (fear, awe, respect)

Wana (thrill, fear, excitement, awe-inspiring)

‘Understand Inequality’. Inequality: A New Zealand Conversation, http://www.inequality.org.nz/understand/.

What is inequality?

Many kinds of inequality - of gender, ethnicity, sexuality and so on.

Inequality in New Zealand?

In New Zealand income (and probably wealth) was being shared out more and more evenly from the 1950’s up until the 1980s - but for the next two decades, we had developed the world's biggest increase in income inequality.

Inequality and Poverty

Inequality connects both ends of the spectrum, wealth and poverty and argues that they have to be looked at together.

Poverty doesn’t exist in isolation: people are poor, in part because the economy directs much of the country’s resources to those who are already doing well. Wealth and poverty can’t be separated.

Wealth is also very largely in the hands of a few. That leaves many people in poverty, lacing the resources they need to participate in society and follow their dreams.

Inequality Concerns

Polling shows New Zealanders consistently rated inequality as the single biggest issues facing the country since 2014

Over 80% of the country says that they are concerned or very concerned about income and wealth imbalances

Internationally, all the world's major economic bodies including the IMF, the OECD and the World Bank - have argued for some time that inequality is a major problem and must be addressed.

Impacts of Inequality

For some people inequality is fundamentally unfair: if people get such very different rewards for their work there must be something wrong

Unequal societies are less functional, less cohesive and less healthy than their more equal counterparts.

The damage inequality does fall under 5 headings: trust and cohesion; health; opportunities; open politics and the economy

Trust and Cohesion

In an unequal society, people lose touch with how ‘the other half’ lives.

Growing income imbalances breed distrust and eat away at the bonds between people, weakening our sense of each other’s lives and our ability to pull together to tackle difficult problems.

Health 

More unequal societies are more materially competitive, more hierarchical and more stressful. This leads to higher rates of stress-related illness.

Opportunities

Opportunities are damaged as well: inequality means that people’s chances are limited by who their parents were. ( in a society like America, you can predict half of a person's income from what their parents earned because huge inequality leads to such different starts for rich and poor kids and the government doesn't offer much support for adults. advantages and disadvantages are passed on from generation to generation.)

Politics 

Inequality allows wealthy people to influence politicians who rely on them for donation to fund their campaigns because poverty deprives them of the full talents of some children and the economy becomes prone to asset bubbles and instability.

Economy

Recent OECD and IMF research shows that more unequal countries have worse economics because poverty deprives them of the full talents of some children and the economy becomes prone to asset bubbles and instability.

In these 5 areas, the failings affect all of us, no matter where we are on the spectrum

What Causes Inequality?

Inequality has many causes, and vary from country to country

Globe trade agreements play a role by shifting manufacturing and other jobs to countries with lower pay, but many of the causes are purely domestic.

In NZ, in the 80s and 90s taxes were cut for top earner while benefits were reduced by up to 30 per cent for the poorest families

Thousands of people lost their jobs as companies moved overseas and the number of people in trade unions which traditionally pushed up the wages of ordinary workers- fell from 70 per cent of the workforce to 20 per cent

Some inequality is down to things like household types ( we have more single parents families than before and they tend to be poorer)

When it comes to wealth the sale of public assets will have increased the wealth of those at the upper end, while decking homeownership means fewer and fewer people have that most important kind of assets. Data shows that most saving- a key way to build up wealth - is very difficult except for those who have large incomes or work in the property sector.

Income Inequality is usually calculated based on after-tax income (since that is what people can actually spend) and on a household basis (since people spend money as part of a larger family unit in most cases).

Another way to look at income inequality is the Gini coefficient which in essence takes all the income haps in a country - all the gaps between how income is distorted and how it would be discussed in a perfect even society - and adds them together.

Daily Exercise: Pictionary

Why Inequality Matters - Max Rashbrooke

Living worlds apart

Disconnected Worlds

Since the 1980s the number of people who are poor in New Zealand has doubled, with many families living in severe hardships

“Behind the statistics are real people”

Statistics show us how unequal our society has become.

Inequality affects all who live here

From the mid-1980s to the mid-2000s the gap between the rich and the rest widened faster in NZ than in any other developed country.

The gradual shift that builds until it reaches a tipping point. That time is now.

“Poverty had a direct impact on society

The widening gap between-low-middle- and high-income New Zealanders - nonetheless connects us all.

There is ‘only one deck’ - Karlo Mila

Defining inequality: in the book, the ‘income’ part generally refers to households’ disposable income: the amount households have to spend after taxes have been paid and any benefits and tax credits added

Money matters -It may not be the only one thing that makes for a good life but it is vital Income is a powerful influence on one's well being and standards of living

Deep poverty is not a temporary event. When Maori families migrated to urban areas in the 1950s they were often forced by poverty and discrimination into poor quality housing with knock-on effects for their health and well-being.

In NZ women and Maori did not necessarily share in this income distribution. However, the gender gap was reducing, with the average income for all women (including those not in paid work) rising from 20 per cent of men in 1951 to 54 per cent by 1986. Average Maori incomes rose from 50 per cent of non-Maori income to 62 per cent over the same period.

Children in NZ are more likely to be poor and less likely to feel safe and well than children in most other developed countries.

Rates of preventable disease especially among children and elderly have been described  as a ‘national embarrassment’

NZ historically one of the developed worlds more equal society but have fallen in ranking due to an unprecedented increase in income inequality between the mid-80s - mid-90s

Low-income stagnation is due largely to a combination of two factors a growing number of people on benefits and sharp curs in the value of those benefits

Income inequality rose sharply from the mid-1980s through to the mid-90s plateaued before falling slightly under Helen Clarks labour government thanks largely to working for families, but never recovered to its pre-1980s level

Pre 1970s New Zealand is often remembered as a reality conformist country, in which equality was entwined with ideas of security and stability and much that smacked of difference was seen as a threat.

Reducing inequality may also have lost support because of its being associated with conformity

A more equal society is also sometimes seen as a more conformist one

Governments do make a difference! Within the constraints of globalization, they can influence how income is distributed

As individuals we have some control over inequality too, through the public pressure we place on governments and in the way we deal with those around us. How we think about income gaps, and how we decide to address them, will do much to alter NZ levels of inequality in the years to come.

Key Terms:

Inequality: the extent of divergence of income and/or wealth within a society typically the term refers to disparities among individuals and groups, but can refer to income differences between countries.

Inequality, horizontal: Inequality between groups; also an inequality that an individual suffers as a result of their membership of a group (for example an ethnic minority).

Inequality, vertical: Inequality between individuals, some of whom will be higher on the income ‘ladder’ than others.

Pakeha: A Maori term for someone who is not of Maori descent

Working for families: A system of gunmen payments that top up the earnings of many people with low and middle incomes and dependent children under nineteen. Some components of this scheme discriminate against households whose main source of income is benefits or part-time employment. See Also ‘Tax credits’.

Tax Credits: Monetary payment made through Inland Revenue ( or other taxation authorities); negative taxes. In New Zealand, top-up payments made to low- and middle-income households under the working for families scheme are called ��tax credits’. for today daily exercise in my poster, I wanted to talk about Health Inequalities in New Zealand particularly focusing on mental health inequalities. I know that a lot of people in lockdown especially felt isolated and there are a lot of barriers that prevent people from getting access to mental health services. I wanted to show a person in isolation almost being too big for the house I wanted to show them feeling trapped. With these guns shooting them and a tank almost like a war that they are struggling to escape.

Week 1 Lab

[naturalhealthgodsway]

Dealing With the changing Face of "Normal"

"Normal"! What on earth is this concept of normal? I think the best description I ever received was, "What everyone else is, and you're not!" I've always described life around my home as "my/our version of normal, whatever that is". For me, "normal" has always included a sense of routine, a certain amount of sameness every single day, the "normal" way of doing things at the usual time and place. Then change comes along and reminds me that as a single mom, this concept of "normal" is actually, highly relative and if I don't adjust and accept that "my normal" won't be the same as other families out there, change would be very hard to deal with. Whether you've recently become a single mother, or you've been a single mother for a long time, no doubt your concept of "normal" has had to change too. Sometimes we have to adjust our perception of “normal” before any true, lasting change can be engaged in or even considered. Sometimes, “the way we’ve always done it” is no longer the best or most expedient way to do it anymore. Life has a way of throwing things at us that require change to adequately deal with. Change is a difficult word for up to a solid third of modern society. It is a threat for some. A difficulty for others. Some types of change require time, effort, and/or money to accomplish and those requirements are not always available the moment change barges in. Change arrives for various reasons: Someone dies and family or work life must be changed to accommodate the gap left behind. Health fails and change must take place to function in a manner conducive to healing or simply moving forward in a new way of life. Locations change because of going to school or accepting a new job and change must take place to accommodate the move. Prices rise and fall, forcing changes in how available earnings are spent. These are just a few of the circumstances that tend to force change in a person’s life, whether or not that change is wanted or unwanted. Nothing makes the concept of dealing with change more relevant than the year COVID-19 hit the world stage! Truly 2020 will go down in the history books as the year that forced modern life to reconsider how they do things in a very sudden, in some cases drastic way. How we paid our bills, how we schooled our children and how we did our grocery shopping were instantly changed! Prior to COVID's entrance, the idea of online shopping for groceries was still considered a novelty and a high-ticket convenience. That all changed in one week in March of 2020! Back in 2018, I came across a photo someone took of a list of foods someone else had made for themselves to avoid. The comments attached to this photo revealed a battle for change that many nutritionists, dietitians, health food gurus, and others have been trying to win via educating the public for possibly going on 2 decades now! The perception of a normal grocery list screamed quite loud as I saw junk food, sugary foods, and items I’d only consider the occasional splurge on being touted as impossible to give up. The challenge posted with this photo was asking the public if they could go without these items for 30 days. I sat mildly shocked as I realized I go without those things for months at a time, generally only engaging in them on special occasions such as Christmas, birthdays, and national holidays. This photo was followed a day or so later by an article where a local news source was contacted by desperate parents complaining about how expensive it is to live in my town.  This bolstered another article I read earlier in that past week,  where Kelowna BC Canada was ranked the 11th most expensive place to live, and on a per capita basis with regional incomes taken into account, one of the most expensive in terms of rental properties for families. Both complainers of these article had families, but neither could find homes that would accept their kids, in their price range. This is a research reality on the ground in this town ever since I began looking into it myself back in 2005. Rents have increased dramatically over the past 15 years, creating the situation where change is being forced on people who don’t have the funds to deal with it.  (More recent articles like those two can be found by searching the news source website simply for "rentals" in the top bar beside the google search.)

However, the question reared it’s head for me, were they seriously having trouble affording life in Kelowna due to income versus expenses, or did they think the items on the 30 day challenge were a normal part of everyday life? If those things are normally part of their weekly or bi-weekly grocery runs, do they also spend money at the local coffee shop every week or every day? Is a meal caught at local fast food places a normal part of their workday routine? I have worked with people who regularly buy their lunch rather than make it at home, so I know there are those out there who think this is normal on their expense list. Do they go out for dinner once a week or even once a month? How do they shop for clothes? Is it important to them to have a different outfit for every occasion, shoes and jewelry included? Are they offended by people who wear the same outfit two or three days in a row? How do they handle their errands? Do they plan routes to save on gas or do they go where ever as needed with no thought of the hit at the gas pump? In other words, are these people struggling because they are trying to live at financial levels they don’t actually see in the bank account? Or are they struggling because none of this is normal and they are seriously broke? Those last two questions are an affront to many people because they don’t want to consider that maybe, just maybe, what they consider normal is not helping their financial situation. Maybe, just maybe, wearing one outfit for two or three days, only having one pair of shoes for several types of occasions and wearing the same jewelry might help their financial goals. Maybe, just maybe, cutting out most of the foods on the 30 day challenge might actually mean other stuff more important can suddenly become affordable. But for any of these maybes to become reality, change has to take place. Time is needed to identify the non-essentials that were once thought to be indisputable. Effort is needed to ensure identified expenses are indeed cut out of the budget to make room for more important necessities. I know for myself in times past, that doing these exercises has always resulted in better financial coverage across rent, clothing, groceries, hygiene, transportation, and debt payments. Costs have risen for me as well. Income has risen and fallen quite scarily at times and made it difficult to pay the bills. The financial lessons I’ve learned as a single mother raising two kids in a town such as Kelowna, has not only allowed me to recover from low income periods better, but has opened my eyes to the financial plight of many in my situation who don’t realize that societal norms are actually harming their ability to make ends meet. Occasionally someone will come along who like one of the parents complaining to Castanet, will realize that the only way they can make ends meet is to sell stuff and cut back. While they were cursing the thought of having to do that, I’ve lived that way! I’ve even contemplated having to do that in more recent times as well. Change can be an adventure, or it can be a threat. It can be viewed as a doorway to better things, or the iron gate swinging shut on one’s dreams. The perspective is entirely up to each person facing it. Time, effort and finances are freed up for better things when unnecessary stuff is removed from the picture. Modern society is a slave to materialism. Toys big and small require maintenance to keep in running condition. Homes and properties big and small require maintenance to stay structurally healthy and useful. Special care clothing takes time and money to keep in optimal condition. The less you own, the less you have to put out on such maintenance. The less you put out on maintenance, the more you have available for needs, health concerns, and emergencies down the road. This goes for time, effort and finances. Change happens so much easier when all three of those criteria are adequately available.

You can learn how to begin changing your own perception of “normal” and discover lost money in the process, by signing up to take my 3 month coaching program: Taming the Coin. Sometimes, a person won’t know where to find the funds until they have completed the first month of the program, then it will dawn on them where that money was hiding and they can continue more confidently toward a deeper understanding of where their funds are going, why they are going there, and how to better spend their resources in a manner that comes closer to meeting their daily, weekly and monthly needs. Time and finances are needed to discover the effort necessary to make required changes to live better on the income currently coming in. Kelowna is constantly being touted as a two-income town in order for families to survive here. My kids are now young adults and one has a head injury he’s recovering from. Neither are able to move out on their own yet and have found it cheaper to pay the room and board I’m asking, than to attempt getting into a rental situation here. Yet somehow over the years, I was able to raise them on one income that was generally seen as less than the required amount to live on. I’m not saying it’s easy to make ends meet in Kelowna or even where you live, but I am saying with a financial scaple in your hand, it is possible. All it takes is a shift in perspective regarding what is and isn’t necessary, what is a need versus what is a want, examining spending habits, bills and transportation norms. Check out Taming the Coin and see for yourself. Read the full article

[nolle997-blog]

5 THINGS I HAD TO LEARN IN ORDER TO STOP BEING A PEOPLE PLEASER

I abhor conflict and confrontation. I’m pretty much completely incapable of saying no to someone’s face. Instead of standing up for what I want or what I believe in, I just smile.

To the point that I have a trail of abandoned relationships behind me. Abandoned because it was easier to leave than to say, hey, this isn’t working for me. Can we make some changes?

For much of my life, I have been a hopeless people pleaser and I can tell you this quality has not served me well. I have felt lonely because most of my relationships were one-sided. I have felt dissatisfied because my life was driven by other people’s preferences. I have felt exhausted from trying to be someone I’m not.

I would like to say that I have this completely figured out and I’m “all better” now. But I would be lying.

At this point, I would call myself a recovering people pleaser. I have come a long way from where I started. I understand and believe that people pleasing is not good for me. I have established boundaries. I don’t just smile and go along anymore. I don’t say yes when I don’t want to.

But I still have a terribly difficult time directly saying no to someone or expressing my disagreement. I have found ways of sneaking around that. I don’t sacrifice my own well-being anymore, but instead of just coming right out and saying it out loud, I do it in a stealthy “don’t mind me while I just tip-toe the fuck outta here” kind of way.

So I’m not where I want to be quite yet, but the rest of the road is clearly laid out in front of me and I know how to get to my destination.

To get where I am today – to make the shift from a hopeless people pleaser to a recovering people pleaser – I had to learn five lessons, which I’m going to share with you in this article.

STOP BEING A PEOPLE PLEASER: 5 THINGS I HAD TO LEARN

1. If I Take Care Of My Own Needs First, I Have More To Give To Others

Before I could stop being a people pleaser, I had to learn that putting yourself and your own needs first is not selfish.

I learned this lesson the hard way when I became a mother. I failed to meet my own needs and let myself run ragged to the point where I was so exhausted I started fantasizing about death just so I wouldn’t have to fight to stay awake anymore. You know, if I was laying in a coffin, nobody would try to interrupt my peace and quiet.

Now if someone is THAT tired, do you think anyone around that person benefits?

No. Nobody benefits.

Your first responsibility is always to yourself. The more you care for yourself, the better you’ll feel and the more you’ll be able to give to others. Put your own oxygen mask on before you help the minors.

Related: 5 Reasons To Let Go Of The Guilt When You Need Alone Time

2. The Best Relationships Require Confrontation

Before I could stop being a people pleaser, I had to learn that even though conflict and confrontation are borderline unbearable for me, they can be helpful tools.

The relationship that I value the most in my life – the one with my husband – is also the one that I have worked at the hardest. And a lot of that work has included confronting the other person when there is an issue and working through conflicts.

In this one relationship, I have felt safe enough to let go of my people-pleasing persona (my husband will attest to that if you ask 😉 ) and the result is a very close connection that has continued to improve over time. We are two VERY different people and we have been through some VERY tough times together, but the reason we have survived as a couple is that we have been willing to ask each other for what we need and keep the lines of communication open. (And let’s be honest here.  Communication is just a nicer word for “argue” 😉 ).

If you want a close and meaningful relationship, it’s absolutely necessary to make your authentic voice heard.

Related: If You Were To Do ONE Thing To Improve Your Marriage, Make It This

3. Social Conventions Are Mostly Arbitrary And I Have No Obligation To Follow Them

Before I could stop being a people pleaser, I had to learn that I wasn’t obligated to follow other people’s versions of the “way things should be”.

I’ve had the privilege of spending a significant amount of time in two very different cultures.  I grew up in Finland, but I’ve lived in the US for my entire adult life. This amounts to roughly two decades in each country. When you have the opportunity to observe different cultures close-up, one thing that becomes very evident is how arbitrary most social conventions are and how much of the things we do and the way we relate to other people is just a function of “the way it’s always been here” – what’s considered polite behavior, what the traditions are, what the prevalent religious beliefs or non-beliefs are.

You can make arguments for why these conventions are beneficial, but many of them are not inherently “right” or “wrong”.  They are just habits that have evolved over time.

And you know what else? When these conventions came to be, I wasn’t asked if I agreed or if I wanted to participate. Nobody called me up for a meeting and said, hey Anni, are you ok with celebrations on random calendar dates, mindless chit-chat, or watching grown men run after a ball?

And because I never promised anyone I would participate in these conventions, I’m under no obligation to do so. I’m under no obligation to do things because “that’s the way it’s always been” or “that’s just the way I was raised”.

It’s not that I take this as permission to be an asshole. I whole-heartedly believe in being kind and taking other people’s feelings into account. But I do take it as permission to make up my own traditions and fill my life with activities that I genuinely enjoy. I take it as permission to be kind to myself and to take my own feelings into account as well. I take it as permission to stay home and read a book. I take it as permission to choose quiet over meaningless noise. I take it as permission to be weird, to do my own thing. To swim against the mainstream.

Related: How To Make Your Brain Happy

4. I Can Challenge My Inner Critic

Before I could stop being a people pleaser, I had to learn to challenge my own inner critic – that judgmental voice that would scold me for being selfish, for hurting people’s feelings. The voice that would warn me I would end up rejected and alone, kicked out of the tribe, if I didn’t follow the rules.

This voice still shouts loud and clear, but when it does, I have my counter-arguments ready:

The world deserves the best you. You deserve the best you. The best you will only be realized if your needs are met.

If you decline an invitation or an offer of friendship, it’s true that the other person’s feelings may initially be hurt. But in the long run, it’s better for the other person as well as for you, to find people who are a better match.

If this tribe kicks you out, it wasn’t the right tribe for you in the first place. There are others out there that are a better fit.

Related: 7 Powerful Ways To Learn Self-Love

5. I Am My Own Best Advocate

Before I could stop being a people pleaser, I had to learn that I am the final arbiter of what’s best for me.

Society teaches us not to trust ourselves. As children, we are told to obey our parents and teachers. As adults, we are taught to follow authority figures. Bosses, doctors, politicians… Anyone with credentials, anyone with a title, knows better than you do.

But little by little, through various life experiences, my unquestioning trust in authorities and credentials has been shaken, eventually crumbling to almost nothing, while my confidence in myself has grown. Every time “they” disappointed me and every time the wisdom of my own inner voice surprised me, the balance shifted a little.

When the men and boys who were supposed to protect me turned out to be violent.

When I knew there was something wrong with my body, but the doctors wouldn’t pay attention until I did my own research and demanded the tests that proved me right.

When I knew there was something wrong with the baby I was carrying, but they convinced me I was crazy and that baby is not here today.

When the promises of help amounted to nothing and I had to figure it all out on my own.

I still believe that most people in this world are good people who mean well. But there are genuine no-good assholes roaming among us as well. And even the good people who mean well are just winging it and don’t always know better.

I don’t hand out my trust for free anymore. My trust has to be earned. I question. I think for myself. I feel free to disagree.

I spent the first forty years of my life listening and following. For the next forty, I will speak up and I will lead.

I will be the leader of my own life.

[bpcparents]

Intimate Connection Paves the Path to Independence

As parents of high school grads know well, that diploma doesn’t mean young adults have learned all they need to know to enter the wider world. Whether moving on to college or heading directly into the workforce, adult children continue to require loving guidance, and an empty nest doesn’t mean the job is done. Rather, it signals a new stage of parenting -- one that’s widely undertreated, incomplete, and imbalanced, but full of surprising and uniquely touching opportunities for deepening our relationships with our kids as we parent them into adulthood.

Conventional wisdom on parenting newly-adult kids (18+) emphasizes boundaries and exhortations on the importance of parents “letting go,” so that just-launched offspring discover independence. Focused on avoiding the pitfalls of helicopter and snowplow parents who micromanage or remove obstacles in their kids’ paths to a fault, much of the literature reasonably warns against stifling or controlling young people.

These are understandable cautions; after all, as even The Wall Street Journal reports, “Baby boomers are far more immersed with their own grown children than their parents were with them“ (13 Jan, 2019). Indeed, Karen Fingerman, a professor of Human Development and Family Sciences at the University of Texas, Austin found that “parents in the early 2000s offered about twice as much counsel and practical support (which could be anything from babysitting grandkids, running their grown kids’ errands or reviewing their résumés) as parents did in the 1980s.” To this, I would point out, however, that there’s nothing objectively better or worse about the relative merits of either generation’s degree of “immersion.” What we should be addressing is the quality of parental involvement after kids hit legal age.

IT’S PERSONAL My own observations as both a parent and an educator teach me that too much emotional distance can sometimes rob young adults of the intimate connection to trusted family that they need to effectively transition to independence. In fact, I would argue that the “holy grail” of independence has been traded out too often -- albeit inadvertently -- for estrangement and alienation, to the unnecessary and avoidable detriment of the very kids their well-intentioned parents aimed to serve by stepping back.

Impersonal contact can also occur as a result of parental discomfort facing what some people feel as the “awkward” areas of human development that accompany late-teens and early-adults. Emerging identity naturally takes that age group into territory that traditional cultural conventions consider taboo in “polite company,” namely: sex, drugs, politics, and money. But allowing space for young people to make their own discoveries and decisions is not the same as getting a free pass to bag out of what may be uncomfortable parenting responsibilities altogether. Suicide rates among youth aged 15-24 increased by 50% over the last decade in the US (American Foundation for Suicide Prevention), signaling the intensifying urgency to reconsider how we cultivate meaningful connection and sustaining ties that bind youth to the love in their lives.

SEX TMI? Get over it; young people need candor without judgment, and avoiding the topic has real health consequences, both physical and emotional. Whether or not they decide to become sexually active, as humans, young people are certainly sexual beings and need understanding to navigate effectively in integrity with themselves. The availability since 2006 of the HPV vaccine for kids as young as nine-years-old has offered the benefit of parents and kids matter-of-factly discussing sex as a health issue even before reaching double digits. Protecting a young person’s privacy on this front must be absolute. They also set the boundaries, but don’t necessarily wait for them to raise the topic and definitely don’t be squeamish when they come knocking for advice. The pervasive messages and misinformation on social media stoke fears and insecurities, increasing the necessity for sound, accurate, and trustworthy information. Consent is the watchword, and sons need protective guidance as much as daughters do.

& GENDER In fact, when it comes to the separate but related issue of gender, the younger population is way ahead of most of those of us currently parenting. Awareness and understanding about gender as a spectrum that transcends binary categories is vital and literally life-saving. GLSEN and Gender Spectrum are two leading national organizations that have accomplished progress across the country toward creating greater understanding and safety for students in increasingly gender-inclusive schools. Young adults are more advanced in their comprehension and conduct, so now’s the time to catch up, Mom and Dad!

DRUGS News headlines abound with dire statistics about the heroin epidemic in the US, but the American Academy of Pediatrics reports that the broad social acceptability of alcohol in typical households continues to make booze the nation’s gateway drug. Their data document that “physiologic vulnerability to substance use is aggravated by environmental factors, including the availability, promotion, and modeling of substance use behaviors” (AAPpubs, 2/2019). For example, children who initiate drinking before age 14 are five times more likely to develop an alcohol use disorder compared with those who initiate at age 19. A similar pattern is seen with both marijuana and the misuse of prescription opioid medication. Indeed, delayed substance use initiation into adulthood is associated with a substantially reduced risk of ever developing a substance use disorder, underscoring the importance of prevention and early intervention strategies designed to delay initiation and reduce substance use in this group. Nonetheless, the peak ages of substance use initiation occur during adolescence and early adulthood, and programs designed for adolescents and young adults are almost entirely absent.

The good news is that parents have it entirely within their control to limit their children’s exposure to alcohol in the first place by abstaining themselves and making home a substance-free zone. Sound extreme? It’s actually one of the fastest growing and most popular trends on college campuses across the US. Whether out of religious piety, personal preference, military duty, or because they’re recovering addicts, increasing numbers of entering freshman are competing for housing in substance-free dorms. Given the rising surge of a substance-free reality for university students, why not start the same at home?

MONEY On the financial front, young adults are usually still dependent, but many of them feel irksomely so. Of course, it’s possible to help without making them feel on the dole. Most healthcare plans allow parents to carry their children on their plans until the age of 26, but that doesn’t mean that the young adults themselves can’t contribute toward their share of the costs. Similarly with auto insurance and cell phone plans; gradually, they can contribute increasing amounts toward their portion of those key programs. Doing so educates them to real world expenses, but there’s no reason to lord over them any sense of feeling beholden. Don’t make them ask, don’t make them “grateful.” Engage them as partners, discussing details of available options. Model money as a river rather than a pot of gold to be won. Encourage them as agents who can make and manage the flow of money, not as custodians of fixed sums, which can feed a shortage mentality. Encourage them to earn, save, donate, invest, and spend wisely. And if that doesn’t work out, restrategize with them rather than shame them, so that they can recover a footing and work their way back to solvency. Co-banking is a great way to start kids out while they’re still at home, displaying all accounts in a online single window, and the practice paves the way to skilled credit, debit, checking, and savings management that can become increasingly independent.

POLITICS In this era of heightened political division, it’s especially important to model citizenship, curiosity, tolerance, reason, fairness, and commitment to due process. Spouting opinions does nothing to quiet the din of distortion on social media that surrounds our children’s generation; we owe it to them to demonstrate an allegiance to facts and a genuine interest in how they see the world and what they value. Ask rather than pontificate, and by all means get that absentee voter ballot in the mail on deadline!

CLOSING ABOUT CLOSE-ING Engaging our adult children at such deep levels in the very areas of life that people often feel most private about actually equips them with the self-knowledge and confidence to take fully independent strides into the world -- and into connection with others as well. Parenting is love, and love is personal. The poet Adrienne Rich wrote that ”it is a process...that breaks down human isolation.” The wellbeing of our young adult children depends on the willingness of their parents to engage in this inimitably intimate process because, she notes, “we can count on so few people to go that hard way with us.”

Elizabeth Messinger is a former journalist with NPR and The Economist of London. Through her educational consultancy, Mind in Motion, she guides children of all ages to think for themselves, and she teaches Humanities at an independent school in Stamford, CT. She raised her son in Bedford, where together they ran the Toddler Room at the Presbyterian Church for nearly a decade. She continues to parent from NY as he attends college in California.

[thisisjaimee-blog]

Wellness Wednesday | 19.07.17

Let's talk about high standards and pressures for a second. Everyday I find I'm inundated with pressures from various people and places, whether it's my boss's high standard of my work ethic, my scheduling managers high standard of my punctuality, my dog's high standard of my attention and affection, my parents high standard of my general being,.. And then there's my own standards and pressures. The pressure I feel to have a high standard of cleanliness in my apartment because God forbid someone come by and see how much dog hair floats around the floor on any given day. My high standard of cooking healthy, well rounded dinners for my fiance and I because we don't want to be lethargic gluttons. My high standard of being active and keeping up with my workout regime because gaining a pound or two is apparently noticeable and unacceptable. My high standard of starting business ventures that have both meaning and high functionality. My high standard simply, of being a well-rounded citizen of the world. As a woman, society places further pressures and standards onto me. To be beautiful, to be fit, to be witty and smart, to have children, to be the family chef and grocery list maker, to do the household laundry and dishes, to be the maid... well, you get the picture. That's a lot of pressure. "Let us be about setting high standards for life, love, creativity, and wisdom. If our expectations in these areas are low, we are not likely to experience wellness. Setting high standards makes every day and every decade worth looking forward to." - Greg Anderson How, with all of these pressures, is anyone supposed to find wellness? You may have noticed a quote on my last Wellness Wednesday post that stated, "Health is a state of body, wellness is a state of being." Now what does that mean exactly? It means you're in a state of complete physical, mental, and social well-being, and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity. Now why am I bringing this up? When I was in my early 20's (I'm on the brink of late 20's now, God help me.) I, like most my age, was constantly out and about, trying new things, meeting new people, staying out late and abusing my liver. I can look back on that now and see that then, my focus was not my health - but I felt a certain degree of wellness. I was working a job I loved, I was confident, adventurous, eager to learn and nothing could stop me. A few years pass and I started to realize, despite the fact that it was fun and interesting, it wasn't healthy. So I stopped doing those things, and found myself focusing at length on my health. Almost obsessively. No, definitely obsessively. I lost a bunch of weight, hit the gym hard, and people noticed. But I wasn't confident. I wasn't eager to do things I loved because they didn't fit the greater good of health. I lost my sense of adventure, to some degree. Many things stopped me from doing what my heart wanted. I was working a job I hated. I was now healthy, but I wasn't well. I consider that moment my quarter life crisis. It was at that realization that I started to seek guidance. I needed to figure out what I was doing and how to get to where I wanted to go. Heck, I had to figure out where I wanted to go. So I thought about it. I didn't want to be obsessive about being healthy, but I still wanted to be healthy. I wanted a job I loved, but I wasn't in a position to leave the one I hated. (Being a responsible adult is such a bore.) I wanted to be active, but I needed to learn to be comfortable with stillness, too. It became clear pretty quickly that I was seeking balance, and up until that point I obviously hadn't been able to find it myself. I had rushed through school so quickly I didn't have the time to consider all of these things when I was younger. But, as a firm believer that it's never too late to start anything and feeling ready to tackle these things, I sought that guidance via a therapist. Through my semi-regular visits, I learned I had a problem with binge eating; I was an emotional eater, to the point of self destruction. I hadn't learned to deal with my feelings from a young age, and it had spawned this awful version of myself I couldn't stand. I knew I overate, but I couldn't stop myself until I learned how to sit with my emotions. Literally, sit with them. Sounds foolish, probably, but a lot of aspects of my core personality reflect this inability, like the fact that I'm workaholic because it doesn't leave me enough time or energy to dwell on the things I am worried or scared about. This was a revelation. My therapist told me to try meditation. Long story short I sort of fell in love with it. It helped me learn how to be still and helps me manage my ever looming anxiety and sneaky depression. It took months for this to start helping me curb my emotional eating, but I'm happy to say I haven't overeaten in so long that I can't actually pin a date to it. It'll be a long time before I am "recovered" but, I'm finally feeling confident again and I don't get stressed out thinking about upcoming social functions where god forbid there be tempting food available. I'm still working a job I am less than thrilled about, but I've come to terms with the fact that right now, I need it, and I can work with it to get to where I want to be. Since my hours are relatively consistent, it gives me ample time to work on the Live Like Wolves apparel line, something that has given me meaning and fulfillment again. I hope one day to turn it into a more full time job, in addition to writing, because what I realized I want more than anything is more flexibility in my work schedule, to be in a creative field (mine is currently too much on the technical side), and be able to work remotely in order to spend more quality time with my friends, family, and Dakota. All in due time, though - I've also learned to be more patient. Finally, to help me find balance in my active life, I've eased up my workout regime, and altered it significantly. Biking to work gives me peace of mind before starting my day and helps me decompress on the route home. Dakota and I have started doing early morning walks, which feeds his need for attention and activity and brings me further fulfillment, because I love hanging out with that little bugger! We do post-work walks, too, which again helps me find clarity, particularly on stressful work days. I had taken a break from running a bit after my half-marathon, but I'm eager to get back to a more consistent run schedule because running for me acts a lot like meditation in that I get some me-time, without any expectations or social pressures.  The difference now is I don't say to myself "you have to run Wednesday, Fridays and Sunday." but rather, I want to run on the weekends when I have more time to really enjoy it. I want to swim because I love the feel of the water. I want to feel well. So I know this was a long one, so if you made it all the way to the end here, you must be super bored at work so I hope you get some e-mails coming in soon or some phone calls. The takeaway here is that we need to spend more time considering what makes us well. Health and wellness are not one in the same and it can be easy to lose wellness when you're focused too much on being healthy, and vice versa, as I experienced. Also, stop focusing so much on what other people's or society's expectations are of you - until you do that, you wont be able to find a true state of wellness. 'Til next time.     Click to Post

[my-hydeaway]

Our Childhood

The best times of my life, let me share them with you. Approx 2k words

Remember the time you stood in a row of students and there was this boy beside you who could not stop crying? First day in kindergarten school and you were being looked up to as many by the brave and ambitious one, other parents in total envy of how their child is not as confident as you are while your parents stood meters away from the line of children and gave the proudest smile. Back to the crying boy beside you. His name was Minho. You never noticed it back then but he has the cutest round cheeks in the history of round cheeks. Up till today, he has not noticed how you managed to make a copy of his Polaroid childhood photo and keep it hidden in your wallet to be taken out at any time of the day for an adoring session. "Hey there! Don't cry!" You whispered to Minho, trying not to get caught by the harmless teacher.

"I wanna go home!" Minho continued to sob gently, eyes swollen and nose soggy with liquid. 

"But we can play together soon!" Convincing him in the most sincere of ways, somehow he managed to calm down at the moment the word 'play' was said. 

And that was probably the only thing you ever bragged about to Minho even after decades have passed, you wanted him to never forget how you took care of him on the first day of school, a complete stranger to you. He would always give the same shrug and warned you to never do that to a grown man crying on the street unless it happened to be himself. One of your favourite songs till date is the melodic harmony of xylophones and piano keys that gently carried the notes of the legendary Canon in D floating throughout the entire school. This meant that it was break time and before you knew it, Minho and you were out in the playground having a blast in the sandpit. He promised to built you a sandcastle, but wrestled so much with the idea he could barely get a bucket of sand to stand. Never did he knew, twenty years down the road he would have been trapped under the sand itself and embarrassed by his four buddies and childhood friend that he had to slur a cocktail mixture of vulgarities to be released from his sand prison. The years of classes involving nap time, break time and shower time soon passed as quickly as the seasons changed. The friendship between Minho and you remained concrete strong and the both of you made a pact to get into the same primary school by telepathy and dancing around a plate of animal crackers. The both of you continued this ritual every single time when it was required to choose a new school and it would always work. It was after much confrontation with your mother years later that you found out how your parents worked closely with Minho's parents to try and get the both of you into similar schools. You have stopped touching animal crackers completely ever since that hideous truth was revealed. Primary school was a lot more crazy and fun. Minho would come over to your place after school ends and the both of you would binge watch cartoon series and snack on chocolate waffles. It was also the time where Minho seemed to put on most of his weight. If you thought you had seen the chubbiest of his cheeks during kindergarten, the sight of how he managed to stuff thirty Maltesers into his mouth and the heavenly sound of biting and crunching into it all at once, chubbiest would be too mild of a word to call his cheeks by. There was this time another male student snatched your toy Pokemon and you were almost brimming with tears. No fear because Minho came to your rescue as he chased the toy thief around the playground as you watched Minho slowly ran out of speed as well as breath. Of course your toy Pokemon was returned to you unscathed but it seemed like a part of Minho's soul left his body as he laid on the floor panting crazily. "R-running.. is not my best forte.." He huffed and puffed, almost ready to blow the straw house down. "I can see that! But thanks for trying." You chuckled at his cheeks as you watched them jiggle when he exhaled deeply before extending a hand to help him out and brushing off the dirt that got onto the back of his uniform. You loved all of these innocent and child-like times. But what you loved even more, was when puberty began to hit Minho. For you, puberty hit way earlier than it did for Minho. Horrifying him at the way you squeeze the pus out of your inflamed pimples until there was a time where he refused to step into your house. When puberty finally dawned upon Minho, it hit him like a truck. "Why do you keep staring at me recently?" Minho asked nonchalantly as he balances his pen on his Cupid's bow, puckering his lips together while figuring out a way to solve his algebraic homework. "Do I do that?" You hid your tone, answering with absolutely nonchalance as well while you eyed at his broad shoulders. "Speaking of which, did you lose weight?" You sat up from his bed and closed the algebra book in front of you. It took you long enough to realise how his jawline emerged under all the baby fat that claimed the throne on his cheeks, broad shoulders that spanned out almost like the wings of a plane and the deep voice that dripped with honey each time he hummed his favourite song. It was no wonder you felt the deathly stares of other female species as you walk down the market with Minho, munching on spiral potatoes and chocolate sundaes. "Are you saying I'm fat?" Minho quickly turned around from his spinning chair and glared into your eyes. Things were just going so great in life. Not till his high school sweetheart crushed his heart into a million pieces and walked away without even looking back. Minho would always come to you and shared about all the romantic events he planned for her. On Valentine's Day, he stuffed petals of different kinds of flowers that belonged to the nearby garden into a transparent balloon and filled it up with helium. The way the petals did a little jump with every stride he took along with the floating balloon that glided through the air was absolutely stunning and you knew that she was one lucky girl. Sadly, she could not hold his hand for long and eventually decided to trample on his fragile heart. It was such a bad month for you because he hardly turned up for school. You had no one to walk with to school and no one to entertain your boredom doodle attacks during integration class. It got so bad that Minho did not even want to see anyone when you visited with some friends. It left you with your one last resort, one that could potentially break your legs if it went horribly wrong. It would be all worth it to make your best bud smile again. You climbed up the pipeline to his windowsill and tapped furiously on the window almost pleading to be saved from the jarring height. Because of this incident, Minho would always snicker whenever you stood near any kinds of window. Which is great, surely, because now there's at least two things you hate in the world so much - animal crackers and windows. After going through a dozen comfort movies, three tubs of ice-cream and two boxes of tissue paper, Minho returned to school the next day and normalcy was restored. Most first love almost never work out anyway and Minho recovered from his slowly but surely. Years of chasing dreams and painful rejections, the cruel world that seemed nothing like how you viewed it when you were in kindergarten. In fact, it made you wonder if the other children were crying over how the future will come too soon. In fact, it made you feel small and childish to be someone that brave. You were struggling through first year of university while Minho continued to chase his dreams. "You should have come to university with me." You pouted as you walked straight into the dormitory without even looking at Minho who stood at the door to welcome you in. "But I like it here." Minho was glowing, although he looked exhausted from all the training, he was in total glee and happy to see you after a whole month of confinement. "But learning is not the same without you anymore." Making your way to the fridge, you were so familiar with the house that wasn't yours, you could probably find the pots and pans with blindfolds on. "Ah come on, you're smart. I'll only be there to distract you." Minho dragged his feet, following you from behind, carefully examining your body to see if you have lost weight from the intense medical school. "Maybe we should have danced around the animal crackers." As if the can of beer you opened was not bitter enough, the thought of animal crackers made you cringe even more. "You? Trainee at YG? You've got to me kidding me!" The man wearing a black beanie matched with the largest rimmed spectacles teased you. It was getting incredibly difficult to spend time with Minho now. You had to go to school and had assignments almost every single day. On the other hand, Minho had to practice and train everyday in the company that he rarely saw the sun just as much as he used to when he was younger and more carefree. But I guess that's what being responsible adults are, even still, there are times where you would want to close all your books and head down with ice-cream and donuts to find Minho's great companion. "Just come down for a second, it'll only take a second I promise!" Minho pleaded through the phone, something that you cannot resist. "Okay okay, just for a bit alright, I have an assignment due tomorrow." You replied, finally feeling some excitement in your life after such a long time. Excitement turned to astonishment followed by a feeling that you have never felt in your life before. "Did you just end practice?" Hiding both your hands into the pockets of your hoodie from the late night breeze as you strutted towards Minho who waited at the empty park. Instead of replying, he whipped out a tub of ice-cream and sat you down on the park bench. The night was filled with ecstatic conversations and catching up with one another that felt all so familiar to you. It was as if time has rewind and gone back to the times where the both of you were kids again. The late night passed and the empty park was starting to show signs of life apart from the presence that Minho and you provided for the past four hours. Light slowly started to touch every part of the area, the morning dew that formed on the awaken leaves and elderly women coming out for a brisk stroll. "Oh my gosh, my assignment!" You shrieked after looking at the time on your phone before jumping up and getting ready to take off. "Before you go!" Minho stood up, got closer to your face and left a peck on your forehead. "You know that I'm always cheering for you right?" He smiled. 

(to be continued..)