Chapter One. Grief.

It’s an awful feeling having to return to life after something traumatic has happened. The lack of fanfare following the death of someone you love is unsettling. Walking from a room containing the body of a loved one into the sunshine feels so wrong. It feels like the world should pause for a minute. That there should at least be some clouds or weather that reflects your great sadness. Something significant should occur to acknowledge the loss you have just experienced.

But it’s not like that. Life keeps going. Beautiful days happen. Friends fall in love. There’s a new boss at work. A new season of the Bachelor starts. Life just keeps going, steamrolling over the top of the grief.

A week after my Mum had died we had the funeral. After that we sorted out the house as much as possible. Two weeks later I was back home. Then I was back at work. People around me were aware of my pain, but they were not a part of it. I felt isolated in my grief. Even my siblings who I shared this loss with were not part of my pain. We are connected by our grief, but we all must walk through the shadows alone.

There have been days I sat at my work desk and quietly cried for my Mum. There’s been no obvious trigger, just this unexpected sadness that washes over me. I’ve also had it while driving, shopping and just doing the mundane. Having a one-year old means that it’s easy to remain distracted. But even then, there are times while playing with my daughter the sadness comes.

That’s why I’ve been silent on here. It’s easier to sit in silence and ignore what is happening in my head. Rather than engage with the feelings I shut them out. I can get on with life that way. Behave in a way that puts others at ease. The quickest way to alienate people is to show them your pain. Almost no one knows what to do with it. 

For me, writing requires vulnerability and bravery.  Vulnerability to write something honest. Bravery to share that with people. It's hard to be vulnerable when I'm hurting, and it's almost impossible to be brave when all my energy has been spent on getting through the day. 

 After my father’s death I fell apart. I shut down. By pushing the emotions under I prolonged the time it took to heal. This time I want it to be different. I need it to be different. I can't go through that again. So as scary as it is I'm going to do my best to be vulnerable and engage with my emotions.  I’m going to muster the energy needed to be brave. I'm going to write about this so that at least for a moment there will be acknowledgement that something significant has happened, that my world changed forever back on that day in May. 

For my Mum

Tuesday morning we said goodbye to my mum and Lucy’s grandma. As far as I’m concerned the day came too quick. While I’m grieving for the mother and grandmother that we have lost, I’m also grateful for the time we were able to spend together.

One of the clearest childhood memories I have was laying on my Mum’s bed and laughing for hours. It was beyond the point that anything was funny, we were just having fun. There were also times when I was quite young, that I rode around on the back of her bike in one of those children’s bike seats. At the time I thought it was an exciting adventure. But now I suspect it was because they couldn’t afford to have the old brown car fixed.

I have no doubt that my mum loved me and was proud of me. Last year I graduated from university, Mum was there to cheer me on and take a thousand and one photos. That night at the celebratory BBQ she barely ate anything because she was too busy talking to everyone letting them know she was the mother of the graduate. She also spent a good amount of time interrogating everyone there. Who were they, how did they know me and if they were male, were they possibly single?

When I fell pregnant with Lucy Mum was so excited. Although she couldn’t be there with me, after every appointment there was a phone call. My brother’s wife was pregnant at the same time as me. Mum considered herself a bit of a soothsayer. She insisted that I was having a girl with curly hair and my brother was having a boy with ginger hair. So far we’re three out of four. Just waiting on the curly hair.

Speaking of curly hair, until I was in mid primary school I thought Mum’s hair was naturally curly. Getting old enough to learn about perms was a bit of a shock. As an adult she would ring me all excited about the new way which the hairdressers had done her hair. I could never tell the difference from one perm to the next so I just agreed until I could escape the conversation.

Mum was a very conservative, straight laced Christian lady. Growing up this meant dressing up for Sunday church, no drinking, swearing and no gambling. Until my friend Mia came along. IT was my older brother’s birthday last year. Handing out $1 coins Mia suggested it’d be a lot of fun if we all went and played the pokies. Mum’s reflex was to say no. Mia worked her magic and soon my little Christian mother was learning how to play the pokies. It was the first and only time mum played pokies. She was so chuffed to win ten dollars. Mum even insisted on paying Mia back her dollar. She was an honest woman after all.

Even though mum has been taken from us too soon, she left behind a strong legacy. Currently I’m sorting through a mountain of quilts, unfinished projects and a seemingly endless stash of material. We will never be cold. I also learnt to speak my mind, even if I look like a crazy lady.

The right to choose

Appearing on the SBS show Insight was amazing. What is even more amazing is the discussions that people have initiated with me since then. I’ve become the keeper of stories from women across several generations. Being open and authentic about my story has encouraged others to be open with me about their own experiences. I’ve heard about a war bride that was deceived, parents having affairs and women that got more than a date from internet dating. I feel like I’ve heard it all. Unplanned pregnancies are nothing new. What is new is that we’ve been through a sexual revolution. Society’s ideas about sex have evolved, so why hasn’t our perception of single parents?

Sex education is something that hopefully everyone has been through. Somehow, somewhere, we have been educated on the pleasures of sex and where babies come from. Hopefully the issue of contraception has also arisen. No matter what method is used, there is no complete guarantee that you will not contract a disease, infection or create a zygote. If it’s not surprising that the pleasure of sex is coupled with the risk of an unplanned pregnancy, why are we still judging those that fall pregnant while participating in casual sex?

Furthermore, where does the expectation come from that unplanned pregnancies must be automatically aborted? Especially those from casual relationships. Generally society is accepting of women choosing to terminate unwanted pregnancies. Pro-choice must mean that while women may terminate, the choice to follow the pregnancy through is also acceptable. You cannot have one without the other. If women are free to choose to have sex, by default, surely they’re free to choose what to do with the pregnancy.

In Australia we are blessed to have a government that is supportive of single parent families. I’ve heard the argument that women are choosing to fall pregnant to gain access to more money via the welfare system. This is a stupid argument. Let me explain why.

The money I get from the government for being a single parent is LESS then the minimum wage. I went back to work when my daughter was four months old. My employment income combined with the government support I receive is the same as what I was earning when I worked full time. The difference is that now I have a baby who is fully dependent on me. Having a baby is not an effective way of increasing disposable income. Babies and children in general have a wonderful talent of devouring any disposable income you thought you had.

Unplanned pregnancies and single parents have been consistently present within society for a very, very long time. Nether are failures. Surely as a society we can recognise that unplanned pregnancies happen and occasionally turn people into single parents. Next time, instead of judging why don’t you buy the single parent in your life a coffee? They probably need one.

Walking into the Arena

 ‘The only certain thing about the arena is that you’re going to get your ass kicked.’ Brene Brown

This week I told the story of how I conceived my little girl on national television. At the same time an opinion piece I wrote was published on several national news websites. My face was seen across social media promoting the program I was on. I did radio interviews. I started promoting this blog.  It was scary and exhilarating.

On top of sharing my story this week I’ve spent the week at a workshop in Cairns for the start of my masters. Even though it’s coursework I’m a little terrified. It’s scary. I have no idea if I’ll be able to do this. I’m already a single working mother dealing with the reality that my mother has cancer. Life is tough enough without the added pressure of post grad study. But I’m backing myself. Because if not now when?

There have been trolls. The majority are faceless social media profiles with insightful comments like ‘bimbo should’ve swallowed’ or something horrible about the way I look. At times I want to respond. But then I remember, they’re not in the arena with me.

On the flip side putting myself on the line has brought out the cheer squad. The girl gang group chat has been overly active. My phone has been flooded with messages of support and I’ve got coffee dates lined up with friends when I get back.

The point of this post is to say I’m here, I’ve entered the arena. I’m putting myself on the line. I’m so pleased you’ve found your way to my blog. I’ll also be posting on facebook and Instagram. Come say hi. Search for Haus of Treen and you’ll find me. I’ll post a link when I figure out how to do it.

He Consented to Sex, not to parenthood

Once I heard about a girl who on leaving prison, decided the best way to turn her life around was to find a man and have a child. It became a running joke with my friend. Then I had a baby and turned my life around.

By the time I swiped on the match that changed my life, I had been on and off tinder for several years. While looking for potential mates I ended up with some genuine friendships. I had some lovely dates and some not so lovely dates. This guy seemed normal enough. He was younger than me, a tradie into classic cars and loved that I did retro pin-up. The conversation was interesting enough. Weeks of messaging led to drinks, above average sex and the agreement that we’d do it again.

Then things got weird. Plans were cancelled, changed or discarded without explanation. I was often left hanging and unsatisfied. A quick check on Facebook confirmed my suspicions. Tinderboy had a girlfriend. No wonder he would only communicate on snapchat. Feeling disgusted I ended it.   

Shortly after, I got the news that Mum had been diagnosed with cancer. I was devastated. Three years before Dad had died also from cancer. At 33 life was not what I had hoped for. Completely lost, I reached out to tinderboy. He asked if I minded if he had a girlfriend. As far as I was concerned that was his issue to work out. In my mind it was every man for themselves. I just wanted a distraction from the emotional pain I felt. Two months later I was pregnant.

I took the test one afternoon after work. It was hard to concentrate, I kept rereading the instructions certain I made a mistake. I was 33, single and pregnant to a guy who had a girlfriend. This was not how it was supposed to happen. I was so numb, there wasn’t sadness, joy or any other emotions. Just the knowledge that I had to do something. I sent a message to my friends, a photo of the positive test. I called my doctor friend to ask advice. Sitting on the floor I began weighing up my options.

Even though it takes two to tango this was a decision I needed to make on my own. I was on the pill and knew the failure statistics, not once thinking I would be one of the ones that fell outside the norm. I was in shock.

It took three days for me to tell Tinderboy via snapchat. That’s what our ‘relationship’ had been reduced to. I captioned the positive pregnancy test with ‘let me know when you can talk’. The messages flooded my phone.

‘We can’t do this’

‘we need to terminate’

‘are you sure?’

All I wanted was to meet up to talk. I didn’t feel comfortable discussing such a huge matter over a social media app. He kept pushing the ‘we’, tried to tell me what ‘we’ should do. I didn’t see a ‘we’, I saw two independent adults who had consented to sex but not to parenthood. Disregarding my request to meet up, tinderboy continued to relentlessly push for a termination.  I already felt alone in the situation, his unwillingness to regard my feelings reinforced the isolation.

The previous year I had given up on the idea of being a mum. Abortion didn’t feel like something I could do. Especially since I had always wanted to be a mother. The next conversation I initiated was asking whether he wanted to be involved. Either be on the birth certificate or disappear. Sadly but not surprisingly he disappeared. I didn’t chase him. Tinderboy had consented to having sex with me, not to being a parent. Just because I had decided to become a mother, I wasn’t forcing fatherhood on him.

I gave birth in July 2017 to a beautiful girl. I chose a name that means ‘light’. When I told a friend’s mother that I was pregnant, her response was that it was wonderful because it meant that I now had a future. As old fashioned as that is, it’s also very true for me. Some people find purpose in life without children. For me, before I had my girl I was clutching at straws. Afterwards, I finally graduated at uni. I enrolled in my masters. I’m budgeting, meal planning and abstaining from alcohol. I no longer believe that it’s every man from themselves. We’re all in this together. My aim is to be kinder, a better all-round human with the hope that the world will be a better place for my girl.

As for the girl at the start, she had a baby. She’s on the straight and narrow with her new partner and their rowdy little toddler. Nothing transform your life like having a child.

A Grief Cheat Sheet

As a white middle class Australian, I’m confident when I say that people don’t know how to act when someone dies. Other cultures have traditions like not moving anything or wearing the same clothes for days. Maybe it’s the lack of traditions to hold onto that result in the dumb things people do while trying to comfort the grieving individual. For example, here’s a sample of just some of the things that were said to me after my dad died from cancer;

 ‘It was because he drank so much diet coke’.

‘It was because he didn’t eat organic’.

‘At least now you’ll be able to go to his gravesite and win all the arguments’.

And about three years after his passing it was suggested that I go and talk to someone because I didn’t seem to be ‘getting over it’.

Even to this day if it comes up that my father has passed away it gets very awkward very quickly. Even at my dad’s wake things were a bit awkward. Nowadays when people ask about my family I don’t mention my father in hopes to save us all from that uncomfortable moment. Now if people ask I just say he’s dead. I’ve given up my quest to make others feel less uncomfortable. And I use that word, ‘dead’. Not ‘passed away’ or ‘gone’ or anything that’s slightly ambiguous. Because if they missed the first clue I gave them, I don’t want them to misunderstand a second time.

Several my friends that are thirty somethings with deceased parents have reported experiences that parallel mine. Many people just don’t know what to do. The following is a cheat sheet I’ve done up. It’s a bit vague and not one of those neat tick and flick ones because grief isn’t neat. I’ve written this down because about eighteen months ago my mother received her own cancer diagnosis. And for the long term it’s not looking good. Here are a few things I need you to understand when it comes to my grief. 

1. Do not ask me to take family photos at the funeral. Because that’s what happened at Dad’s funeral, grandad’s funeral, grandma’s funeral…Why? I know it’s the first time in ages we’ve all gotten together but if you really want photos let’s all pull our fingers out and organise a cheerier event. For goodness sake people are grieving, just because we’ve all got cameras in our phones these days doesn’t mean we have to use them.

2. Understand that grief is not a straightforward process. It’s unpredictable. Grief is as brutal as it is ugly, it builds as it takes away. Some days I felt like I was drowning in emotion. Other days I felt fine until I went for a run and ended up ugly crying the whole ten k’s.

3. I won’t be the same on the other side. To walk through grief is to walk through fire. Grieving for my dad refined who I was. It made me more determined and less tolerable for time wasters. My social circle is smaller, and my calendar is now where near as full.

4. Let me be silent.  The two most profound things friends did for me while I was in the depths of grief was to be silent with me. The first friend came up to me at the funeral after everything was over. I was sitting in the front row with the shiny white casket before me. Everyone else had gone outside. I wasn’t ready for this to be over. I wasn’t ready to leave the room because once I left there was no coming back. It was done. Zoe came up to me and wrapped her arms around me as I sat there. To this day it is still the single most powerful thing anyone did for me. It some ways I’m still sitting there on that pew, not wanting the funeral service to be over. Not wanting to face reality. Zoe’s touch reminded me that I wasn’t alone. 

My other friend Chris, let me crash his house and sleep. He’d go about his life while I slept so many days away. Often, he’d feed me porridge or Indian from plastic containers.

For me grief was so lonely. It was a beast I had to face alone. I wasn’t close to my family, emotionally or physically. Some days the last thing I wanted to do was go home and be alone. Just like I didn’t want to leave the funeral home, going home would mean facing my reality.

5.  Appreciate that grief can start before the person dies. Hope is essential for the patient, family and friends when someone is being treated for a potentially terminal illness. When the diagnosis changes to terminal, hope for the future is killed. I was grieving for our future while my dad was still present. It’s going to be so much harder this time with Lucy here. Already I feel ripped off. Not just for me but for my little girl.

6. Lastly, do not talk to me about your cancer theories. I don't want to know about what you think caused it. But I do want you to go see your doctor and get ALL the appropriate checks. Respect what I'm going through by respecting the life that you have. Get the colonoscopy/skin check/mammogram. Adopt a healthier lifestyle. Do what you can to reduce your risk. 

Too Much/Not Enough Vs Fabulous and Loved

There are conversations happening all around the world regarding people’s experiences with sexual abuse. Movements like Time’s Up and Me Too have assisted in facilitating these discussions. For many, this is the first time they have spoken openly about the times they have been abused. I have a theory as to why so many have kept silent for so long.

Through traditional and social media, society is constantly expressing to females that they are either too much or not enough. Sometimes these messages are covert, such as the underlying messages in the perfectly popular Instagram page of a gorgeous tanned girl who always seems to be on holiday. Or it’s explicit in the gossip sections that no one ever seems to get away from. Women are told they’re too fat, too pale, too talkative, too opinionated, too assertive/bitchy, use too much make up, are too emotional, too hairy or too self-absorbed. Or else we’re not skinny enough, not smart enough, not like (insert celebrity or random person’s name here) enough, don’t have enough hair, not sexual enough, or not focused on career/family/health/goals enough. The list goes on and on and on. Pretty soon without any decent opposition these messages become part of our self-talk. Once this happens it’s a struggle for positive self esteem to flourish.

Studies have shown that women have an internal locus of control when things go wrong. That is, females are more likely then males to blame themselves when something goes wrong. If a man has a horrible day it’s because of the weather or that idiot who lives next door. A female experiencing a bad day will say it’s because they didn’t get up and exercise or that they should’ve gone to bed earlier the night before. Other examples include;  

 ‘Maybe if I wasn’t so drunk he wouldn’t have done that.’

‘Maybe if I was more assertive I would’ve been able to get out of there.’

‘Maybe if I was more … and less… that wouldn’t have happened.’

Shame is another reason abused people stay silent. If shame arrives into an environment where negative thought patterns are the norm, it will amplify the negativity. In a negative environment shame has an easy time bringing the victim down and keeping them silent. It whispers thoughts like 'who will believe you?' and 'what will it matter if you speak out now, it's your fault it happened in the first place.'  Shame thrives in the darkness. It does not like being discussed. 

So what do we do? How do we change? I grew up in a home with domestic violence. I have seen too many of my friends experience abusive relationships and situations. Now that I have a daughter I want to do what I can to fire proof her against abusive relationships and situations. According to my therapist it’s as ‘simple’ as ensuring she knows that she is loved and she is fabulous. Because people who know their worth will not put up with being treated like trash.  People who know what it feels like to be whole heartedly loved, will always be pursuing that.