‘Putting yourself out there’ is fucking terrifying

‘Putting yourself out there’ is fucking terrifying

But unfortunately, nearly always necessary.

The time has come, my little friends, to talk of other things. Like how hard it is to find a bloody job if you have small children. No wait that’s not true – there are a number of part time jobs available in my local area. Cleaner, housekeeper, school crossing patrol, shop assistant and care worker roles regularly come up on my job search feeds. 

I would do these jobs. I have put in applications, despite feeling, deep down, that it would actually be incredibly unethical for me to take any of them. I have a Master’s degree and a fair amount of professional experience as a researcher and information specialist. Another person without those supposed professional advantages should get them, while I focus on finding something that uses my skills. Turns out the hiring managers think that too as I never even get more than the standard “Thanks, but no thanks” rejection email, so at least I don’t have to face that particular ethical quandary.

Trouble is, outside of the metropolitan bubble, no one seems to have grasped that jobs can be worked flexibly. Calls to recruitment agencies or HR departments enquiring as to whether I could apply for an interesting-sounding role alongside a request for flexible working always seem to involve an extended period of silence while the recruiter processes the words I’ve said, and carefully calculates how to phrase “No” in such a way so as not to contravene employment legislation. Sometimes they don’t manage it and just say “No” – and as it’s already taken enough of my will-power to make the call in the first place, I rarely challenge them. 

If im honest, I’m not sure I could necessarily face going back to what I used to do, or any organisation where the purpose was to line shareholder’s pockets rather than actually make the world slightly better. I’ve been thinking about potential career moves and think I’ve found the right fit – trouble is, the training will set me back tens of thousands and I have zero access to finance thanks to a well-hammered credit score. But right now, I need to be bringing in some dosh because we are barely surviving on my partner’s wage. And I don’t think I have enough friends to make investing in an aloe vera pyramid scheme worthwhile.

Today I bit the proverbial bullet and sent out some unsolicited emails to local organisations in my desired field, in the hope that someone might take pity on me and either hire me or take me on as a volunteer. Talk about nerve-wracking. I regretted sending them almost immediately, convinced that whoever received them would point and laugh at their screen, and then show their colleague who would also point and laugh, and together they would compose a mocking reply.

It’s only been two hours so we will see. But as I’m always being reminded in therapy – if you don’t ask, you don’t get. Call it a behavioural experiment. 

An apology to the mother I blanked at the playground

An apology to the mother I blanked at the playground

I’m not being rude. Well, I guess I am, but that’s certainly not my intention. I’d love to be able to wave and smile, indulge in idle chat and get to know you and your kids better. Yes, I recognise you from my daughter’s nursery, or the children’s centre. I probably know your kid’s name, but I’ve never managed to find out yours. 

My daughter, with all the amazing self-confidence of a three year old, exclaims “It’s my friend!” when she spots her playmate across the park. As she runs towards your little girl, she stops to look back for me. I’m following behind, pushing her little sister in the pram, and while I smile encouragingly, she must sense some unease on my part, because she pulls back, then heads towards me muttering that she’s “a bit shy”. This is the moment I should reassure her that there’s nothing to fear, take her hand and take the lead, demonstrating how to approach a friendly acquaintance, to smile at you and strike up a conversation so she and her little friend can relax and make sand castles together. Instead, I mutter “that’s OK”, and try to direct her attention to the slide or swings. 

It has already taken a great deal of courage and determination for me to get us to the playground that morning. Where once I was confident and self-assured, although always naturally an introvert, I am now cowed and anxious. This period of mental illness has been ongoing since that moment at my eldest’s first birthday party where, house packed full of people, I locked myself away upstairs to rock back and forth and pray that the first panic attack, and worst, I’d had in years would soon dissipate. It did as soon as I heard the car doors start to slam as friends and family made their way home, having been kindly but firmly ushered out of my house at the end of the afternoon by my mother. Since that June day, two years ago, barely a week has gone by without a similar attack, and my world has continued to shrink, even as my daughters has expanded. Friends have fallen away, jobs lost, weight dropped along with the confidence I was a good mother. Now, most days, I only see my failings. 

The fear that you will see them too is what keeps me from reaching out. 

I tell myself I will get there. I tell myself my kids will be OK – after all, they are blessed to have the love and support of a gregarious grandmother who makes friends with anyone and everyone, a quietly brave father, who although shy, has an aura around him that people gravitate to, and a grandfather who enjoys the outdoors and knows the names of all the local flora and fauna. 

I also tell myself that maybe, without me having to apologise or explain, you might already understand. 

Motherhood, containment and emotional contagion

Motherhood, containment and emotional contagion

You might have heard the phrase ’emotional contagion’ bandied around from time to time. It’s a phenomenon that you’ve probably experienced to some degree or other. Sharing a space with someone who is experiencing an acute emotional response (i.e. happiness, anger, fear) can trigger that same emotional response in you. It’s hardly surprising if we consider that we are effectively herd animals. Being attuned to other’s emotional states can help us predict their behaviour and perhaps by experiencing a little of what is going on in other’s minds can motivate us to try to problem-solve it if it is a ‘negative’ emotion, or enjoy it if ‘positive’.

Some people are more clued in to other people’s mental states than others. You might know someone who doesn’t seem to be able to emotionally read other people at all, and another who super-sensitive. Interestingly, this normal human skill seems to be heightened in mothers, and a recent study has shown that a woman’s brain actually reshapes itself to accentuate this skill during pregnancy, with the changes still visible on brain scans two years after giving birth. When you think about it, this makes perfect sense. A baby has no way of expressing its emotional needs other than by wailing its head off, and if you’ve let it get to that point, it’s already quite distressed. So instead, mothers (and it is mothers, fathers in the study showed no grey matter changes) have to be clued in to extra-subtle cues that the baby may give so that she can keep it safe and well. She is effectively mind reading, and experiencing some of her infant’s emotions as her own. This part of her brain works overtime until her infant becomes verbal and starts to be able to identify and articulate their own needs, which is usually around two years old.

On top of this, a mother also has to ‘contain’ her baby’s emotions. We know, even as adults, our own emotions can be overwhelming. Anyone who has ever held a screaming baby knows that the intensity of infants’ emotions can be overwhelming both for the infant and the caregiver. The caregiver has to keep their own emotional state in check and also take on those of the baby, ‘holding’ them within themselves, to allow the baby to eventually be soothed. This is exhausting work, as any parent, or anyone who cares for children or vulnerable people knows (‘containment’ is not a phenomena solely of the parent-infant dyad – we find it in many relationships and it is often discussed in therapeutic relationships).

I’ve been familiar with both concepts for some time, and have always been someone who might be considered on the ‘sensitive’ end of the scale. But when I read the study above, something really ‘clicked’ for me. During my recent period of mental illness (which started during my second pregnancy and is now starting to peter out approaching my youngest daughter’s first birthday), I began to really, really struggle with anyone else’s emotions. I would get irrationally worked up if anyone was experiencing anything that might be perceived as negative. My partner being tired after a hard day at work, or my toddler’s frustration that she couldn’t figure out a particular jigsaw puzzle, would send my anxiety sky-rocketing. Coming upon someone experiencing a major issue, say a visit from my mother while she was experiencing depression following redundancy, would send me in to full blown freeze mode where I de-personalise and de-realise and would have to withdraw.

I would (internally) rant and rave and be genuinely really fucking outraged that these people had the audacity to not be 100% content all the time. I perceived any discomfort they experienced as a criticism of the care I was giving them. Another thing for me to have to ‘fix’ to add to my teeteringly high to-do-pile. And I already felt I was running on less than empty. I was effectively angry at the people I loved for being humans and not robots. This used to just fuel my self-loathing – what the hell was wrong with me? Why was I such a selfish bitch? But reading that study helped me realise perhaps I could blame the process of pregnancy and early mothering itself. My brain changed and left me like a huge satellite dish. I was so attuned to their emotions it hurt, because I didn’t have the internal space left to contain them alongside my own, and so I just broke down further.

I am thankful that my youngest daughter was, from day one, a pretty chill and content baby. She has a serious pair of lungs on her when she is upset, but 99% of the time she is smiling and amiable. Family, friends and strangers alike comment on her sunny disposition. I wonder how much of this is just innate in her, and how much is because I was in such a state of nerve-stretching hyper-awareness when she was very small that I was actually very good at reading her cues and responding. Maybe these god-awful months of illness have had one positive outcome.

My recovery from this bout of illness is ongoing. I am working hard in therapy and in my day to day life to try to tackle my anxiety, phobias and OCD behaviours specifically. But I still really struggle living with other people. I have to constantly check in with myself if I notice a bad mood coming over me – is this my shit? Most of the time I’m still not sure – it feels like bad TV reception or fuzzy radio static. And I sometimes dream that I would get a lot better a lot quicker if I just took myself and my kids somewhere remote and could get a clear signal. But if the science is anything to go by, things should start to return to something approaching normality in another twelve months. So perhaps I should hold out in society just a little longer.