Wednesday, 16 January 2019

Good girls do whistle.

When I first learnt to whistle I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I practiced and practiced until I got really good at it, even now I can whistle really well, I diversified into bird noises too. I remember being out with my father one day and he told me to stop it, when I asked him why he gave me the answer “good girls don’t whistle” and it confused me then but infuriates me now. 

As it turns out it doesn’t matter what I do or don’t being “good” is irrelevant, it doesn’t do me any favours. It’s pointless. 

It’s funny how whistling became associated with leery men. 

Last month I passed some work men in the street. It was a hella cold day and I was out with my baby. 

I got catcalled. Now I’m one of those women that doesn’t see it as a compliment and would rather rip off my stiletto and ram it in your eye for thinking I have to appreciate you whistling and yelling “hey sexy” at me. Although I have a kid now so I cannot be getting arrested for assault, maybe I’ll just report you to your seniors or something. 

To be honest I would just love to have a chat with you and talk. I would love to be able to ask if you woke up that morning and thought “wow what nice crisp winters day to harass a person!” or was it an act of spontaneity? 

I wish I hadn’t been so scared of you guys, even in broad daylight with the general public watching because then maybe I would have said what I wanted to. 

I would have asked you if it makes you feel big and manly wolf whistling and yelling at a woman probably the same age as your sisters, while she was accompanied by a child most likely the same age as yours. Is that the kind of behaviour that you think your mother would be proud of you for? Did your father teach you to be a fucking creep? Have you learnt nothing in the last fucking year? Have you lived under a fucking rock? Do you think the company you work for would want to be associated with that kind of behaviour in the current social climate? Is “sucking your own dick out loud” (a line I have stolen from the word warrior that is Andrea Gibson) really worth losing your your job and livelihood over? Are you so desperate to tell me how I make you feel that you’re willing to bet your next pay check on me wanting to fucking hear it? The little diamonds of caramel skin that you could barely see through my fish nets really evoked that much of a reaction to you that you’re willing to go hungry because you’re so full  from looking at my legs? Absolutely pathetic. How being so weak can make you feel so big I will never understand. 

If I hadn’t been scared I would had told you that I have just mentally added you to the list of men that I have come into contact with who think that I am an object for them to treat with little respect and no regard for my status as a person. Maybe it would have interested them to know that the lists included men who decided my child body was theirs to harm when I was wearing pyjamas, or my underaged body was theirs to touch  without consent when they should have been teaching me how to pray and was covered from head to toe save from my hands and face, old men who knowing my very young age still beeped at me in the street when I was in skinny jeans and an Elmo top, the truck drivers who even though I was clearly dressed in school uniform casually asked if they could pay me for sexual favours. I wonder if I had told them that my body’s measurements are that of an average 11-year-old boys they would have kept their mouth shut, probably not; I mean... maybe that’s what they liked?

I’m going to say this once: DO NOT FUCKING YELL OR WHISTLE AT ME. 

I am not interested in you or your pathetic, cliched, out dated, offensive attempt at complimenting me. 

I’d like to take a moment to thank all the people I see when I go out who mind their own fucking business and bodies. Who do not yell at me, who do not think I am obliged to know how they feel about me. The people who even thought I may be something they find attractive, they managed to contain themselves because let’s face it it’s not fucking difficult. The folks that understand their reaction to me isn’t something I am interested in. My body and clothes are not me paying it forward for their words. Thank you all for being the majority and showing people that you can just live your life without being a fucking creep.

Thank you to each stranger who treats me with respect and dignity on a day-to day-basis. Each one of you while you shouldn’t be congratulated for being a decent human being I would like you to know that it does not go unnoticed, for me having the knowledge that the general public is decent means I feel safe going about my day, I feel comfortable in the spaces we share.  You all harbour an environmental that makes me feel able to wear whatever and present however I please without the fear of judgment or for my safety. You outweigh the yelling Neanderthals. 

Love,


Monica xxx 

Thursday, 3 January 2019

Me and my repressed aesthetic

I am quarter of century old and for those years I have almost never dressed or presented myself in a manner that is 100% true to myself. My exterior has always reflected a slightly less version of  myself. Less dark, less revealing? I guess. Just never quite me, a version of myself that I was told was acceptable. A “better” version of me, one that would be respected and protected. Good girls don’t whistle or wear short skirts. When I was young I was gifted pretty, girly dresses that felt humiliating to wear, when I was older I was dressed in clothes to cover my body and hide me away. I needed to be “elegant and respectable” so as not attract the wrong kind of attention. As it turns out the wrong kind of attention doesn’t care what I wear, it only cares about what it wants to see. Clothing could not and did not protect me, it never will. My clothing will never be able to stop a bad person, a bad person doesn’t care what I’m wearing or not wearing. It’s all part of the victim blaming I was lead into and have only really started to question. 

Now my sweetlings for New Years 2019 I broke away from that. This year I was determined to go into the year as I meant to live it. “Start as you mean to go on”, right? So for the first time ever I dressed myself up in full glam - I did my hair, makeup and I picked out cute as hell outfit with the help of my husband. The massive difference with this look and the looks in previous years was that I didn’t stifle anything. I didn’t ask myself if it looked respectable, or if it was too revealing; I just wore what I wanted to wear. I didn’t dress myself to make sure I wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable or take into consideration what anyone may say about my choice of clothing but guess what? Even though I loved it all and felt gorgeous - I couldn’t enjoy it. All my friends and my partner kept telling me how lovely I looked but... I felt bad. I felt shame. There was a part of my brain screaming at me: 
“WHORE! LOOK AT YOURSELF PARADING AROUND LIKE THAT! You attention seeking tart. Displaying your body like its an exhibition”. 

I made myself feel guilty for making myself look nice because it was “too nice”? Why was I drawing attention to myself?! How dare I not hide myself? Who was I trying to impress? Was I trying to catch the wrong attention? Was I trying to get hurt? 

Then I sat and thought about it because that’s what I do when I’ve got lots of questions now - not just hold them in my chest for them to eat me up. I ask them out loud and I answer them. 
Why was I dressing like this? 
“Because I want to” I heard myself say. 
Who was I doing it for? “Myself... but also my husband”. 
Why was I drawn attention to myself and why wasn’t I hiding? “BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK NOT?” My heart screamed. I shouldn’t have to nor do I want to. 

And so I shan’t. 

I have decided that this year I motherfucking well am being me - in all my grown ass woman glory. I refuse to make myself smaller, cover myself up, be quieter, be less sexual, less sweary, wear less dark colours, wear less bright colours, do or be less anything. I am not lesser than and will not continue to allow myself to live in a box of someone else’s making just because I’m used to it. I’m climbing out of that box, dousing it in petrol and setting it alight with a cigarette after I take my last pull and walking away from the flames with Cardi B playing on the background. I can make myself whatever I want. I can be whatever kind of woman I desire, maybe I’ll emulate the women I desire. I can be whatever kind of wife I choose to be, I have a husband that supports me in my journey and only wants what’s best for me. I can be whatever mother I want to be as long as my child is happy, loved and cared for by me. I am lucky enough to have friends who support me in everything because they know me and know I just want to be happy. 

My outfits will from now on reflect who I am as a person. If you want to put your own meaning behind that, be my fucking guest, I’ll even get you a pen and paper. My hemline isn’t anyone’s concern and if you decide to make it yours then, BOO THATS UR ISSUE. My neckline has nothing to do with you and if you wanna metaphorically get all up in it, I’ll tell you fuck off. The snug fit of my clothes and height on my heels are my business and I run a fucking tight ship, bitches. You don’t like it? Okay well that makes absolutely no difference to me. You’re not in the circle of people who’s opinion matters. 

I am a adult. With that comes the ability and choice to make decisions for myself uninhibited by the thoughts of others past or present. If I want to wear a mini skirt and a low cut top, guess the fuck what? I will. If I wanna wear dark lipstick and nails, guess what? I WILL. I want to get more piercings, I don’t care that they’re not ladylike - I have no desire to be ladylike, ALSO LADY IS JUST A SYNONYM FOR WOMAN. How can I not me a woman? I identify as one, so I am one. I am my own ladylike. I want more tattoos because my body is mine to mark and in my life other people have been more than happy to leave their fucking unwanted marks on it or have stood by as others mark me- why have bruises been allowed to damage my skin but a bit of ink is too much? Why have I had dents put in my head but a few holes in my ears is abhorrent? I will not allow anyone to play creative director in my story anymore. Anything on my body will be put there by me and I reject any/all others input. 

My body and my life are the canvas upon which I may express myself and for the first time in my life I will with unbridled rage and pure freedom allow myself to fucking create and paint. No one else is allowed to pick the colours and tell me where to paint. No one else is allowed to have input on how I carve out my style. No one else will “suggest” or “advise” unless I explicitly request them to. NO ONE ELSE GETS TO PLAY MAKE
BELIEVE WITH ME. Go buy a fucking Cindy doll if that’s the game you want to play. I’m busy breaking down the walls of ingrained victim blaming, body shaming and nonsense in my world. I don’t have time.

I am not an extension of any other person. I am not a representative of anyone else. I am no ambassador for any fucking organisation. I refuse to allow myself to walk any path that I have no set for myself. 

I am Monica. I chose my name. I am my own person, I will choose who that is. This year I intend to live up to the new standard I hold for myself. 

So if at any point during this year you observe me wearing something you don’t like, saying something you don’t approve of, doing something you’ve told me not to, please know I most definitely do remember exactly what you said but I want nothing to do with your version of me. I want to be insubordinate because I’ve spent far too long jumping when told, rolling over and playing door mat to people who are undeserving of my loyalty. I am trying not to piss you off, I’m trying to be me- you getting pissed off is your own deal and honestly an unnecessary byproduct, go find something else to care about. I am wanting to make sure everyone knows I don’t care about any social, religious, generational or political standards set for me and my body. I want to be whatever I want, without the concerns of others because it really is no concern of others. 

Repeat after me, folks:
Don’t tell me how I feel, ever. Don’t tell me how to be. Do not expect me to live up to any of your expectations or aspirations. 
Do not tell me how to be me. 

This is my own little revolution. I intend to see it to the end and when I look in the mirror a year from now be hella fucking proud of the person I am.


Love, 
Monica 

                xxx

Friday, 7 December 2018

Dirty laundry.

I’ve had this laundry basket in my life for more than a decade but less that two. I have no idea where it’s from, how many came in the pack it was in, how much it was or when it was made. I just know it. It’s like a weird old friend. It’s part of my child hood. 

When I was young it held my school clothes  and graphic tees from Tammy. Through my childhood years it must have held so many things that I’d left in my pocket: money, notes from friends, tears sodden tissues from heart break, homework, rocks, hair bands, clips, craft blades and god knows what else. 

It’s something I can remember in almost all of my homes bar one. I have a ridiculous way of getting attached to the stupidest things. I always have. One winter I hoarded several Next sale bags of conkers that I had collected, even when they began to smell I just couldn’t let them go. I cried when they finally went. I’ve always been an overly emotional, extra sensitive person. Everything and anything hurts my feelings. It all gets to me. Almost nothing slips part my emotional net. 

Dead bee on the floor? I’m sad for the hive that lost a little fat fluffy soldier. 
Homeless person begging? I’ll give whatever I have to give. 
A friend in pain? I’ll serve as a shoulder for as long as they need. 
Trauma survivor? I’ll let them inflict their pain on me. Maybe they’ll feel better now they’re no longer the victim. 
Lonely person? I’ll mould myself into anyone. 

I say all that like it’s all on the same level and all things I still do... that’s not true. I don’t do the latter two anymore. 

Anyways that laundry basket. 

For a few years it’s errant from my life, I know it’s still knocking around somewhere in the space behind me and the life I no longer lead. I know it’s probably doing what it’s always done, hold clothes. 

Store the days dirt and emotional luggage until it’s ready to be washed away. Tears on sleeves... blood and sweat too. Dropped food from shared meals around a table, hair from family members, whatever else clothes catch during the time they’re worn. 

It holds all of it. 

One day it gets handed back into my life full to the brim with my old life. Books, text books, note books, exercise books. Shoe box, retainer box, mascara box. Posters, papers, paraphernalia of the teenage life I haven’t lived for years... a life I didn’t really live at the time either. 

I bring it to my new home. It takes me a while but I finally go through it. I go through all the memories I’ve been hiding from for years, I find things that remind me it wasn’t so bad and other that remind me of how bad it was sometimes. Things that reassure me that I was loved and remind me that I was alone. I find a version of myself that I’m so glad I no longer am and other versions of me that I’m glad I took elements from to create this final me. I say final... we are all always growing, right? Learning, changing. It’s never really over is it? 

I’m not the person I was yesterday or the person I will be tomorrow. I’m not the person I was ten years ago when I was a fifteen-year-old. I’ve lived many lives between now and then. 

Eventually I whittle that over flowing, heavy basket all the way down to a single barely full shoe box. 

I cry while I walk to the bin and throw the black bag of whatever I wanted to let go of and turn back to my home. Even though I know I’ve thrown it all away I can feel the weight of it all pulling me down somewhere in my head. It pushes down on my shoulders and I feel that gravity pull at every cell in my body. 

Even as I walk back into the threshold of my home I can feel it still with me. 

Now I have a laundry basket again. Weirdly even though I had my own home for years I’d never bought a laundry basket. So here we are me with no place to put my now family of threes dirty clothes and an empty laundry basket with a new home and purpose. Well it’s original purpose. 

Me and my laundry basket start working together. But no matter what I do I can never empty it. I can never see the bottom of that basket.  Sometimes I can barely even see the basket because there are so many clothes in it. Depending on how depressed I am it gets even more so overwhelmed. The way I crack in the night and randomly panic myself into a heap of tears and turmoil it too strains under the weight of clothes and days without being emptied. It creaks and bends as I do because I’m struggling to keep up with my yoga meaning my back locks up and my sciatica leaves me in agony so bad I can’t breathe. 

It carried the bloodied dresses and clothes from labour and birth that I couldn’t face for months because touching them gave me flash backs. It carried my sons countless baby grows and towels through my early motherhood. It’s carried me through all the loads of laundry I had to do during my husband’s countless eczema flare ups. Then it carried the clothes my son went through when his eczema reared it’s head. It carried towels covered in clumps of my long black hair. It held clothes drenched in the blood of a miscarriage. It’s amazing what an inanimate bit of plastic can hold when you can’t. 

Slowly, I began to be able to pick it up and carry it to the washing machine instead of  dragging it there. Slowly there was space to have it separated in the basket so I could wash it it in sections. I would wipe it down with disinfectant once a week. But still it wouldn’t empty, never quite fully. 

This year has been a really weird one for me. I’ve lost so much and gained even more. Even the clothes that I now put in the basket are almost all new or in the process of being replaced. 

Me and my basket work together on Mondays, Tuesday mornings, Fridays and Sunday mornings.  We have a routine and we have an understanding. 

Today, it’s empty. I have no laundry in my laundry basket. So I got in it. I’m the last thing in the house with stains and dirt. As I sat in my basket on the bathroom floor from that me and my baby boy share I realised how that I had come. I even texted my husband because I was on the edge of tears. He was proud of me. 

Me and my laundry basket have been through a lot together and I’m so glad for it all. 

I hope in almost two decades from now we’re still together. 

Love 

Monica xxx

Friday, 15 June 2018

Twenty five things I’ve learnt in twenty five years




1. No one owes me anything
No matter what I’ve done for a person, what I’ve given or shared with them they do not own me a single word. They do not owe me closure, a courtesy call, lenience, a penny or a breath. If I do something I’ve learnt to do it without expectation, I do it because it’s what I think/feel I should do; I realised that I was allowing myself to be hurt or to think that I could rely on people for things when in reality that was not the case. 

  1. I don’t owe anyone anything 

In the same breath I know I also don’t owe anything to anyone either especially when it’s something that out of my comfort zone or will place me in a tricky spot. I don’t have to run myself into the ground for those around me or even do something that will conflict with something I believe in. Just because someone was good to me at some point does not then mean I owe them a great debt, a good deed does not then cancel out their normal behaviour; I came to a point in my life where I realised I was allowing people to have a hold on me just because they were nice to me once or at a time where I was low. 

  1. Time heals but it also needs help
Whether it’s self harm scars or mental trauma it can all be dealt with and laid to rest with time and a lil push. I’m not always going to be scared or hurt, panicking is temporary, pain will come and go. As long as I keep trying to deal with it all I will get to the other side so matter how many times I fall face first, if I just keep clawing my way forwards I will make it to the point I want to be. I’m no longer afraid of the dark, I can go to certain places alone without panicking, I can eat/sleep properly. I’m finally a person I actually quite like all because I just kept on trying and I have so much support from my husband. 

  1. You chose your family 
Blood, names and whatever classes you as related to someone mean very little. You are allowed to refuse thy father and deny thy name cuz guess what? They both mean nothing unless you give them meaning. I have spent years curating my family and loved ones, no one gets a free pass to be a part of my life cuz we are “family”. I don’t give a fuck who or what you are to me, you get the same treatment as anyone else because if you’re not healthy or good for me then BUD MAKE USE OF THE DOOR. 

  1. I can’t fix or save everyone 

When I was really young I would wish on every star, dandelion and eyelash that I could somehow take the place of a loved one that I had lost so that they could live and everyone could be happy but that’s not how things work. By taking their place I wouldn’t know for sure that everything would pan out the way I saw it. When I was older I would always gravitate to people who needed so much support but the thing was I would pour myself into them and it would be never ending, I would have to make a decision to cut them out because they were just too toxic to my life and well-being; I would always feel so guilty for it but now I just know I can’t save someone who doesn’t want saving and you can’t force them to be ready, they may never be.  

  1. I am not dumb because I’m not academic 
I don’t have any qualifications above GCSE level, I used to feel so insecure because of it. I’m smart in my own way and that’s okay. I absorb information and I’m emotionally very aware - those are the ways I’m smart and they serve me well. I don’t need a degree to raise my child, love my husband and be happy; this is the “career” I have chosen and it makes me happy so what does it matter if I don’t have letters after my name. I’m not lazy because I don’t want to pursue teaching which is the path I wanted as a teen, I’m not an underachiever because I never bothered with higher education. I am successful in the things that are important to me. 

  1. I’m not a good person 
I am at best an okay person, I have done some dumb shit that’s just fucking ridiculous and fuck me am I so disappointed and angry at myself for doing them but I learnt from it and made sure I don’t do them again. I’ve grown into the personality and skin I’m in, I can’t change who I an inside so I have to learn to make it the least crappy version because I don’t want to go through life being a bitch. All I really wanna do is make folks laugh a bit, if I can give a person a giggle I’m happy. 

  1. My goals aren’t on a time limit or in an order 
Some folks have a life plan and they stick to it, for them it works and it’s fab. I had one but my life panned very differently. I thought I would be long dead by 25, but here I am with a man who dotes on me and a child who lights my world up. I’m loved, whole and needed that’s more than I could have ever in my life dreamt of for myself. My goals in life are to live a life that when I look back on I can say I was happy and satisfied, to raise a happy, capable child who will go into the world and spread a little happiness wherever he goes and I want to write to the capacity I know I can. I do not want to live an extravagant or extraordinary life, I want a life of consistency, subtle peaks and troughs, stability and good; to others that may seem so lame and little a dream/goal but to me it’s everything. No one else needs to see that as important so long as I do and carry on towards it. 

  1. I deserve everything I get 
The good and the bad, whatever it is I deserve it; it is either a reward, comeuppance or a lesson. In the moment I may not understand what or why it’s happening but in hindsight I will be able to identify it. It will make me stronger and better. 

  1. Blame is subjective and pointless
It’s such an annoying thing, to you it can be so obvious and firm but then hearing it from another point of view can rapidly change that so don’t bother. It took me a long time to stop blaming people or myself for stuff, regardless of who was guilty the outcome was still the same and I had to accept that because otherwise I was just rehashing it with no productivity. It happened, move on. If you want a different outcome, look at it from a different perspective and take different actions. 

  1. Closure is something you give yourself 
You do not have to get closure from the person who caused you pain. You can resolve and answer your own questions but sometimes for your own sanity you have to accept that there is no reason or answer that can ever give you the closure you deserve. Every time you take something that you have buried to protect yourself and deal with it you can feel yourself get lighter, it’s insane being able to feel that weight lift off of your mind and heart. There’s so much I dragged along inside me for so long that I have spent this year slowly dissecting and discarding so that I can just breathe better. 

  1. You do not have to be a product of your environment or situation 
It took me years, fucking years of pain and bad mental health to finally go to the point I am today. Where I look at myself and think - you made it, you’re okay, you can. People used to tell me I was resilient and strong but I just didn’t see it - all I saw when I looked in the mirror was a damaged, pathetic, weak waste of space. I thoroughly believed every bad thing that had ever been said about me because I just did not see any good. My husband showed me what he saw when he looked at me and seven years later I slowly began to see what he did and still does. I could have allowed myself to replicate what I had been through and continue the cycle but I chose not to because I couldn’t do. I couldn’t bring myself to just be another cycle of pain. 

  1. Find what you’re good at/enjoy and do it 
I’m not good at much but the few things I am good at I’m pretty shit hot at. I am good at making people laugh and writing, I’m good at loving my people, and giving so much support to them; that’s all I’m really good at but that’s okay because I’m really good at them and I’ve shaped my life so I can use my only talents to their full potential. 

  1. Bantz
Whatever your brand of humour is fucking let it grow. Laugh at your own jokes and whatever you find funny. I had a friend once tell me it was weird that I found my own jokes funny- like fam of course I find myself funny why the fucking fuck wouldn’t I? Tag people in memes that’s are funny to you and make you think of them. Watch comedy sketches that make you laugh over and over. Don’t let anyone shit on what you find funny because people that feel the need to do so are miserable Mandy’s who are desperate to be cool. 

  1. Confidence 
I hate the phrase “fake it until you make it” so... pretending until you’re not pretending anymore. I was never a confident person and unless I’m trying do the things I’m good at (making up hashtags, giving people the uncomfortables, looking after my two humans) I’m constantly terrified I’m going to fail at it; it was instilled in me that of you weren’t the best then there was no point in being mediocre but guess what yo? DAS NOT FUCKIN TRUE BOI. I’m not a fantastic singer or dancer but guess what? If a song comes on that I like I am STRAIGHT UP RAVING LIKE ITS THE EARLY NINETIES AND I AM OFF MY FACE ON MANDY cuz I don’t give a fuck. To be fair the general consensus when it comes to my confidence - do I care what anyone else thinks? No because why the actual fuck would I? They’re just another person I bet they like something cringe and dumb too so what the hell Ima do me. Learn to not care about what people around you think of you, their opinion means so little in the grand scheme of things. I would rather make an idiot of myself and be happy than conform to anyone’s predilections of how I should behave. I am me; ya don’t like it? That’s nice for you. You can join the club, we’re getting t-shirts printed. 

  1. Knowing who you are
I spent a hell of a lot of my life being a gutless, wishy washy, malleable little fucking bitch, that I am no longer... actually I’m still a bitch but in a way I enjoy. I have my opinions, views and code; I refuse to bend them to anyone. I know who and what I am. I accept that which I cannot change about myself but that which I find unfavourable and I’ll about myself I am working my down right and utmost hardest to change so that I may be the best version of whatever the fuck I am. Changing who you are isn’t a bad thing as long as you’re doing it for the right reason and not losing what makes you, you. I’m pretty much the same person I was 10 years ago but that person is set in stone and cleaned up, I do general upkeep and maintenance but I’m still a  idiot with long hair, a loud fucking laughing and a need to look after everyone but now I’m the same no matter who I’m with. 

  1. Find your healer 
In this life we are continually chipped at and hailed on in so many forms and directions, for us to carry on and to be able to maintain our energy or driving force we need to make sure we are feeding that energy with what it need in doses that keep it wanting more but feeling satisfied for just a little while.  Watch your favourite movie often, listen to albums you love on repeat, order your favourite sweets online, sit in the dark and just be silent. Whatever it is that gives you balance and peace on days of storm do it because no one is going to do it for you. Self care is so so so important, talk, cry, sleep. Do what you need to do for yourself to feel like you’re okay. 

  1. Not everyone is going to like me and that’s okay
I used to change my personality to who ever I was with so they would like me. I’m old enough to now think that was a really fucking dumb thing to do and not do it. I, now love it when people tell me they don’t like me.  
Here’s a list of my favourite things that people who don’t like me have said to me:
  • Don’t be a bitch your whole life, Monica. It doesn’t suit you 
  • You know what? You’re a spineless person. 
  • Whatever dude. I never liked you and now I know I never will. 
And you know what? I think about those phrases often to remind myself that I am, can be and historically have been such a fucking bitch to people but I do not have to carry that kind of behaviour on. 

  1. Friends are sometimes lessons
Not every friend you will make will be a life long one, while it hurts to lose them and missing them sucks for the most part leading separate lives is for the best. I miss so many people and think about them so often but I understand I have no place in their lives and them, none in mine. The time and place in which our friendship existed was special and nostalgia is a wonderful thing. 

  1. Relationships are work
Regardless of what the relationship is it requires a certain amount of work for it to be a fair and enriching relationship, essentially you get what you put in and sometimes you will have to make up for the other persons short fall because of where they are at, it’s okay and it makes for long lasting and very meaningful relationships. I have friends whom know everything about me and have been around for decades but then I also have friend who know me the same way and have only know me for a few years. My husband is my very best friend and favourite adult in the whole fucking world and I’ve only known that dopey sod seven years I have poured my whole heart and soul into that man and I have received far more than I deserve back. 

  1. Your known characteristics are okay to have 
Someone who hasn’t seen it even thought of me in over ten years was asked what I was like back then, she said “she had really long hair and was a funny girl”. I used to think it was a bad thing that I was so predictable and set in my aesthetic- like I was stagnant, but then I realised I was just comfortable in the way I presented and had found my look. So often I see people feel the constant need to keep up with trends and fashions not because they just want to but because they feel the pressure to fit in. If you like they way you wear something or style yourself don’t let anyone tell you that you have to change it cuz it isn’t in fashion anymore. Tell they to fuck themselves with an industrial extractor fan. 

  1. It’s okay to not be okay
If you’re suffering or just in general not okay : pipe the fuck up. Tell those whom you trust that you’re not coping so well. I would hide so much when I was younger now I literally put up status on Facebook to my mates saying “hey my brain is a mess and I’m doing pretty badly. I am ignoring you but it’s because I’m useless to everyone rn. I’ll be back soon”. ALL OF MY MATES SEND ME A LIL BUMP OF GOOD VIBES AND THE OFFER TO TALK because I have surrounded myself with people who actually know me and care about me so they know I’m not being an attention seeking bitch. I can’t tell my friends that I need to nap when they come over because I’m just so exhausted and they will snuggle up with me. I can tell them I need them to leave or hang up because I cannot find the energy and they never ever hold it against me they appreciate the honest and care about me far too much to think anything more than “be okay”. 

  1. Don’t bury stuff 
No matter what it is the trauma or whatever you have gone through will surface and it will be ugly. You have to face it and take whatever comes along with facing it because otherwise it will haunt you forever and you will never be able to be free of it. Talk, write, read, type, draw. Do whatever you need to do but do not leave it to fester. It will only be worse for you in the long term. 

  1. I’m not anyone’s reason 
I grew up someone’s reason for something almost my entire childhood. I was someone’s reason to live, I was someone reason to leave, I was someone’s opportunity to live out their trauma, I was someone reason to something. I’m no longer that - I am me and I live my life for the reasons I choose and the efforts I believe in. No one can use me anymore for whatever their cause. I refuse to be a pawn in anyone game. 

  1. Make memories

We get one life and we aren’t promised any of it. At the end of the day try to be see to it that if you were to die today that you’ve not left anyone intentionally with ill feeling and made at least one good memory - no matter how small. Live, see, experience. The world is s huge fucking place and we are such insignificant parts of it so leave you mark and take you memories along for the ride. 

Thursday, 28 September 2017

I'm not like other girls.

Over the past 6 years I have been subject to a lot of shit for being married young. From my family just gently letting me know that this isn't the life they wanted for me but that they're happy for me cuz it worked out well for me to random strangers on Facebook telling me I've cut my life short and that they could *never* live my life. 

Well sweetpea ain't it fab that NO ONE FUCKING ASKED YOU TO. Legit no one has asked you to fucking wife swap with me and run my house. No one is asking you to raise my son. You don't see me taking swipes at your life do you? 

According to studies most women my age are still living at home or in house shares, are unsatisfied in there job role, haven't had many relationships lasting longer that two years, feel their friendships aren't really that good and still aren't 100% sure what the fuck they are doing with their lives. If the TV series Girls is anything to go by then fuck an entire lake of ducks I feel sorry for women my age. 

Just like 'slut' and 'hoe', the words 'wife' and 'mother' are not dirty words to be spat and looked down upon. I identify myself as mother and wife first, before I am anything I am a wife and a mother. Girls who love to keep a family and home, who's only happiness is marked by the threshold of her front fucking door still exist. I am one of these girls and guess what? I want you to lay the motherfuck off. While I'm here cheering your ass on  like "YASS BOSSSS BITCH BUILD THAT CAREER AND FUCK BOIZ CUZ LIFE IS SHORT", supporting your decisions, sticking up for you and the way you wanna live you're staring me right back in the face and telling me I'm not enough. I'm not wanting enough for myself. That the life I love and the happiness I've built is too small and provincial. BITCH THE FUCK? NO. I support you regardless of my feeling towards your actions cuz I respect you, fam. Why the fuck can't you do the same?

It may be baffling to you but I still exist. In the era of the Hoe Renaissance, The Money-Moves-Making-Boss-Bitch and #WasteHisTime2K17 I'm here. I love house work, I love to cook and one of my favourite parts of my morning is the five minutes of still I get whilst I polish my husband shoes. I live to spoil and dote on my nuclear family. I thrive on the feeling I get when my house is clean. I fell fast, moved quickly and married young. I'm 24 with a 6 year relationship under my belt (of which five are marriage) and three years of motherhood to my name. I have made four properties into homes. I have lost a pregnancy and I have found my happiness. I know who I am, my strengths and weaknesses. I have my goals and life planned. I am on track and stable. 

So who the fuck are you to tell me that my life isn't good enough?

"I could never do that"
"I'm not letting you meet my partner incase he gets any ideas lol!"
"But you're more than that"
"Don't you want more than just chores and being home all the time?"
"Your husband a grown man he can look after himself"
"Can I swap *insert partners name* for Monica?"
"Wow your husband is spoilt"

Mate just like you couldn't live my life I couldn't live yours because guess what? DING DING DING WE ARE DIFFERENT FUCKING PEOPLE WITH DIFFERENT FUCKING GOALS AND NEEDS. Your partner and you work because you are what you need for one another, my partner just requires more from me, that doesn't make you a bad partner or me a better one it just makes us different. Why is a career seen as more? Why is an education seen as more? LET ME FUCKING LIVE. I couldn't work a 9-5 it would kill my actual soul. I hated education I found it stifling and too rigid for my creative mind. I didn't ask for a fucking development status update on my husband, thanks. I fucking well can quite easily deduce for myself that I am in fact married to a fully able bodied, grown ass man who could (if taught) do everything I do for him for himself but I don't fucking want him to, I actually want to do everything for him because I want him to feel love and cared for because IT MAKES ME HAPPY NOT CUZ HE ASKED ME TOO. It may seem like he's spoilt to you perhaps it's cuz you envy him though? I mean wouldn't it be nice for someone to literally think of everything in your life for you, for someone to love you so deeply that they want to do everything in their power to make you life as easy and happy as physically possible? 

Oh and no, you can't swap. To have a woman like me, you have to be a man like my husband. To be able to have a woman like me even think of literally moulding herself to your every need you have to be a seriously fucking special individual. You need a wicked sense of humour, the patience of an angel, a slightly strange mind and a serious love of being annoyed because as much as I am devoted and loving I am hard work to be married too. I am stubborn and annoying. My mood swings are like lightning strikes and I control the vibe of the house as if it were a fucking thermostat under my skin directly connected my soul. If I'm sad the air in the house is heavy, if I'm happy the light bulbs are somehow brighter, if I'm angry the room in is a little warmer and the air is tense.

Like all other girls, I'm not like other girls because we are all different. I'm me and if I can respect you, you can sure as shit learn a thing or two from me and respect me. 

I can't be like you and your peers. 
I couldn't use a dating app. I couldn't be "single and loving it". I couldn't wear what you fashionable kids are wearing and go out on the town. I couldn't live like a normal 24 year old in 2017 because it's not me. I was born middle aged and every year I've become morhe like a old aged pensioner and I'M FINE WITH THAT. Why do you think because I don't have IG, Tinder and such like I'm somehow missing out? Why do you think that because I've not done all the things you find fun I'm not happy? Like I just don't fucking get it. You guys preach and sing and fucking protest about choice yet you can't respect mine because it's not the one you would make? Sorry but nah fam. Fuck off. I couldn't swipe through people like they're pages of the Argos catalogue or seek temporary validation from practical strangers online. I'm just not that kind of person. I ain't sliding into anyone's DMs. I was engaged before I went on my first date and even that was fucking chaperoned. You don't see me saying "ay Sandy you should try getting married, it's fab" or "you know what's better than mdma? Popcorn". Like I'm not tryna make you live my life so why are you tryna get me to live yours? 

I've had someone actually say the words "as a feminist it makes me feel so weird when he (my husband) sits there and asks you to get him a drink instead of just getting one himself". Okay lol park your "feminist" ass down and listen the I know up. YA FEELINGS DON'T MATTER IN MY RELATIONSHIP. If you could for a second just see it from our individual point of views - he's been out working, travelling and on his feet all day, he's tired, he's sat down to his meal and he's asking me for a glass of water because I'm free. I'm not doing anything. Not because HIM MAN ME WOMAN ME DO EVERYTHING FOR MAN ME ONLY FOR THIS PURPOSE. It's literally cuz I'm chillin'. I can easily just say "could you grab it yourself I'm cosy" and he would it wouldn't even cross his mind to be annoyed or think anything of it. 

He's gone out at 11pm to get me chicken nuggets. He's gone out on a Sunday at 3:45pm because I've forgotten stuff I need for a meal. He's stayed up all night to stroke my hair cuz I can't sleep. He checks on the baby after 7pm. He comes with me to the toilet when I'm scared. He always takes our plates to the kitchen, he will always ask if I need help, he will always vacuum if he's free and it needs doing, my husband isn't a Neanderthal, gender conforming, hyper-masculine alpha male. He's chill as fuck. I just love spoiling him. We like spoiling each other. 

We do what we are good at and that's how we assign tasks/decisions. Whoever knows the most or has the most experience will take lead. Whoever is less tired or free will do a job. I just happen to be good at stuff you consider to be "for women" or typically female, we do have a traditional set up in many senses. He works and I raise our son but that's because he's been working since legal age and I've always been around kids. It's just what we are best at, working to your strengths isn't a bad thing, it's smart. If I was a to get a well paid job my husband would be yelling "DAS MA BEST FRIEND YO" and telling everyone how fucking proud he is, he would boss being a SATD. 

When we first got married we tried to have a relationship like the one you would rather us have and it just didn't work for us. Being husband and wife was a pain in the ass so we decided to just be us. We are essentially best mates who live together and find each other attractive. You want us to be a happy couple who are close but not too close, gave our own friendship circles, lead separate lives but also be involved and interested in one another's lives without morphing into one and be socially/economically/domestically equally if that works for you then yay for you. I like not having that relationship, I like it very much. I like spending 24/7 with him, I don't need or want a break from him. I like having one life and basically being one person. It's fab. My favourite thing to do is share chocolate quesadillas from one plate on a Saturday morning. His favourite thing is to have the tv on as background sound and scroll through Facebook with me snuggled up to him close. We ain't social folk. We don't drink. We don't do any form of drugs. We don't go out unless we are dragged out, I've never been out on a girls night out cuz I do not want to. We don't like people for the most part. We are each other's favourite person in the whole world and the only other person we want to spend time with is our child. So go have fun, just think there's one less person queuing at the bar or for the loos, the gigs you want have one less person tryna get tickets, there's one less person to swipe past on your tinder, one less person booking a table at a restaurant you want to try. All these things you love to do, I don't. I hate them. I fucking hate them. So go enjoy them for the both of us. I would die at a festival, I'd die at gigs, fam I almost die when I'm in a crowded shop. I'm not asking you to have my relationship and I'm not judging yours. It would just NEVER work for me. 

I'm not gunna be here to cheer you on and have your back if you cannot do the same for me. Why is it when you get hurt whilst drunk it's funny and just a laugh but if I hurt myself from overdoing it with cleaning I get OMG U NEED A BREAK? Both self inflicted and both dumb but IM NOT THE ONE ON THE WAY TO LIVER CIRRHOSIS. When you get your heart broken by another fuck boy I'm here to pick up the pieces but if I'm upset about something you can't relate too you're just like "I COULDNT BE YOU". When I'm here binging programs until 3am and you're out being social I don't tell you to go home, I tell you to be safe.  

You girls are torn between naming me #WifeGoals and a stain on the good name of feminism. And you guys are all asking where you can get a girl like me or if I have sisters/friends but chasing Tinder matches and Miss Right Now. 

Glitter, hashtags and fucking cold shoulder blouses. IG baddies, Snapchat filters, Mermaids and Unicorns. Go live your best hoe life, go make that money, go and fucking live your life the way you see fit. But do not dare come back at me and tell me that I should be more like you because that's not nice. Support your fellow women. If we don't have each other to lean on all of us fall. 

Love and fuckery,

Monica x

Friday, 3 March 2017

Damn, bro! You whipped AF!

So this year I've been married for 5 years. Like that's pretty cool that my beloved Mr Husband Man has been putting up with my bratty ass for that long. He even 3D printed a small person with me, also rad af. Shout out to him for that *thumps chest twice and throws up peace sign*

Now one thing that annoys me about the five years I've been with my partner is that he's heard so much shit for wanting to spend time with me over his friends or leaving a meet up early to come home to me. Dumb shit like "you're under the thumb" and "you're whipped" that are just unnecessarily twatty, at one point someone actually got an app that made a whip crack noise. Like I totally get lads banter and shit but fam, c'mon. 

So I'd like to address "the Lads" from all the girlfriends and wives. Hold on to your asses, boys. I'm not one for mincing my words. 

Listen here, you shit prick, I don't have a clue how he's under the thumb cuz I am pretty much the most chill wife in my husbands friendship circles, even including the girlfriends. I'm not controlling, it doesn't bother me who he's friends with - even if I don't like them, I don't care if he's home at 2am; I'm there waiting with food and warm clothes, what he talks about with his mates (even if it's about me), if he leave the toilet seat up, if he leaves his plate on the side instead of the sink, there really isn't much that he does that gets me pissed off so when you say he's under the thumb you're literally talking complete bullshit, much like the bullshit you spin girls to get them to talk to you for a minute before they realise you're a bag of dicks and walk off leaving you looking like a right knobhead. When you guys say to him that he's whipped, I just want to laugh in your faces and stick a post-it note with "prat" written on it to your forehead. Like "oh no it's must be terrible for him having a woman who is way more fun than any of his mates, what a fucking travesty". 

Of course, he wants to come home to me instead of sitting in a bar or restaurant with you, Fam. I'm like a hot water bottle but people size. I'm really fucking funny and pretty much better in every way than you are as a friend, hence we are married. Home with me has duvets and tv, laughter until we can't actually breathe, home cooked food and hella snug but outside with you has some decent bantz, overpriced drinks and a late drive home. 

My favourite thing though is when single guys say it, it just makes me hysterical. I hate to be so brutal (I don't hate it, I'm lying, I love being brutal) but I feel so damn sorry for you, sweet pea. You've got no one to go home to after a hard day, the best you have is a night out with the lads after which you will probably come home alone, anyways cuz let's face it our Tinder is drier than my sense of humour. You're there all "LADS LADS LADS" cuz you can't find a girl, let alone a woman to make you a better man cuz no one female wants to spend more time than is entirely necessary with you cuz your personality sucks like you paid it to do so. Seriously, how nice do you think it is to always have someone to spend time with who always wants to do/eat/drink/watch the same thing as you? Oh wait, you wouldn't know, would you? The longest relationship you've had is your phone contract. You are not single cuz you love being single or aren't ready for commitment, you're single cuz you're a total idiot. Ya fucking noodle. Let me tell you a secret about yourself, Petal. Ready for it? Ahem... you're jealous. You would love to find your person but you're not grown up enough to even see it. So do me a favour and fuck off telling your friend (my husband) that being into me and wanting to spend time with me over you is a bad thing cuz it's sure as shit isn't. You're the one that's losing out, ya miserable shit. 

Mate, like for real who wants to be outside with sweaty, drunk people when you could be at home with your favourite person? 

Like it's not even a competition. It's barely a comparison. 

When you invite him round for the to watch the footie and he says "no", it's cuz he'd rather be home with me cuz I make kickass snacks, watch the game with him and give a really fucking funny commentary. If we win, we celebrate and if we lose I make it better with food and my womanly ways. Do you have those? Do you have womanly ways? I fucking hope not, you empty packet of crisps. 

When you invite him out for drinks and he says "oh mate, next time?", it's cuz he knows I'm at home with food, some tv shows already loaded for us to binge watch and better bantz than you could ever even dream off. Are you gunna let him grab your butt while you snuggle him and watch 'Suits'? Cuz if you are I'm gunna have to hurt you. I know how to get blood out anything, including your body. I find sharp objects to be the most effective.

Your friend isn't "whipped" or "under the thumb" he's in a happy relationship, you fucking pile of Ikea flat pack left over washers. He's choosing time with me over you because I'm his favourite person in the world not because I'm forcing him to. He's constantly texting me while you're out cuz he'd rather be at home with me but this is the best he can do right now. He wants to be with me, not you. 

So from every female that's hated by "the lads" to every single lad that acts like his mate is dying when he gets into a relationship and is happy: I hope your Tinder matches are more baron than your cleared internet history. The reason why we don't like you is cuz you think it's okay for him to behave like you and you're a fucking pillock. Do me a favour and have a laugh with my best friend when he does finally go out with you. Be lads, have many of the bantz but when he wants to leave be a good friend too, man hug or pat his shoulder and be like "alright mate see ya". Stop being a loser. Be happy that your bro is happy. 

Anyways, I'm out I have stuff to do.

Love,
Monica x

Tuesday, 28 February 2017

Sup, Fam?

So... hi. 

I haven't been around for a while.

Update - I moved. 
I live in the south west now closer to my family. 

Whilst we were moving we had to stay with my family for a little over a month while my new home got refurbished which  was lovely but it also bought up a lot of stuff for me that I'd kept buried deep down for the last five or six years. I had to deal with it all eventually I guess. I got really fucking depressed. Like hella. It was shitty. 

I sort of lost myself and did the bare minimum for a few months but the other day I "woke up" and now I'm back to myself. It feels really good to have me back. I missed her. The good thing is when you're a miserable bitch, you're also really funny- as a way of covering for the fact you haven't washed in a while and you're in general a bit of a shitty person to be around so the Facebook page for this blog is really fucking funny. But it feels nice to not have a million and one things running through my head so fast that I think my head might just explode. It's great not having this feeling in my chest that so heavy I think I might defy gravity and just sink into the floor. It feels nice to get all my chores done on time and properly. Best of all though it feel good to have energy back and not use all you have by 10:30pm on being an okay mum and a less than mediocre wife- I'm back to being a really fucking good mum and a kickass boss wifey cuz that's what I am. I am a boss ass bitch when it comes to motherhood and being a wife. 

I'm glad I took some time out to be a human aubergine but I'm back now. I have loads I wanna write about but atm I'm scared it will be shit cuz I haven't written in ages. 

Anyways, I hope you guys are good and thanks for still viewing the blog even though I'm not posting anything. It means a lot to me. I'll start posting soon. 

With all my love,
Monica x