Because I don’t really trust therapy…

Friendly warning to anyone actually reading this, it’s a vent/therapy session for me and might not be the most fun read ever.

Sooooo… uhm. I’m actually lying on a couch while I write this, which is mildly amusing to me. So here goes.

I’ve recently asked myself and my husband whether I should maybe consider seeing a shrink. I’m a psych student and as you might have guessed, I don’t put much stock in therapists, so this question rattles me a little. Please note, I believe therapy, psychologists and psychiatrists are extremely important, I just kinda view them as outside of my reality. That’s extremely arrogant, I know, but if you know me, it wouldn’t really surprise you. So, since I’m still not really in shrink territory, I’m going to spill my guts in writing instead and see how much that helps.

Without getting into detail, since this is not anonymous or confidential, the basics are that I’ve been struggling with my anger issues lately. You know that scene from the first Avengers movie where Captain America tells Banner that it’s a good time to get angry and Banner says “That’s my secret, Cap. I’m always angry” and then he Hulks out? Well, that pretty much sums me up. On some level, I’m always angry and generally, I’m really good at managing it, but lately, I’ve been hulking out a bit more than I’m comfortable with. Okay, a lot more. And it scares me.

I’m always angry

Basically, growing up, there was a slightly Ancient Rome/Greece/Egypt vibe where emotions were considered a weakness. The only emotion that was mostly okay, was a sort of controlled anger, so anger has been the one negative emotion I have grown at ease with. I convert all my negative feelings into anger on some level, because I know how to deal with anger. The result is a certain frigid aspect to my personality and when I’m really tired, I have a hard time tempering the expression of my anger. I’m fairly self-aware, so I have taken measures to avoid exhaustion combined with social interaction, but it’s not always realistic. 

The problem is that lately, my anger management skills are not so great and I’m always tired and just so much more angry than I’ve been in a long time. A part of that is struggling to switch off from work. A part of it is the stress of having a toddler. A part is missing my dad so much more now that I have a kid. A part is needing a vacation. And a part is frustration at situations I can’t change.

Mostly, though, I’m feeling more and more like it’s time to address the deep down, underlying anger that feeds the rest of it and I just don’t know how. See, I’m very good at managing anger, but I’m terrible at letting it go. And I’m scared (which I unhealthily convert to more anger) that I’m going to hulk out on my little girl. I don’t want her to ever be this angry or jaded or disdainful or prickly.

Maybe I just need a holiday, maybe I need a shrink, maybe my husband is right and I need to hit the gym again. I don’t know, but I need to figure it out.

*Disclaimer: I’m not depressed, I don’t have ppd (I’ve always been like this), I’m not miserable. I also know that there is no shame in any of those things and I would own up to them as soon as I could, so I could get help, because my family and I deserve the best me. I have absolute respect for people living with mental illness  (for lack of better term). I am familiar with some of the difficulties and the bravery and strength of those fighting their own chemistry everyday blows my mind.



So, I have a Confession.  Actually, I have a few.

This blog, it’s never going to be what I originally said it would. Why? I don’t have the time or inclination to make it that. I could make time, but I can’t be bothered. I’d rather bake or cuddle my kid or pets or husband or dance or read. I apologise for misleading you. I also promise you’ll get over it.

I’m not nice. I tried real hard to edit out all my cranky and be the least offensive version of myself I could be, but I just feel like a big phony. I’m not a sweet little thing. I’m a tactless, judgemental, brutally honest, but very loyal, package. I’m passionate and cold and jaded and angry and excited and happy and many other things, but I am not nice or sweet. So I will not be pretending to be those things any longer. You’ll get over that, too.

I have no “target audience”. In truth, I have zero aim with this blog. It’s for me, for when I feel like it or need it. I have no desire to be read or known. I don’t care if I hear crickets when I post. If you are reading this, that’s really great. If not, it actually makes no difference and I’m addressing empty space.

I feel adrift. I’m not a creative and I’m not a people person. Blogging doesn’t come naturally. More than that, though, I am painfully aware of the differences between myself and the bloggers I read (and occasionally socialise with, on account of PiCT). Most of them probably fall under Parent Blogger. And here’s the biggie, I don’t define myself as Mom. Maybe they don’t either, but I think many do. I think many mothers do. I’m obviously a mother and it’s part of me and I love my child more than life BUT I define myself as Tamarah. Part of that is being a mother and a wife, but there is more. There is being a woman, being strong, being smart, being angry, being an animal lover, a scientist, a dancer, a friend. And somehow, in knowing who I am and holding onto it, I sometimes feel lost, because I wonder whether I was actually supposed to sacrifice being a Johnstone-Robertson to being a wife and being me to being Mom. Fortunately, when I talk to my best friend (my husband) about this, he looks confused and asks why I would do that.

So, in conclusion, I will be adjusting this here space. When I am here, I will be here as ME, not some airbrushed version of me. Me has many interests and I reserve the right to write about any of them as and when I please. Out with structure and target audience and niche market. Stream of consciousness, that’s my thing and I’m going with it.

I am one of many

I have been neglecting writing, a lot. I didn’t want this space to be angry and lately, I’ve been angry, so I waited.

I think this post is often called “I am one in four” or “I am the 25%”. It always seems so alone, because the truth of the many doesn’t show.

So, I am one of many. Statistics and research show that 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. I took Genetics at varsity, the stats are actually a lot scarier, but we’ll leave them be.

Today an old school classmate posted to Facebook. A simple post remembering her lost babies. Of course, having lost a pregnancy myself, this stirred up memories. But then I looked at the comments and reactions and was again reminded of how many of us there are. And how clueless the world remains.

To give you an idea of the many, I’m a virtual recluse, and yet 3 women I  know,  have miscarried in the last few months. And they are just the ones who have opened up.

When Mandy from Pregnant in Cape Town interviewed me during my pregnancy, I think I said I knew 10 women who had miscarried. Two years later, having almost completely withdrawn from the world, socially, I now know 17. And I didn’t over think the count.

Considering I work from home and almost all my friends are men under 30, that should really hit home. 

One of those women told me today that after a very smooth twin pregnancy, she took for granted that she was risk free. All would go well. And then it didn’t. At all. She’s hurting, but she’s a mom and she needs to be strong. And now she is faced with all the idiotic things people say, because they mean well. Things she and I would likely have said before we knew any better.

“At least it happened early” There’s really no good time to lose a child. At a few weeks, you feel like you never even had a chance, in your third trimester you have to face things I can’t bear to think of, as infants they never had a chance, each stage contains its own type of grief and each is equally terrible. You always feel cheated and like you’ve personally failed. So early isn’t better. A parent has a real and soul-tying connection to their child from the very second they suspect the child’s existence. The loss is real, and painful and huge and timing really makes no difference.

“At least you already have kids/You can try again” Children, whether we have met them or not, are not like dinner plates. It’s not a matter of one breaking being ok, because you have 5 more and you can buy another. One child does not replace or make up for another. It would seem stupid to others, but I still have every single item related to my lost pregnancy. From the pregnancy test to the release papers after my D&C. I keep them in the same file as I keep my living child’s information. I keep them, because that baby mattered and someone should remember that. 

But people don’t know. You don’t until you do. And though we are many, we are silent. For many reasons, often self-imposed. And because we are silent, we feel alone and those around us don’t understand. It is my wish for each of us that we find the courage, in time, to speak of the children that left us too soon, so that some feel less alone and others may finally understand. 

Noone can bear your grief for you, but we can hold each other up, when the grief is too heavy.

As Samwise Gamjee said to Frodo: “I cannot carry it for you, but I CAN carry you”

Out of the darkness and into the light

Honestly, I have no idea what the title should be, so just bear with me, ok?

The other day I was joking with hubby about “other women”. You know, the typical “don’t go picking up other women on boys night” silliness. I joked that I don’t share and even when I die, I would haunt him. He told me to have fun with that. And that it seems like too much effort.

I was quite taken aback by that and asked him to clarify. He informed me he would be too busy for women. So, uh, he has plans for after my death, does he? And then he explains. “I’ll be too busy raising our daughter!”

Now, my first response was that I’m not dying tomorrow! I was talking old age here. Since then, I’ve been thinking about it more.

My father could not live without a woman. I’m not sure what exactly ha did after his first divorce, other than run away, but after he and my mom divorced he ran back to his mother. Then he quickly remarried. His child was never his first concern, because he was completely lost without the guidance of a dominant woman. In the end, my father and I became estranged and when he died two years ago, I hadn’t spoken to him in 18 months. I didn’t even know he was sick, because my step-mother viewed me as a threat. (That’s a rant not meant to be put in writing)

My husband, conversely, recognises the hardship of single parenting and views it’s challenges as more important than new romance. Rather than the aim of wanting to provide our daughter with a replacement parent if it ever comes to that, his aim is to provide her with a fully present remaining parent.

Maybe it’s because I feel I lost my dad the day he remarried, but that means a lot to me.

Who needs diversity..?

The answer would be “Me, I need diversity and variation and differences”

So this is a vent post, be warned.

Yesterday, we went to a popular farm restaurant in our area. Families love it, as it has a huge lawn and play area and the food is good without being over-priced. First thing upon asking for a table for four adults and one almost toddler, was being asked if my son would be sitting on my lap. I have a daughter, she was wearing red and grey. I’m used to this by now, since we chose to raise her gender-neutral (not as an it, just without stereotypes).

But then I look over my mother in-law’s shoulder at the baby behind her. The girl in so many frills and bows she’d never safely fit in a car seat. The one who looks like she’s just been fished out of a cotton candy machine. The one with the massive headband with the massive bow who is struggling to keep her head up under the weight of it. And I wonder if that’s what it takes to clearly be female.

But, you know, whatevs.

While we were waiting for our food, we decided to walk around the play area. Our daughter is very petite (still wearing 3-6 at 2 weeks short of her first birthday) and started walking about a month ago, so she seems to appeal to people. As such, we soon had a flock of women and girls around us. 

And there I stood, surrounded by a sea of PINK.

I capatalise that, because it really hit home at that moment and as I looked around, that not a single female under 13, except our daughter, was wearing a different colour. Every single one of them was in some shade of Pink! 

Now, for the usual disclaimers. No, we do not have an issue with pink. No, we do not have an issue with femininity. We DO take issue with stereotyping and forcing people into boxes they may not fit.

So I get you might love pink and think it’s the cutest thing. I also know you might hate it, but think it’s the done thing. I also know the struggle of finding anything else for little girls.

My concern is, our concern, is that when we are already stereotyping our children straight out the womb as princess for girls and anything for boys, what are we doing to their futures?

I heard mothers reprimand their daughters for wanting to play a little rougher, but encourage their much younger sons to do much more. What message are we sending?

There has been some research into why their are so few women in the STEM careers and a lot of evidence points to the way we raise and speak to our daughters. Less independence, less curiosity, less exploration, more care with your dress.

We want our daughter to be who she is, whether that is a princess or an astronaut or anything else or all of it. She was born curious and I hope like hell she’ll stay that way. So yes, she owns one or two pink items and she has a doll and teddies. But frankly, most pinks don’t suit her skin tone, she actively prefers bright and dark colours and frills really are not practical at this life stage. And yes, even at this age, we let her choose.

And we crave the type of diversity, starting with clothing, but on all levels, that allows a child to become who they are without stereotyping them into perfect little boxes.

PS. All girls do not like pink. There are only 2 females in my entire family who do and of those, one only started in early adulthood.

Ok, rant over.

The Unassuming Warrior

Many moons ago, I decided to write a series about admirable women. I found 6 as a start and sent out my questions to them. Two came back with their responses so quickly, I was quite amazed. I’m still waiting for some responses, these women are super busy, and I’ve told myself that is why I haven’t gotten started, but the truth is, I haven’t had the guts to write about other people. Today, I feel that it is time I gave it a shot, though.

I would humbly like to introduce you to Jonelle du Pont from Tyranny of Pink. I first became aware of Jonelle during my pregnancy, on a motherhood group on Facebook and I eagerly followed her story as our pregnancies progressed. I was most fortunate to be put in touch with her by Mandy-Lee Miller from Pregnant in Cape Town.

So, here goes…

Jonelle is originally from Swaziland and moved down to Cape Town in 2003 to pursue her studies. She is passionate about Community Development and worked in the non-profit sector up to 2014, when she decided to pursue writing and started her blog (which you should read, if you don’t already). Recently she also launched, her website aimed at inspiring women to achieve their own goals and follow their dreams.(Update: has evolved to encompass all levels of community development )

Jonelle and her hubby have been married since 2012 and in 2015, they added the gorgeous Oden to their family. Being able to be home to watch him grow, has made her “professional sacrifices” (by societal standards) absolutely worth it.


Jonelle describes her life as blessed. She comes from a close-knit family that has always offered a lot of love and support.

At 23, she unexpectedly lost her father in a car crash. An event that has shaped her views on car safety and played a part in her joining the #carseatfullstop campaign earlier this year.

More recently, Jonelle’s world was rocked by complications during her son’s birth. In her own words:

A more recent challenge which I’m still trying to come up for air from was nearly dying in September. I had a really straightforward pregnancy and everything was going along just fine until I went into labour. It was such a mess. The nurses thought I had a placental abruption (separation of the placenta from the wall of the womb) and I was rushed in for an emergency C-Section. They told me if they don’t act fast that my son will die. It wasn’t actually the case. After lying in the maternity ward for 4 days after my son was born, and constantly complaining of pain, I was finally diagnosed with an almost unheard of appendicitis. It’s really not something that happens during pregnancy very often. By the time they realised my body was already in a really bad state and I landed up in ICU.
Two days later I had to be opened up again for a planned general rinse of my body cavity. However when they went in, I had developed septicemia. What no one had realised was that I also had undiagnosed endometriosis and my uterus had fused to my colon. During the delivery of my son, my uterus had been pulled away from my colon, which ruptured and had been leaking into my body. The surgeons were not very optimistic about my case. I was in hospital for a full month and had to have physio to regain strength and use my muscles and body. Even though I woke from that surgery with a colostomy I hadn’t been warned about, I was alive. It was major. My newborn son was still lying in the maternity ward while I struggled not to die.


Coming out the other side

Jonelle is an incredibly positive person and has taken strength from her experiences. From her father’s death, she took the ability to be strong and independent. From her birth experience she took a great appreciation for life.

It’s not always smiles and sunshine, though. Jonelle also lost both her grandparents during the first 5 months of motherhood and had to return to hospital for numerous surgeries and treatments. It can take its toll on even the toughest of people. I look at my son and I burst into tears at the life that I nearly missed with him. I’ve had to spend the first part of his life fighting to get well again and just when things start getting back to normal I develop an infection and end up back in hospital. I’ve spent a total of around two months in hospital over the last while., she says.

Other than an appreciation for life, Jonelle was also reminded to live fully – life is just too short for all the bullshit that we put up with. Now, I’m dedicated to living a life that I love. If I don’t want to do something, I don’t do it. I want my life to be one that I value, not just a passing of days. What was major for me was realising that I didn’t need to change anything about my life. I was already living a life that I love. I just suddenly felt so much more appreciative of it and the people in it. These moments show you what matters and the people in it that mean the most. I discovered that I was really loved and I really loved my life.

Jonelle draws strength from her son, who is clearly the light of her life, and her family, who have been with her and supported her every step of the way. She is also inspired by People who live life by their own rules. I’m inspired by people who embrace difference and aren’t afraid to try things their own way. It’s so hard to stand up to what other people expect of you and say no, that’s not what I’m about.

At the time of answering my questions, Jonelle was focusing on getting better every day and on her writing, with the specific aim of empowering other people. She is a passionate person and empowerment on all levels, is right up there on her list of passions. She is excited about life and through a very tough time, has managed to hold on to her sense of self and sense of humour.

To those of us struggling to get through a day, Jonelle has the following words: I wish people would just look at their own lives and decide if they’re happy living the life they have. It’s not always possible to change your circumstances but if it is, and you’re not happy with the cards you’ve been dealt then change them. Pursue the dreams you’ve always had. Embrace the life you’ve always dreamed of. Life is just so fragile and it can end just like that. I was lucky to have a second chance but I was also lucky in that it made me realise that there is nothing missing from my life. I was already living the life of my dreams but I can tell you one thing that I know for sure it, I won’t be taking anything for granted anymore. Every single day matters. You don’t have to go out and do huge things, just sitting at home with my family is special to me. I don’t need to be climbing mountains to know that my life is amazing.

Even when it seems like all you can do it give up, don’t. Fight. Fight harder than you’ve ever fought and know that life is worth it. Bad things happen to good people and not always for a reason that makes sense. I’ve had so much heartbreak and pain both physically and emotionally but I’m still here and I’m not ready to give up. Have faith that in the hard times, there will be good times ahead but the power really is in your hands. You can sit back and feel sorry for yourself and wonder why me or you can embrace that bad things happen for no good reason but that’s not enough of a reason to give up. Don’t ever underestimate your own strength. You have the ability to change the outcome.

To catch up on all that has happened in Jonelle’s life in the 7 months since she shared her story with me, please head over to Tyranny of Pink and show some love.

Opting In… Or Not

A while ago, there was a bit of a bruhaha that every contract you sign automatically opted you in to have your details sold and you had to search for a way to opt out. This has now changed, because it was obviously not ideal.

Ok, that was a bit of an obscure lead in to my point.

We have a social media ban on our daughter. No images, no mention of her name. We did this to protect her privacy, for starters. We also have various security reasons that I won’t get into right now. When she is of an age where she can make her own decisions about her privacy and security, what the world sees of her, will be upto her.

Further to this, it is illegal to publish an image of an underage person without the consent of their legal guardian. In social media, nobody ever truly considers this, but there it is.

Recently, we celebrated a big family birthday, an 80th. It was an enjoyable affair with family and friends we didn’t even know existed. Photos were taken, as they are. We ate, we toasted, we listened to speeches and smiled at cooing grandmothers who wanted a piece of our little person. I tolerated some unsolicited advice and a lot of knowing disapproval. We went home.

It never occurred to either of us to tell a bunch of octogenarian not to plaster our child’s likeness all over Facebook. And then my father in-law got a happy birthday call (he happened to share a birthday with the gent who turned 80) from his brother. The first thing uncle says after happy birthday, is “your granddaughter is very cute”

From the lounge, I hear Dad ask when he saw photos and my heart sinks. In the three hours since we had left the party, about a dozen photos of our child had been uploaded to FB without our consent. I know, so what, right? Wrong. For people as privacy and security crazy as us, this is a huge invasion. 

My father in-law is shocked. The very people who uploaded the photos, have grandchildren with social media bans in place (European police forces have started advising parents not to post images of their children). What follows is an awkward phone call, requesting the removal of all images and a very quiet family evening while 4 adults ponder who else took photos and posted them.

I realise we can’t protect our children from the world. I realise we can’t control everything. I just wish in this age where people share everything from their breakfast to their menstrual cramps on social media, that one would first be given the option of opting in.

Think carefully next time you post an image of someone else’s child. Do you actually have that parent’s consent, or have you just assumed consent, as they didn’t throw themselves in front of the camera, screaming No!?

My sucky bf journey

What I didn’t know about tongue tie.

First off, nobody checks, nobody tells you and if they do, it’s formula in hand.

I never wanted to breastfeed. It just didn’t appeal to me. Actually, it grossed me out completely. As my pregnancy wore on, I slowly came round to the idea and eventually my husband and I decided that we would try – everything if need be.

I got lucky. I told the nurses to please let me try by myself and my little girl latched perfectly on her first try and consistently after. I was ecstatic. That is, until a night nurse decided my boundaries were nonsense on the second night and latched my baby for me. Aggressively and without so much as a by your leave. This effectively ended my lucky streak, as baby simply did not latch correctly after. Every feed became a nightmare.

On Sunday night, an IBCLC was doing rounds, but by the time she could see me, bubs was in the nursery. Adding to the sense of misery and pain, was being constantly bombarded with “Has your milk still not come in?” I felt like such a failure in that department, but the lactation consultant set my mind at ease.

On Monday we went home with a considerably lighter, but healthy baby. My nipples were so damaged, though, that her first spit-up looked like she had ruptured an ulcer – she had ingested that much of my blood. I had to take my one breast offline. By Tuesday, if you so much as hinted at feeding or breasts, I panicked, I was in that much pain. I made an appointment with the IBCLC – I desperately needed help. On Wednesday morning we bundled ourselves into the car, hoping for a miracle.

As we were weighing the baby, she started screaming murder. The consultant was happy and said it helped her check something. Two seconds later, we had our answer. Our daughter was born with a mild tongue tie. Just enough to make feeding difficult – she had also barely gained weight since being released from hospital. We were fortunate, our IBCLC has an interest in tongue tie and collaborates with an amazing ENT. The small procedure to release the tie was done on Friday.

Sadly, our daughter proceeded to go on a hunger strike and by Friday night, I was begging my husband to go buy formula through sobs of fatigue and desperation. He held out on me and with a LOT of skin to skin and TLC and patience, our little one finally fed around midnight.

It took a while for her to relearn latching and figure out her tongue, which meant it took a while for my supply to figure itself out. And forever to bring my damaged breast back online. Whenever I fed her, my husband had to stand close by, so I had something to punch or kick during the pain of the initial latch. We’ve figured it all out now, but I still remember the pain and panic.

After chatting about my experience to a doctor from Cape Town, who happens to be married to a friend of my hubby’s, she immediately asked for our ENT’s details. Apparently SA just doesn’t deal with tongue tie. Mothers just aren’t told that there is a simple physical reason they are struggling and are left to feel like failures, because no amount of commitment can help their child feed effectively.

Tongue tie can be resolved quickly and easily and is simple to check for, but for some reason it is seldom done. If you struggle, see an IBCLC – a real one, not the nurse. It is worth so much more than the small consultation fee.

Update: I still don’t enjoy breastfeeding. Whenever someone tells me how amazing and bonding and beautiful it is, I want to punch them in the face. I do it, because I believe that it is the best thing for our child and our family and I can. As such, I am not weaning soon, but don’t mistake my resolve for enjoyment.

When the magic is gone

I’ve been wrestling with this post for two days, but I finally decided that it needed to be put out there.

For the past few days, my 4 month old daughter has been acting up. She feeds poorly, refuses to sleep, fusses near constantly and has pretty much completely unlearned latching. I am sleep deprived and in a level of pain I haven’t known since she was 3 weeks old.

As my husband has been participating in training for the WFDF Ultimate and Guts world championship, I’ve been on my own in dealing with it. I work my butt off to be a good mother, but I am so tired…

So exhausted that the special magic that keeps new mummies going, is gone. You know what I mean. The smile first thing in the morning or after a feed that keeps you from killing your offspring. The cute factor  that melts your heart. It’s just gone. Right now, I do not like my daughter. I still love her, but I do not like her.

I have barely enough self control left to keep myself from lashing out. My exhausted, sun stroked husband had to take over from me last night when I turned away from the infant I was trying to put to bed and had to lock myself in the bathroom to keep sane.

I fear feeding her. My heart races when I know I’ll be alone with her soon. And not with excitement. I hear hubby reassure me that I am doing a great job, while he carefully watches me for signs of PND. I watch me for PND. I try to remain upbeat. I work to respond to her chats and her smiles. I hold her and hug her and love her and kiss her until she squeals, all while I silently pray she’ll remain pleasant long enough for me to eat or go to the bathroom or stuff my face with sugar.

I don’t know what this phase is. I hope it will pass soon. I need the magic to work again.

PS Did you note that she now squeals in delight? She also takes her own nappy off. She’s an amazing kid, she’s just also the devil.

The dangers of comparison

So today I got to spend time with one of my favourite people to celebrate her birthday. I want to say another year, but the truth is that, though she is now a friend, I’ve only known her for about 9 months, so not yet another year…

Anyway, I digress, as is my way. As these things generally go, I was not the only person sharing in the celebrations. In fact, she was surrounded by quite a few women who care greatly about her and the quality of these women speaks greatly to the amazing person the birthday girl is. And therein lies the rub, for me, anyway.

Spending a few hours with these extraordinary women really made me wonder how I got there. I’m nowhere near their league, to my mind. I mean, there I was, surrounded by bloggers (who have “made it”), PR people, degrees, accomplished mothers, people who had been featured and have been guest speakers and have just generally achieved. And I will be honest, I felt alone and outside. Don’t get me wrong, these are awesome women and I was not excluded. The issue is very much internal.

So, why? What is the problem. I guess the fact I don’t mingle comfortably plays a part, but mostly, I compared myself, and using someone else as the standard by which you measure yourself…. Welll…

So let’s have a list

  1. I was the only idiot showing cleavage – hey, I underachieve, but my WonderBra still works!
  2. Bloggers everywhere! Which makes sense in context, but these people are important enough for people to feel threatened and be mean to them.
  3. So much of pretty! 3 months postpartum, I am not feeling excited about myself physically.
  4. New mom, amongst the “veterans”. And their kids are special. And I don’t mean short-bus-special. I mean the apple stuck near the tree, impressive special. I refuse to use my kid to compete, but it’s intimidating.
  5. They know how to socialise. And network. I know how to say “get over yourself”. It’s not an endearing trait…

I could likely go on, but this is depressing. So the point? I’m not actually a chronic underachiever. I have achieved all my major goals, except getting my degree. Which is due in July, so…. I have a gorgeous baby, a wonderful husband, 3 amazing pets. I have great friends and few issues – aside from the obvious self-esteem collapse I am clearly suffering right now.

The problem in comparing yourself to others, is that you are comparing an actual 3D object to a 2D image – generally a cube to a circle, at that. The thing to remember is that I didn’t gatecrash that party. I was invited. Which means that to my friend, who is the one that matters, I have earned my spot in that group. I passed the only comparison that matters – I am her friend.