Month: March 2020

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Parenting Through a Global Pandemic

CW: COVID-19 and related anxiety.

There would be no reader of this post who isn’t affected by the COVID-19 global pandemic. Such global crisis and uncertain times highlight much of parenting love and angst, all mixed together. 

Although it has been reported that young children are less vulnerable to the virus, I’m sure every parent in our community has some level of concern, anxiety or fear. Every parent’s greatest wish for their child is their health and safety, and the idea that a potentially-deadly-no-cure-no-vaccine virus is terrifying. 

During the last few days, as health concerns have escalated here in Victoria, my anxiety has escalated with it. No reassurance about low risk groups has reassured me. The apparent lack of update by the government regarding the chance of contraction in the community also seems bizarre and contribute to my worries. I was especially concerned when I met a father whose child has been at home from school due to a confirmed COVID-19 case in her classroom. Instead of isolating, she was playing on our local playground equipment, which my toddler, along with many other children, innocently touches right before rubbing his face. How can the government be so sure this child did not have the virus (asymptomatically) and then passed it on to dozens of children? 

I spent many hours the last few days reading and watching the news, even symptom checking. Instead of enjoying my daily outings with my son, I’ve been constantly wondering if I should even take him out of the house, incessantly wiping his hands while lashing out “Don’t touch anything!” as we’re walking. I know I’m not the only one. Although rationally I know none of my immediate family members are in a high-risk group, my anxiety switch has been turned on, and I’m on high alert. These feelings remind me of wars and terrorism periods I experienced growing up – everyone on edge, community life in the shadow of uncontrollable forces. 

I am terrified I’ll die from COVID-19 and leave my most precious human behind, to deal with this unstable, unkind (read: lacking toilet paper and rice) world. I worry that we’d end up on the wrong side of statistics, and my child would contract the virus, and dare I write it, even die. 

Before I had become a mother, I used to consider myself almost fearless. Looking back, I wasn’t fearless– I definitely would get scared, but I’d be able to avoid those feelings enough or channel adrenaline to do things. I’ve dealt with many challenges growing up, and uncertainty was as an inherit part of my life as a cup of milk. When would operations stop? Would there ever be peace and bombing stop? These were regular contemplations. Now, as a mother, I’m no longer fearless or able to forget about my fear. I am scared about everything when it comes to my child. Amongst other things, I worry about the state of the earth we are leaving for him and his generation, about his health and development, and about my own life so that I don’t leave him. When the threat to life seems so tangible, these anxieties come marching forward. 

What I find almost as encompassing as the anxiety for life my child brought into my life, is the joy and mindfulness he brings me every day. The other day, after a day of worry, hand washing and much home-based play, I spent about 20 minutes with my toddler, laughing. He was naked, free and careless as only a child can be right now, and we were looking into each other’s eyes. He was standing on my lap and I pretended to drop him or kissed him or just talked in the ridiculous tone I’ve got he finds hilarious for some reason. My dopamine levels went up immediately and I got absorbed in the game completely. I reflected on how the highs and the lows of parenting are so intrinsically linked, exhausting and wonderful – just like life itself. Being a mother means I have a greater capacity for acute fear but also pure joy, sometimes all at once. 

As you and many others around the world may be quarantined and unable to engage in your usual self-care activities, we could all turn to children for ways to find internal peace and joy. If you’re a parent, connecting with your child for a few minutes of uninterrupted play is extremely valuable for you both. If you don’t have children or a small relative you can call over the internet, tuning into our internal child might be key. What did you used to love doing? Drawing, singing, dancing, reading, music? These are all things we can do in our bedroom or living room. Connecting with others (even if electronically) could do so much good to everyone during these tough times.

I wish everyone safe and healthy times ahead.

Until next time,

L. K. Bridgford  

P. S. if you have a question for me or a topic you’d like me to write about – reach out by commenting or connecting on social media. 

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Leaving Performance Anxiety at Home

If you follow me on social media, you would’ve seen I’ve had my very first feature in a poetry night. Actually, do you follow me on social media? If not-follow me to support my writing and see what I’m up to between posts: https://www.facebook.com/L.K.Bridgford/

https://www.instagram.com/l.k.bridgford/

So, what is a feature? In most poetry nights an established poet is introduced, then takes the stage for a longer reading than others, privileged to be a central part of the event. When I first started reading at poetry events, I wondered how one becomes a feature, and looked up at those who were skillfully presenting. I’ve observed that majority of feature poets I’ve seen are at least 1. Regular attendants at such events 2. Great poets 3. Strong performers and sometimes 4. Published. 

At the time I wasn’t a regular attendant, I barely considered myself a poet, and my performances resembled more of a frightened kitten in a pet shop than a confident spoken word performer. With time, my confident grew and my performance improved. If I’d recorded myself and put the videos one after the other, you’d see my head and gaze gradually moving up from my phone towards the audience, to a point I could make eye contact. You’d also hear my voice rising with each night. The shake of my hands slowly dissipated, so I could use them to hold the microphone or gesture alongside the words of my poems. 

Then I was gratefully and kindly invited to become a feature in a local poetry night called Be Mused – Poetry & Humanity. I was somewhat nervous about it. I knew it was a unique opportunity to showcase my skills, connect with the poetry community, as well as receive some feedback and recognition for the work I’ve been doing. It was also a chance to prove to everyone (myself especially), how much I sucked. 

I got as organised as I could before the feature; decided on an outfit (which I ditched in the last minute), decided on poems to read and the order in which to read them (which I changed a few hours before the night). I took a couple of the poems to my writing group and received the worst feedback about one of them. “The line…is the most poetic line in this text, and I don’t like it.” I took the feedback quietly, with a smile and an open mind. I pondered what this feedback meant for hours and reached several possible conclusions: 1. This poem sucks. 2. This person didn’t like this poem. 3. I am useless as a writer & poet and should give up immediately. 4. The poem has potential, but it’d need a complete re-write. or 5. I have excessively high self-confidence, therefore my ability to objectively reflect on my writing skills is zero. Therefore I probably suck at writing, but at other things I think I’m good at too. I most definitely should not go on stage to perform as a feature poet and embarrass myself. I didn’t want to be seen as overconfident and presumptuous. 

Eventually I settled on options 2 and 4 as most comfortable to handle. After all, I cannot give up now. I’ve already said I’ll be there, and if any or all other options are true, I shall find out on the night. I decided to do the feature anyway and also read that poem, because most other feedback about it was different (i.e. positive) and I wanted to read it. 

In The Zone. Image: a white woman’s face as she is reading a poem into a red microphone. she is wearing brown glasses and colorful artwork is visible behind her.

I remembered what I enjoyed when listening to other people. I decided to do more ‘me’ and less ‘nerves’, leaving my nerves at home. I aimed to be in the moment and connect with my poems and the audience. With this in mind I took the stage (read: just stood at the front of the room). I was incredibly lucky to have support people with me. I was hearing clicks from the audience as I was going along, meaning they liked what they’d heard. ‘I’m not completely rubbish’ I thought as those fingers clicked in the background. My strategy seemed to have worked. Notably, I enjoyed it. 

Are you listening? Image: a woman standing in a dim room, a small light shining towards a stand in front of her. She is looking at the audience, reading into a microphone. Some people from the audience are partly visible in the background.

I walked out refreshed and inspired, as one feels after a long hot shower. The positive feedback is the most exhilarating and scary thing. Self-doubt pops up and says things like ‘What if these were your best poems? it’s all downhill from here’. These doubts and anxieties are to be expected. This is the talk of the achiever side of me, which has been on autopilot for so long. Having to be ‘great’ or the best, because otherwise I’ll just be me (read: disabled human) and that’s not enough. Luckily, I know better than that now. I write because I want to write, writing itself is the goal. The creative side of my brain has been dormant for too long, like a deserted petrol station in a ghost mining town. Now it is finally free, and all I intend to do is let it be.

Goodbye, performance anxiety. 

Feeling like a real poet with my poems organised and ordered in a folder. I also got lucky in the draw, supporting the Australian Red Cross. Image: a book laid on a black folder. The book is Unexpected Clearing – Poems by Rose Lucas.

Until next time. 

L. K. Bridgford