At the moment my life is too busy, I can admit it. There are way more things that I want and need to do than time available to do them. One of those things that I both want and need to do is exercise. We all know its benefits for our physical and mental health, and for me it also helps my pain and stability.
But I cannot do as much exercise as I would like to do or probably should do. And I have decided it is ok. Giving myself slack is not easy, nor is it the same as giving up. Rather, deciding that what I manage to do is good enough, because there are other priorities in my life that also need attending to.
Last week for example I only managed to formally exercise twice: once in my clinical Pilates class and another late evening session at the gym. If you would ask ‘professionals’ or even google, you will undoubtedly find that this amount is insufficient. But I also am a person who requires a good amount of sleep to function, and my youngest is still awake at all hours. That means that often when the kids are finally in bed at about 8pm, I am usually too exhausted to do the exercises I should do.
Another important factor is that I also want to prioritise things I love doing such as writing, organising things in the house, spending time with my children, or speaking to a friend. With working and trying to finish the requirement for my psychology registration, with managing my business, with writing creatively, with connecting with communities, with keeping in touch with family overseas and playdates, there is not much time left to spare.
A few years ago two exercise sessions in a week would have become a source of self-criticism or even self-loathing. But nowadays I decide to use this as a lens through which to examine my life, to consider what is important to me, and to put aside expectations.
I did not exercise this weekend, but I spent time with my children, I visited a family member in pain, I ate good food, I laughed and I read beautiful words. I also rested, laughed and reminisced about beautiful happy memories. That is enough.
As we say in the disability community, rest is radical.
Until next time,
Liel K. Bridgford
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Last night my toddler and I sat in my bed, cuddling under the covers and reading childhood classics I had read many times as a kid. It was beautiful, until the ending of one particular story. This practice is common in many cultures – the passing of classical stories or myths between generations. As a modern day parent, I think we should always apply judgment and critical thinking when we tell stories to the next generation. Some people argue that we shouldn’t judge works of the past by today’s moral standards, others disagree.
The classic I will be referring to here was written in 1993 – almost three decades ago. One would argue that our current moral standards still apply, while other social ideas of today may have been unheard of or considered overly progressive at that time, in the Israeli culture. When we re-tell past stories, it is therefore important we consider and acknowledge the tradition and historical context they were created. I’m not suggesting we shouldn’t read classics or engage with classic art, but only that we execute our own judgement and explain to the next generation how old ideas can, and often should, change (like – women’s right to vote or accessibility being the law). This is especially important when we tell stories to children who are learning about the world and themselves. Here I will exemplify how you can do that – by critically thinking of stories and dissecting what messages may be hidden inside.
The Israeli culture, like many others, highly values its classic children’s books, which are still sold and read widely. One of these that we read last night was The Elephant Who Wanted To Be The Most. Alongside its apparent aim at taming vanity, it sends messages of idealisation conformity and sameness, as well as condemnation of individuality or breaking of expected social roles.
The plot goes like this: a young elephant is sad about being grey like all the other elephants in his flock. With the world being so colourful, he feels low at being given the “old boring grey” to live in
A sad protagonist. [Image description: an excerpt from a picture book page. On the white page is an illustration of a sad looking little grey elephant and a few bigger elephants, alongside black Hebrew text.]
A bird nearby sees his sour face and tries to convince him the colour suits him, but then helps gather colours from nature, helping the little elephant become the colourful self he is dreaming of. A little mirror appears on the page of my child’s board book to show the young elephant finally happy in his colourful, gay skin. His joy isn’t rooted in vanity, but in self pride and celebration of who he wants to be: “Look how pretty I am/ The colorful little elephant.”
Joyful little elephant. [Image description: an open Hebrew picture book with Hebrew text and an illustration of a colourful elephant on a white page. The opposite page is a mirror and a vague image of the colourful elephant is visible through the mirror.”
When our little protagonist returns to his flock, the older elephants mock him so terribly that he regrets the decision, wanting to avoid shaming and asks to return to grey. The others spray him with water, ending the story with a repetition of the mantra “Grey is a good colour, perfectly suitable for elephants”.
Last night this ending suddenly saddened me, as it stood out as punitive and policing – discouraging the elephant, and anyone identifying with him, to express themselves. Although there is a mention of the elephant wanting to be the most beautiful, and critiques argue vanity is the main target of the author’s criticism, other reasons for self-expression and breaking social norms and expectations are also wiped along the way. The elephant is so beautifully colourful and happy after the bird paints him with her feather. The reasons for wanting to get rid of the colours are not because he changed his mind or deeply connected with self-love to his original color, but simply because he didn’t want to be mocked: others said the colours only suit “the circus” (i.e. this isn’t how you’re meant to look) and so he responded with “I don’t want to be a clown in a circus.”
Perhaps unintended, or perhaps calculated, is the message about conformity and sameness. Written in Israel of 1993, many critics and teachers today still interpret this as a story of self-acceptance. I argue that although it may have been the intention, the story can also be read as the exact opposite. The little elephant does not feel right in his body – which is considered a ‘normal’ body (one that conforms to social expectations). There is nothing to indicate the elephant feels he doesn’t conform enough or having a desire to resemble someone else. Instead, he wants to be more colourful like “the world”. This to me, reads that he inherently feels colours would be natural for him, and having a desire to be more colourful, more out-there, different and defy cultural expectations. The inferred expectations could be based on the protagonist’s gender, race, class, disability or others. Once bravely acquiring the colours of the world, he says “Look how beautiful I am, a colourful little elephant!” It seems that indeed, he has found himself and tapped into his internal beauty and found a way to express his true personality.
Anyone in our society’s who has felt judged for how they dress or look – I’m sure can read this as a celebration of self-expression, self-acceptance and even pride. Especially those of us who may feel at odds with society’s expectation of our bodies. As a disable person, society has often told me to blend in, and as a female we are so often told to present a particular way – like every other ‘good’ woman should. The condemnation by the elephant’s peers is a small example of how oppressive systems work in our society – the way our ableist, sexist and racist systems work to keep all of us in line within our expectations – mocking a vulnerable individual to keep them obeying social rules. The little elephant is left with little choice but wash away his colours, and he then “calms down”, looking downwards in defeat.
Happy ending only for the bullies. [A picture from the discussed picture book. A white page with an illustration of large grey smiling elephants washing colours off a small elephant who is looking down. A Hebrew text paragraph in black is on the left page.]
If this was a story of self acceptance, you’d expect the little protagonist to feel at ease or peace with his body, or who he is. Instead, when the others wash his colours away, he simply feels relieved for the mocking has stopped. Very little space was given to the protagonist’s feelings or thoughts about the re-transformation, and his face wears an expression of defeat or relief. Little Elephant didn’t come to self acceptance or celebration, rather, he has just felt obliged to conform with the social expectations to stop the mocking and bullying. He did not have any ally on his side to support his rightful self-expression. After returning to grey, he feels relieved that the criticism stopped, but he isn’t elated, nothing like what he felt when coloured up. He was pushed into place by bigger forces – all but him are happy at the end.
There is no doubt children’s literature plays a huge role in children’s understanding and views of the world. Any protagonist is written to be identified with, at least to a degree. And any child (and adult) identifying with our little elephant, would eventually realise how little choice they had, and that self-acceptance front wrapper is filled with strict rules for individuals’ behaviour within society.
Many of us feel we have to hide who we are, or parts of ourselves – because of messages like these. Normalising bullying, advocating for conformity and strict roles and appearances – do so much damage to the mental health and wellbeing of anyone who doesn’t fit into the boxes built by societies. Many people face ableism, transphobia, fat-phobia, racism and sexism on a daily basis – and this example feeds into those harmful ideas.
When reading this book with my child from now on, I will either change the ending for my child -maybe get rid of the mocking and say the elephant retuned to his flock to find acceptance and celebration of who he was. Or I will add an explanation that it is not ok to laugh at how people present. That we should all celebrate who we are, and feel safe to express ourselves freely (as long as we don’t harm others), remembering that who we are is beautiful and strong. As always, I will tell my child – if you want to dress or behave differently from what others think you should – go for it. And if anyone mocks you, I will come get them.
Dear protective mechanism named achievement-focus,
For the purpose of this letter I will call you Little Creature – as you are like a separate being to myself who lives inside my mind influencing me to varying degrees, depending on my vulnerability at the time, and perhaps your mood.
I am writing to you today because your presence in my life has become more prominent recently. You stick your head through a doggy-door and say hello by telling me the decision to study psychology instead of medicine was giving up. You wave by telling me staying in a job for over four years is stagnation.
I know you very well. Like a ghost you have a tendency to go undetected for a while, leading me on as if you’ve disappeared forever, in those breaks you take from sitting on my mind’s bank like a devil directing my interpretation of the world. Recently I have come to understand your origin, which is of course intertwined with my own.
Growing up I knew I was different from others – I had a ‘leg problem’ and that was a bad thing I had to live with. In order to make sense of life’s unfairness and my fate of pain, bullying, constant operations and traumas, I’ve come up with an equation that made life bearable. It was: pain + special powers = a sensible world. If special powers was removed from the equation, the world did not make sense anymore. I could also replace pain with trauma/disability/hospital visits/bullying etc. So then I’d get for instance bullying + special powers = a sensible world. This worked because bullying or trauma are painful parts of human life. Special powers however, are obviously a positive, uplifting part of life. This way the world could remain at lease a neutral place, somehow fair. I got a really bad luck item in my basket of life, but at least I had some undefined special powers – it meant not only the world was not so cruel but I was a worthy human after all. The simple conclusion I reached was I must hold some extraordinary qualities which compensated for my disability and associated pains – achievements resulting from these qualities were going to make it all worthwhile. This interpretation is not unique to myself. Other disabled people have described a similar experience. There is a social and historical context to this of course, as disability has previously been seen as a punishment or a gift depending on the time and culture one examines. Perhaps these reflect human’s natural tendency to attempt making sense of the world – to order its uncompromising chaos.
Anyway, this is how you came to be – Little Creature, you were born in that small room in our Tel-Aviv apartment on my single bed, above the blue checkered mattress. You were born in my mind and helped me feel as if the world was actually not a terrible place after all, I was worthy after all. You have helped making life bearable. You’ve helped me clean those Ilizarov pins and get through being teased. You have been effective all the while you’ve developed strong roots in my brain to help me survive.
But what about now?
Now so much has changed – my life, the society I live in, my body and my roles. Everything has changed and so must we. I no longer think the world must be sensible. The equation does not make sense because the world is not neutral. It is much more complicated – even if I tried I could not assign a single value which will carry across genders, countries, cultures, days or even moments. Sometimes the world is fantastic and great things happen, nevertheless simultaneously terrible things happen. There is no simplifying this mess. I also don’t see my disability as a bad thing anymore. Regardless, you, Little Creature, keep telling me that if I do more, if I get ahead somehow, if I reach sufficient success, then the world will be ok. Then I will be ok – I will be worthy.
Today I want to tell you, Little Naïve Creature, that you have been exposed. You cannot hideas I won’t let you act in the background like a puppeteer telling me to be better all the time (i.e. that I’m not good enough) or accusing my past choices were wrong because I am still not there – in that elusive destination of success which will make my worth stable forever.
Right now I know my worth has nothing to do with my achievements. Knowing intellectually and experiencing in one’s body are two distinct things. I hope that this letter will help my body remember this, and internalise it so that you will become powerless, or at least weaker. You are no longer needed. My goals are to be happy and healthy, not to reach any particular milestone you think I should. As I am writing this, you are still whispering that’s not true and also giving me examples of goals I should have in order to be happy. But I am the most content right now – writing and reflecting in silence except for the dishwasher rain-like flow, paralleling the words I’m creating.
I know you are not leaving anytime soon, so this is not a goodbye. This is a hello, from now on I am perceptively watching you– I know what you are doing and I won’t let you spoil this for me.
Tonight is Passover night, and I am writing instead of celebrating. Passover is a major Jewish holiday and the only one I usually go to the lengthy effort of celebrating with my little family (and/or chosen family). We usually get together, cook, eat, drink red wine, tell the Haggadah story, laugh. Sometimes we cry. Always we connect.
Carefree 2016 Passover. Image: a large group of people sitting around a table looking at the camera, smiling. most are holding a drink and raising their glasses. the table has crockery and drink bottles on a white table cloth.
It is a very special time of the year for me. It holds sweet memories of favorite foods cooked by my grandmothers and games played with my grandfather. This year however, I am not celebrating in the way I’d like to with my toddler. We are in the midst of a global pandemic and many of us are grieving, feeling distressed, displaced or simply worried. I am experiencing a bit of all of those feelings.
My family and I have decided to move and live with my parents in law, until the end of this crisis. The preparations for Passover have simply gone out the window amid emotional and practical demands. We were invited to celebrate with one of my best friend’s family. I am devastated this is impossible, and am missing them immensely. Grief takes hold of me, for the loss my toddler isn’t even aware they are experiencing today – of celebrating meaningful traditions and bonding with loved ones.
Amongst everything I did not have the capacity to make Passover happen. It feels like a failure when reflecting on the only holiday I’ve ever wanted to continue celebrating with my child. Then I remind myself to be kind and gentle with myself and others during this time. I hear a voice saying it’s ok, and this is temporary – there will be other times. But this crisis reminds me of how fragile those future opportunities are and the need to treasure the present. I battle.
I told my child it is Passover night and explained that we will celebrate another time. We read some of the Haggadah. Actually we just looked at the pictures. I wondered again if I should have gone to the supermarket to get a few essentials and organize something. I almost apologized, but instead decided to accept my reactions to our current situation. Being the only one in the family with my cultural background means the responsibility is on me – to decide, shop, construct menus, delegate tasks, cook complex traditional dishes, decide on dress code, set the table properly. In the last few weeks I have moved houses, adjusted to working from home routines, took my son out of day care and ceased essential self-care activities due to social distancing rules. Details such as how many boiled eggs should we have, which entrées shall we make, or can we Zoom everyone in an opposite timezone – simply did not make the cut.
Being kind to myself means acceptance of what I do and don’t do, where I am and what I feel. Today I need to process what is happening, grieve, cry over what I want for my child and our community, alongside delight in what we are managing. This is not the time for life projects, not yet anyway. My experience taught me – crisis is a time for breathing, reframing, connecting and daily re-learning how to live on this rollercoaster. No doubt innovation and new treatments may develop during this time. But right now, all I aim for is to live past this, to come out the other end with sanity, love and good health.
I am sending hugs and love to everyone who is grieving the loss of lives or the life they’ve had or wished for. May this period be short and may we be able to connect with others and ourselves. May we be kind to ourselves and all humans, none left unaffected by the current world hurricane.
Until next time,
L. K. Bridgford
The Passover plate – all the thing I didn’t make or eat tonight. Image: A Passover plate with traditional foods laid in each section- celery, lettuce, egg, chicken, haroset, mustard.
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/
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.
Our modern life is full of stress. The world has always been violent. Life, conflict, and people are all complex and there are rarely easy or straight-forward ways to handle those.
One of the keys to managing it all, I believe, is kindness. I’ll start with an acknowledgement that my thoughts on the topic have been formed through years of vast world travel and reading. In particular, the Buddhist thinking about kindness has had a significant impact on my life. Studying psychology has helped me make sense of why these approaches are so helpful, and how we can incorporate them into our everyday life.
If you’re the kind of person who thinks about how to improve your life, you may find kindness helpful. Here is why I choose kindness, and why I believe you should too.
Self-kindness or self-compassion are extremely helpful tools in our materialistic, capitalistic society. I don’t know about you, but I grew up in an environment that puts individual success at a very high value, almost the highest value of all. With this pressure to achieve and perform, comes a pressure to criticise oneself as means for improvement. I was also blessed with a perfectionist personality trait, and in combination these lead to pretty self-destructive ways of thinking. Feelings that I’m not doing enough, or thinking that I’m not good enough, smart enough or fit enough used to be regular experiences. What self-compassion teaches us, is to replace these destructive, painful, and honestly, unhelpful ways of being, with kindness. Being kind to oneself certainly does notmean being slack or lazy. It means treating ourselves with compassion and love. So instead of “I’m not good enough” we can say “I’m doing the best I can in a tough situation”. Another way to explain this is trying to treat ourselves like we would treat our best friend. Would you say to a good friend that they’re stupid or not good enough for failing an exam? Or for not getting into the university course they wanted? Would you love or value them any less? Exactly. So you should give yourself the same treatment. The result of self-kindness is often content and calm, instead of anxiety and shame.
Kindness instead of judgment. We all like to think of ourselves as non-judgemental people. But few of us actually practice being kind to others instead of judging. Judging is a natural tendency a lot of us have (including me!). It’s purpose in our mind is to help us feel better about ourselves (if we judge someone else as comparatively lessthan us, we feel better about our own life). But the long-term implication of our judgements are substantial. They create alienation, for starter. As soon as you judge another person, they are an objectin your mind, rather than an equal, whole-rounded human. We also start thinking in stereotypes and make assumptionsabout people before we even realised. If you think you’re not guilty of this, notice your thoughts or feelings next time you see someone different to you. A different skin colour, accent, clothes style, language, body shape, disability status, the list goes on. Kindness instead of judgement comes with practice. Instead of judging, send in your mind love and kindnessto the other person. Try to think about the things you have in common. Trust me, we are all so much more alike than we’d like to think. If you’re stuck- use the basic assumption that a fellow human will inevitably have similar needsto yours, to be valued, loved, have shelter and clothing, to have purpose in their life, to feel connected. Choosing kindness means you are much more likely to connect with another person rather than alienate them. When we judge, we often feel anxious or isolated, simply because we are busy in our mind judging and comparing. When you practice kindness, you’ll notice feeling much lighter and more connected to another, even if you haven’t said a word!
You can help someone who is suffering without even realising it. So many of us feel too busy to be kind to people we don’t know. What we often forget is that so many people around are going through serious troubles that we are not aware of, and that simple acts of kindness can make a difference. Kindness helps us connect with others who may be suffering, helping both parties feel better. Do you ever stop to think about how many people on your train or on the road are experiencing heartbreak, disability (visible and invisible), serious illness, grieving, caring for a loved one who is physically or mentally ill, dealing with recent or childhood traumas? The list goes on. Choosing kindness means you send love and kindness to those who need it. A quick chat or hello will often do. I have often stopped during my commute to talk to people experiencing homelessness, to have a chat and learn about them. I find these conversations highly rewarding and heartwarming. You can probably come up with many more ideas.
Kindness connects us all. As you may have realised by now, I believe kindness have the potential to connect us. I have witnesses this first hand when travelling to lands in which foreign languages are spoken. People who practice kindness were able to welcome me and connect with me in such a meaningful way, without saying many words.
I strongly believe kindness is the start of our answer. We must practice it, towards ourselves, our neighbours, strangers. We must practice it towards people we may have negative views of. With time, those views are likely to shift, which benefits you, me and our entire society. We can work through many more challenges if we can see the humanity in each other, first and foremost.
This is not to say I am always kind or that I find it easy to do. When I practice though, I am flooded with contented joy.
