There are many kinds of families but in this blog I am addressing fathers and one or two things that may be important to them. I’m writing about this because I have noticed that sometimes fathers are confused about their role in a new family.
Recently I have been involved in a discussion about difficult choices.
Then, in a great book I am reading by Henning Mankell called 'Quicksand: What it means to be a human being', I read this:
Quite often, people come to psychotherapy and say: Oh, I don’t want to talk about my childhood and my parents and all that. I know you therapists like to talk about that but I don’t think it’s relevant. I had wonderful parents and a very happy childhood.
The thing is, they’ve been working on this for months. They’ve collected enough tiny clothes for quintuplets and they have a total of 15 rattles in various guises, along with a variety of things that beep, squeak and have flashing lights. The room has been redecorated according to the expected gender, and there are shelves of toys and walls splattered with decals. There is a row of tiny but very cute shoes although the owner won’t be walking for about a year. But who can resist little leather shoes that look like they belong to an elf?
Although the song claims otherwise, having a baby is very often NOT a lovely way of saying how much you love someone. Quite often it is an accident, or an act of loneliness – the desire to be a family because that might make everything all right. It’s a push, a biological one, a cultural one, a family one. Lots of reasons which are usually complex and, for many, not really thought about.
Slow down. Calm down. Don’t worry. Don’t hurry. Trust the process. (Alexandra Stoddard)
You may or may not have noticed that worrying about things does not change the outcome. What it does do is increase your heart rate and your anxiety level (with all sorts of physical sequelae), and close down small chinks of light that may remain, as well as clouding your ability to think clearly.
OK. So here is another story. This one is called Seven Ravens. It is about not knowing what you know.
Once upon a time (well, where did you expect to begin?), many aeons before you were a glint in your father’s eye and a seed in your mother’s belly, a man and a woman lived and loved together and produced seven sons. They knew the worth of this gift, of course. Who would not? But nonetheless they longed for a daughter. Why do we always want what we do not have? Why do we not sit with joy and gratitude for the gifts we already possess?
There are many versions of this story and this one is about how women may use each other for good or ill.
A young woman had lost her mother early in life and so was raised by her father deep in the forest (as he was a hunter by trade). There came a time when she thought she would go out into the world and see how she got on. She was a pretty young woman and likeable, being friendly and not possessed of jealousy or guile.
I find I am not writing to you as often. I apologise. A blog is a difficult thing because mostly there is no response. I guess that means I am not striking a chord for you. I don’t really know who you are. Again I feel that perhaps I should…and I apologise.