Ahhh Miranda. How I love your writing. All of the complexities and messiness of feelings written with such beauty and grace.
That feeling of hyper-vigilance when the phone rings - ooof. I know that feeling…not from my mum but it’s a feeling that goes back further than I can remember. A fear that “I’m in trouble.”
Love, love, love your Afterword. My God what a gift you have of holding up a mirror to the reader’s life through your own authentic expressions. 💫🪄🫶🏻✨🗝️
Thank YOU, Chris. That’s probably the greatest compliment you could give. I don’t know which element particularly made you feel less alone, but I’m so pleased it helped in some way. You’re not alone. And thank you for the compliment on the writing. It means a great deal coming from you. ❤️
Miranda! I couldn’t quite believe your post ‘Insomnia’ popped up while I too am writing my own of the same title (I’ll change it) with the same bloody quote..! I’ll try to find another… it is so well fitting though - damn!!
No matter - I am so glad to see you back here writing about all the messiness of life, in your wonderful and so elegantly quirky style - so many words here ring loudly - though not as a cause of having difficult parents - mine had their moments but damn, when I compare them to others, they were a breeze.
This whole paragraph, the fractured night open-eyed paralysis of the night stare…
« This is not a depression. It’s not that old weighty absence of feeling that once pulled me deep into its fog and held me captive for months on end. This is just what happens every time I wake at this hour. A dullness that sits just to the left of the centre of my chest. A flutter of anxiety that has no discernible origin or cause, other than the futility of this hour that never, not even on the clearest of midsummer nights, ever sees sunlight. »
You got it, I’ve been there, every day this week… xx
There must be something in the ether, Susie. How strange. I don't think you should re-title or change the quote though. If it's right for your piece, it's still right even if another post on the same theme exists. I look forward to reading your version of the same experience.
My sleepless nights seem to be more frequent these days. I don't think it's always because of anything specific that's happened during the day. It just seems to be my pattern for the moment. I try not to get too wound up by it, but it is annoying. Is there anything particular keeping you awake? Maybe we should start a Substack Insomniacs group - night time readings and conversations by moonlight?
Miranda, this really resonated with me, as a fellow insomniac and caring for a difficult aging mother. Let me tell you that I have thought and felt the same things you write about here. I just couldn't have ever expressed them as well ( <- I am literally too tired to think of a better word than "well" !) as you have.
I feel a little less alone after reading your piece, so thanks 🙏🏻
Hi, Andrea. For a long time I thought there was something fundamentally wrong with me that I’d think these things. It’s only in the last 10+ years, since I started talking about it with people who’ve had similar experiences, that I realised I’m not alone.
I’m so grateful for those people. I’m grateful too to be able to pass on a little of that “less alone” feeling to others. Thank you for being here. xx
Miranda. You are a gifted writer. I felt every piece of this essay, and the afterword was powerful as well. I have one of those "challenging" parents, and had two, when my father was still alive. My mother keeps asking me, "When are you going to write about me? You write about your father all the time." I quickly direct her away from that question, that's on my generous days. But on my not so generous days, I do the same. The difference? On my not-so-generous days, I want to answer her with my truth. The answer would be, "You really don't want me to do that. Trust me." At 63, (she's almost 86) I'm still working through all this. It's hard. I've not reached the stage of radical acceptance that I aspire to. I'm still deeply in my grief that I never had, nor ever will have, the mother I deserved. Keep writing about it. It's good medicine. I love the image of the grey rock, too. I'm going to try that one on. Whenever I let my colors shine through, she's always there to squash the good feelings. Sadly, it's something I can count on.
Thank you, Nan. That's so kind of you to say. I was thinking that the afterword could be a stand alone piece in itself. But I'm still navigating this multiple voices in one space thing. I'm aware of this landing in people's email inboxes without context and it being a bit, ummm, aggressive(?) without context. Especially when my usual approach is more measured and/or offering some form of guidance. I'm feeling my way through it ...
Your observations about your mother make me laugh because she sounds so similar to mine. She came to visit me last summer. On my birthday. She didn't wish me a happy birthday once, but she did get very cross when I asked why she was wearing 3D glasses in place of sunglasses. She took them off and it was only when I pointed it out that she saw the large "3D stamped in white on the black frame.
She was so angry that I'd pointed out something she hadn't realised that she spat at me "I bet you put this in your book!"
Firstly - what book? Secondly, yeah, I probably will. But I didn't say either of those things to her. I just said "Maybe. But not until you're dead." Not my proudest moment. And definitely one when my grey rock persona was not standing up well.
Keep your colours shining, Nan! You're a rainbow of joy. You really are. xx
Oh, I think we should have a Zoom or something real time at some point. We'd probably really make each other laugh a lot! Mothers. Crazy mothers. Disappointing mothers. I like to think that I would have been a better one than the one I was given. I know she did a lot of things right. BUT, I opted out of motherhood for many reasons, but one of them was that I was afraid I would fuck-up whatever child I might have because I wasn't parented well. As far as the afterword goes, I wasn't sure that it would work when I saw that you'd done that, but when I read it, I understood why, and I do think it worked. AND you could definitely work it into a larger essay. There's a lot of wisdom there. I think you're an extraordinary talent. But really, we should talk! And thanks for the lovely compliment. It's taken a lot of time and inner work to get to the place I'm at, and the work won't end. I think this is just part of living a well-examined life. It never ends, I'm grateful to know that. I'm going to send you a note in a chat. An example of my mother's idea of support. It's just too, too, too ick for public consumption, but I have a feeling you'll get it. Yeah. xoxo
There must be some psychological reason why that time of the morning is so deadly. I don’t think it’s just tiredness because even if I don’t get back to sleep and am exhausted, the 3am mood always lifts with daylight.
Speaking of lifted moods, I’m so pleased you’ve made your way onto Substack, Karen! xx
“Both can be true” 🙏🏻 I resonate so much with your writing, after a gruelling weekend with the “left behind” parent who’s constant simmering cauldron of anger, frustration, fear, loneliness and fervent belief they’re older than they are had stretched my emotional and physical self to the point of exhaustion.
Your writing is, as ever, so eloquent and full of grace, my darling ~ thank you for sharing with us 🙏🏻
I dread to think how this is going to play out when one of my parents is no longer here, Callie. They don’t even live together. They’ve been legally separated for 40 years but have always been dysfunctionally codependent. After living independently of each other for four decades, they recently bought houses next door to each other. It’s a whole new pot of weirdness to navigate. I should probably write about it but I’m still trying to figure it out.
I hope you’re looking after yourself in those interactions, lovely. You’ve got enough on your own health plate to pay attention to. Xx
I really enjoyed listening to you read this piece and, even more, all the voices within it--the daughters, young and wiser, the explorer, and the rebel at the end. And now I need to go back and read it so I can spend a little more time with 'Little Plant Pot' and some of your other phrases.
Hi, Beth! Thank you so much. I'll try to make the readings a regular thing although it's very odd listening to my own voice. I suspect younger generations who were brought up broadcasting their lives on video find it much easier. (Maybe that's a subject for a future post?)
I recognised so much in this, thank you Miranda, so good to read - and hear - your words! I very much felt I was there with you. I related to the after word too, it's such a tricky balance isn't it? I'm trying to be more honest and open in my writing and it's a strange mix of liberation and crushing panic.
Liberating panic? Sounds like an oxymoron but also so much my every day experience. I LOVED your latest piece, Cat. I loved the honesty and the observations of your own inner workings. Please keep doing it. xx
I like that, it is a liberating panic - hoping to have a bit more liberation and bit less panic as time goes on but we;ll see!! ;) And thank you, that means a lot. I didn't think it was my strongest piece, but wanted to share something from the day while it was fresh. I wrote a lot after the first experience of returning, and I'm umming and ahhing about sharing it. Either way, I really appreciate your feedback, thank you! xx
This is brilliant Miranda! I am so glad you shared it, even though there was a bit of faffing beforehand as you said. Gosh does this ever feel so familiar. The hypervigilance, but putting on the armour, preparing to leap over the crocodile pile. Thank you for putting words to the almost imperceptible nuances that we constantly have to be aware of and navigate in these difficult relationships. I look forward to reading more of your work. You have a new subscriber here. ☺️
Hey, Carolyn! So good to see you here--a fellow hypervigilante. Is that a word? It is now. Thank you for the pre-publishing encouragement too. I really do appreciate it. I'm going to pop over to your publication now for a little wander. xx
So lovely to meet you Miranda - us children of narcs need to stick together. Thank you so much for popping over. Happy to have had a little visit in your corner. Looking forward to reading more. ☺️💞
I came to your post because I saw something you wrote on Nan’s note
I feel very lucky to find you. I resonate very much with your writing, especially your afterword.
When I read that, I thought this could be its own piece. It’s very similar to a piece that I wrote.
Both of my parents are not alive right now
Insomnia is new for me and I don’t have it all the time especially if I get to do a really good physical workout and get out in nature.
It comes more from the lifestyle. I’m gifted to live because of my daughters with disabilities.
This is my 67th year and I know you don’t want advice, but I wonder if you’re having some menopausal symptoms or perimenopause.
My story around this is what I call walking through a side door, perhaps comparable to your voices. A way to learn more about myself and become a better writer.
When I get back to my computer desk, I’m going to subscribe
Oh my goodness, yes! I’ll happily accept that observation, Prajna. I do think I am in that stage although I have yet to have it confirmed. It’s on my list of self-care tasks that I really need to do something about. But getting a GP appointment these days is near impossible. It feels like a Herculean task. Especially with the (probably related) brain fog that seems to rule my days.
I love the NHS and all it stands for, but it’s a much depleted service these days.
Thank you so much for your kind words. The afterword will probably become a stand alone piece at some point. I was unsure whether to include it here but this piece is the first I’ve published for a while and a little different to my usual voice so I felt it offered some kind of explanation for that.
I’d love to read your piece your mentioned. Would you mind adding a link to it here? Xx
What a gift to see your letter in my inbox Miranda. You’d writing is nothing short of brilliant. Every word had me completely inside your story. I’ve missed it. This is the writing that I want to read. These stories of real life, real people. Who will tell our stories if we don’t?
Aaah, what a lovely comment, Emily! Thank you. I’m hoping to get back into the Substack groove and post weekly (or every two weeks at least). I’ve missed it.
This is so utterly relatable, not because I’ve been through similar with my parents (they both died by age 60), but because it’s just so real and human. I ached and raged and second-guessed myself right along with you.
Now for my own bit of “maybe I’m an ugly monster for thinking this?”: I sometimes feel relieved that I never had to shepherd my parents into old age, because my mother in particular would not have made it easy. (This too could by why your words are so relatable to me).
Of course, losing them by 60 was too young, for both them and for me, and so I wouldn’t wish for that again, exactly. But life will do what it does anyway, and so relief is a feeling I have around this, especially when I hear tales of my contemporaries and their struggles caring for aging parents.
I get it, Amy. And I’ll admit to another not-nice thought that appears periodically. If I’d lost my mother when I was young, I would probably never have reached the point where I’d separated enough to see her behaviour as clearly as I do now. I would probably be a very different person.
In a way, she did me a favour the time she completely lost her shit with me and told me I’d ruined her life and my brother’s ( I wrote about this in an earlier post called “Twisted Roots”). Her behaviour then was such an extreme version of what had confused me all my life that it suddenly made the rest of my life with her make sense. It was the first time I realised it wasn’t all my fault.
Now, she’s determined to do old age alone. She doesn’t want help. In the past, she told me she didn’t want to be reliant on anyone when she got older—except to end things when she couldn’t cope. I was quite clear that’s not something I’ll help her with. So here we are. There are no solutions. None she’d accept from anyone else anyway.
Ahhh Miranda. How I love your writing. All of the complexities and messiness of feelings written with such beauty and grace.
That feeling of hyper-vigilance when the phone rings - ooof. I know that feeling…not from my mum but it’s a feeling that goes back further than I can remember. A fear that “I’m in trouble.”
Love, love, love your Afterword. My God what a gift you have of holding up a mirror to the reader’s life through your own authentic expressions. 💫🪄🫶🏻✨🗝️
You've made my day, Suzy. Thank you.
Thank YOU, Miranda for your absolute magic!🪄 ✨
What an amazing essay. Thank you, Miranda, for making me feel a little less alone today. You are a truly wonderful writer.
Thank YOU, Chris. That’s probably the greatest compliment you could give. I don’t know which element particularly made you feel less alone, but I’m so pleased it helped in some way. You’re not alone. And thank you for the compliment on the writing. It means a great deal coming from you. ❤️
Miranda! I couldn’t quite believe your post ‘Insomnia’ popped up while I too am writing my own of the same title (I’ll change it) with the same bloody quote..! I’ll try to find another… it is so well fitting though - damn!!
No matter - I am so glad to see you back here writing about all the messiness of life, in your wonderful and so elegantly quirky style - so many words here ring loudly - though not as a cause of having difficult parents - mine had their moments but damn, when I compare them to others, they were a breeze.
This whole paragraph, the fractured night open-eyed paralysis of the night stare…
« This is not a depression. It’s not that old weighty absence of feeling that once pulled me deep into its fog and held me captive for months on end. This is just what happens every time I wake at this hour. A dullness that sits just to the left of the centre of my chest. A flutter of anxiety that has no discernible origin or cause, other than the futility of this hour that never, not even on the clearest of midsummer nights, ever sees sunlight. »
You got it, I’ve been there, every day this week… xx
There must be something in the ether, Susie. How strange. I don't think you should re-title or change the quote though. If it's right for your piece, it's still right even if another post on the same theme exists. I look forward to reading your version of the same experience.
My sleepless nights seem to be more frequent these days. I don't think it's always because of anything specific that's happened during the day. It just seems to be my pattern for the moment. I try not to get too wound up by it, but it is annoying. Is there anything particular keeping you awake? Maybe we should start a Substack Insomniacs group - night time readings and conversations by moonlight?
Miranda, this really resonated with me, as a fellow insomniac and caring for a difficult aging mother. Let me tell you that I have thought and felt the same things you write about here. I just couldn't have ever expressed them as well ( <- I am literally too tired to think of a better word than "well" !) as you have.
I feel a little less alone after reading your piece, so thanks 🙏🏻
Hi, Andrea. For a long time I thought there was something fundamentally wrong with me that I’d think these things. It’s only in the last 10+ years, since I started talking about it with people who’ve had similar experiences, that I realised I’m not alone.
I’m so grateful for those people. I’m grateful too to be able to pass on a little of that “less alone” feeling to others. Thank you for being here. xx
Miranda. You are a gifted writer. I felt every piece of this essay, and the afterword was powerful as well. I have one of those "challenging" parents, and had two, when my father was still alive. My mother keeps asking me, "When are you going to write about me? You write about your father all the time." I quickly direct her away from that question, that's on my generous days. But on my not so generous days, I do the same. The difference? On my not-so-generous days, I want to answer her with my truth. The answer would be, "You really don't want me to do that. Trust me." At 63, (she's almost 86) I'm still working through all this. It's hard. I've not reached the stage of radical acceptance that I aspire to. I'm still deeply in my grief that I never had, nor ever will have, the mother I deserved. Keep writing about it. It's good medicine. I love the image of the grey rock, too. I'm going to try that one on. Whenever I let my colors shine through, she's always there to squash the good feelings. Sadly, it's something I can count on.
Thank you, Nan. That's so kind of you to say. I was thinking that the afterword could be a stand alone piece in itself. But I'm still navigating this multiple voices in one space thing. I'm aware of this landing in people's email inboxes without context and it being a bit, ummm, aggressive(?) without context. Especially when my usual approach is more measured and/or offering some form of guidance. I'm feeling my way through it ...
Your observations about your mother make me laugh because she sounds so similar to mine. She came to visit me last summer. On my birthday. She didn't wish me a happy birthday once, but she did get very cross when I asked why she was wearing 3D glasses in place of sunglasses. She took them off and it was only when I pointed it out that she saw the large "3D stamped in white on the black frame.
She was so angry that I'd pointed out something she hadn't realised that she spat at me "I bet you put this in your book!"
Firstly - what book? Secondly, yeah, I probably will. But I didn't say either of those things to her. I just said "Maybe. But not until you're dead." Not my proudest moment. And definitely one when my grey rock persona was not standing up well.
Keep your colours shining, Nan! You're a rainbow of joy. You really are. xx
Oh, I think we should have a Zoom or something real time at some point. We'd probably really make each other laugh a lot! Mothers. Crazy mothers. Disappointing mothers. I like to think that I would have been a better one than the one I was given. I know she did a lot of things right. BUT, I opted out of motherhood for many reasons, but one of them was that I was afraid I would fuck-up whatever child I might have because I wasn't parented well. As far as the afterword goes, I wasn't sure that it would work when I saw that you'd done that, but when I read it, I understood why, and I do think it worked. AND you could definitely work it into a larger essay. There's a lot of wisdom there. I think you're an extraordinary talent. But really, we should talk! And thanks for the lovely compliment. It's taken a lot of time and inner work to get to the place I'm at, and the work won't end. I think this is just part of living a well-examined life. It never ends, I'm grateful to know that. I'm going to send you a note in a chat. An example of my mother's idea of support. It's just too, too, too ick for public consumption, but I have a feeling you'll get it. Yeah. xoxo
“A well examined life”. That’s it exactly, Nan. That feels like the title for a future post … maybe we should do a two-hander on that theme?
Oh that would be amazing! Let’s discuss. xoxo
You write so well, and oh yes those slightly shocking feelings I know well, especially at 3am when things feel negatively distorted
There must be some psychological reason why that time of the morning is so deadly. I don’t think it’s just tiredness because even if I don’t get back to sleep and am exhausted, the 3am mood always lifts with daylight.
Speaking of lifted moods, I’m so pleased you’ve made your way onto Substack, Karen! xx
“Both can be true” 🙏🏻 I resonate so much with your writing, after a gruelling weekend with the “left behind” parent who’s constant simmering cauldron of anger, frustration, fear, loneliness and fervent belief they’re older than they are had stretched my emotional and physical self to the point of exhaustion.
Your writing is, as ever, so eloquent and full of grace, my darling ~ thank you for sharing with us 🙏🏻
I dread to think how this is going to play out when one of my parents is no longer here, Callie. They don’t even live together. They’ve been legally separated for 40 years but have always been dysfunctionally codependent. After living independently of each other for four decades, they recently bought houses next door to each other. It’s a whole new pot of weirdness to navigate. I should probably write about it but I’m still trying to figure it out.
I hope you’re looking after yourself in those interactions, lovely. You’ve got enough on your own health plate to pay attention to. Xx
I really enjoyed listening to you read this piece and, even more, all the voices within it--the daughters, young and wiser, the explorer, and the rebel at the end. And now I need to go back and read it so I can spend a little more time with 'Little Plant Pot' and some of your other phrases.
Hi, Beth! Thank you so much. I'll try to make the readings a regular thing although it's very odd listening to my own voice. I suspect younger generations who were brought up broadcasting their lives on video find it much easier. (Maybe that's a subject for a future post?)
I recognised so much in this, thank you Miranda, so good to read - and hear - your words! I very much felt I was there with you. I related to the after word too, it's such a tricky balance isn't it? I'm trying to be more honest and open in my writing and it's a strange mix of liberation and crushing panic.
Liberating panic? Sounds like an oxymoron but also so much my every day experience. I LOVED your latest piece, Cat. I loved the honesty and the observations of your own inner workings. Please keep doing it. xx
I like that, it is a liberating panic - hoping to have a bit more liberation and bit less panic as time goes on but we;ll see!! ;) And thank you, that means a lot. I didn't think it was my strongest piece, but wanted to share something from the day while it was fresh. I wrote a lot after the first experience of returning, and I'm umming and ahhing about sharing it. Either way, I really appreciate your feedback, thank you! xx
This is brilliant Miranda! I am so glad you shared it, even though there was a bit of faffing beforehand as you said. Gosh does this ever feel so familiar. The hypervigilance, but putting on the armour, preparing to leap over the crocodile pile. Thank you for putting words to the almost imperceptible nuances that we constantly have to be aware of and navigate in these difficult relationships. I look forward to reading more of your work. You have a new subscriber here. ☺️
Hey, Carolyn! So good to see you here--a fellow hypervigilante. Is that a word? It is now. Thank you for the pre-publishing encouragement too. I really do appreciate it. I'm going to pop over to your publication now for a little wander. xx
So lovely to meet you Miranda - us children of narcs need to stick together. Thank you so much for popping over. Happy to have had a little visit in your corner. Looking forward to reading more. ☺️💞
Same, Carolyn. ❤️
Hello Miranda
I came to your post because I saw something you wrote on Nan’s note
I feel very lucky to find you. I resonate very much with your writing, especially your afterword.
When I read that, I thought this could be its own piece. It’s very similar to a piece that I wrote.
Both of my parents are not alive right now
Insomnia is new for me and I don’t have it all the time especially if I get to do a really good physical workout and get out in nature.
It comes more from the lifestyle. I’m gifted to live because of my daughters with disabilities.
This is my 67th year and I know you don’t want advice, but I wonder if you’re having some menopausal symptoms or perimenopause.
My story around this is what I call walking through a side door, perhaps comparable to your voices. A way to learn more about myself and become a better writer.
When I get back to my computer desk, I’m going to subscribe
Good wishes
Oh my goodness, yes! I’ll happily accept that observation, Prajna. I do think I am in that stage although I have yet to have it confirmed. It’s on my list of self-care tasks that I really need to do something about. But getting a GP appointment these days is near impossible. It feels like a Herculean task. Especially with the (probably related) brain fog that seems to rule my days.
I love the NHS and all it stands for, but it’s a much depleted service these days.
Thank you so much for your kind words. The afterword will probably become a stand alone piece at some point. I was unsure whether to include it here but this piece is the first I’ve published for a while and a little different to my usual voice so I felt it offered some kind of explanation for that.
I’d love to read your piece your mentioned. Would you mind adding a link to it here? Xx
What a gift to see your letter in my inbox Miranda. You’d writing is nothing short of brilliant. Every word had me completely inside your story. I’ve missed it. This is the writing that I want to read. These stories of real life, real people. Who will tell our stories if we don’t?
Aaah, what a lovely comment, Emily! Thank you. I’m hoping to get back into the Substack groove and post weekly (or every two weeks at least). I’ve missed it.
This is so utterly relatable, not because I’ve been through similar with my parents (they both died by age 60), but because it’s just so real and human. I ached and raged and second-guessed myself right along with you.
Now for my own bit of “maybe I’m an ugly monster for thinking this?”: I sometimes feel relieved that I never had to shepherd my parents into old age, because my mother in particular would not have made it easy. (This too could by why your words are so relatable to me).
Of course, losing them by 60 was too young, for both them and for me, and so I wouldn’t wish for that again, exactly. But life will do what it does anyway, and so relief is a feeling I have around this, especially when I hear tales of my contemporaries and their struggles caring for aging parents.
I get it, Amy. And I’ll admit to another not-nice thought that appears periodically. If I’d lost my mother when I was young, I would probably never have reached the point where I’d separated enough to see her behaviour as clearly as I do now. I would probably be a very different person.
In a way, she did me a favour the time she completely lost her shit with me and told me I’d ruined her life and my brother’s ( I wrote about this in an earlier post called “Twisted Roots”). Her behaviour then was such an extreme version of what had confused me all my life that it suddenly made the rest of my life with her make sense. It was the first time I realised it wasn’t all my fault.
Now, she’s determined to do old age alone. She doesn’t want help. In the past, she told me she didn’t want to be reliant on anyone when she got older—except to end things when she couldn’t cope. I was quite clear that’s not something I’ll help her with. So here we are. There are no solutions. None she’d accept from anyone else anyway.
Lovely to touch base with you again, Amy. Xx
A captivating read, written exquisitely.
Thank you, Hayley. x
Thank you! I'm pleased it resonated with you.