I made my coffee in the semi-dark this morning—reluctant to wake my marshmallow brain with artificial light. I misjudged the dosage and now I’m sitting up in bed, one curtain open so I can watch the wind rage across the garden, drinking coffee as weak and grey as the morning light.
Damn it, Substack. I just wrote the best comment...and then it disappeared. I'll try to recreate it.
Your writing is exquisite. Every time I read one of your essays I think to myself, "Miranda is brilliant." I miss you when you don't make your deadlines, and I totally understand the need to step back, especially when the outside world and our dysfunctional families get in the way. I'm going through something similar with my mother, a childlike narcissist who has no ability to discern the damage of her actions or take responsibility for them.
A couple of readers have recently mentioned the apparent omission of my mother from my stories. My mother has repeatedly asked, "When are you going to write about me?" I hold my tongue (sorry) when what I really want to say is "You don't want me to write about you." But I refrain, and change the subject as I try to come to some kind of peace with the mother I have. I know it will not work for me to share my stories of her from a place of venomous revenge, so I sit with my words, and wait, it seems it may not yet be time, though I compose them in my head every day. Tell your stories, Miranda. I'm so proud of you and so happy to call you my friend. Let's visit soon and please give that Pickle a big smooch for me.
I suspect your mother does want you to write about her. But she might not want you to write what you need to write.
I don't think venomous revenge would work for me either. I have to feel at least a *hint* of love when I write about anyone. I don't know if that always comes through to a reader. It might be hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and snark.
I'm curious. If you compose the stories in your head, could/would you ever commit them to the page, even if only for yourself? A couple of people have mentioned an anxiety about even writing the thing in a journal in case of discovery. I wonder how common that is. Or does writing for an audience change how we resolve these stories in our own minds?
Oh, she absolutely does want that. But if I wrote what she wanted to read about herself, I'd be changing genres and moving from memoir to pure fiction.
Can you tell we're in the midst of a rift?
I agree that I need that love (at least for myself) if I write the hard stuff about family and relationships. Nothing's black and white. There's love, there's disdain, dismay, and disappointment. And gratitude because without her, of course, there'd be no me, and I do possess some of her best qualities...and some of her worst. No blinders here.
To answer your question, I've written a lot about my mother, most things not worth publishing, but for my own use in processing my feelings and clarifying what's difficult to understand in this complex human who gave birth to me. You should see the volume of unsent responses I've written in reply to some of her most heinous communications. I could publish a thick chapbook with that material alone. I might be an interesting form!
I hate wind chimes and dream catchers too... I would happily join you for a windy walk on the beach Miranda, apologies for the late reading. said wind arrived here, wiped out the wifi (it never takes much on this hill) rattled the shutters loose from their holding hinges keeping me wide eyed and awake three nights, one after the other, the last being Sunday which meant a class of kids to face bleary eyed, tired to the point of tears and unable to concentrate on anything further than the absolute necessity not to fall asleep in front of them! I didn't but damn it was close!
All that, after I had congratulated myself on status 'up-to-date' on Friday with the thought of a weekend of blissful nothing, or even better, tile to write!
'Don't count your chickens...' says my husband, urgh...damn, I hate it when he's right!
Ok, gotta fly... son is looming which means he can't find his gym kit (brain) never worry about losing subs, they come and go but those that love what you write will stay and really, that's all that counts!
I think the wind rattled my brain loose along with your wifi, Susie. I'm only just catching up on comments from six days ago. Whoops! Is it the weekend yet? One day we'll really have to make that shared walk and cake a reality. Hugs to you for the week ahead. xx
Miranda I am with you, I have just sat down after finishing for the day, paid job, then unpaid wife and mother job, plus work emails needing urgent replies… the list is endless and I just don’t know how anybody keeps up here? I still have unanswered comments on the post before last, never mind those from my latest, and then there is all the posts that need to be read and commented on too… its like having another job! Fun but goodness, its exhausting.
And yes we must! Cake and walking and a jolly good natter! Something to look forward to that dosen’t involve anything resembling stress or work…
You have a great week too - hugs right back at you xxx
Hey, you! You know you were instrumental in my getting started writing again? That Arvon course and our continued if sporadic chats were Big. So happy you’re here. Xx
Aw yes, the wind chimes and the good ou'l gales that blow the cobwebs away. :) Enjoy Pickle's company...and I know too well...my mum passed away of one of the incurable ones this September. I miss the relationship but who knows in time I might cultivate healthier ones. :)
Nothing like a good storm to clear the air. I loved this post and can see you in my mind’s eye in bed with your coffee and Pickle, allowing your heart to speak. It was riveting!
Wow. This has left me a little lost for words Miranda. When I read about your mum’s cancer, having read your last post and wondered at your enduring patience, the word that came to my lips was a profanity. Family is complicated - what an understatement. My guilty confession is that I love wind chimes, although we don’t have any as my husband hates them 🙈 and I think that I would be taking them down in the storms - I love the gentle tinkling and clonking in the soft breeze, but the crazed clashing in a storm would be too much for me too! Enjoy your warm cosy cuddles and windswept walks with Pickle 💛 sending love for the weekend x
Oh dear. I hope I haven’t alienated the wind chime loving community with that comment. It’s really just a matter of scale. I don’t mind gentle ones but these are stonking great clanky things that drown out everything else including birdsong.
Another great read, I’m in total agreement about the weekends, they feel safe, like you have permission to ignore anything work related! Pleased too that by the sounds of it your Mum will be ok x
I’m glad to hear your mum will be okay, and I’m relieved to hear that you aren’t going to let anything get in the way of your beautiful words. There are so many ways to come into our own, but writing and sharing our truth feels like one of the most potent.
I adore your description of the storm coziness, and am glad you have Pickle beside you to ride out the weather. He seems implacable.
I also appreciate knowing I’m not the only one writing my posts in more-or-less real time. Thanks for that solidarity. 💜
Aw yes, the wind chimes and the good ou'l gales that blow the cobwebs away. :) Enjoy Pickle's company...and I know too well...my mum passed away of one of the incurable ones this September. I miss the relationship but who knows in time I might cultivate healthier ones. Thank you! :)
I’m so sorry about your mum, DD. That’s very recent. I imagine it must be quite raw still. Sending you love and cobweb-blowing winds from here on the south coast. X
I am drawn to stormy clouds and windy gusts. It makes me feel safe somehow. I'm with you/behind you 100% in exploring this difficult topic and putting words on the page. I'll be tuning in. Thank you for sharing.
It’s always wonderful to share space with you, Rhaine. Whether that’s in here our shared exploration of difficult topics, or in our meetings. I’m pleased to see your posts are now displaying in your profile. Now that I can see your content more easily, I’m going to do some serious Rhaine reading. Xx
I'm wary of that source of pride. It's usually followed by a thorough ego bashing. Being English, my default is to dismiss it before it has a chance to settle. I'm pleased you found something here to connect with, Rick. Good to have you here.
Thank you, Keith 🙂. We don’t have many mountains ‘round this way. Only a few rolling hills. I do love a good mountain though. If I didn’t love the sea so much, mountains would be my home of choice.
Cheers, Keith! I’m not sure “go fetch Pickle” was an instruction to me to get Pickle and take him for a walk—or if it was an instruction to Pickle! Either way, I fetched him, we walked, were blustered and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Oh and Pickle played a fetch of sorts with the globules of sea foam. All in all, a very satisfying walk!
Damn it, Substack. I just wrote the best comment...and then it disappeared. I'll try to recreate it.
Your writing is exquisite. Every time I read one of your essays I think to myself, "Miranda is brilliant." I miss you when you don't make your deadlines, and I totally understand the need to step back, especially when the outside world and our dysfunctional families get in the way. I'm going through something similar with my mother, a childlike narcissist who has no ability to discern the damage of her actions or take responsibility for them.
A couple of readers have recently mentioned the apparent omission of my mother from my stories. My mother has repeatedly asked, "When are you going to write about me?" I hold my tongue (sorry) when what I really want to say is "You don't want me to write about you." But I refrain, and change the subject as I try to come to some kind of peace with the mother I have. I know it will not work for me to share my stories of her from a place of venomous revenge, so I sit with my words, and wait, it seems it may not yet be time, though I compose them in my head every day. Tell your stories, Miranda. I'm so proud of you and so happy to call you my friend. Let's visit soon and please give that Pickle a big smooch for me.
You are too kind, Nan. 🥰
I suspect your mother does want you to write about her. But she might not want you to write what you need to write.
I don't think venomous revenge would work for me either. I have to feel at least a *hint* of love when I write about anyone. I don't know if that always comes through to a reader. It might be hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and snark.
I'm curious. If you compose the stories in your head, could/would you ever commit them to the page, even if only for yourself? A couple of people have mentioned an anxiety about even writing the thing in a journal in case of discovery. I wonder how common that is. Or does writing for an audience change how we resolve these stories in our own minds?
Pickle sends a big snuffle and a whinge. xx
Oh, she absolutely does want that. But if I wrote what she wanted to read about herself, I'd be changing genres and moving from memoir to pure fiction.
Can you tell we're in the midst of a rift?
I agree that I need that love (at least for myself) if I write the hard stuff about family and relationships. Nothing's black and white. There's love, there's disdain, dismay, and disappointment. And gratitude because without her, of course, there'd be no me, and I do possess some of her best qualities...and some of her worst. No blinders here.
To answer your question, I've written a lot about my mother, most things not worth publishing, but for my own use in processing my feelings and clarifying what's difficult to understand in this complex human who gave birth to me. You should see the volume of unsent responses I've written in reply to some of her most heinous communications. I could publish a thick chapbook with that material alone. I might be an interesting form!
MWAH! Let's talk. xo
Yes, let's talk. I'll drop you a message. xx
I hate wind chimes and dream catchers too... I would happily join you for a windy walk on the beach Miranda, apologies for the late reading. said wind arrived here, wiped out the wifi (it never takes much on this hill) rattled the shutters loose from their holding hinges keeping me wide eyed and awake three nights, one after the other, the last being Sunday which meant a class of kids to face bleary eyed, tired to the point of tears and unable to concentrate on anything further than the absolute necessity not to fall asleep in front of them! I didn't but damn it was close!
All that, after I had congratulated myself on status 'up-to-date' on Friday with the thought of a weekend of blissful nothing, or even better, tile to write!
'Don't count your chickens...' says my husband, urgh...damn, I hate it when he's right!
Ok, gotta fly... son is looming which means he can't find his gym kit (brain) never worry about losing subs, they come and go but those that love what you write will stay and really, that's all that counts!
A huge Wednesday hug xxx
I think the wind rattled my brain loose along with your wifi, Susie. I'm only just catching up on comments from six days ago. Whoops! Is it the weekend yet? One day we'll really have to make that shared walk and cake a reality. Hugs to you for the week ahead. xx
Miranda I am with you, I have just sat down after finishing for the day, paid job, then unpaid wife and mother job, plus work emails needing urgent replies… the list is endless and I just don’t know how anybody keeps up here? I still have unanswered comments on the post before last, never mind those from my latest, and then there is all the posts that need to be read and commented on too… its like having another job! Fun but goodness, its exhausting.
And yes we must! Cake and walking and a jolly good natter! Something to look forward to that dosen’t involve anything resembling stress or work…
You have a great week too - hugs right back at you xxx
It was stormy here, in more ways than one. You are inspiring me to write about the thorny family things
I hope you do, Julie. And I hope the storms have subsided for you today. Xx
I do love reading your posts. Sorry I haven't left comments for ages. I'm still with you and reading your beautiful words. xxx
I too love listening to the wild wind in the trees and a fresh walk by the sea to wake up the body and soul. Be brave keep writing. xx
Hey, you! You know you were instrumental in my getting started writing again? That Arvon course and our continued if sporadic chats were Big. So happy you’re here. Xx
Aw yes, the wind chimes and the good ou'l gales that blow the cobwebs away. :) Enjoy Pickle's company...and I know too well...my mum passed away of one of the incurable ones this September. I miss the relationship but who knows in time I might cultivate healthier ones. :)
Nothing like a good storm to clear the air. I loved this post and can see you in my mind’s eye in bed with your coffee and Pickle, allowing your heart to speak. It was riveting!
Thank you, Cathy. It was so lovely to connect with you yesterday. I look forward to many more Siren meetings. ❤️
Me too!!! ❤️
Wow. This has left me a little lost for words Miranda. When I read about your mum’s cancer, having read your last post and wondered at your enduring patience, the word that came to my lips was a profanity. Family is complicated - what an understatement. My guilty confession is that I love wind chimes, although we don’t have any as my husband hates them 🙈 and I think that I would be taking them down in the storms - I love the gentle tinkling and clonking in the soft breeze, but the crazed clashing in a storm would be too much for me too! Enjoy your warm cosy cuddles and windswept walks with Pickle 💛 sending love for the weekend x
Oh dear. I hope I haven’t alienated the wind chime loving community with that comment. It’s really just a matter of scale. I don’t mind gentle ones but these are stonking great clanky things that drown out everything else including birdsong.
And yes. Complicated is the word. Innit.
Not me!! you had me smiling and laughing and sympathising (as you always do!)
Another great read, I’m in total agreement about the weekends, they feel safe, like you have permission to ignore anything work related! Pleased too that by the sounds of it your Mum will be ok x
Thank YOU, Jo. I've just dropped you a message at your work email address. xx
I’m glad to hear your mum will be okay, and I’m relieved to hear that you aren’t going to let anything get in the way of your beautiful words. There are so many ways to come into our own, but writing and sharing our truth feels like one of the most potent.
I adore your description of the storm coziness, and am glad you have Pickle beside you to ride out the weather. He seems implacable.
I also appreciate knowing I’m not the only one writing my posts in more-or-less real time. Thanks for that solidarity. 💜
I don't often write and publish that rapidly. But when it works, it's fab. That Sunday morning silence can be magical. xx
Feels like a lot of us were taught to live small, please continue sharing your beautiful words, it is comforting and inspiring 💜
Too many of us, Rachel. Lovely to see you. 🙂
*subscribes harder*
Ha! Love it. x
Aw yes, the wind chimes and the good ou'l gales that blow the cobwebs away. :) Enjoy Pickle's company...and I know too well...my mum passed away of one of the incurable ones this September. I miss the relationship but who knows in time I might cultivate healthier ones. Thank you! :)
I’m so sorry about your mum, DD. That’s very recent. I imagine it must be quite raw still. Sending you love and cobweb-blowing winds from here on the south coast. X
Thank you :) greetings from West Flandern X
I am drawn to stormy clouds and windy gusts. It makes me feel safe somehow. I'm with you/behind you 100% in exploring this difficult topic and putting words on the page. I'll be tuning in. Thank you for sharing.
It’s always wonderful to share space with you, Rhaine. Whether that’s in here our shared exploration of difficult topics, or in our meetings. I’m pleased to see your posts are now displaying in your profile. Now that I can see your content more easily, I’m going to do some serious Rhaine reading. Xx
I'm wary of that source of pride. It's usually followed by a thorough ego bashing. Being English, my default is to dismiss it before it has a chance to settle. I'm pleased you found something here to connect with, Rick. Good to have you here.
Thank you, Keith 🙂. We don’t have many mountains ‘round this way. Only a few rolling hills. I do love a good mountain though. If I didn’t love the sea so much, mountains would be my home of choice.
Cheers, Keith! I’m not sure “go fetch Pickle” was an instruction to me to get Pickle and take him for a walk—or if it was an instruction to Pickle! Either way, I fetched him, we walked, were blustered and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Oh and Pickle played a fetch of sorts with the globules of sea foam. All in all, a very satisfying walk!