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Donnerstag, 9. Juli 2020
Vermissen: Mein "Wer wird Millionär" Allzweck Joker
anna mestisa, 20:52h
Nachdem ich die Dokumentation "The Kingmaker" 2019 von Lauren Greenfield gesehen und mich mit meinem Freund ein bisschen darüber ausgetauscht habe, frage ich mich: Was hätte mein Vater dazu zu sagen? Welches Hintergrund Wissen und Geschichtskenntnisse zum Thema hatte mein Vater?
Mit meinem Vater über solche Themen zu sprechen war wie privater Unterricht an meine Interessen angepasst. Mein Vater war meine Wissensquelle Nummer eins. Er wäre mein Mann für alle drei Joker bei der Sendung "Wer wird Millionär?". Er war mein Gandalf, mein Meister Joda und mein Maester Aemon in einem. Natürlich war sein Wissen in bestimmten Themengebieten dichter und verlässlicher als bei anderen. Aber er hat mir sehr viel beigebracht und hat leider diesen Stellenwert in meinem Leben am Ende seines Lebens völlig verdrängt und unterschätzt. Vielleicht habe ich es ihn auch die letzten Jahre weniger spüren lassen. Die Ungewissheit darüber und eine gewisser Rest an schlechtem Gewissen bleiben.
Er fehlt mir am meisten bei diesen banalen kleinen Freuden des Alltags wie einer Diskussion.
12.06.2020
Bild: Aris Sfakianakis | unsplash.com
Mit meinem Vater über solche Themen zu sprechen war wie privater Unterricht an meine Interessen angepasst. Mein Vater war meine Wissensquelle Nummer eins. Er wäre mein Mann für alle drei Joker bei der Sendung "Wer wird Millionär?". Er war mein Gandalf, mein Meister Joda und mein Maester Aemon in einem. Natürlich war sein Wissen in bestimmten Themengebieten dichter und verlässlicher als bei anderen. Aber er hat mir sehr viel beigebracht und hat leider diesen Stellenwert in meinem Leben am Ende seines Lebens völlig verdrängt und unterschätzt. Vielleicht habe ich es ihn auch die letzten Jahre weniger spüren lassen. Die Ungewissheit darüber und eine gewisser Rest an schlechtem Gewissen bleiben.
Er fehlt mir am meisten bei diesen banalen kleinen Freuden des Alltags wie einer Diskussion.
12.06.2020
Bild: Aris Sfakianakis | unsplash.com
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Montag, 6. Juli 2020
How do I give my daughter what my mother gave me?
anna mestisa, 20:34h
by Liz Climo
10 years after my mom died, my daughter was born. I thought I'd reached the bottom of my grief. I was wrong. […]
She left us too soon, but she left her children with the memory of being loved unconditionally. I realized the best way to honor her memory was to find a way to love myself that much, even in her absence. What an incredible gift that has been.
Ten years after she died, I welcomed my own child into the world. I thought I'd reached the bottom of my grief, but found I was actually sitting on a mountain of feelings I didn't even realize were there. Initially, I was just angry. Angry that this new person would never get to know her wonderful grandmother. Angry that I couldn't pick up the phone and ask my mom how she handled this or that. I wanted her to say to me, "You used to do that, too! You were such a pain in the ass." I missed her levity, I missed her love. I just missed her.
When I was done feeling sorry for myself, I started feeling something new: panic. How do I give my daughter what my mom managed to give me? Can I? My mom was so much fun. She'd sing with us, and dance with us, and bake with us, and laugh with us. Am I fun? Sometimes I think I am. I'm usually the first person on the dance floor, but I'm also the first person to leave the party. I hate baking; it's too messy. I hate a messy house and I can't cope with chaos. Our house growing up was the definition of chaos: always filled with people, and always a disaster. As a kid, I loved that. It felt so warm, easygoing and comfortable. Could I be easygoing like that, or does our house feel sterile? Do I have the warmth she had — the warmth that made me feel so loved? Will my daughter feel as loved as I did? […]
Like me, I'm sure she had her doubts about whether she was going to screw her kids up somehow. Still, to me, she was perfect, and the reason for that was simple: She made a conscious choice to get to know me, to connect with me, and to always make me feel safe and loved. That's it. In a way, it's the easiest thing in the world to do as a parent, but on the other hand, it's easy to forget since we put so much pressure on ourselves to do everything right all the time.
I'm not sure if it's having a child of my own or just getting older and learning more about myself, but every day I feel like I'm getting to know my mom in a new way. I still miss her so much, but I feel like she's still here with me. When my daughter is kind, I know that in a way her kindness started with my mom. She's always the first to notice when another person feels sad, or scared, or lonely, and makes sure that person feels seen, just like her grandma did.[….]
I see all of these things in myself, and in my daughter — this lively, loving, charismatic little girl — and think to myself, "That's mom." I realize this, and I can almost see my mom smiling as if she were standing right there with me. And I smile too.
from: Liz Climo , Mothering without my mom: How do I give my daughter what my mother gave me? 10.5.2020, © 2019 Salon.com, LLC
Bild: MateoGranado | pixabay.com
10 years after my mom died, my daughter was born. I thought I'd reached the bottom of my grief. I was wrong. […]
She left us too soon, but she left her children with the memory of being loved unconditionally. I realized the best way to honor her memory was to find a way to love myself that much, even in her absence. What an incredible gift that has been.
Ten years after she died, I welcomed my own child into the world. I thought I'd reached the bottom of my grief, but found I was actually sitting on a mountain of feelings I didn't even realize were there. Initially, I was just angry. Angry that this new person would never get to know her wonderful grandmother. Angry that I couldn't pick up the phone and ask my mom how she handled this or that. I wanted her to say to me, "You used to do that, too! You were such a pain in the ass." I missed her levity, I missed her love. I just missed her.
When I was done feeling sorry for myself, I started feeling something new: panic. How do I give my daughter what my mom managed to give me? Can I? My mom was so much fun. She'd sing with us, and dance with us, and bake with us, and laugh with us. Am I fun? Sometimes I think I am. I'm usually the first person on the dance floor, but I'm also the first person to leave the party. I hate baking; it's too messy. I hate a messy house and I can't cope with chaos. Our house growing up was the definition of chaos: always filled with people, and always a disaster. As a kid, I loved that. It felt so warm, easygoing and comfortable. Could I be easygoing like that, or does our house feel sterile? Do I have the warmth she had — the warmth that made me feel so loved? Will my daughter feel as loved as I did? […]
Like me, I'm sure she had her doubts about whether she was going to screw her kids up somehow. Still, to me, she was perfect, and the reason for that was simple: She made a conscious choice to get to know me, to connect with me, and to always make me feel safe and loved. That's it. In a way, it's the easiest thing in the world to do as a parent, but on the other hand, it's easy to forget since we put so much pressure on ourselves to do everything right all the time.
I'm not sure if it's having a child of my own or just getting older and learning more about myself, but every day I feel like I'm getting to know my mom in a new way. I still miss her so much, but I feel like she's still here with me. When my daughter is kind, I know that in a way her kindness started with my mom. She's always the first to notice when another person feels sad, or scared, or lonely, and makes sure that person feels seen, just like her grandma did.[….]
I see all of these things in myself, and in my daughter — this lively, loving, charismatic little girl — and think to myself, "That's mom." I realize this, and I can almost see my mom smiling as if she were standing right there with me. And I smile too.
from: Liz Climo , Mothering without my mom: How do I give my daughter what my mother gave me? 10.5.2020, © 2019 Salon.com, LLC
Bild: MateoGranado | pixabay.com
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Dienstag, 23. Juni 2020
Was ein mentales Tief sich mit der Grippe teilt
anna mestisa, 20:37h
Von Twitteruserin @Devamalia12
"Wenn deine bessere Hälfte eine Mental schlechte/n/s Tag/Woche/Jahr/oder ähnliches hat und du nicht weiß wie du helfen kannst, behandle sie als ob sie die Grippe haben.
Kümmere dich um sie, besorg ihr liebstes Vesper, koch ihr ihr Lieblingsessen, schalt ihren liebsten Film ein, mach das sie isst und ihre Vitamine nimmt. Überschütte sie mit Liebe und Geduld."
Übersetzung: Anna Mestisa
Bild: "elephant journal gets sexy · 21. Dezember 2019
Man kann niemand anderes als sich selbst für die eigene mentale Gesundheit verantwortlich machen. Aber jede Hilfe auch in Form von Zuneigung kann jemandem helfen aus seiner Höhle zu kommen. Daher kann ich diese Aussage nur bestätigen, sowohl als jemand der selber feststeckte als auch als jemand der jemandem Beistand der so ein Tief durchgemacht hat.
23.6.20
"Wenn deine bessere Hälfte eine Mental schlechte/n/s Tag/Woche/Jahr/oder ähnliches hat und du nicht weiß wie du helfen kannst, behandle sie als ob sie die Grippe haben.
Kümmere dich um sie, besorg ihr liebstes Vesper, koch ihr ihr Lieblingsessen, schalt ihren liebsten Film ein, mach das sie isst und ihre Vitamine nimmt. Überschütte sie mit Liebe und Geduld."
Übersetzung: Anna Mestisa
Bild: "elephant journal gets sexy · 21. Dezember 2019
Man kann niemand anderes als sich selbst für die eigene mentale Gesundheit verantwortlich machen. Aber jede Hilfe auch in Form von Zuneigung kann jemandem helfen aus seiner Höhle zu kommen. Daher kann ich diese Aussage nur bestätigen, sowohl als jemand der selber feststeckte als auch als jemand der jemandem Beistand der so ein Tief durchgemacht hat.
23.6.20
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