Mother’s Day: A Survival Guide

My mum & sister, Clare. (Thanks for letting me use the picture, Dad!)

Mother’s Day is terrific inspiration for anyone writing a feminist blog – it’s a day when it’s practically mandated to write about the inspirational women in your life, especially if they gave birth to/raised you. It’s also a little bit awkward when you’ve lost your mother and want to make that post, but don’t want to feel like you’re pissing on people’s parade.

1. You’re not alone. Actually, I wish this one was a little harder for me to remember. Out of my closest friends, three of them have lost their mothers and a couple more aren’t on speaking terms for various reasons, and I wish more than anything that none of us had to go through this. But when all your friends are buying daffodils and chocolates and going for Mother’s Day spa trips with Mummy Dearest, it’s a little hard not to feel left out, jealous and pretty damn pissed off with the world. Remember that there are other people in your position right now – reach out to them if you can. There are online communities as well as support groups – Hope Edelman has some helpful links & resources on her website, and her book Motherless Daughters: The Legacy of Loss is an incredibly helpful book for dealing with losing your mother at any stage of your life.
2. Stay off the internet. Seriously. I made the mistake of checking Twitter this morning and ouch. Despite glowering silently at every advert and piece of spam mail that somehow got past the filter this past week, I’d somehow managed to forget this in the caffeine-free ten minutes between waking up and scrabbling for my iPhone. Don’t get me wrong – I’m really glad so many of my friends/acquaintances/celebrity crushes/people I have no idea why I’m following are having a great day with their parental units. But there’s no denying it’s difficult when your plans mostly involve chocolate for breakfast and wailing into a box of Kleenex whilst watching the Idina Menzel-Lea Michele duets from Glee. OK, the last part might just be me, but focusing on other people’s happiness is not what you need right now.
3. Make sure people know how you’re feeling. I’m not saying that you get a free trip to Bitchytown today, but you’re not going to feel great and it’s important that the people around you know that. If you need a bit of TLC, then make sure you ask for it – equally, if all you want to do is hide in your room and not talk to anyone but your cat, that’s fine but make sure your flatmates/friends/partner know that it’s what you need.
4. Remember the good times. If you’re lucky – and I accept that not everyone is – then you have some fantastic memories of your mum. Focus on them today, and even though it hurts I can promise you’ll feel better.
5. Just because you can’t send it, doesn’t mean you can’t buy a card. I did this the first Mother’s Day without Mum – it just felt so bizarre not to get one, even if it was just going to sit in my desk drawer. I couldn’t write it without crying, but I’m glad I did. These last two years I haven’t felt the need to, but it’s nice to know I have that option. And there are other things you can do to mark the day as well – my Dad & sister are taking some flowers to leave at the cliffs where we scattered Mum’s ashes, which is something we do to mark special occasions. Shortly after she died, I went to Liberty (her favourite shop) and bought a beautiful notebook where I write things I’d like to tell her -  from long, emotional letters to descriptions of my new shoes – and where I write down memories. It’s also the most expensive notebook I’ve ever bought, but I think she’d approve.
6. Start a new tradition. In Motherless Daughters, Addie decided to spend her Mother’s Days in the garden, “I made a ritual of planting flowers and praying for strength, light and life. It fits for me because I’m honouring my mother and nature, and celebrating the life-giving aspect of myself – which was truly the gift my mother gave to me.” [pg 24-5]

It’s never going to be an easy day, but it’s not supposed to be. Shortly after my mum died, someone told me that the amount it hurt was a measure of how much I loved her. You can’t make the pain go away, but you can ride it out knowing that it will fade (and come back, and fade again). And whilst it’s OK to take a few days to feel horrible, remember that you can’t hide from the world forever, and she wouldn’t have wanted you to.

R.I.P Gerard Donovan

I’ve written extensively in the past couple of days about the women who have inspired me – and with Mother’s Day on the horizon, I’m not quite done yet – but following some sad news earlier today, I’d like to turn my attention to one of the men who shaped my life and gave me and countless other young women the encouragement and confidence that they needed.

A month ago I shared my experiences about coming out at an all-girls Catholic school, and I emphasised the instrumental role that teachers can play in tackling homophobia in an educational environment. Although there were numerous incidents where the teaching staff were either not as supportive as they could have been, or were downright offensive, there were a couple who stood out as champions of tolerance – and crucially, they were the ones who most influenced me, and who have stayed in contact over the last decade.

Gerard Donovan was my Head of Sixth Form and Classical Civilisation teacher – in fact, he gave up some of his rare free periods to include Class Civ in the curriculum, even though by the time A Levels rolled around there were only two of us in the class. He also tutored me in Greek during lunch periods, and it was partly through his passion for the subject that I went on to study it as an undergraduate at Edinburgh. He encouraged me to apply to Oxford, and even though she and I weren’t a good fit, his belief that I was capable of it has stayed with me ever since.

Yesterday I learnt that he had died, suddenly although following a period of illness. The outpouring of grief on Facebook from his pupils past & present has been overwhelming – it’s clear that he shaped a lot of our lives. We stayed in sporadic contact over the years, and he always let me know how proud he was of my success, even though said success often went against the teachings of the Church that was such a big part of his life.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the person I was at 18, and what she’d think of the woman I’ve become. Overall, I think she’d be pretty darn impressed – I have a successful career as a journalist, I’m a published author and this weekend I got to share the stage with women who inspired her. I owe such a lot of that to the people who supported me then – in particular my parents, Mr Donovan, and the poet Ange Topping, who was my A Level English teacher. Both my mother and Mr Donovan are no longer with us, but I think – I hope – they know how their support and belief in me has helped me over the years.

Mr Donovan was a very kind, gentle man who was soft-spoken and maybe a little shy, but beneath that had a wicked sense of humour. Admittedly this once manifested itself in quizzing me in detail on the Peloponnesian War in front of the Ofsted inspectors – despite said war not being on the curriculum. I had been talking about bacchanals earlier though, so possibly he felt I deserved it. And anyway, one thing I learnt from Mr D is that ancient military history is cool. Everyone seems to be reminiscing about his teaching French with a Scouse accent – I missed out on that particular pleasure, but I imagine he was as endearing in French as he was in Greek. He was incredibly supportive when my mother was seriously ill during my A Levels, and I’ve heard similar anecdotes from countless people in the last 24 hours. He was everything a teacher ought to be, and will be very sadly missed.