Heartbroken, rejected and pitiful musings of a stay-at-home mum

I interrupt my brief blogging hiatus to have a bit of a whine. (So if, like me, you are of those people who finds whining annoying, I do apologise in advance).

Perhaps my depression - (oh, how I hate using this term to describe it - it makes me feel like a spoiled, unappreciative and self-indulgent stay-at-home mum when there are people with real problems out there) - anyway, perhaps this feeling of dejection can be attributed to the lack of self-worth which comes with me not working outside the home. I'm not saying that this is the case for all SAHMs - many have an innate self-confidence which is not derived from anything external, like their job title, achievments etc.

But in my case, sadly, since my sense of self-esteem is virtually non-existent, I do need these external assurances of my worth.

This Ramadan I decided to break with unhealthy tradition and tried to eliminate as much toxic fried foods from our diet as possible. Realistically, I accepted that my husband and kids are accustomed to the artery-clogging dishes which are traditionally enjoyed (in our community) during this month. I knew that I was fighting an uphill battle against 'the expected' and by them comparing our meals to what other people were having.

I explained to them that I felt that fasting involved spiritual cleansing, but also physical detoxification. What was the point of exercising restraint all day and then gluttonizing at night? It makes no sense for people to end the fast more unhealthy than when they started.

But I am aware that my older three kids are fasting so I am not completely averse to them enjoying treats they would not do under normal circumstances. However, I do insist that this be done subject to certain limitations. I will not serve fried daltjies (chilli bites) every night; samoosas and pies are baked and not fried, our vegetable and water intake will be increased, etc etc etc.

I have accepted that they do expect a sweet treat. However, I have a problem with them devouring horrendously oily fritters and bollas. These sweet desserts are usually enjoyed with the soup and savouries as part of the starter, often leaving little room for food! So, I decided that meals will be served in a more sensible fashion - with soup and 1 or 2 savouries as the starter, a nutritious meal (usually consisting mainly of protein and vegetables) and then the dessert (which will be baked, not fried; consist of reduced sugar and will always be fruit-based or contain fruit).

I have spent so much time with recipe books and on the internet, trying to find ways to provide delicious, yet healthy-ish meals for the family. And, in my humble opinion, they have turned out to be really pleasing.

However, the response from the kids to these changes was somewhat underwhelming. Where were the daltjies? So, to replace the chilli bites, I baked savoury muffins. Which they practically tossed aside.

Bit by bit, with the help of their dad, they have managed to undermine my carefully-planned vision for a healthy-ish Ramadan. Firstly the dad brought home packaged waffles, simply to be popped into the toaster. This, he informed me excitedly, would be enjoyed with cream and syrup.

''Oh, lovely'', I'd responded through clenched teeth.

Last night, as always, they broke their fast, enjoyed their starters and then went to pray before returning for the main meal. Which is when the dad informed them that he was buying McDonalds for supper. He had 'forgotten' that, in our earlier discussion about whether to buy take-outs or have a healthy home-cooked meal, we had eventually settled on the healthier alternative.

I felt about ready to burst into tears. Partly because I had spent the afternoon cooking. And partly because of the kids' enthusiasm at not eating my lovingly-prepared, carefully-researched-and-planned meal.

But mostly, I suppose, because this is what defines me right now.
I am a stay-at-home mum. I want to provide my kids with the advantages they would not have had, had I been working. This includes me helping them study. It includes us spending quality time together, chatting and joking after school, while other kids are still sitting in aftercare.

And it includes me providing them with healthy, carefully-planned homecooked meals (with no processed ingredients).

And when they reject this I can't help feeling rejected - as if I don't then have a purpose. I don't bring in an income; I don't have an impressive career. This is me - this is what I have to offer.

And it really hurts when it goes unappreciated.

Drama around Shakeel's high school applications

I don't know if you've noticed - my posts have been rather light and trivial of late. I think I've been trying to keep my mind off what has really been causing me headaches - Shakeel (13)'s high school application process.

So we submitted his applications to three of the better public high schools in our region. I'm talking - schools with 98 -100% matric pass rate, excellent academic facilities, very impressive extra-mural facilities (including massive swimming pools, sports fields) etc.

I was confident. Academically he does well, so I was not worried about the fact that his report card would be accompanying his application. In fact, I was happy about it - I thought that would guarantee him acceptance into any school.

The school closest to our home was my first choice (let's call it Option 1). Impressive facilities, a happy vibe - and less than five minutes drive away from our home!!!! The problem is that this school's policy is to accept learners from the suburb in which the school is located, and the suburb on its immediate right (both very affluent suburbs). Unfortunately, we live in the suburb on the left of the suburb in which the school is situated, which places us outside that school's catchment area. Nevermind the fact that the school is nearer to the border of our suburb (and our home) than that of the other approved suburb.

My panic started when we received news that Shakeel's friends had received feedback from Option 1. They were receiving dates for interviews. We waited- and waited- and waited. I carried the phone with me everywhere - in the car, to bed, to the toilet. I was desperate to receive that call. But alas, it did not come.

Then we received a call from Option 3. Shakeel had an appointment for Monday (last week). He was ecstatic - that had been his first choice because many of his friends were applying to that school. But I was not keen - despite the fact that the school boasts state of the art facilities (as do all 3 of them) and a most impressive view over the Atlantic - this school was even more out of the way than his current (primary) school is.

But still no call came from either Options 1 or 2. I was grumpy and upset. Shakeel was reduced to tears - it was a major blow to his self-esteem. He started to doubt himself - maybe he was not as academically-strong as we'd thought?

Mo phoned Option 2 - just to find out if they had any news for us. To our immense relief they said that they had been meaning to call to set up an interview. His interview was for Saturday (two days before his appointment at Option 3!!)

So off he and Mo headed on Saturday morning. The school requested the attendance of the child (in school uniform) accompanied by a parent. Since Mo is much more likeable than what I am, there was no question as to who would go with Shakeel.

They returned an hour later - Shakeel was beaming. He had been accepted - there and then - in the interview! The principal had been extremely impressed with him. Upon hearing that Shakeel had not received an interview at Option 1, the principal said that there was absolutely no reason that ANY school should refuse his application. His academic results were excellent, and overall, he was a really impressive candidate, he was told. I was so relieved. But not as relieved as Shakeel himself was - his confidence in himself had been restored.

The pressure was off. So although he was to attend the interview at Option 3, he didn't really feel nervous since he had already been accepted at a high school. Again, his more sociable, popular parent accompanied him, while the socio-phobic hermit    I stayed home with Aisha (2).

He returned from that interview acting all cocky and super-confident. The principal, who had come across as really intimidating on the school's Open Day, had been really taken with my son. Upon hearing that he had been accepted at Option 2, he acknowledged that that was a good school, but jokingly urged Shakeel to choose his school instead. In fact he said that he would love to have Shakeel at their school and accepted him there and then. Woo- hooo!! Shakeel was indeed as excellent a candidate as we'd initially thought. Vindicated, at last!

The principal of Option 3, like his counterpart at Option 2, also stated that there was absolutely no grounds upon which Option 1 could refuse Shakeel's application (despite us falling outside their catchment area), because of our proximity to the school and the fact that Shakeel was an impressive candidate. He too could not understand their decision.

Upon further investigation we have discovered that the sifting process of the 600 or so applicants at Option 1, is not done in a fool-proof infallible manner by a super-efficient panel (as we'd assumed), but by a woman who has been doing it for years - and whose decisions are very often overturned since they often cannot be justified. Should we receive a letter of refusal, we definitely plan to appeal that decision - although, I must admit that this whole business has left behind a bitter taste for Shakeel and myself - and I feel less enthusiastic about sending him to Option 1 now. Mo, however, being the more practical and less emotional one, insists that this school remains the best option for Shakeel and the most practical one for all of us because of its proximity.

It might be evident to you, dear reader, how I have managed to take the issue of my son's high school application - and make it all about me. My feelings of rejection. My hurt. My anger. I hope I didn't mess with his sense of self-worth too much. Which brings me to my next point - this issue has in fact had a major impact on Shakeel's confidence and belief in himself. He insists that it is only because I made it so - he had not doubted himself until he saw me looking all petrified and devastated, which in turn made him feel like a failure.

Let's hope that whatever school he ends up attending, equips him well for an amazing career - necessary to pay for the long-term therapy he will need resulting from having me as a mother this experience.

Anorexia- my ignorance and denial

About three years ago, I decided to deal with some personal issues I was facing by going for counselling. After two sessions of me talking, the counsellor asked, "So did you ever receive treatment for your anorexia?"

I was confused. This woman had clearly not been listening. I was not anorexic. Anorexics, I believed at the time, were sneaky people who hid in bathrooms sticking their fingers down their throats to induce vomiting. They were selfish people who put their own vanity ahead of those people who worried about and loved them. I was both indignant and defensive. I left the session a while later, confused at the information and new insight I had just received.

Over the next two sessions we spoke about key people in my early life who had influenced my thoughts, belief systems, values and opinions. They included family members, teachers and generally just people I admired or regarded as role models and also others whose comments/actions may have profoundly impacted me. For the purposes of this post,  I'll refer to them simply as the key people.

Being thin was one of the most admired qualities in the world from which I come. Growing up I'd hear certain key people expressing admiration for a person who was skinny, and pity for anyone who was not.

In my early teens I started gaining weight slightly. Outsiders would pass comments like, " You're filling out beautifully- you're no longer skin and bone." I did not give comments such as these a second thought until one night when I overheard a conversation by two of the key people. They were expressing concern at how I was 'letting myself go', and how my increasing weight was making me increasingly unattractive. They were determined to help me since, according to them, I lacked self-control. I was fifteen at the time, but the pain of that night remained vivid in my mind for years to come, no doubt influencing decisions I ended up making.

Positive comments and compliments were drowned out by those made by these concerned well-intentioned key people.
"Just start by losing a bit around the bum area. You can take it from there". Or the occasional joke intended to act as motivation, " You weigh almost as much as your mother does, and she's already had 3 kids, while you're only 16!" or
"Look at how lovely and thin So-and-So looks. Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could look like that?"

Needless to say, these comments did not help at all. They just drove me further in the direction of the fridge.

Funnily enough, I don't think anyone from high school would remember me as 'the fat girl' or even 'the plump one'. However when I looked in the mirror, I saw a whale.

This was further exacerbated when I ran into a boisterous outspoken relative whom I had not seen for years. He was known for his mean jokes and seeing me weighing more than usual gave him all the ammunition he needed. "Oh my word, you look like an 'ou vet tannie' (old fat lady). It's amazing how some girls grow up to be gross old women with big tits, fat arses and elephant thighs". Although the 'big tits' comment definitely did  not apply to me, I was deeply affected. Although this person was not someone whose opinion I necessarily valued, he had managed to hit an exposed nerve. I felt humiliated, and disgusted and ashamed that my 'feminine form' (hips, butt and thighs) were becoming increasingly prominent and disgusting.

Then came the life-changing event- the opening of a new community gym two blocks from my home. I became obsessed, going to work out or attend fitness classes at least thrice a day despite the matric exams looming. I started to lose weight rapidly over the next few months and started to stress about maintaining my weight loss.

Then I started to eat less, and less and less. I lost my appetite and eventually could not bring myself to eat much at all.

I enjoyed my hunger pangs. I enjoyed the fact that I didn't need to eat. It made me feel as if I was in control- I was not letting hunger/cravings control me. I loved the feeling of being empty, clean. It made me feel light. It made me happy.

I didn't give my constant tiredness and lethargy a second thought. It didn't bother me despite the fact that I had fallen asleep during every matric final exam paper and as a result had not managed to finish a single paper. My father (a history teacher) had been preparing me for the matric history finals all year long, so imagine his disappointment when I came home after the exam and told him that I had only finished just over a third of the paper, since I had fallen asleep.

When I started university the problem worsened- only I didnt see it as a problem. I had lost over 12 kg and was more outwardly confident than I had been in a while. I had more friends and a better social life than I had had before. I attributed this positive change to my weight loss. Now I realise it was because I exuded confidence, which I hadn't done before.

I ignored the extremely tight uncomfortable feeling at the base of my neck. I didn't think it a problem that I was constantly dizzy and became lightheaded each time I stood up too fast.

The key people in my life were full of praise. I looked so good in my little jeans, with my tiny little waist, they said. I was extremely pleased that I looked so boyish- gone were the grotesque womanly hips, butt and thighs.

I fainted behind the cash register of my uncle's pharmacy where I worked for the holidays. I managed to call my mother just in time to catch me, as I fainted again in the shower. My father, who had helped her to carry me down the passage to my room, then realised for the first time what I had been doing to myself. The sight of my ribs almost jutting through my skin was what scared him the most. He sent me to various doctors and specialists. None of them used the word anorexia. My family doctor tried to reason with me. "You're too intelligent to be so self-destructive". The problem was that I did not see myself as being self-destructive, since I was happier than I had been in ages.

It was only after I got married that I tried to purge for the first time by taking a laxative. The only effect it had was to give me the most gut-wrenching cramps I had ever experienced, which probably saved me from pursuing that route again.

It was at a routine doctor's appointment, when I had nonchalantly mentioned that I had not had a period for about a year, that I was sent to a gynaecologist. He informed me that I was no longer ovulating. I would not be able to have children unless I gained weight- and even then, only if the medication which I was to take to stimulate ovulation, was successful. Although it had never been my plan to have children before my 30s, I felt a sense of panic and urgency. The possibility of never being able to have children terrified me. I was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that I started ovulating again.

I was extremely lucky. Once my priorities and my mindset changed, I did not struggle to eat. I managed to get my weight up to 53kg which is when I fell pregnant.

I realise that I am one of the lucky ones. Some people cannot get past their revulsion for food and their fear of losing control.

Since then (but before the counsellor provided me with the label 'anorexic'), I had continued to have an unhealthy relationship with food. I over-ate when stressed and was capable of going without food for extended periods when happy (or perhaps I was happiest when I was capable of going without food for extended periods, I don't know which). But I've never starved myself to that extent again, and my weight has stayed above 53 kg ever since.

Learning that I had in fact been living the life of an anorexic, scared me into making further changes. I now try to focus on healthy living in a holistic sense. I weigh more than I ever had two years after giving birth (normally I'm back at my pre-pregnancy weight by the time the baby is 6 months old).

My big fear is that my children (especially my daughters) will walk the same path I did. I pray that they will be surrounded by positive people in their lives, but more importantly, that they are able to drown out other noises and listen only to the voices that will reaffirm their value as human beings- just by virtue of who they are and not based on external factors such as appearance. My hope is that my daughters embrace their femininity, and though they might carry themselves with modesty, they do so free from shame.

Kicking butt and its benefits for a healthy self-esteem

Sadly, it seems as if my three older kids have inherited my worst quality- i.e. low self esteem. Okay, I suppose its not so much inherited as it is learned. Although I try to hide it from them and to project an image of confidence,  it's really not that easy to hide your true self from those closest to you.


So in our attempt to address this, we enrolled them in karate classes. They've been doing it for about three months now and although each lesson is preceded by one of them experiencing an attack of nerves, they seem to enjoy it once they get there. This morning Nuhaa (6) was particularly nervous, which is really strange since she ended her last lesson bubbling over with excitement. Argh, once again it's a case of like mother, like daughter. Which is why I am not giving them the option of quitting this (the way I was allowed to do as a child). Or at least, we'll give it a bit more time, since the benefits of martial arts are said to address precisely this problem of self-doubt and lack of confidence.


To make me feel like less of an ogre, I googled the benefits of karate to give me some assurance that I was doing the right thing by exercising my parental right of veto over their freedom of choice. I was sufficiently comforted.

I learned that martial arts can help one to overcome mental obstacles  (like self-doubt and lack of confidence). This is done by building a mental awareness of your mind/body connection, i.o.w, how to use one's mental ability to achieve physical goals.


Martial arts also builds self-esteem, as one's physical abilities and strength are enhanced. It provides a sense of accomplishment. One develops the confidence that one would be able to defend oneself if necessary. General physical coordination is also enhanced, which carries over into other sporting activities as well.


Children with good self esteem are said to do well in school and to be less likely to get involved in self-destructive behaviour, like taking drugs.


It makes sense that the physical benefits would affect self-esteem, as one's body image very often affects one's self-image. (Yes, I confess-  I watch Dr Phil... religiously).
Thus, it has been decided- I shall henceforth ignore the tears, the begging and the promises of "just this one time, Mommy- I'll go next week"- in order to save them from becoming me.