Edenland

http://www.edenriley.com/

If you look up happiness in the dictionary you will see my face in this photo. I'm smiling so hard that my face is about to turn inside out.

Ladies and gentlemen I'd like to introduce you to Eden Riley. For those of you who don't know, Eden writes all the words of all the feelings ever in the world at Edenland. Her blogs are some of the most favourite things I have read in my life and her vulnerability is one of the most powerful expressions of strength that I have seen.

Sometimes reading her stuff is liking taking a round house kick to the guts and other times it's like I'm up the back of the classroom suppressing giggles while we throw rolled up bits of paper at the back of our teachers head and sometimes it's like looking into a mirror but it's never ordinary. When she publishes something new I have to put aside time to read it. Just in case it's one of those ones that makes all the water in my body leak out of my eyes.

Reading Edenland is not for the faint hearted. With raw honesty she shares her scars and the innermost corners of the dark places of her heart. Her posts of her brother Cam who the world lost to suicide have often been the undoing of my day... sometimes my week. Her love and pain is so palpable that I feel like I have loved and lost him myself.

But she's more than that. Through her, at times, debilitating grief she still manages to give something back to the world. Her work with World Vision is so important and the voice she gives them is inspiring. Her heart is generous even though it is crippled.

And if that's not reason enough for me to worship love her, wait until you see her crusade against the sexist bastards who run Wicked Campers.

Am I gushing? Maybe a little bit. But here's the thing. I've got a blog-crush on Eden. She is beautiful and her soul leaps across her words and her heart and shines out of her face. The seven minutes that we chatted (and hugged!) was the highlight of Problogger for me. I don't think it's because I'm star struck 'cause I met lots of other blogging idols of mine while I was there. I think it's because as you get older and wiser you understand the value of honesty and vulnerability and authenticity. 

And Eden, with a capital E, is all of those things all of the time. 

How to Become a Man

Let’s talk about boys.

I’ve got a tough job ahead of me. With two sons making their way through the world, my burden is heavy. Because my boys are on their way to becoming men and men, well, men have been getting a bad rap lately.

Men are controlling and misogynistic and sexist. Men are demeaning. Men are overpowering. Men are entitled. Men are violent. Men are abusers. Men are murderers. Men are rapists.

I am confronted, daily, with all these indictments on men and as I look at my sons I wonder how am I going to raise the man out of them? How do I stop them from becoming a man as our society sees men?

Of course, the truth is my boys are not rapists. Nor are they murderers. My boys are already showing all good signs of becoming impressive, engaged citizens of the world. At 8 and 10 I haven’t yet had to sit down and have the ‘consent conversation’ with them because, well I’ve been teaching them those lessons their whole life. I can’t imagine there will come a time that I need to specifically teach my sons to not rape. Just as my husband was never specifically taught that lesson.

There are good men in this world. Almost every man that I have chosen to have in my life, is a good man. Which is not to say that I haven’t come across my share of bad men. I know a few of them too, some of which triggered an instinct in me very quickly but others that travelled where all the scariest people live – just under the radar. I learned my lesson with those men the hard way. But I still learned.

But violence against women will only stop when men stop perpetrating it, right? We just need to teach men not to hurt women. Well… it’s not that black and white in my view. Should that philosophy also then apply to paedophiles? We just need to teach them to NOT be sick fuckers. Oh right! I wish I’d thought of that. Because it’s our children’s RIGHT to be safe in this world. We shouldn’t have to protect them or teach them to be safe because that is VICTIM SHAMING. Do you see where I’m going with this?

Let's just be clear. It is never the victim’s fault. Whether they are girls, women, boys or men. It is never their fault. The blame must always lay firmly and squarely on the shoulders of the bastard that hurt the victim. It is always the perpetrator’s DECISION to rape/molest/torture/murder that is responsible for the crime and never the victim’s choices, no matter how vulnerably they may lay themselves bare. Vulnerability should never be an invitation for violence or trespass. Just because a car is unlocked does not mean that the contents within are free for the taking. Theft is still theft, regardless of the circumstance. But here’s the thing. We still lock our car doors because while 99%* of the community will recognise the morality of that situation, it is the 1%* that we must all worry about. The opportunists. The deranged. The evil. The psychopaths and the sociopaths. The outliers. For these minority of cockroaches no amount of TELLING them NOT to hurt or steal is going to work. No measure of EDUCATION will protect us from them.

“But we must teach our boys” is the message we are getting loud and clear.

Teach them what exactly? As I help my boys navigate their way through their lives I am acutely aware of the confusion surrounding their journey… not the least of which is my own. 

My generation of men was raised differently to the generation of my sons. Boys were to be tough. They were taught to stand up for themselves. If someone hits you, hit ‘em back. But not a girl! Boys must never hit girls. You can be forceful with them though, especially if the girl is asking for it. Tarts ask for it. In all other times, treat them like a lady. Do well at sports. Don’t wear pink. Don’t be gay, it’s gay. Don’t run like a girl. Don’t cry, only girls cry. Be brave. You don’t need a hug! A good tousle of the hair should be enough for you, young man. We don’t want to mollycoddle you! Be the man of the house, even if you’re only a boy. Man up. Have some balls. Don’t be a wimp. Be reliable. Sow your oats while you can. Then find a good woman. Be a good husband. Be a provider. Don’t beat your wife. You wear the pants.

It sounds pretty ridiculous and dated BUT it’s also pretty easy to follow. My generation of men and the generations before them were not confused. There was one path for them to follow. It was not, by any means, the right path for all men but it was widely known as the man’s path nonetheless.

My sons are fortunate enough to be born into a generation with infinitely more choice than the generations before them. But you know what else comes with great choice? The pressure of having to make a decision. The bravery to go your own way. The strength to commit to a path that is scary. And confusion. Confusion is the enemy of choice.

Never before have men as a whole been as confused as they are today, nor as depressed. According to the ABS, suicide is the 10^th leading cause of death for males in Australia. Our men don’t know how to cope with all this confusion. For we have focused so intently on some of our greatest advancements to empower women that, in doing so, have disempowered men.

Woohoo!!!! Victory! That’s the fight we’ve been fighting isn’t it?

Well, yes. And no.

You see when it was just me, woman, pitching against the collective man I was passionate in my cause. What do we want? Equality! When do we want it? Now!

But now that it’s me, mother of two growing men, my perspective has shifted. And so has the notion of equality. 

I watch and I read and I try to interpret the multitude of mixed messages that are thrown at men every day so that I can deliver to my charges the most concise lessons in manhood possible. I don’t do this alone. I discuss, at length, all the lessons and the directions and values with my husband – their, very present, father. But he struggles too. He is an old-school man. Strong and reliable. A good husband and capable provider. Handy on the tools and short on affection. It is the way he knows. It is the way of his father. It is not the way of today though, so in teaching our boys he is learning a new path too. And so now I am on the path to today’s manhood with three boys… and none of us know what the fuck we’re doing.

What I do know though, is that all those bastard men that have killed, raped and abused women [and men!] were once little boys too. 

Did their mums also stay up until the early hours of the evenings wondering how best to turn their sons into men? At what point did their path deviate? What opportunity was missed to teach those valuable lessons? Is it as simple as that? God, I fucking hope not. Because if it all comes down to one lesson that I need to teach my kids. One missed opportunity that will shape them into a rapist or not. Then I’m never sleeping again.

* I HAVE NO EVIDENCE THAT THESE PERCENTAGES ARE ACCURATE. I’M GENERALISING.

Have you ever loved anyone who is depressed?

I’ve been thinking about suicide a lot lately. Deep, ponderings about suffering. Questioning my own deep seated belief that to take your own life is selfish and weak.

First things first... I’m not suicidal. Not in the slightest. I have always told myself it’s because I’m not selfish. Or weak. I’ve spent time in some very dark places in my years but I always pull through. Because – strong. But I’ve challenged those thoughts recently and I’ve surprised myself.

My father-in-law died a horrible cancerous death four years ago. A tumour was discovered in his sinus. Mucosal melanoma. The oncologist told him his best chance was to remove it and all that surrounded it... which was half his face. This may give him some more time. More time than the 80 years he had already lived. He was scared to do it and spent many hours deliberating. Discussing with his loved ones. With his family who all urged him to do it. “You HAVE to fight” was the message he got loud and clear. “Don’t let this beat you”. And so, bravely, he decided to go through with the procedure. He did fight. He fought hard. But he confided in me, not long before he passed that he wished he had never done it. Because it did beat him and it did not buy him time and we buried him with half his face missing.

When he died, like the countless others that I know who died at the hands of a debilitating disease, the people he left behind [us] were relieved. “Thank goodness his suffering is finally over” “He fought so hard but the pain was just too much for him” “He was so brave”.

Far too many of us have watched someone we love suffer intensely before dying. We watch disease ravage them. We watch them change before our eyes. We remember brighter days when they weren’t sick. When we could laugh together and have fun. When their body was fit and healthy. When all hopes and thoughts of the future included them. We watch them waste away before us as their illness takes hold. As their appetite wanes and their ability to put on a brave face become less frequent. We watch as the light dulls in their eyes from medication to help them ease the aching. We watch and we wait and we empathise because we can’t even imagine the hell they must be living in. Many of us sit by their bedside and hold their hands and give comfort as we assure them that we will be ok without them. That they can go. That they can give up the fight. It’s ok, we say. You have been so strong and so brave to hang on so long. It’s ok, we say.

But what if their disease is not physical? What if their illness is mental? What if the excruciating pain they are feeling is all in their head? Are they not brave too? Is their pain less worthy? Is their yearning for it to end really so selfish? Do they not deserve dignity too? Why do we urge our loved ones who suffer from physical pain to let go yet demand the ones that suffer from emotional pain to hang on?

Have you ever loved anyone who is depressed? And I’m not talking some bullshit down in the dumps or in a slump or a bit flat or sad. I mean bona fide, clinically depressed. Someone who is actually unable to function for weeks, months and even years on end. Someone whose emotional pain is so intense they are unable to maintain a relationship of any kind so that they are deeply alone and overwhelmingly lonely. Have you ever loved someone who is so devastated that they choose to physically harm themselves as a distraction to their internal suffering? Have you ever watched someone waste away before your very eyes and pull away from you so profoundly and have absolutely no way to help them? Have you ever watched someone you love self-medicate and seemingly prefer to choose poison over their relationship with you? Have you ever looked at someone you love, survive a suicide attempt and think “you’re so selfish” or “you’re so weak” or “you’re just doing this for attention”? Have you ever said to someone you love, who can’t seem to get their shit together who tells you they’re suffering and tries to explain the depth of that suffering to “snap out of it”?

As though they have a choice.

I know I’m only one generation shy of “there’s no such thing as mental illness”. I was brought up on “snap out of it” and “toughen up” and “there’s nothing wrong with you, you just need to work harder”. Will our next generation ‘get it’? Will my kids grow up understanding all the different pains in the world? Will their empathy extend to those whose suffering they don’t even understand?

Should it?

I think [hope] most of us are well intentioned. That our insistence that those we love who suffer from depression try harder is because we believe that’s all it takes. Because those of us who are healthy of mind can, actually, talk ourselves out of [and into] all sorts of moods and mindsets. I hope it is our naivety that fills us with the belief that all our suffering loved ones need is more company/stimulation/money/love to drag them out of their slump. I hope we are simply well-intentioned and naive because if we are not, then it is US who are selfish. It is US who are weak. It is US who need to snap out of it.

My truth is, I believe the fight is worth it for everyone. I believe life is worth it. I believe that if you have any fight in you then you should use it to war against any disease you have – physical or mental. I also believe that wars aren’t won without an army. In my family, when that bastard cancer is diagnosed [far too many times] we all suit up and stand strong as we face the enemy. We know that enemy well. We understand it and we hate it. So we fight. Together. Until the end. Because cancer is ok to have at the dinner table. It’s ok to have cancer at Christmas lunch. It’s sad, and sometimes confronting, but it’s there and we accept it – like an uninvited, estranged relative.

Depression, however, is not welcome at lunch. Or dinner. Or at picnics. Or even for coffee. Deep-seated, I’d-rather-be-dead-than-face-another-day depression is not welcome. It’s uncomfortable. It is not understood. It is not discussed. It is verboten. It is not real.

And so I ask you.

How can anyone possibly amass an army against an enemy that does not exist? 

And how can we possibly look our suffering loved one/s in the eye and ask them to stay without first trying to understand the pain that makes them want to leave?