parenting

Day 24 – Democracy is Dead

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

What the fuck is the point in pretending anymore? I am so tired of this “democracy” and “free the hostages” narrative spat out by the media… and yes I’m getting political tonight.

Actually every single day I am political… not only in the news I share and consume, but more so in the way I raise my kids.

No, I don’t tell them the excruciating information about the atrocities in the Democratic Republic of Congo, or Yemmen, or Palestine, or Sudan. I don’t share with them the images, and work hard to avoid them catching glimpses… because they are too much. I can’t talk to them about violence against women yet… because right now, I’m laying foundations that do not need to be layered with fear and horror, and I am acutely aware that this in itself is privilege.

I have however shared that in some places, there are people eating grasshoppers because there is no food. That we don’t go to McDonald’s because big companies like them (and the list is LONG) are spending money on bombs that kill people like us. That there are people who control others  and that sometimes, people do horrible things because they are greedy for power. Power is absolutely a topical word in our home recently.

When the ICJ trial was on between South Africa and Isreal, I played pokemon court with my oldest child. My partner and I have different opinions about how involved our kids should get… and his concerns are valid, so through play and story, we have conversations about equity, life and how we can do our part in the ways that we can.

This morning as I watched them, I saw just how deeply political this life is. How I am raising future custodians of our planet, and I thought about how this means teaching them by being aligned myself.

Tonight, I feel like the pendulum has swung the other way, and I want to scream. I want to howl and grieve the losses of every single child that has been murdered.

I want to dance in celebration and solidarity with the students protesting.

I want to shake the world… and make sense of it… and in feeling this feeling, I know 2 things; once my children sleep I need to roll out my yoga mat and center myself, AND there are tides changing in the collective consciousness. I might be called radical because of many choices … but seeing just how messed up this is isn’t radical. It’s the only sane response to the madness of the last 8 months.

Palestine has been a calayst to the world waking.

Randomly today, P asked me to explain the word “dismantle” to him. I asked for context (something we’ve been practicing) and we worked out what it meant. All the while I was thinking… if we dismantle the systems of oppression and violence in birth, and within a generation, the effects will ripple outwards catalysing mass change. Not quite the explanation he was after, but it’s been rattling around in my brain since.

There is so much violence in birth.

There is so much violence in parenting.

Is it really surprising that the world, controlled by traumatised (mostly) men is really as fucked up as it is right now ?

If we had a whole generation of children born, in supported, empowered environment, with parents who felt safe and supported in the formative years, the ripple of these children, feeling understood, seen and held regardless of their day, would be immense.

It brings me hope… and also rage. Because change is so possible… BUT systemic change is required… and until more people rebel, change won’t come. We don’t have to riot… but we do have to wake up… and this society is built on a majority of the population sleepwalking through their life… not asking questions, paying the bills, and being silent.

I’m tired of pretending… of living my life and washing my dishes and taking my kids to the park while children just like mine are blown apart or starved.

My kids may not understand all of it, and I hope when they’re older they’ll see why I try to protect their innocence, in part because I know my ancestors had children aware of so much pain so young… but regardless I know I’ll be able to say I did my best.

Parenting is the most political role I think there is… and screw the pretences of democracy – one thing I’m sure of is that democracy the way its marketed to us is dead. Right now, all we can do is figure out how to play the game of this society without selling our souls in the process.

If you have any thoughts, I’d love to hear them.

Thanks for reading, with love,

Rohana x

Day 23 – Friends

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I spoke to a dear friend this morning, and though we didn’t say all the things because time is a precious resource with children, we did say so many.

It was fulfilling to catch up, and nourishing on a soul level.

The past few weeks I’ve caught up with quite a few people… there’s something about leaving a place that changes the energy; we’ve socialised a lot, some accidentally, some far more intentionally… and each time I think, “I’m going to miss them”.

I’m not sad to be leaving exactly.

But we’ve spent over 3 years here… there are roots in the soil beneath me, linking us to the people we’ve met as times passed. The gorgeous thing about the Internet is of course, that we don’t have to lose contact… and yet, I know in many cases we will. Not for lack of love, but because life gets really busy, and sometimes reaching out takes a lot of energy.

This friend I spoke to today is someone I love dearly… and we irregularly send each other updates and check in. We live in different countries, and ultimately have differently busy lives. Responsibilities, environments, and our children take priority… which, with no malice at all, means friendships fall to the wayside a little.

A different friend came over to our today and as we said goodbye I thought about this. How our friendship has grown and how I love her child even though we’re not relate; and, how I’m sad to lose her even though I know it’s not wrong. Of course, we’ll still catch up and send memes, but again I can predict it’ll be different… and that’s not bad, just different.

Both of these friendships are important, and both have roots tangled deep in the earth, in very different ways.

My daughter said in our play the other day “I’m nervous of new places and people” and I thought about how social she can be, it felt odd. But it was her saying ‘hey I’m nervous, help me’. She’s sad to be leaving friends too… and I get it. She has roots here too.

We are rooted in the earth we walk, and yesterday visiting my favorite tree I thought about how we are rooted in the stories of friends and land. Its why capturing moments is so important to me… in those images, I can save stories, retell them with the kids, and preserve some of the roots they’ve nurtured.

It’s such an intricate dance right now… I’m grateful to have a space to share.

For now, with love 💕

Rohana x

“Freeze” as a stress response to parenting

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I wrote recently about 3 steps I use as a quick way that I try and move out of a ‘fight’ response when my kids trigger me, and I based my writing off of conversations with other parents too, creating essentially a mini strategy that is helpful moving away from fight and into a space of connection.

Since then however, almost as though the universe has been prompting me, I have found myself not reacting in anger or annoyance, as much as I have felt exhausted, unbothered and in a mood where I just want to say “do what you want then!” I suppose if my kids were older, or if I were a different parent, I would – but thankfully they are little and I am working hard to break away from old mainstream cycles of parenting.

So instead, I leaned in to my toolbox, resourced myself and now I’m choosing to write about it.

The freeze response is, in many ways a little bit hidden. It wasn’t until my oldest was nearly 6 that I understood it in the way I’m about to share; so if it feels new, don’t worry, it is!

‘Freeze’ is a survival response, and we know that when being threatened, if freezing is our body’s best survival strategy, then that’s what we’ll do. It isn’t a choice… because ultimately, our body’s are far quicker at making decision than our minds can catch up with.

However, in parenting, especially parenting little ones (and I’m guessing teenagers too!), when we move into a freeze response, it’s often masked as a feeling of apathy or exhaustion – the kind of response where your kid does something again and instead of getting angry or even upset, you move into the whatever, it doesn’t make a difference kid of mood.

It’s when I doom scrolling Instagram reels or the putting TV on just so that they’ll stop arguing… where the energy to do anything is zapped away.

Freeze is not a choice... in my experience, its often a sign of burnout.

However, like with fight, there are ways that can help move away from it. As parents, this isn’t a long term solution, and it doesn’t replace actually doing the work of healing and understanding why we feel like this in the first place, but, it can help in moment to moment parenting; where we need a quick fix until we can carve out some time to dig deeper.

How?

Well, the essential thing to understand here is that FIGHT is a sympathetic response to a trigger; where our bodies have decided that, in order to survive the threat, we need to fight our way out.

FREEZE is not like that, it’s a parasympathetic response. Often you’ll hear energy workers etc say that parasympathetic is good (which it can be) because it is our ‘rest and digest’ system, BUT that isn’t always the case; because in fact, the freeze response is an exaggerated rest response, in an attempt to survive whatever threat we perceive to exist. Think how an animal plays dead to avoid becoming prey; our bodies will perceive a threat, and make the decision to ‘play dead’ by becoming lethargic, apathetic or avoidant in order to survive.

So….

To get out of this, we need some activation. Which means, shaking, moving, dancing, getting motivated or, eliminating the perceived threat. Since the housework isn’t going to do itself, and dinner will still be uncooked after a doom scroll, elimination as a parent is probably not likely – our kids will still be shouting for us even if we can’t imagine what they could possibly need now.

Therefore, once we realize we are freezing, the next thing to do is get moving. Put some music on, do some dragon breathing or kapalabati (if safe to do so), shake or jump or, my personal favourite the past few weeks has been to find an easy dopamine hit. As my ADHD brain moves into freeze and I know that I need to get out, I’ve found that having a quick fix of dopamine is a real help. Snacks are a winner. Music absolutely. AND a small side project that brings joy with only a small amount of effort or time – for me this has been working through some photography edits. Anything that won’t be a hyperfocus but brings joy works brilliantly.

Ultimately, freeze is a sign of taking on too much, and being overwhelmed. As a neurodivergent human, this is something I didn’t understand affected me more until I learned that it actually does. So if you are ND then solidarity! And if you’re not, then that doesn’t make your overwhelm any less valid, it literally just means you’ll find it in different spaces or be able to tackle it with the same or different tools.

It isn’t a sign that we are failing.

It isn’t a sign that life is too hard.

It isn’t a sign that we can’t cope.

It is a survival response to our situation, and a nudge from our body (and the universe) that something probably needs to change for us to thrive.

With spring here, Ostara this week and the earth in the northern hemisphere beginning to bloom, I encourage you to walk outside with bare feet on the earth… grounding into a bigger energy is something that I deeply appreciate and have leaned on a lot recently. Finding a practice that brings joy; and breathing outside with no goal other than to just exist for a few minutes. Walks at the beach or somewhere with water are also a firm favourite.

If you’re in freeze, I see you. It won’t last forever.

With love,

Rohana x

3 steps to moving away from ‘Fight’ When our children trigger us

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

The word trigger is a buzzword on social media, so forgive me for using it here. Being triggered isn’t something to take lightly, and in various contexts, can be a life saving mechanism of the body. For me, here I use it because the word expresses the causal factor to starts the chain reaction from an event with our children, to the point where we react somatically. It is the first domino in the line … that often, though not always, causes a rupture in our relationship (this goes for parent and child, friends, siblings and even partners; all in their own similar and unique ways).

Before I carry on; I’d highlight that ‘Fight’ is only 1 of the responses that can occur; and in a series of writings this month, I will be covering the other 3 as well.

Picture this: you’re playing with your kid, they’re having fun, you’re relaxed, the atmosphere is easeful. And then, they make a noise, or do something to hurt a sibling/toy or break a house rule. It activates you – you’re body goes from peaceful and playful into anger. The action or sound is the first domino, and your anger is one of the next. Your anger is BIG, you might not say anything, or you might shout ‘no’ , look at them in angry way or do something like turn away – they sense the change in energy and they mirror it… and then you’re both angry, both upset, and after a shout or stomp their end, maybe even yours, you walk away… angry and puzzled at how something so minor became such an issue.

Your whole body is tense. Your nervous system is right up there in anger… your sweet little child, in that moment became a threat, and your ‘fight’ mode has been well and truly activated.

It isn’t because you want it to be, but rather because ‘fight’ is a body response to threat, and our brains cannot really tell the difference between actual threat and perceived threat. Add on probably years of messages compounded into our subconscious about what is okay and not, and our habitual response is to get angry and want to fight out of the situation.

Luckily toddlers are graceful, and we can absolutely rewire patterns that mean we change the way we react. Understanding where ‘fight’ shows up in our bodies, and acknowledging it is the first step.

For me, when I get mad (often when my kids fight with each other and rough play moves to attempts at intentional injury) I feel it in my hands and my throat. I want to shout, my belly tenses and my hands tingle. It is a sign that I am out of my rational brain and have moved into my amygdala, the primal response part of my brain, and my body is in survival.

When I fight, I yell. I shout and in my body have my own little temper tantrum… something I have actively worked on understanding, healing and changing for the past 4 years.

Before I understood this, my kids felt like little monsters when this happened. I couldn’t understand why but I would feel so overwhelmed and wonder how they were the same child… sometimes I fall back into this but its rare now; usually even in my anger I can see they are doing their best and the first domino could have been prevented if xyz had changed. So after the rupture, we tell a story, and try and figure out what needed changing; if I should have stepped in sooner or if we needed to redirect etc.

So if step 1 is finding ‘fight’ in our body, then what comes next?

Step 2, is accepting it. Easier said than done, but it truly is essential. Anger is our somatic experience of boundaries being crossed or pushed. It is the way our bodies are communicating with us, well before we have fully processed what the first domino was. When we accept it, we dissipate some of the energetic charge it holds. We feel it, allow it, and then, as if by magic, being seen/felt/acknowledged, the heaviness lifts and we can change it.

That’s not to say don’t ever go back, feel and heal as needed, but in the moment, when we want to avoid major ruptures, or just know that now is not the time to explode because reacting in an adrenal response isn’t really the ideal form of parenting (unless it is because there is actual danger – in which case, ABSOLUTELY react! Get your kid out the road, away from the ledge or whatever other danger may be present) and moving into a grounded space is a band aid, but it won’t address the root of the problem. To do this, requires deeper, intentional work, not an in the moment kind of medicine. The bigger healing comes in many forms, and though I have my preferences, there is no ‘right way’.

Step 3 then, is MOVE. Make our bodies shake, laugh, dance, get out the room, squat down to a toddler/child level, bounce and then look at them to listen; stretch upwards and take breaths to feel your chest expanding as much as is comfortable, or, do anything that allows movement. Sometimes this means saying out loud “wow, i have some angry energy, I need to shake it out, can you help me?” which is especially effective with younger kids because it both affirms that it isn’t their fault, and it gets them learning how we can healthily change the tone of a conversation. I don’t have a 1 size fits all, but movement is my tried, tested and absolute favourite way to change energy away from anger and fight, into a space where we can build connection, repair if needed and work through whatever boundaries need to be asserted.

On a good day, I use this without even thinking, making a game or changing the play to include more movement for everyone. On a harder day, it takes intentional pause, feeling the feelings, saying sorry for yelling and making a choice to walk, move and make changes to whatever is going on. A bonus is getting outside in the sunshine if its available, or taking a bundled up walk to find something cool – again, way easier with younger kids, but not impossible with older ones; a walk to pick up a favourite snack, dinner ingredient or catch some pokemon or whatever thing they are into works as well.

And that’s it, 1, 2, 3. They are simple. They are accessible. They are also really hard to remember in the moment, and it takes practice (just like life).

Recommended Reads – 10 of my favourite parenting-ish books

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I wanted to write something meaningful to start the calendar year. I’m still hibernating and retreating into my audible library, as well as actual real life books, so this feels like a fun way to share and be of benefit.

In no particular order, I’ll share some of my favourite books with either a birth-y or parenting theme. I’ve accumulated these over the last 7 years, so it’s not an exhaustive list, but if you’re looking for something good, I’ll say my standards are pretty high so those that make the cut will be thought provoking, note-taking worthy and sometimes triggering (in a growth kind of way).

I have read and listened to a variety of books, and some parenting ones don’t make the cut here because with this selection, I’d say you’ve got a fair balance of research based books, often that draw on others too, so I’m essentially trying to save you time – these are mostly easy to digest, mostly available as audiobooks, and all with information that will impact you as a parent (and human) in some way.

Oh and also, disclaimer, none of these are because I’m being asked to advertise them – I just had a moment of inspiration!

1. Raising Free People – Akilah S Richards

This book was one I didn’t know I needed to hear until I did, and now, since buying it in 2021 I have listened to it 4 times. It is like a hug. It is truth-telling, soul-warming and absolutely hard hitting in the spots where it needs to be. If you are going to read any book about raising humans, regardless of your schooling choices (because it is technically an unschooling book) this would be the one I would recommend. If you are considering a life without school, this book is, in my opinion, a must read! I was hooked from the very start.

2. Extraordinary Parenting – Eloise Rickman

Eloise is one of the most incredible educators I have come across in my home education journey. I found her by chance in 2020, just before the first UK lockdown. I have taken a few of her online courses and when she published this book, I pre-ordered it, knowing I would absolutely want to read every word. It did not disappoint. My copy has little post it tag notes, highlighted bits and dog eared pages throughout. It is an affirming read. It is radical and warm and about small revolutions rather than a big one, and it is through this book, and Eloise’s other writing that I first really understood the idea of advocacy for children, not just in my home, but globally.

3. Unconditional Parenting – Alfie Kohn

This book is a classic. I have included it here because it was my gateway into the world of peaceful parenting in 2018. It was through Alfie Kohn that I saw my son, not as a baby who I needed to look after, but really as a person beyond me. It was in these pages that for the first time, I didn’t feel guilty and overwhelmed, but hopeful; and though I still had so many lessons to learn, this book flung open the door for me to break away from mainstream parenting, in a way that I wasn’t confident enough to do so fully before.

4. The Birth Debrief – Illiyin Morrison

WOW. This book was immense. I listened to it over the course of a few weeks as part of a research project in late 2023, and it went above and beyond what I had hoped. What I didn’t expect however, was to find language and validation for my own births, because I thought I had pretty much processed everything there was to process – I had done a lot, but there was still enough for these words to feel triggering, soothing, comforting and then peaceful. For anyone who’s had a baby, or supported a birth, this book is a wonderful read.

5. It Didn’t Start With You – Mark Wolynn

The book was part of my 2020 lockdown book binge, because while parenting took up a lot of time, having both of us home, meant I got time to read and invest in myself. This is probably one of the hardest reads in this list, where there are triggering points, dull moments and overall a sense of ‘what is actually real then?’. It is also a book that I would recommend to pretty much anyone, parent or not, because it opens up the idea that we carry stories in our bodies from those who came before us. There are more recent books (I’m currently reading My Grandmothers Hands by Resmaa Menakem and this goes into similar themes), however, I would say that It Didn’t Start With You has a special spot in my own personal journey, and it feels more apt to have it here. The ideas in this book, epigenetics, trauma, ancestral lines, they are all themes that have stayed with me since reading it, and have informed many of the choices I’ve made to study, heal and break cycles where I can. Importantly, this book also gave me a sense of appreciation for the journeys of my ancestors, and though I wish I knew more about my family lines, it was through this book that I began to have the courage to ask.

6. Free To Learn – Peter Gray

One for the unschoolers here! This book was my first read into our education system and the way kids learn when we don’t interfere. It is still one I reference and I wish I had a physical copy because audible does only take you so far. That said, I know I wouldn’t have fallen in love with audiobooks without it, because this book was what catalyzed my decision to home educate. I was curious beforehand, but certain after listening to it; it showed me that I could give my children more than the school system could, and so far, it hasn’t been wrong. That said, while after reading it, I went through a period of being anti-school, I’m at a much more balanced space now where I can see the benefit it has for those it works for. This means, one of my children is in preschool, and my older child is firmly in the home-ed camp. If you’re struggling in the school system, it is a book I’d recommend, however, it absolutely won’t be for everyone.

7. Rise Sister Rise - Rebecca Campbell

Okay so this wasn’t really parent-y but it absolutely transformed my relationship with myself, and therefore also my children. Reading this book, doing the practices and seeing myself in a new light has catalysed my relationship with my children in a way that words don’t do justice to. It was in some ways the first book that made me consider how to be a good ancestor, as opposed to just being a descendant. In this, I also began to see that though we inherit trauma, we also inherit strength.

8. Playful Parenting – Lawrence J Cohen

I am slightly obsessed with the ideas of play therapy and this book brought a lot of them into accessible and ultimately realistic words which I could digest, contemplate and then implement. I read it in 2023, after I’d had it on my shelf for nearly 2 years, and I wish I had prioritised this one sooner. Probably one of my favourite books now, because although it was a little repetitive with examples, it also meant I got lots of potential viewpoints to consider and with my children each being at different stages, it gave me some really wonderful material to work through. It isn’t the most captivating read, and I had to put it down to mull over things at points, but for me that is a mark of a wonderful book.

9. Let them Eat Dirt – B. Brett Finlay & Marie-Claire Arrieta

I read this one in early 2020, and it was thrilling. I had been curious about much of the parenting practices where we give kids more autonomy and trust, but had fears over hygiene (to an extent) and so was worrying, especially after some illnesses and scary moments with my firstborn. This book highlighted why I felt uneasy about giving them medicine for the sake of it; why it was better to have a slightly ‘dirty’ house and child as opposed to hand-sanitizer at every corner, and why, when the option is available, a vaginal birth has many health benefits. What I particularly loved about this last point is that the book spoke directly to the fact that medical intervention is going to happen because in this day and age, not only can it save lives, but also create a sense of empowerment; and so rather than end with ‘vaginal birth is optimal’ it also gave suggestions about how, when birth is via cesarean, we can still provide our babies with the influx of good bacteria that they would get through the birth canal. As a newly trained doula back then, this was exactly what I needed to hear in order to support families through whatever choices worked for them.

10. There’s no such thing as bad weather – Linda Akeson McGurk

This is a book every parent should read. I’m guilty of hiding in ‘bad’ weather. I also try to a lot less since reading this. This book demonstrates how it isn’t the weather that is our problem, but rather the fact we aren’t prepared, or can’t be bothered, or in many cases, just don’t know how to brave a harsh day outside because it’s habitual to hide. I am someone who fully advocates for hibernating when needed, but equally, getting outside makes a world of difference for every single member of my family; this book gave me the confidence to find more balance, and to say f*ck it, suit and boot up and go get wet in puddles because it builds resilience and gifts our children the opportunity for joy all year round, not just when the sun shines.

The End

That’s my top 10. I could add a few more, but maybe I’ll do that another day. For now, if you read any, I’d love to hear what you think. If you’ve already read some and fancy a chat, let’s do it in the comments! And, if you have a book rec you think I’d enjoy, get in touch and let me know. I’m always looking for another good read to add to my giant pile!

For now, enjoy x

Rohana

Self study, dopamine and why I’m not worrying that my kid can’t read yet.

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I’m currently taking a Chinese medicine course, all about Traditional Chinese Medicine in relation to women’s health.

When I read about it before buying, it sounded fascinating.

Now, taking it, I’m really struggling to understand anything, and as a result, I’m putting off the study. There’s so no dopamine hit at completing units because I think I’ve understood it, and then realise I’m still very confused.

I’m learning about myself as I go though, because nobody is making me do the course. I could quit. Nobody would hold me accountable, and yet, I’m continuing – at snails pace – knowing that if I keep at it, by the end, things should fall into place and I’ll understand.

I’ve got pieces of the puzzle, but not the big picture yet.

As I watch this unfold in my own life, I’m also reflecting on our home education styles and where my children are at. P is 6 and he isn’t reading or writing yet, he can recognise letters, and even some words, though will often choose to say he doesnt know. A is 3 and showing a bit more interest in writing letters, though only on her terms. If corrected, she gets upset.

They are both at different stages, both with different pieces of the puzzle.

P doesn’t get a dopamine hit from reading or writing in the same way he does from science experiments or inventing. A gets more joy from writing, but she also gets frustrated quickly. She loves making up pictures and will come tell me about them, and the delight in her sharing is something I am determined to preserve. To me, it isn’t worth pushing anything more that that, because I trust that it will all come in time.

If they were schooled, in this country (UK) generally, most kids are expected to have at least started on the writing and reading path by the age of 6 (earlier for many). If not, they’re the B word – behind! The pressure put on young children to write and read is immense, and I’m not immune to seeing others children and worrying about if I should push mine more. That said, even when I do worry, I come back to a place of trust, unpicking my own feelings of being ‘behind’ or not performing well enough when I was in school. This is the beauty of our choice to unschool – a label I’ve become more and more comfortable with adopting recently.

As I reflect on my course and study, I know that as an adult, I understand the long game and benefits of continuing even when it feels hard. The ability to delay gratification is a skill I work on, and in this case am leaning into. I can see that eventually the pieces will come together; and I’m giving myself permission to take it slow but also not give up.

As I watch my kids, especially P, I see this kind of grit and motivation when they do things that come from a place of pure love. When they build or draw or tell a story, or even climb a tree; and they fall or it goes wrong but they get back to trying, slower, learning, more cautious yet determined.

It is something so easily missed if not looking, but once you see it, the intrinsic motivation in our children is a beautiful expression of their humanity. The drive to accomplished something, not for a sticker or praise, but for the genuine love of it – it’s in all of us, stamped out by instant gratification systems and manipulative rewards.

I am learning to slow down more, lean in to the long game.

They don’t need to learn it; they already know it, innately.

When P turns to me and says, I want to read, I’ll be ready. When A asks, it’ll be the same. Maybe I’ll get the bonus joy of them wanting to do it together, a joint learning adventure.

Until then, I’m not worrying too much. I’ll learn for my own joy, and we’ll listen to audiobooks and read stories from the bookshelves. We’ll play and dance and take the pressure off… and maybe by the time I finish this course, I’ll be better equipped with new resources anyway.

As ever, thanks for reading.

With love, and a reminder that nomatter what, you are enough,

Rohana x

As they grow and develop their skills and understanding, more puzzle pieces fit into place. They’ll start to find more joy and less frustration and they’ll choose to both read and write for fun in their own time.

It takes time to change

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

“You doing okay?” my partner asked today.

“I feel like a shitty mum and a shitty wife for dumping loads on you today” I replied.

“That’s what we do things, if you need help, ask”.

He just gets it.

So for context, the day has been SO good and also SO rollercoaster-y; like many many of the days in my life with the kids and now our puppy. We’ve had her for nearly 4 weeks, and it’s been the hardest time in many ways, and not because of toilet accidents or night waking.

I’ve had rebellion in the rain over shoes and socks at the park, and tears over wet bums and cold feet. Stomps because dinner wasn’t right and so many sibling arguments to referee today. It’s a beautiful chaos, topped into explosive territory because my middle and youngest child have started squeaking like squeaky toys around the puppy, and freaking out when she comes to play and jumps on them. So I’ve been separating the crazies all day.

Pretty normal.

Also a lot.

Which led to this text conversation… and me sharing my feelings.

And then, true to pretty much everything in life, especially with P, he couldn’t sleep. So started to chat about molecules with me; and we went downstairs to tidy up and set up an experiment.

3 bowls – water, ice and air.

He sat on the side; and watched, telling me the water would evaporate and ice would melt.

…

…

…

“It takes time for things to change mummy“

Another day, I might have nodded along and agreed without much thought, but tonight, he brought a much deeper lesson. He was talking about the molecules in the ice cube; I was hearing words that resonate about life.

It takes time for things to change.

And honestly, we live in a world that prioritizes instant gratification so much that waiting feels especially hard. We want things now, we want things tomorrow, we want things yesterday.

I think we’ve forgotten the beauty in the build up of excitement while we wait for things.

Its not easy, in fact, waiting is downright uncomfortable, and probably why I’ve been in such a weird headspace today; but waiting is a part of life, and the fact that he gets that; the fact that it’s just normal (ish) for him, makes me feel really hopeful tonight.

Wherever you are reading this,

Whatever life is bringing you,

Whatever changes you are waiting for,

It takes time.

So I’m here waiting with you, and want to remind you, you are loved, you are important, you are enough.

Thanks for reading,

xx Rohana

Grief: The Death of our Dog

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Talking to kids about grief is a big topic, and it’s often one that many parents find hard. Most adults steer conversations away from grief, or are awkward when it comes up. So talking to children is even harder.

And it’s even more important.

These are my reflections of our experience of losing my parents dog, how it’s impacted my children and how it’s opened windows into conversations that we’d have otherwise probably not have had.

Last year, we spent a few months in Gibraltar living with my parents, and consequently my childhood dog who was 17 years old by that point. Soon after we came back to the UK, my dog (Lucky) died.

I didn’t bat an eyelid. Mum messaged me, and within the same hour I told my kids.

In my view, an hour, or day or week wouldn’t make a difference, except that I’d be lying by omission with absolutely no reason to. I knew it would be sad and hard, and I also knew that they would need the time to process it; so by telling them straight away, I could have my feelings and then be able to hold space for theirs when they came through in full force.

This proved to be an extremely valuable decision for us, because by the time the big feelings came a week later; I’d been able to light a candle, say a prayer, and celebrate the life and joy my dog had brought. It gave me the mental space to hold them, hear them, and also steer them through their grief. Yes she was a dog, not a person, but she was family, and they felt the impact of her loss deeply.

We had read books on death before, and regularly spoken about the circle of life, and we’d told the kids that Lucky was old in her bones. She slept a lot. Was slow. We knew it was coming.

They loved her. In the short spurts of time they’d spent with her, she left her pawprint in their hearts; especially my oldest who met her for the first time when he was 5 days old. She’s a part of their story, and their first real experience of death and grief.

When it hit them, the kids cried. They asked what would happen. They asked where she’d go. We spoke about different traditions, and how she specifically had been cremated so her ashes would return to the earth and new life would bloom where she was laid. Our favourite book was The Endless Story which is illustrated beautifully.

My parents kept her ashes and when we went back to Gibraltar, we scattered them together. We spoken about the grass and flowers, and how the ashes would seep into the soil, and be a part of the process to create new life. We spoke about how some people (including me) believe in reincarnation.

There were many tears. There was a lot of very audible and visual grief… and I told the kids to let it all out. They could be as sad as they wanted, in whatever way felt right to them.

My daughter collected flowers and cried. My oldest son sobbed and shouted, and said he wished we could be immortal jellyfish so we’d never die. My younger son wasn’t sure… he was too little really. But he was there, and that mattered. My parents and brother were with us of course, and they held my children, shared some fun stories and shared in sorrow too. It was a hard and important day.

That was 6 months ago.

With his recent birthday, P woke up several times in the weeks leading to it, with sobs of not wanting to get old because getting old means we are closer to dying.

Since then, topics of saddness, missing loved ones, wishing nobody would die, worrying that we’ll all get old and die, wanting to be cremated together and various other aspects of death have since become a part of our life. At any given moment, sometimes close together, sometimes with weeks in between, they’ll make a comment, or get quiet, or have a wave of tears about Lucky being dead. A (aged 3) has commented and cried things like “I didn’t want Lucky to die” or “I wish I could stroke Lucky again” … but her process has been straightforward for me, we’ve cuddled, cried, sonerimes shell ask for a story of when Lucky was little or for me to tell her about when she’d help my dad with dog walks, and then that’s it. P (aged 6) on thr other hand, has not been so straightforward; like with pretty nuch everything, his high sensitivity has really shone through.

The way I’ve been managing this has varied; sometimes it’s just a case of listening, reflecting back what he’s said, and then holding him through it. Reminding him that I am here and these feelings are normal. He often will spend a few minutes here in this space and then enter a new conversation with me or say he’s ready to play.

On his birthday, he said when we die, we disappear forever, and so I brought in the concept of memory keeping us alive, and about how people leave their legacy; I specifically said about how people that invent things might live on through their inventions or discoveries, like gravity and electricity, or through movies and stories like Vikings, or through preservation like the dinosaurs. All of those creatures/people might be dead, but we haven’t forgotten them. This worked remarkably well, and he visibly relaxed as he worked out that we fly planes and take pictures and drive cars, even if the people who invented them lived long ago.

Lastly, if it’s a really hard one, or a particularly big feeling, like when P says he wants us to all be immortal jellyfish, or when he tells me that he’s scared he won’t come back and be with the same family, I remind him he can choose what to believe. They there’s no right or wrong, and that nomatter what, we are here now, making the best of it. Usually this also involves cuddles or closeness too, something I’m particularly aware of because I want him to feel safe through the feelings.

Chatting about the grief has open windows of conversation, and we’ve spoken openly about how grown ups come back and that also not always. We’ve spoken about safety first in situations like climbing or jumping or in the car. We’ve spoken about age, and how age isn’t the only factor in death.

Mostly the emphasis is on saying thank you to the earth; for growing more and blooming, and showing us that there really is a circle of life.

As ever,

Thanks for reading xx

Rohana

Little voices, Anger and our brilliant brains

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

You know when they’re little, they say some things but it sounds a little funny because they can’t quite pronounce it yet. Then suddenly, that little difference stops, and we wonder when they learnt to say words the way we do. Every time I hear my littlest talk at the moment, I want to record it all because I want to bottle it up and preserve the sweet accents and voices he does. Of course, that defeats the purpose of being in the moment and actually listening, but I have snuck in a few videos to send family and save as reminders.

I know that these years are fleeting, even when they feel busy. As we approach birthdays, where K will be 2 and P will be 6, I am reflecting on the way they have changed and the language they use. I don’t even remember when it became possible to have such grown up conversations with P, but he’s chatting away nine to the dozen daily, always with a new idea, explanation or request to build something in play. Today we’ve been playing Archelon nests and Ovoraptor mums and I’m struck by how this has become such a norm for us.

P delights in telling me everything about anything; and some of the most interesting conversations happen while he’s chatting away after bedtime, or when we’re out and I can lend him an ear a little more readily as we walk along. He doesn’t get words in as often as he’d like because I’m pulled between all 3 kids, and I can see that it’s having an impact; so when we’re out and he tells me about life and stories, I savour as much of it as I can.

A on the other hand, doesn’t wait for opportunity, she will talk and talk and talk, and has been for years. She really enjoys watching videos on my phone that I’ve taken of them over the years, and sometimes will tell me there’s a specific one I need to see. It gives me the chance to relive some of the best moments, and reminds me why I capture so much when I can; because they change and it feels like forever but also too soon. Hearing her talk on these videos brings to light just how early she’s articulated and narrated her life; and I do sometimes joke that we must have blanked out some months during the pandemic lockdowns because she feels far more grown up.

That said, though I watch my children and marvel at the way they act for their years, I also know they are very much this way because they’ve been given the freedom to grow their voices, challenge us, and come back to safety. I didn’t start parenting thinking this would be the way we parent our kids, but as the years go by, I am more convinced that it’s working well for us. A mix of ideas, lots of trying things out and lots of changes to empower the humans we’re growing with.

A couple days ago, I asked P to stop swinging and hitting the wall with his feet. A little while later, he got upset with his sister and went to throw a punch. We sat down, he screamed at me and told me he had to go hurt her because she started it. So I said “I get it, you’re so mad right now, your hands won’t even let you stop being angry” and then I showed him how when we clench our fits ready to punch, our body and brain message each other to be angry. Alternatively, when we hold our palms flat, open towards the sky/ceiling, our body and brain send messages of calm.

Fascinated, but still upset with his sister; we turned it into a game where he would do something he knew wasn’t allowed – in this case hit the wall as he swung, and I would be “super, extra anrgy mummy” making a fist, stomping my feet and growling before chasing him until he turned around and opened my palms up to the sky and I’d sigh and relax.

We soon had A involved too and they giggled and giggled at the game; which from my reading about playful parenting, I absolutely took as a good sign on emotional release.

I not only marveled later about this snippet of our day from an emotional regulation perspective, but also through the lens of their little voices. I don’t have the urge to video record everything anymore with P, because he’s chats are so different, but I will bring out the dictaphone we bought to record stories with him; and a while back when he was interested and asked me to, we recorded some stories on a podcast for them to listen to. It’s hardly used, and there are about 4 or 5 I haven’t got round to uploaded yet because the interest was lost; but if they want to pick it up, we can. I loved recording them with him, especially where he’d say the words too, because it really felt like a moment of his voice frozen in a beautiful way. I’ve also used it to record stories for our Yoto player, and that’s been fantastic because they absolutely love listening to library books we’ve borrowed and returned, but preserved for when they are in the mood.

Speaking of our Yoto player, P gave me a quick lesson about how our lungs have trees called alveoli and about how the skin is actually our largest organ. He loves lying down with the player and going through the cards when I am busy with his siblings.

His sister on the other hand isn’t fully into audiobooks, but I have often walked into her reading to herself or chatting away about something in a book, to whom I presume are imaginary friends around her. Her chats are so different to his, and while he tells me how things work, she tells me how beautiful life is. She’ll tell me she loves things, the colours, the shapes, the sounds. She’ll ask to play games with me and then get bored, go find P and I hear them playing a version of things they’ve watched on TV, chatting away and planning roles. It’s the best sound, and one, I really never imagined we’d get to when they would fight all the time.

Home educating them has meant we focus a lot on conflict resolution though, and I can see my attempts and explaining energy and actions are starting to show. I can see how, even though I’ll have to call out “sort it out guys” or step in like with the punching scenario above; they are also learning how to work together. They call themselves a team, and P will say our team has 5 people, but because daddy’s away, it’s got 4 right now until he’s back. It’s a wonderful thing to hear for me, because even though I know it’s his coping mechanism and sounds a little sad, it’s also a beautiful one, and healthier than others from the past. I can see the growth, and importantly, I am learning more deeply that while I have influence over my children as their parent, I cannot control the way they react to situations but I absolutely can do my own inner work and co-regulate with them to build resilience as they get older.

This month has been a rollercoaster, in the same way that many months have been, with changes of direction and disconnection while we each find out feet figuring out what we need. I’m leaning into screen time as a tool for productivity but also for connection; joining them in their joy while they show me what they can do on a game, or chatting with them about the episodes they watch. I’m adapting so that they can have moments of time with me, which had been few and far between since their dad left in April, and I am factoring in, for the first time in years a 20 minute yoga practice that even if it’s midnight, I will make time for.

I tell my kids about their playdough brain; reminding them they can grow their brain and expand their capacity regularly. In doing this, I guess I’ve also been giving myself room to expand my own capacity too; slowly integrating the future I want to manifest for them from a cognitive ideal, to an experience. I have spent years focusing on making sure they know about their brilliant brains, and in doing so, I’m seeing this month how my own brain is brilliant too (and as a reminder to you reading this, yours is brilliant as well).

Wishing you a beautiful day, week and month ahead.

With love,

Rohana x