Sometimes doing the right thing sucks!

There are a lot of people in this world that I look up to: Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa, and Ghandi – I can go on for hours. What I admire so much about them is their selflessness and their attempts to bring about positive change within society. True heroes I tell you. Since I can remember, I have dreamt of also being one of the ‘greates’, a selfless individual who will change society and be remembered forever.

With that idea in my head I entered the world as a young adult, ready to save the world from itself. That is why I started studying Psychology, and it is also the reason why I decided to work with children. Children are innocent and mouldable. If you can intervene in childhood, you may have the opportunity to change the outcome of that child’s life, and ultimately THE WORLD.

It all seems so simple. Study, get your degree, and go change the world! No. I do not know how my above mentioned heroes did it to be honest. This whole sacrifice yourself to save the world thing is not very enjoyable, because you quickly realize that you ACTUALLY have to sacrifice a lot and put all your own needs aside in order to try and help others fulfil their needs. On top of that, people usually take it for granted. So you are left alone out in the cold when you are done with your good deeds for the day. Everyone goes off and enjoys themselves, while you stagger home, drained with no energy left for yourself.

This is kind of how the past year and a half has been for me. I decided that I am now educated and old enough to go out into the world and make a difference. I am ready to serve those in need. I was ready to serve the world, heck; I offered my entire life and dreams to the world on a silver platter.

 

 

Obviously this was a big decision and I felt very anxious about it. I started to work at various places, where I did all kinds of therapy with children. Every day. At first I felt like I am living the dream, saving the world, making a difference!!!!!!

 

 

It did not even matter that I do not really like children that much, because they liked me and everything just seemed to fall into place. The first week of work was just so awesome that you float though every day and see butterflies and flowers everywhere, because LIFE IS GREAT!
 

 

In psychology we learned that there are different phases of a relationship. The first phase is called the ‘honeymoon phase’, not because you go on honeymoon, but because it is a period in the relationship where you can’t believe everything is just so perfect! The grass seems greener, birds chirp everywhere you go and it feels like the world is one big happy round ball of joy. Now, I am going to be psychology llama here for a while and apply the different stages of a relationship on my experiences at work.

Like I said, first week I felt invincible and awesome – honeymoon phase. Now, as we all know, a phase is called a phase because it is something you go through, which means at some point it ends. You move to another phase, leaving an old phase behind. Next phase of relationships: the disillusion phase. Yep, you look at your partner one day while he is picking his nose and you are like WTF? Furthermore, you start to realise that he/she is not that perfect. You find out stuff that is not so dreamy and nice, like your partner farting, or his/her inability to understand your obviously clear point in an argument.

Same happened at work. Unfortunately my work honeymoon phase was short lived, by week two, I was already seeing question marks and WTF signs in my mind.
 

Working with kids is rough, they are all over you the entire time (personal space is one of those non-existent things), they want your FULL attention ALL the time and the only way that they feel you are giving them attention is if you play with them and listen to their stories about random things that you don’t care about. At all.

I am a good person who likes to have fun and listen to others. But running around in my office on my hands and knees for an hour while talking dog language is not what I perceive as fun. Especially if it was your last hope of getting information out of a child so that you can help them, and then when you are done you achieved nothing.

The levels of energy children possess at random times left me baffled at my desk thinking WTF after a group session. I will have five kids in my office to assist them with some of the school work they are struggling with. I will then walk about and help every one where needed.

Next moment….

 

Kid 1: “Let’s wrestle teacher!!!!!!”

Other kids: “YAAAAAAAAHHHHHH”

Me: “No, we have to work”

Kid 2: “But why, we want to play with you”

Me: “I can’t play now because I have to make sure you do your work”

Other kids: “AAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWW……”

Me: “Fine, I tell you what, when we are done, you can play with the board games you guys like so much”

Issue sorted out, you turn around and either accidentally step on a kid’s work/hand or pencils, or you stumble. Regardless what triggered the idea of “teacher wants to play” in the kid’s heads, you soon find yourself on the ground in a serious wrestling match with 5 kids, and you are losing like in the old days.

 

So after several disillusionment phase encounters I realised that I have to do something otherwise I am not going to survive this shit. I consider throwing in the towel because all of a sudden the grass isn’t green anymore and the birds are not chirping because they all died from a bird flu epidemic. It will be sooooooo much easier to just quit and go do something that I am good at that does not involve children.

 

Unfortunately I usually end up in a serious conversation with my conscience at this point:

 

Me: “I am so tired, I just want to sleep, I don’t feel like I can do this anymore”

 

Conscience: “Do you think Mandela gave up when he spent all those years in PRISON?! You will never be like him; you will never change the world. You are a loser! Mandela survived prison and you can’t even handle a couple of kids?! You weakling!”

Me: “I am such a bad, selfish person”

Conscience: “Yes. Yes you are, and bad people do not deserve good things in life”

Me: “But I want good things in life”

Conscience: “Do you expect the world to hand out happiness to you when you sit on your ass and allow innocent children to be subjected to bad worldly influences that will cause them to become troubled teenagers and then troubled adults who have children and then mess their children up????!!!!!!”

Me: “No….I want the children to be happy…..”

 

So I lose the fight and decide to stay on and make this work!
 

The first thing I decide is that if I am going to survive in the child jungle I need to be dressed right for it. Goodbye high heels, pretty shoes, lovely dresses and beautiful shirts. Goodbye loose hair and make up every day. It was sad. But I will not be a weakling, I will make this work. If I have to jump on a trampoline or pretend I am a worm and roll around on the grass in order to save the world, I will do it. If children throw me with dirt, hit me, scream at me, spill food and stuff all over me or wrestle with me on the ground, I am prepared to deal with it for the greater good.

 

So I went shopping for childproof clothes

Unfortunately our solutions to our problems do not always turn out the way we hoped.

 

 

Now, on top of being selfless and having to deal with all the random things kids do every day, I now felt ugly. Ugly, fat, unlovable and disgusting.

 

But, I am doing this for the children so that I can make a difference in the world. So I kept going.

 

 

I took obstacles in my stride; I did not let anything get me down

 

 

Despite my fake enthusiasm and my mindset to ‘make this shit work’, I reached a level of apathy regarding work that I have not experienced before in my life. I became robot llama.

 

Wake up in the morning, tired.

Drive to work in traffic, basically still sleeping

Make cup of coffee at work. Coffee = only good thing about work

Sit, drink coffee and wait. It’s like waiting for a hurricane to hit your house – n.o.t fun

First client/group of children arrive for day

Put on fake smile and greet parents

Work with child

Child does not want to work or talk

Tantrum

I turn into deaf llama who can’t hear and therefore can’t respond to tantrums

I count the minutes to my break

Break. Make coffee. Coffee = only thing that is going to get me through this day

Sit on couch and stare aimlessly at other couch while feeling dead inside

After break = drag body back to work again

Robot llama counsels children/plays with children/is showing fake enthusiasm

I count down the minutes till I go home

Minutes becomes HOOOOUUUURRRRRSSSS

Parents are late

Apathy

Finally time to go home

Drag drained body to car

Drive home in fucking traffic

Once home, I wonder how the hell I got there because I can’t remember driving past certain landmarks like petrol stations and robots.

Sit in car, too tired to climb out

Climb out, crawl up the 20 stairs to my apartment

Open fridge – nothing to eat

Fall down on couch and just lie there

Then I either go and give dance classes for 3 hours, or I just lie there for the rest of the night

9pm, so tired I can’t see

9:15pm fast asleep

Repeat

 

Now why did I keep on doing this to myself?

 

 

Robot llama was not a good place to be in; you can only be apathetic up until a point.

One day, out of the blue, some or other invisible line in my mind was crossed

 

 

That was it. I could not do it anymore. FUCK serving the world and sacrificing myself for the greater good. That shit is overrated. I hate what I am doing, therefore I am not giving it my all, and therefore I am not making a real impact on the world.

So I phoned a friend, and cried hysterically for more than an hour. I had to talk to someone who can help me escape the vicious arguments I had with my conscience. I couldn’t fight my conscience alone anymore. Luckily my friend trashed my conscience and all its arguments regarding what is right. In a nutshell it went like this

 

Conscience: She can’t give up, the world needs her

Fearless B: Is she happy?

Conscience: No

Fearless B: Can unhappy people save the world?

Conscience: No

Fearless B: So she is technically not saving the world?

Conscience: No

Fearless B: Then WHY the FUCK are you making her do this?!

Conscience: Because we want to save the world

Fearless B: Only Jesus can save the world

Conscience: (Facepalm)

Fearless B: That’s what I thought

Conscience: (No response)

Fearless B: She can’t save the world, but she can make a positive contribution

Conscience: But how? Anything else is selfish

Fearless B: Being selfish makes her happy, and happy people can help the world

Conscience: You win

 

And so I quit my job, applied for another course at University, and completely revamped (it feels to me) my life. I still work with kids 2 days a week, but that is manageable. Other than that, I earn my income through pole dancing classes at the studio I work at.

The ironic thing? I am earning roughly the same amount per hour I give pole class, as I earned in a day at my old job. Ridiculous.

Anyway, I decided I will contribute to humanity by becoming a researcher. I will research shit, write about it, publish it and so help other people who are working with children to improve their skills and knowledge. I will also one day lecture undergrads with the same hopes and dreams I had. But, I will be awesome and cultivate a love of psychology in their hearts. Then I will send them out into the world with knowledge and skills, so that they can save the children.

Full proof plan to save the world: check

 

Take a left on Chicken Street

My parents have a lovely house; it’s in a nice quiet suburb, and close to everything in the city. For the first couple of years while I was studying, I lived at home with my family. What I liked about this house was the surroundings. We had a small open field right in front of our house. It wasn’t very big; about 3 houses could fit on it. It was this very small piece of neglected field, with nice houses all around it.

When you stood outside our gate and faced to the front you would see the little field, and if you turned your head slightly to the left there was an old abandoned house. So what is so special about an old abandoned house and a small field in the middle of a city suburb? Well, the old house and field was home to a group of wild guinea foul.

My mother and I both have this maternal instinct when it comes to animals that seem to need help or food. So we started feeding them every morning and every afternoon, which was very cool. But, this is not what my story is about today.

I have a younger sister; we differ about 3 years in age. For the sake of her anonymity (and possibly publicly humiliating us both on this blog) I will call her Kayla. According to the whole world Kayla and I look pretty much the same and to top it off most people say we talk alike and have the same facial expressions. But we both know better. Yeah, maybe we look a little alike and so on, but personality-wise we differ a lot. We have both agreed that I am the more patient and caring one, and that I care about the world and other people around me. I am a kind and soft person. Kayla on the other hand has a very short temper, she gets annoyed easily, and people in general piss her off. She is also a very caring person, but like Donkey said in Shrek – onions have layers. So if you peel of a couple of onion layers, you will get to her soft side.

One fateful day she convinced me to go jogging with her. Now there is one thing you should understand, I don’t do jogging. In fact I hate it. Why the hell do you want to run around the block? I have hated running or jogging since I was a kid. It is not my style, and I do not see the point.

“Yah, I ran 2 miles today!” Yeah, on the same damn path you jog on everyday. Don’t you ever get bored?!

So Kayla convinced me to go jogging with her, and I convinced her that we should rather make it a brisk walk. We agreed and off we went.

We decided to turn left into the street right above our street and see where it leads, because we have never seen it before (it is a very quiet and almost hidden little street). We were giggling the entire time because apparently one of our country's Olympic swimmers lived in the house on the corner, so we were gushing about how hot he was.

Our goal of burning calories was well on its way until I got distracted. On the side of the road I saw a hen and her chicks. Now, as I explained before, I love chickens. So I had to stop and stare at them. Kayla did not like this very much because she thinks chickens are stupid, but not cute-stupid (like I think of them), but dumb-and-useless-stupid. Regardless of how annoyed she was about this abrupt stop in our fitness mission, she stood with me, because under all of her onion layers there is a lot of love and compassion for her older sister.

I was so caught up with this hen and her chicks I did not realise that other chickens were emerging from the bushes around us. But Kayla sure did.

Obviously I was thrilled about the fact that there were now MORE chickens around me. Wild chickens, living in a suburb in the city – how awesome is that?! I just wanted to take all of them home and group hug them till the day I die.

And the chickens just kept on coming. Entire families of chickens with little chicks of every colour and size you could imagine. I felt like a kid in a candy store. Kayla was getting uneasy because this mass of chickens was starting to freak her out. I couldn’t care less. Until I realised the same thing she realised quite a while back. We were basically surrounded by about 20 chickens.

So we realised (or I realised) that they weren’t coming out of hiding or their nests to mingle with us, they were strutting around there because we were a threat to their chicks, and they were ready to strike the moment we made a wrong move. So we started walking away slowly.

But the damn chickens still kept appearing out of every bush along the side walk.

It was at that point where I got scared. It was not like they stood still and stared at us. They were FOLLOWING us, and walking alongside us in a very threatening way. One of the roosters was starting to pick up pace and made his way right towards Kayla. She yelped and started running. Monkey see, monkey do. So I was right behind her. Running away was not a good idea, because it made the mob of angry-ass chickens run as well. I wish I could have seen us that day, two girls being chased by a very large and angry group of chickens.

Thanks to the boost pure adrenaline gave us, we managed to outrun the chicken mob. While I was gasping for breath, I turned around to see if we were safe, and all I saw was one rooster standing in the middle of the road. He looked like a warrior chicken.

I swear if that rooster could talk, he would have said this to me: “Don’t ever step foot in our neighbourhood again, or else you will have to deal with me”.

Note taken. So we continued our exercise mission and took a different road back home. Even though I am scared to go back to that street full of chickens, it still intrigued me a lot. In a radius of about 2 kilometres, our little suburb has wild guinea foul and free range chickens (that’s what I call them now).

So the next day I drove (in the safety of my own car) down that street. I wanted to make sure we did not over exaggerate, or imagined all those chickens. We didn’t - while I was driving I saw it: the chicken fest - it was like I was standing in the middle of a chicken farm. I was once again flabbergasted by the amount of chickens living in between the houses in that street. It is so unusual and weird that it should be a tourist attraction.

But, until these free range chickens win over the hearts of tourists, I am their biggest fan. When I used to feel down I would drive down that street and park my car on the side walk and just stare at all the chickens and chicks walking past and eating. It was like my happy place. In the safety of my own car.

But now I've moved, not too far away, but far enough to rather buy a chocolate to cheer me up than to drive to the chicken street. Yet, they are still there, slowly increasing in numbers and power. For all we know they can be a bunch of ninja crime fighting chickens, who only tried to keep their identity secret on that faithful day that Kayla and I went for a ‘brisk walk’.

The end - for now

OK - so I decided to go back and walk among the angry mob once again (in order to take pictures and make a little video to show you I am not making this up). Therefore behold:

Ninja chicken:

Chicken Mob

And finally: The community cares

I also took the time to make this short video for you guys, just follow the link if you want to check it out :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ui39KcgW_Z0

If you can't see the link above (which is invisible for some or other reason), just copy paste this link in your browser: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ui39KcgW_Z0

Brain hits scull = concussion

I teach our advanced class at the pole fitness studio I work at. Now, when you get to the advanced stuff it is quite scary sometimes. Hanging from one foot with your arm twisted weird behind your back, while you have to arch your back and try to split at the same time (while trying not to pull a fucked up face due to all the pain) can be intimidating at some times.

So we spot one another when we do new moves at the studio. Spotting means that you literally stand underneath your buddy doing the move, ready to catch them when they plummet to the ground. And trust me, it's needed. Countless broken bones and torn muscles have been prevented at our studio due to our spotting policy.

Our advanced class is not very big, so when I teach a new move I can spot everyone for their first try, and then let them spot each other, because I know they can catch one another in the rare case that they do fall. One of the girls really had a difficult time getting this move, especially getting her leg hooked right. So while I was spotting her I tried to help her get her leg into position and to let go with her hands. The next moment she just let go of the pole, with everything, hands, feet and knees. It went something like this:







So I tried to save her from her fall but in the process her leg that was hooked came flying down and collided with my head. I just remember falling to the floor (she also fell but luckily for her I broke her fall because she fell right on top of me). I didn't see stars - I saw black dots and felt very very weird. I got up, feeling very unstable. You can't show your students that you got hurt or reveal to them the true dangers of pole fitness. They must think you are unbreakable, they must look up at you and think that you are awesome, and they must wish that they can do what you can do and be as awesome as you are. You must inspire them. So I kept this show on the road and completed this class, even though I could barely stand on my own feet.

Now, to make things more interesting I had to give ANOTHER class after the advanced class. At my studio you get paid per class you give. And I love money. I am a honours psychology student, and I want money to buy hot ass clothes and to party. So I decided I am going to give that second class because I am greedy for money, even though I was feeling a little weird. Also, I am a driven person, so there is no way that I am going to take off from my work as an instructor just because I got hit on the head with a foot. No, I am unbreakable and nothing can bring me down.

So I gave the class - and by the way, that was the longest damn class I ever had to give (in retrospect). Now after class I had to drive 25km to get back home and it was 21:30. So I started driving. But I soon realized that things are not going well. This driving thing is not working out. So I strategized.

First step of action: phone mother and tell her that I am driving home and that I had a hard bash to the head. And I am feeling weird.

Step two: Start driving with one eye closed because I can't see straight with both eyes open.

Step three: Put head on steering wheel in order to see the road better and to have more control over my driving ability. Not a pretty picture.




So I finally got home at around 10pm, I walked/ slided against the wall into the house to find my concerned mother waiting up for me.




So I went to sleep. There is NO WAY I can have a concussion now. I have a VERY important practical examination coming up along with a string of serious bad ass assignments that I need to do well in. I also didn't want to take of from work (I had 2 jobs at that time while studying fulltime - told you I am greedy and love money) because that would mean my spending money would be less, and that is always a disaster especially when it comes to me buying clothes, shoes or chocolates to make me feel human again between all of the studying.

Everything felt weird and I was having weird hallucination type things while sleeping/trying to sleep, but I was so tired I couldn't get up, or even reach my phone to call my mom (who is in the same house). At around 4am I woke up and had to go to the bathroom. I got up, walked to the bathroom and everything was fine. I was surprised and impressed with myself, I am unbreakable!

Buuuuuut, when I opened the door of that bathroom the whole world started to blur and swirl around me. I crawled/slided towards my parent's room.




My mom popped out immediately, as if she was laying there all night waiting for me to realise I need to go to the hospital. My mom was a nurse when she was about my age, so she knows a thing or two when it comes to injuries and being sick. So she probably just waited it out thinking, "she will come around and then I will drive her to the hospital."

I can't even remember if she helped me put on other clothes or if I just went to the emergency room in my pajamas. All I remember is that I looked like crap. The drive to the hospital was dreadful. My mom gave me a bucket because I felt carsick, and I felt like a vampire who was being exposed to light every time we approached a traffic light. It was so bright it hurt my eyes. Furthermore, you NEVER realise how many little bumps and dips there are in a road until you have to drive on it in my condition. Obviously my mom was trying to get me to the hospital as fast as she could, but I kept telling her to slow down because every speed bump, every crack in the road made it feel like my brain is bumping against my scull.

When we got to the hospital my mother was like: "Wheelchair! You need a wheelchair! Stay in the car and I will go get you one". I convinced her that it is only like 20m to the entrance, with her support I can walk there (with my bucket in hand, cause I still felt like I was going to puke at any second).




Somehow I ended up in the emergency room ( it is round about here that things started to get confusing and fuzzy). I just remember that everything was so white and damn bright I wanted to die. And on top of that they looked into my eyes with those little flashlight things. It felt like I could only see one colour - bright painful white.

I was lying on the bed with my eyes closed and hands over my eyes to block out the white rays of torture. So I just heard parts of my mother's conversation with the doctor. Now you have to understand that here in South Africa we are still a bit conservative, and pole dancing as a sport is something very few people have ever heard of. It is not a common thing in my country. In my country pole dancing is still associated to the stigma of strip clubs.

My mother was really trying hard to explain to the doctor that I am a pole dancer, but the acrobatic type, that I do it for fitness. So she was telling him about competitions, and what a great form of exercise it is and that it is being considered as an Olympic sport, all of that. Now that I think of it, my mother probably never looked at her blond little 6 year old girl and thought that she would ever have to explain such a situation to a doctor.

In any way, I ended up in a wheelchair. Once again, it felt like they had put me in a race car. I kept telling the nurse to slow down, because I couldn't handle the "speed" she was pushing me at. I went for X-rays, can't remember that. This is what I have been told. I don't even remember how I got back to the car or into the house. All I remember was that the sun was coming up as we were leaving the hospital with a sick note stating that I have a concussion and that I am booked of for 5 working days, but that I must rest the weekend as well. Furthermore the doctor gave my mother instructions which she kept on repeating to me:

You should lie down as much as possible, you shouldn't really walk, you can't watch TV blah blah. So 'we' meaning my mother decided the TV room couch would be perfect for me. I could lie there day and night and the guest bathroom was just a couple of steps away.

So my journey started. First of all the doctor prescribed me pain pills, but I HATE swollowing pills, and to me swallowing those pills he prescribed was the equivalent of swallowing a chicken egg whole or something. Not going to happen. So I phoned my boyfriend and he brought me some pain syrup, which I drank out of the bottle because I had the worst headache in the world.

Before he arrived my mother left for work, leaving me home alone with my younger sister who is also studying, so she is at home when she doesn't have class. I thought, whatever, I can walk, I can watch TV. Or not. I thought I might watch a movie or something, but my eyes just couldn't focus on the TV! I saw blurred and double images, and it made me feel nauseous so I just turned it off. Then I tried walking, my sister (as instructed by my mother) tried to stop me but I was like whatever, I can walk, I can lean against the wall. Two minutes later: sister helping me to the couch because I can't walk or stand up straight.

So I slept, but my dreams were so real, and reality was so foggy. I couldn't distinguish between the two for at least 2 days. My boyfriend will come and visit, and I would talk about how nice it was of him to visit me twice in one day, and then he was like, no, this is the first time. Then I am just all confused again. Big blur of confusion.

The department I was studying at was ruthless. Which is ironic because the lecturers were all so kind, but sometimes I wondered whether there is actually something going on in their heads. Because they will forget tests and so on. I will have pulled an all-nighter, and taken off from work so that I can pitch up for the test at 6pm on a Friday and then?! The lecturer would be like 'are we writing today? Oh well, I forgot, we will write next week, so lets go on with class'. Now it did not take me long to realise that I wasn't their favourite student in the class. I got the time off due to my concussion, but I had big assignments and tests AND presentations due right after my 'sick leave' which they all decided I must do.

So on day 6 and 7 when I was supposed to rest, I was doing two assignments at once, day 8 I did a group presentation in front of the whole class (standing the whole 20 min, even though it felt like I wanted to pass out) and handed in all my assignments. It took me moths to recover from that week.

And so it was, by the end of the year I couldn't give a damn about my studies anymore, I was so drained and behind on everything (due to one week I took off) I didn't even study for 3/4 of my exams. Really, I went in there without opening a book and I passed every single subject. CHA!

But now I have a minor fear of poles, even though I did not get my concussion from falling from the pole, I am still scared that I would hit my head again and then have to go through that ordeal once again. So in most of my classes I have someone spotting me now. Just for in case.

I never thought a concussion could be so debilitating. But it was.

Now we are really doing the spotting thing in our studio. The other night a student that I spotted felt like she was going to fall, and she grabbed on to the first thing she got hold of, which was incidentally my boob. But it is ok. In the world of pole fitness you would rather grab a boob, or let someone grab your boob than get a concussion.

End of story.