Do you want to be around for your children?

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“You can do it yourself”.

Actually, no.

I can’t.

I can’t build my own brick kiln.

Or help you carry your bags.

Or bend down to the floor to pick up that thing you just dropped.

You can do it.

Yourself.

“Everyone needs to help”.

Actually, no.

They don’t.

I don’t need to help you put up that tent.

Or forage for kindling.

Or help you change your tyre.

All able-bodied people.

Are welcome to help.

“I thought you could visit Mary and keep her company”.

You thought wrong.

Yes, Mary is recovering from knee surgery.

But I’ve been in pain for as long as I can remember.

I have trouble walking.

And a double wrist injury.

Mary can sort herself out.

And you can stop telling me what to do.

“Why don’t you want to host Susan’s birthday party?”

Because I haven’t finished unpacking from my third move in a year.

And I’m fucking traumatised.

“About what?”

“I don’t want to go anymore.  You say rude things.”

No, I say truthful things.

About you.

And when I tell the truth about you.

Your shield of denial gets rocked.

Sometimes a crack or two forms.

In that carefully built shield.

And you have to rush.

To plaster.

Them up.

I’m not surprised you don’t want to go back to counselling.

Who wants to come face to face with themselves.

While a stranger.

Looks.

On?

You’re not the only one with a shield of denial.

We’ve all got one.

But for different reasons.

My shield was built slowly.

Brick by brick.

Trauma, after trauma.

After trauma.

After trauma.

Then one day, she launched a great stone into it.

And it came crashing down around me.

And there I was.

Standing naked.

With the truth pressing in.

On all sides.

“Do you want to be around for your children?”

She challenged.

“Then you have to change your life. 

Now.”

And I did.

Gen Memory

September 2025