Oh God, Why Did You Make Me So Ugly!!!

As Quasimodo used to cry, alone in his bell tower.

And not forgetting my daughter.

Work sent me to a course on dealing with clients in ‘difficult situations’ and as part of it we learned to focus on feelings, listen and reflect what’s been said, leave solutions till last and then as the client’s prerogative.

I can do this.  For a while.  But when I ask my child in the morning, how are you? and get a dismal stare and the words,

Sad

I FEEL things I’m not supposed to feel.  Like anger.

You’re sad.  AGAIN.  How convenient. Wonder if there’s maths at school today. Why can’t you just be happy? Like me!  Then this can be a HAPPY household.  Everybody enjoying themselves, more or less.  Appreciating the good things of life, which we have got, in abundance.  You, sad!!! What have YOU got to be sad about!

I’m not good with negative emotions, I’m just not.  But because I’m a loving mother, and a good listener, I reflect, and probe.

“So you’re feeling down.  Why’s that?”

“Because I’m so ugly.”

YOU’RE ugly! says alter ego.  You want ugly? I’m ugly. And do I care? Not much. YOU are beautiful, beyond compare.  It would take a team of witches fifty years to brew up enough elixir of toad to make YOU ugly.

I bet you just want me to say it.  Again.  Let’s talk about your flaws – how you haven’t got any.  Let’s talk about how the boys at school all come and sit next to you at lunchtime.  What sweethearts they are, to park themselves next to such a turn off.

Now we’re late, you for school, I for work.  What the hell.  You cry and I stay home.  We talk about raising serotonin levels through diet and exercise, about doing a course in mindfulness together.  I think about calling a psychologist, tell myself ‘tomorrow maybe’.   I think,

I WISH ALL THE COMPUTERS IN THE WORLD WOULD JUST SELF DESTRUCT – ESPECIALLY THE ONE IN YOUR BEDROOM!

Not that you’re a social media addict, far from it.  But your room is your world.  A world with too many mirrors.  We paste times tables and the periodic table on them.  For good measure, we stick up a little list of Three Good Things.

You tell me what to put, I say, pen poised.  What’s the first Good Thing you can think of, in your life.

Mum.

I guess that’s something.  I wish I thought the same.  I wish love was enough.