Entitled to Feel


I’ve been thinking about entitlement a lot lately. About what makes people feel that they are entitled to say, do and feel something. Perhaps it’s because there has been so much about rape in the media and men feeling like they are entitled to women’s bodies…but I think it started because of something completely different.

In society we’ve evolved to give more credibility to people who speak concisely, are rational in their arguments and more cold and clinical, less emotive. And so feeling emotion and the physical and instinctive expression of it has become something that is more a right you need to earn, or a gift under a particular circumstance, than something we are automatically entitled to. Although we might feel a particular way, the actual expression of that emotion is often seen as a crack in that façade of composure that is frowned upon. You are seen as irrational and hence less credible.

It’s sad that our society has progressed so much in the last 2000 years yet we have lost the ability to recognise feelings as something that our worthy of our attention. We dismiss feelings as emotive, feminine, irrational, and imply a lapse of professional judgement. It’s gotten to the point where we can only really permissively expressive emotion if someone dies, if someone is dying, or (depending on various factors like the legality, length, and publicly perceived strength of our relationship) if we’ve had our hearts broken. Any other display of emotion whether its sorrow or joy or fear is seen is somewhat ridiculous or childish. Which brings me to the question, what do I need to do or be, in order to be entitled to feel, in this highly scrutinizing society?

In a society that increasingly assesses our credibility by our ability to maintain composure in a heart-breaking soul-wrenching circumstance, I find myself to be an animal that is soon becoming extinct. Why is a visceral emotional reaction dismissed so easily as unfounded, unreliable, and feral. Surely what separates us from primates is our human ability to empathise and express this emotion. Yet why is our society so screwed up that we have to wait until someone is dying that we are entitled to express what we feel? I think it’s extremely morbid that it is only in situations of extreme sorrow that it suddenly becomes permissible, but not when you are in the throes of happiness, or falling over laughing, or so scared or nervous you shake uncontrollably. I think that in most situations an emotional expression is much more authentic, accurate and credible than any poised articulate statement could be and I wish that more people could see that.

Back to retail


Polished fingers pointed toes
I roll my eyes and screw up my nose
Working in retail is not a joke
For all you uninitiated folk

Standing in heels for hours on end
A foot massage would be a godsend
And yet we smile and pretend we care
About how your fake tan matches your hair

The clock hits 9 and the shutter comes down
*ka-ching* goes the till let’s get out of town
Off come the heels and plastered smile
Back to retail *sigh* it’s been a while!



My mind unfocused
Like a child under a hanging dial
I struggle to name this feeling
To diagnose, to presuppose
It begs an understanding
That I lack at present

I cannot be angry
For anger would imply a wrong
Committed by you
And of perjury I am not guilty
Yet this jury may condemn me
To a sentence of denial
But that I’m afraid
Was self-imposed

Lonliness is a companion
That is no stranger
And yet I feel it keenly
Walking at my side with little nudges
I am well aware I’m not entitled
To feel what I am feeling
Yet indulgence comes easily
And missing you is easier still

Dream log


I woke early this morning terrified that I wouldn’t be able to get enough money together to buy my baby from the hospital. I know that sounds weird, let me explain. My dad has been in hospital for the last week so that partly explains why I’ve been thinking about hospitals. As for babies – there’s nothing knew about that.

I’ve been dreaming about babies since I was sixteen years old and anyone who knows me well enough knows how much I love them. I think its difficult for someone who doesn’t experience this to accept that I’m a girl in her early 20’s who wants a career, wants to travel, I want a house and a mortgage and a garden with herbs and yes I also want children crawling in my feet and laughing in my arms because without it, the rest would be meaningless.

I feel like feminism has failed me to a certain extent. In urging women to leave their kitchens and become career women, it seems like we are letting down the cause, or taking a step backward, if the thing that we want the most in life is to be a mother. I’m not saying I don’t want a career – I do. In order to give my children the life I wish they could have, I know that my life has to be a model to them. And so I surround myself with things that make me happy and work hard to build a career I am proud of, I want a happy and fulfilling marriage so that I can show them what love can be like, and fill my life with hobbies and activities that engage and interest me, so that I can be the kind of woman I need to be, to be a mother to them one day.

I want babies the way that some people want to cure cancer. It is instrumental in the way that it affects my life. You could say I’m a Pre-destined parent if you want to be sociological about it. I just say that I was born to be a mother. I was put on this planet to give life, and if for some reason nature means I can’t do it biologically, I will adopt. But there is nothing I want more, nothing I could more easily risk my life for, than my right and ability to have children. So last night when I had a dream that I had a baby girl, and that all the babies were lined up in a kitchen drawer in a hospital with white light and price tags on their wrists, imagine my horror when I realised that I didn’t have enough money to buy my baby back from the hospital. Each day she was left there, the price rose exponentially (perhaps a sign of recent unemployment worries) and I cried at her kitchen drawer, unable to even hold my baby. Not being able to take my baby home had me waking up in a cold sweat.

I woke up realising that firstly, there is no need for me having to justify why having children is so important to me. People don’t need to justify why having money is important to them, or why having all four limbs is important to them, so why should I have to justify being a 23 year old girl who wants to be a mother (5-8 years from now) more than anything else in the world. I have given up on my dreams of having children before I’m 30. I realise that that is not something that will happen for me anymore. I had such a beautiful childhood with a young mother who played with us and let our imaginations run wild that I wish I could do the same for my children. But I’m trying to look at the positives like greater financial security etc and hope that I will still be a parent who will run around with my kids, and sit with them in puddles looking at the rain, roll down hills and climb trees with them regardless of my age.

The other thing this made me realise was how much my dreams are influenced by my current worries and occupations. I’ve decided to start a dream journal – keeping a notebook beside my bed at night, and writing down any dreams that I have as soon as I wake up. Perhaps there is more to our dreams than we believe.

Circa 2013

Let me be the one
To wipe away your tears
Let me be the one
Who holds you through the years
Let me share your worries
And your laughter too
Let me be like a partner
In life to you.


When you find a man
The kind you thought
Were extinct long ago
Don’t excavate his past
Or navigate his future
Seize him. Love him.
Hold him in this present.


Let me be strong for you
Let me shield and hold you too
Let me be the one you trust
When all your hopes have turned to dust.
Let me be the light that leads you on
To hope again that life goes on.
Let me be the one that lasts
Let me be your main mast.
In this ship of life you sail alone
Let me be your journey home.


When love arrives…

Meghan Trainor/ Whitney Houston inspired poem – very rhymey haha so unlike me.

I say I’m no romantic
But you know that’s not true
Despite all real life lessons
I’d still love to say ‘I do’.

I don’t want a fairy-tale ending
I’ll take each tidal wave as it comes
In this growing rip-tide
Let it be love to which we succumb

This path of love is no easy ride
But each bend in the road is worth the risk
That I might find a love that lasts a lifetime
Like a song on a 50’s shellac disc

I’m a woman who needs no man
But I’d sure like to want someone
Who makes me be a better version
Of myself, and makes this journey fun

When love arrives
with no hidden meaning
I hope I trust myself
To feel what I am feeling
And let love work out the rest