vonjacintanandi 14.03.2020

Riotmama

True Confessions from Berlin's slummiest yummy mummy.

Mehr über diesen Blog

I’ve joined lots of Esoterik Facebook groups and am in lots of Esoterik e-mail Verteiler, even though I only half believe in all that stuff, and even though the kind of German people (white boys) I want to respect (fall in love with) me despise you for it. I get daily e-mail reminders about Esoterik shit, English ones, and German ones and Indian ones and LOOOOOOOOOTS of American ones. Some of the advice in amazingly reasonable and sensible, and some of it gets a bit silly sometimes, and some of it is fucking insane. Interestingly, I am not in an Austrian or Swiss Esoterik E-mail Verteiler or Facebook groups, interesting huh, I think Austrian and Swiss people never do esoterik stuff but just nice practical things like pay bills or have washing machines repaired. What I like about the German Esoterik advice is the kind but boring manner it’s delivered in, this reasonable tone, but as if they think you’re a bit stupid: Diese 3 Dinge musst du tun, wenn du reich sein willst! It’s kinda comforting how nice it is.

So now I’m gonna be stuck home for at least five (?) weeks, minimum, with my babies – my teenager baby, who knows all about Corona, but thinks we won’t die, probably, and my baby-baby, who doesn’t know what Corona is, although he can say the word, just like he sometimes, inexplicably, shouts the word PAYPAL.

So The Esoterik advice I’m getting sent is still about life as we knew it two, three, even one week ago. LIVE YOUR BEST LIFE BURST THROUGH YOUR MONEY BLOCKS GO INTO NATURE AND LICK A TREE DON’T TAKE THE UNIVERSE’S NO FOR AN ANSWER.

I’m a kind of naive cynic, maybe, or a cynical Naivchen, I dunno. I think everything helps a bit, maybe, but it’s still Esoterik bollocks. I have this resistance in me – I believe in chakras, but I wouldn’t talk to a doctor about them. But anyway, NOW I am going to give the Esoterik online life coaches a word of advice –

 

WE NEED YOUR HELP RIGHT NOW YOU GUYS

And it’s not to „lead“ our „best lives.“ Maybe one day there will be best lives again. But right now I just want to lead an OKAY life. I want advice on how to lead an OKAY life. I want staying at home to be OKAY. I want advice on eating breakfast on the balcony, making playdough out of Hamsterkauf-Mehl, TV shows on Netflix I could enjoy, online courses I can take….I want burger recipes for bean burgers that don’t need any egg. I don’t want to thrive, I want to SURVIVE. The idea that you could thrive right now petrifies me. I want to be FALLOW. This is a fallow time, right? I want to learn how to be fallow.

People sneer at others for panicking – people sneer at panic – other people’s panic is frightening, petrifying even, to watch. People have sneered at me a lot, over the past few days, for panicking. Sneered at me for my fear of death, of other people’s deaths, of being stuck home alone while the outside world is crumbling. Ever since last week, when I thought I maybe had Corona, but the doctors said we didn’t, it’s felt like my chest has been tight, like it’s closing in around my heart. Anxiety and not Corona, probably huh? Sometimes I try to calm myself down and say things like: maybe it’s not Corona, maybe you’re just having a very slow heart attack, and then when you do get Corona, it will definitely kill you.

People who don’t panic are absolutely certain i won’t die. Can’t die of Corona. Too young, too strong, it doesn’t kill people like me. But even though I know I’m relatively healthy – there’s a lot of people older and sicker and weaker than me – how disgusting is humanity, myself included, that the thought of someone sicker than you dying first, is so comforting, for three seconds at least – I am not so sure as the professionally unpanicked. I have pre-diabetes, I have my thyroid problems, I’ll be 40 in a couple of weeks. I am sure I won’t die of Corona but I think it’s a lie to say my chances of dying of it are completely zero. I just think, at this point right now, other people’s are higher.

And then thoughts consume me: imagine the boys growing older without me. The teen who knew me when I was young, a kid almost, who’s seen me in my worst moments, failing him completely. Who I took into school on at least two occasions after an all-nighter, still drunk, on no sleep, and found everything he said hilarious. Who used to play with me a „Walking With Olden Days People“ type game in the U-Bahn where we’d pretend we were TV presenters from the future and had time-travelled back in time to see what life was like in the early 21st Century. He was the male historian expert and I was his young female assistant. „This here was an U-Bahn,“ he’d say. „This is how people got to work back in those days.“ „An U-Bahn?“ I’d say. „It seems really dirty and small to me. Why didn’t they just teleport, like we do?“ My teen has seen me drunk, and cry, and fail, as a parent and as a person. When he has Karies and I crawled back into bed at four in the afternoon and howled and howled. And the baby? He doesn’t know me like the teen does, he doesn’t know about the darkness, or the broken bits. When he sees me get undressed he laughs like a drunken sailor or a cheeky pirate and comes up to me and presses my tummy,  till fat and swollen as if he was still in there, hard, and then the flesh springs back and he roars with laughter.  „Mummy tummy“ he says. „Mummy tummy fat.“ „Yes“ I say. He hasn’t seen me cry. I don’t know what he would remember of me, if anything. Just a feeling maybe.,

 

Imagine them going on without me – imagine me being a memory, and not there anymore. The teen who knows me exactly, who would have exact memories of a broken, broken woman – and the baby – who will maybe remember nothing, except a fat belly. When’s your first memory of your mum from? I remember when me and my mother lived in a room in a shared flat in Cardiff, when she had first left my dad, and my bed was behind a curtain. I remember wanting to tell her that I could talk like the older kids at my creche and saying to her „I’m a bit of a two-girl and a bit of a three-girl, aren’t I, Mummy?“ Although I suspect that I can’t really remember this, that I just remember remembering it. Imagine them going on without me. Imagine them going on without us. And imagine – this is outside the realm of paranoid fantasies, this is plausible now, plausible and realistic – imagine us going on without our parents, as flawed and as broken and as perfect and wonderful as we are. Our generation, if we are honest, we enjoy complaining about our parents‘ generation. Maybe we won’t have anything to complain about anymore soon.

So, esoteric online coaches – we need your help right now. I want to survive, not thrive. I want to accept I might die while knowing I probably won’t. I want to accept that I will die one day and not feel scared anymore. I want to spend a whole day inside with my babies and not want to kill myself and/or them. I want to do that for at least 5 weeks, probably six months. I want bean burger recipes. I want to eat bean burgers on the balcony. I want to feel okay.

Anzeige

Wenn dir der Artikel gefallen hat, dann teile ihn über Facebook oder Twitter. Falls du was zu sagen hast, freuen wir uns über Kommentare

https://blogs.taz.de/riotmama/2020/03/14/estoterik-in-times-of-corona/

aktuell auf taz.de

kommentare

Schreibe einen Kommentar

Deine E-Mail-Adresse wird nicht veröffentlicht. Erforderliche Felder sind mit * markiert.