Me – snippets

I wish my grandmothers were alive.

Aoife O'Riordan2 Comments

Of course, I always do. I’m lucky to be the granddaughter of two women who raised me with unconditional and fierce love, and who modeled two very different ways to show that love. One was calm and endlessly patient. The other was… not. So I learned that we can endure without losing the loving and generous core of who we are. And that we damn the consequences and stand up for what’s right.

I am profoundly privileged to come from these two families. I miss those women every day. Given that it’s been years since they died, I’m pretty sure that’ll always be the case. That’s okay.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt their absence quite as much as I do these days.

You see: I don’t know how to handle the direction of the world right now. The swing to the hard-right. Normalisation of fascism. Incredible power in the hands of despicable people. Right now, Ireland feels like a strangely normal backwater in a world that’s falling in a direction that I don’t know I can bear. I’m lucky to live in a place that is currently relatively insulated from the worst of it. I feel helpless to do a single thing about it. I’m scared from my friends and for my world. I don’t know how to respond.

I used to love my Nan’s stories of her young adulthood. We’d sit drinking endless cups of tea (drowning in milk and sugar, of course) and she’d tell me all about her time in London. She left Ireland for a few years, you see, to work there as a nurse. She’d live with her friends and they’d work hard and have so much fun in between it all.

I loved her stories. She died a half-decade ago and I wish that I’d done something- anything!- to remember the details.

Because, of course, when she was working as a nurse and living with her friends and being a young woman in the big city, that city was under attack by the Nazis.

There are things I know that she never told me. She never talked about being afraid. Or about what horrors she must have seen, working in a hospital in a city under bombardment. She never told me how it was she saw those things, got up the next day and kept on doing what she needed to do. Or how it must have felt to never know if they would win or lose. What it was like to learn about a genocide just a few hundred miles away.

I want to ask her how it felt in the years before that war. I want to know what it was like to see hateful ideologies become normal- did people know what it would lead to? Were they afraid? What did it take for people to understand what was going on? When did they feel normality sliding away and what did it feel like for the world around them to tip over into chaos and killing? How did they continue? How did they sleep, and what did they do when they couldn’t?

What do I do?

I hope I don’t have to learn these things the way that she did. I’m afraid. I wish my grandmothers were still alive.

Aside
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This isn’t really a memorial post.

Aoife O'Riordan1 Comment

Here’s a thing that I’ve experienced a lot: I don’t want to intrude on someone else’s grief.

It’s funny because as Alyssa says, grief is one of the emotions that we all share. We all know that we’ll feel it. It is different every time but some day, every one of us will have the breath ripped out of us by the blow of someone’s loss. I don’t think that grief is owned by the handful of people someone loved the most. I think that we impact on one anothers’ lives in many ways. We feel each others presence, sometimes without even noticing it. And when we are gone, loss isn’t a zero-sum game.

I wasn’t as close to Niki as many of you were. I got to know her when I joined the Orbit before our launch. I always appreciated her voice, whether that be through her blog, her Facebook, or her contributions to our various backchannel chats. She was always the voice against caution- the person who’d speak up for doing what was right regardless of the consequence. Many of us, myself included, are more inclined to be swayed by our fears. For me, Niki was a counterpoint to that caution.

And now she’s gone, and I’m gonna have to figure out for myself how to be brave when I want to hide.

But that is where my sadness lies: it’s a regret that we never knew one another better or met in person. It’s an absence. I would never, ever compare this to what so many of you are going through.

It’s also an unfairness. How on earth are thirty-five years enough for a person to exist? To be? I’m just a couple of years younger than she was, and I feel like I’m just getting started. We’re supposed to have decades, aren’t we? We’re supposed to have twice thirty-five and more. Long, beautiful decades to live, share, create, love, play, and to fight for what matters to us. We’re supposed to have time to say goodbye at the end of it all.

And I guess, in a way, I feel profoundly grateful for that. How rare and precious is it to live in a time when we can expect most of the people around us to live to be old? To die with skin so wrinked and saggy that it’s almost impossible to recognise the young person we once were. How fucking beautiful is that?! Cause I look around at the people I love and I know that I’ve lived my life expecting- not just hoping, but expecting- that one day we’ll be old together.

And it’s hard to feel grateful for that without remembering that it’s not something we all get to expect. How the circumstances of our lives and our selves make the world a far more precarious place for some of us than for others. That that’s not just theory and it’s not abstract: it’s a reality that people like me can ignore if we choose to.

I don’t have a good way to wrap this up. I guess that’s appropriate.

But hello again, everyone. I guess it looks like I’m back.

This isn’t really a memorial post.

So long!

Aoife O'Riordan6 Comments

It’s midsummer here in Ireland. The sun is shining rain is falling a little warmer than in December. And I? I’m going to abandon you all to the mists of July, fish my tent out of the cupboard and take a break.

But don’t you worry. I’ll be back. And while you won’t be seeing any new posts until early August, I’ll be working hard behind the scenes, like a duck serenely floating along the lake and paddling like there’s no tomorrow under the water.

Probably about as damp as the duck as well, come to think of it. Have I mentioned that it rains all summer in this country?

Why?

I need to change how I do blogging. I’ve been doing this since 2010. I’m not sure whether I do this out of love or a deep seated masochism. Probably a bit of both, if I’m fair. But while I’ve been at this for six long years, it’s never been an organised operation. You could say that I’ve been blogging by the seat of my pants and the skin of my teeth. I’ll write three or four posts in a week and then disappear for weeks on end. That’s not good enough any more.

It’s time to streamline this baby.

While I’m away, I’ll still be working- writing and drafting, researching and scheduling posts so that I can guarantee regular updates even when I’m up the walls with college assignments. I’ve got a stack of topics months (possibly years) deep that I want to share with you, and the only way I’ll get them done is to step way, way back from the hamster wheel of posting about whatever godawful thing has happened this week

Why now?

My life is about to get turned upside-down. Inside-out. I’ve got about six weeks to go until I pack up my life and move country to go back to college in a town that I’ve never yet set foot in.

I’m a little bit excited about that, by the way. These last few years have often felt a little hopeless. I’ve felt like my life has been somehow on hold- working in jobs that can’t go anywhere, barely making the rent. Not knowing if I’ll ever get out of that cycle. I know that I’m not the only person feeling that way. I also know that I’ve been lucky and privileged in innumerable ways.

Returning to college? It’s a dream come true that I thought had been taken away years ago. And this course will have me living on two new countries- Denmark and Germany- over the next two years. Living in two cities I’ve never gotten to see before. Meeting people from all over the world. It’s hard to believe I’m this lucky, and I can’t wait to share it all with you.

Of course, this ain’t my first rodeo. I know that a full-time two-year MA is gonna be tough. If I want to avoid all-nighters- and I really do, since my twenties faded into the distance years ago- I’ve got to be organised about this. If I want this blog to stay a part of what I do? It’s time to plan. To draft. To schedule. To chuck the seat of my pants and the skin of my teeth into the trash and blog like the goddamn grown-up I am.

Oh yeah. \m/

And in the meantime? I’ve got six weeks to sort my life out, pack everything up, and spend as much time with my friends and family as I possibly can. I’ll be working, I’ll be visiting my BFF, I’ll be packing my schedule with coffee and pints and hugs and visits and drinking up every precious second with my loved ones before I head away for the year.

And in between, I’ll be brainstorming, researching, drafting, and scheduling.

Cut to the chase, Aoife. What can we expect?

Between now and the second week in August (unless something happens that I can’t resist talking about), I won’t be publishing any new posts here. I will be reposting old articles that feel relevant and timely. I’ve got six years of work buried in here!

I’ll also almost certainly be active on my public social media accounts when I’m not in a field with nothing to charge my gadgets on. If you don’t already follow me on Twitter and Facebook– why on earth not? If you want to see my tent-putting-up skillz or what I’ve been having for lunch, I’m around on Instagram a fair bit too. Say hi!

I’m also willing to take submissions for guest posts while I’m away. If you’re interested in writing one, send me a message on my Facebook page, or email me- it’s the title of this blog at gmail dot com. All submissions are subject to fitting within the ethos of both the Orbit and Consider the Tea Cosy, of course. Let me know if you’ve an idea, and we’ll talk.

When I return? I’ll have new plans, new schedules, and hopefully a few surprises up my sleeves.

See you all on the other side!

So long!

Please Bear With Me: day jobs calling.

Aoife O'Riordan2 Comments

Remember a couple of weeks ago, I posted about how I have this new job that has me working all-day-every-day for a few weeks at a time and then off for another few weeks?

I’m off again!

This time I’ll be off working for two weeks, so I might be quieter than usual for the next two and a half weeks or so. I’ll need a couple of days to decompress once I’m done.

I do hope to publish some posts during the fortnight, but I can’t guarantee anything. If you’ve left a comment on a post and it’s gotten stuck in spam or mod, please be patient with me as I won’t be able to check here as regularly as usual.

If you want to keep up with me or get in touch or bring something to my attention, my Facebook page is the place to go. But you know that already, cause you’ve already liked and followed me there. Haven’t you? Of course you have.

Thanks for bearing with me while I’m less around than usual!

Oh and before I go, one thing: I’m sure I’m not the only one who works a job where I end up spending weeks on end staying in hotels all over the place. Aside from too much Netflix (OITNB, I’m lookin’ at you..) how do you keep yourself amused on your off hours?

Please Bear With Me: day jobs calling.

Did ya miss me?

Aoife O'Riordan, , , , , 2 Comments

Hello, my lovely readers!

It has come to my attention that I have been.. neglecting you. All of you. I’m awfully sorry for this- especially since the last post I wrote was pretty personal and unhappy, and then I went and disappeared for almost a month without so much as a by-your leave. Awfully inconsiderate of me, I have to admit. 

There've been a LOT of these.
There’ve been a LOT of these.

So, where have I been? If you’re worried that I went off the deep end or decided to throw in the blogging towel, it’s okay. I just got a new dayjob (hurray!). As I’ve been out of paid work for months, this is both something I’m really happy about, and a bit of an adjustment. As it turned out, it didn’t leave me with any time (or spoons!) for writing while I dragged myself up the new-job learning curve. Continue reading “Did ya miss me?” →

Did ya miss me?

An old friend died this week: where the personal and political collide.

Aoife O'Riordan, , 2 Comments

I’m furious right now.

An old friend died this week. I’m mad as hell with him for doing it, even though I know he’d have some choice words for me around the topic of minding my own damn business. I guess that’s something everyone feels when something like this happens. It’s easier to be angry.

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While I don’t know why he did what he did, I know this: LGBTI people in Ireland are three times more likely to attempt suicide than our cishet counterparts. The further you go along that acronym, the higher our risk of elevated stress, anxiety and depression. Trans, bi and intersex people are most severely hit. I know that we’re only human. A lifetime of microaggressions and macro oppressions leaves you raw. Wears you down. When life’s ordinary difficulties come your way, you’re that little bit less resilient. More exposed. More vulnerable. I’m furious that, knowing this, we seem to accept bigotry as just how some people are. I’m tired of tolerance. That measly little word puts our selves and loves on a par with someone else’s ‘right’ to proclaim us disordered.

I know this: we punish men when they are vulnerable. Insinuate that a real man could just power through, or wouldn’t feel that way in the first place. We teach each other that support, closeness and intimacy are weak. Feminine. Lesser. I know that when we do this, we put men in a double bind: to be respected, you shove those parts of you down. If you choose not to, there’s an ocean of internal and external shame to deal with. I don’t know if I could handle that. I’m not surprised that so many men can’t.

Do we even care?

I’m furious that in the face of hundreds of people ending their lives every year, our government wants to drain millions of euro from our mental health budget. Do those hundreds of lives simply not matter? What about the tens or hundreds of thousands of people who won’t kill themselves but who still need those services?

I’m angry that my friend’s death can’t simply be a private tragedy. I wish I could think about his loss to our community without being overwhelmed by how many others are going through something similar. I wish that him being a man, queer and trans didn’t slot his death right into one of the biggest suicide clichés of them all.

And I’m scared. Back in 2013 I knew how lucky I was that my friends and loved ones had survived another year. I’ve always known that, and a part of me always waits for the shoe to drop. For the phone to ring. I’ve had one of those phone calls this year. I can’t stop thinking: who will be next?

A year ago, the derby world was shattered by news that one of our youngest members- a 15 year old boy called Sam- had died through suicide. I wrote this:

Sam didn’t die because he was trans. Transness is a perfectly ordinary variation of what it is to be human, and there is nothing intrinsic about being trans that could make life not worth living.

Sam died because we failed him. He died because we accepted a world where trans kids- kids, people at the start of their lives who haven’t had a chance to develop the context to see how things can change and who don’t have the option to get the hell out of where they are- are forced to live in worlds and with people who tell them every day of their lives that they are worthless. He died because we didn’t shout loud enough, didn’t insinuate our voices into every single crack, didn’t object every single time, didn’t counter enough of that kind of hate and torture of kids with nowhere else to go and by not doing that we let it continue. We let people hound another trans kid to death.

Are you tired of this yet? Because I am. I’m sick and tired of seeing yet another headline for yet another person killed or tortured into killing themselves because of who they are. Yet another teenager.

And here’s something I said way back in November 2013 on the Trans Day of Remembrance:

Today, though, I do feel luckier than most. I wish that it didn’t have to be that way. Today is the annual Transgender Day of Remembrance, you see, when we take time to mourn and recognise all of the trans* people who should be here with us today, but who have been killed by transphobia in the past year. Everyone who was murdered because of how their gender was perceived. Everyone who was driven to suicide by this transphobic, ciscentric society that we live in. Every year we do this, and every year I want to hold the trans people who I love just that little bit closer. Because we’ve all survived another year. Those I love have been spared.

Isn’t that selfish? I guess that we’re all a little bit selfish. We all love who we love, and though we care for those outside that little group, it’s the loss of our family, friends and lovers that tears at our guts and rips our lives apart. So every year on November 20th I feel a little bit lucky. The people I love are still here.

It’s a cruel kind of luck, and one that nobody should have to feel.

Like most of us, I’ve said goodbye to people I love over the years. They’ve died in different circumstances. Some after long years of illness. Some after short months or weeks. Some expected, some unexpected. Some peacefully, some in pain. The loss of every single one of them tore- and tears- my heart apart. But there’s one thing that is common to every one of them that I will always take comfort from. Every one of them died knowing that they were dearly loved. Everything that we could do to ease their suffering was done. They didn’t want for a hand to hold. They were cherished as they died.

Nobody can tell how each of us will end our lives. But that one simple thing- that in our last moments we know that we are loved and cherished, and that if there is any way to ease our suffering it will be done- is something that we can hope for everyone we care for. It’s the one thing that we can do.

Too many of our trans community are denied that.

Too. Damn. Many.

An old friend died this week: where the personal and political collide.

Consider yourselves welcome to Consider the Tea Cosy at the Orbit!

Aoife O'Riordan, , 12 Comments

Hello there! Whether you’ve followed me from my old blogging home at Freethought Blogs or this is your first time visiting, it’s lovely to see you here. I’m really happy to be part of this project and to work with the fantastic people we’ve got here. I hope that you’re as excited as we are about the Orbit- and I hope you’ll help us to get this site started any way you can.

With a new space comes a new beginning, so let me introduce myself.

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Many of you are probably Americans. Here I am partaking in one of the delightful customs of your people: scoffing a giant root beer float in a diner. Cheers!

Continue reading “Consider yourselves welcome to Consider the Tea Cosy at the Orbit!” →

Consider yourselves welcome to Consider the Tea Cosy at the Orbit!

Fuck Imposter Syndrome.

Aoife O'Riordan8 Comments

I remember when I started teaching. I was teaching English to groups of kids from all over Europe. An entirely new class almost every week- and me.

Here’s a feeling most of you know: it was months before I slept on a Sunday night. The rest of the week was more or less okay. Fridays I’d sleep like a(n exhausted) baby. But Sundays? Nope. Barely a wink. Staying up all night worrying about the next morning. Who would my students be? What would they think of me? Was I sure I had my class planned out okay? What if I was wrong? What if my students were terrible? What if I was terrible? What if they hated me? What if I got everything wrong?

You could point out that none of this fretting helped one bit. That a well-rested teacher is far better able to handle the unexpected than an exhausted one. That it wasn’t a reflection on my character if the kids were Awful. Or even that the vast majority of the kids I worked with were Lovely and I almost always loved the time I spent in that classroom.

You could point all of that out, and it wouldn’t change a thing. I heard it dozens of times. And despite the fact that I somehow managed to put fun, engaging classes together for my teens every day, I was convinced that I hadn’t a clue what I was doing.

Here’s the thing about imposter syndrome: it’s not about you.

Imposter syndrome is all about making everything about other people. Your boss. Your students, clients, or coworkers. You constantly worry about all of these people judging you.

And when you do that, you forget about yourself. You forget about what you want. You forget why you’re there. Continue reading “Fuck Imposter Syndrome.” →

Fuck Imposter Syndrome.