I'm in a toxic relationship with permission. I like to do as I please. Most days we are okay. We give each other enough space for P to know there are definite boundaries when it comes to me. Usually when we get into an argument it is because of societal expectations, the threesome that this relationship can definitely avoid. That’s when it gets down right dirty!!
Growing up, I was the obedient one. I wasn’t particularly raised to be what Laapata ladies called a fraud “Achhe ghar ki bahu betiyaan” I grew up in a far too liberal household to be molded by set expectations. Now I recognize my privilege as I write this, I wasn’t ever asked to conform, in fact encouraged to make decisions for myself. But I chose not to, it just seemed easier than fighting to go down paths less traveled, until the day I decided not to. At 42, I'm the sum of all the permissions I have given myself.
Permission to love hard: I love being in love. Blindfolded and hands tied, that’s how I like to jump in. Hoping I would land on my two feet, foolish expectations I tell you. Always came out gasping for air but I would still jump in the same way if I had to do it all over again. 14 and in love for the first time, waiting excitedly to go to tuition, making sure I had a seat next to him, our hands would invariably brush, he wrote with his left hand and I with right, a warm fuzzy feeling everytime that happened. For the next 11 years, we found ourselves in this endless cycle of seeking permission to love from the society around us, the permission that we gave ourselves, never enough. The distance between our names, Shadab and Priya, too wide.
Permission to hurt hard: There is just way too much drama in me. I cry, no sob hard, like I will choke on my crying. I sulk hard, complain endlessly about how my life has come to an end. It’s an embarrassing display of emotions on a platter for anyone who wants to join in the feast. Cringeworthy, even to me, caught up between telling myself it’s okay to indulge in the hurt of it all and being all poised about it. Finally accepting myself for the intensity of the emotions I feel and giving myself the permission to feel it, drama and all.
Permission to indulge: I love me a new shirt or a new shoe or at least a new body shower. This is my version of Confessions of a shopaholic, thankfully I stay away from credit cards. So no debt collectors on my doorstep.
Permission to have that one Chocobar once in a while?
Permission to watch Netflix on a Thursday morning?
Permission to call in sick and catch a morning show?
Indulgence makes my heart sing. What’s your pet peeve?
Permission to sing and dance: I’ll admit to an embarrassing detail about my family… They love to watch Indian Idol, Sa Re Ga Ma, Jhalak Dikhla Jaa, India’s Got talent. It’s almost aspirational (I did say embarrassing) and I have to say my family has managed to produce some decent “Singing & Dancing talent”. No points for guessing, but who missed their share of this gene pool?
Dealing with this real competition, finding the confidence in my “twirls & thumkas”, pheww tiring mental effort. Proud to say, I do dance like nobody's watching. Took me many years to give myself that permission. My friend once told me “ Itna dheeme kyun gaate ho, zor se gaao, achhi awaaz hai '' Guess what, I just recorded a small byte of me singing and shared it with a couple of friends last week.
Permission to be my own brand of mother: This London bridge has fallen down multiple times, my fair ladies.
Took me 18 months to connect with my newborn daughter and 7 months to feel better after a horrible episode of PPD. Hated every moment of being a new mother. What a horrible thing to say
Breastfeeding support to Indian Moms (BSIM) , a bunch of well meaning women for sure, but it’s a cult, induced to make you feel guilty about not doing what's right for the child
“How do you leave your child to travel for work when she is just 1.5 years old?. She will yearn for her mother and she won’t even know to express this”
“I made playdoh at home with spinach and beetroot, you should try the same. Shall I share the recipe?”
Constant chatter from “Well meaning” folks all around you. I was never able to tow the line with this one. Years of therapy to finally accept that my identity as a mother is a part of who I’m, not the entirety of my existence. It was liberating. Extended this permission to my mother also, it helped me see a little bit of Geeta in her and not just Amma.
Whole is greater than the sum of its parts. While I’m a sum of all the permissions, I often wonder what it will take for me to be “Whole”, so many permissions that I’m yet to give myself.
I was smiling the whole time I was reading this. Thank you for penning down what many of us feel and sometimes struggle with.
Just love this list of permissions, Priya! So empowering