My darling daughter, On Mother’s Day, every year, I like to remember when you were born. You came into the world at 2:07 am on March 24, 1993. It was the happiest, most joyous, wonderful day of my life. When you were born, I held you in my arms—after a two-days-plus labour that ended in a Caesarian Section—and you looked up at me with your huge eyes, so peaceful. So calm. So trusting. I fell in love with you there and then. The truth is: I fell in love with you before you were born. I left your father when
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A couple of weeks ago, on 22 November 2017, my mother died. Her death is something I have been expecting for a year more, and I am glad it happened while I was in Vietnam, because it meant I had a good excuse not to go to her funeral. How could I eulogise kindly about a woman who did so much damage? A woman who was unkind at her best, and nasty and violent at her worst, which was often? A woman who should never have had children? A woman who had carved a powerful message deep into my psyche
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My mother was not a pleasant woman. She was violent and cruel, controlling and uncaring. She probably had Borderline Personality Disorder. She was married (and divorced) three times, and all three husbands ended up with alcohol or mental health issues. They may have been predisposed, but my mother brought out the worst in them. If they couldn’t self-medicate with alcohol, they had breakdowns. Or both. And then they left, leaving my mother as the sole care provider (and I use that term in the loosest possible way) for her three children. From the age of eight to 18 — ten
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This is the 13th essay in the #26essays2017 challenge that I’ve set for myself this year. I’m doing this because I’m the first to admit I’ve become a lazy writer: allowing guest posts and series and cross-posting to make up the bulk of content on The Diane Lee Project across 2016. The brave, fearless writing that readers admired and respected me for has all but disappeared. This year—2017—will be different. I’m reclaiming my voice—my write like a motherfucker voice! I have one daughter, but I always wanted more children. I loved being pregnant, of feeling my baby shift and move and wriggle and squirm. I
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Sunday Best is a curated list of awesome articles I’ve read over the past week or so that I find enlightening, educational or just plain interesting. This week’s focus is not on stuff I’ve read, but on stuff I’ve written: my best posts for 2015—the ones that were the most read, and the ones that are my favourites. Enjoy! Most read posts Don’t make these 6 self publishing mistakes Published on August 7, this post about self publishing had close to 1000 views. Disillusioned, I wrote it after I didn’t become the overnight gazillionaire I thought I would once I embarked
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My daughter recently informed me that she is moving out next year. Apparently, she and her boyfriend (they have been together since high school) are finally building their house. Yippee! Happy dance and all that, because it’s time. It’s been time for the last 12 months. Christmas last year was a particularly turbulent time, and while we have recovered our relationship somewhat, I still feel that she has no idea who I am and what makes me tick and therefore treats me with a certain amount of dismissive disdain. I’m that nagging person with the annoying, raised voice who is
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