How others see us

Yesterday my attention was drawn to some photographs in an exhibition called, “How Others See Us”. So how do others see us? OK I’ve taken a bit of artistic license on this but here’s what I think some of those in my life would say about how they see me, and then my reality:-

My Tutor : Jacqueline is a competent and dedicated student who always strives to go the extra mile (he did actually say that)

Me : I am a crazy, disorganised woman who is trying to hang on in their with this course and get the work done.

My Son : Mum is always fair.  I know that she loves me and is always there to support me.

Me : I have no idea what I’m doing and I love this wee person so much I don’t want to get it wrong.  I would love someone to hand me a manual entitled, “How to be the best Mum to a 16-year-old when you have no idea what you’re doing”.

My Husband : My wife successfully juggles family, work, being a carer and studies. She leaves the house in the morning wearing a carefully selected outfit with her usual touch of vintage and matching accessories. Returning home, despite a busy day, she always manages, in record time, to pull together dinner for our family.

Me : I am constantly trying to convince myself that I am doing just fine with the juggling. ‘This will do’ is usually my fashion choice for the day and I am grateful and surprised that I manage to get to work wearing matching shoes.

Me looking at the world through rose-coloured glasses

OK I jest, but only a little.  I am honest enough to admit that there are undercurrents of the above which really are part of the real me. We all present a vision of ourselves for the outside world, but have you thought about how the outside world see you?  We constantly evaluate and make judgements, not necessarily with the intent of being cruelly judgemental, but lets face it assessing situations and people is what we do.

This came to my mind last night as I was sorting through some old course notes.  I came across this anonymous poem that was found in a nursing home.  The lady who wrote it had died and the staff found this in her locker.  The poem speaks for itself.

See Me

What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you’re looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, “I do wish you’d try!”
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe…..
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill….
Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten …with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet.
A bride soon at twenty — my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn.
At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old woman …and nature is cruel;
‘Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living life over again.
I think of the years ….all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
…Not a crabby old woman; look closer …see ME!!

I know that this poem is used in health and social work training, but I think the message goes further than that.  I’m glad that in my life, for the most part, people see the positive in me.  But, how damaging it must be for it to be the reverse.

With this in mind I might anonymously send this poem to our social work department who are….obstructive, unhelpful, unprofessional, challenged by my request for the provision of increased care support to allow my mother in law to regain a level of independence necessary for her quality of life.

Don’t stop me now, I’m on a roll