Lets be honest. Motherhood was supposed to be roses, giggles and happiness. I mean, that is what all the sappy movies had told me would happen, so I had built that fantasy up. I was supposed to pop out a baby, love that baby, love myself, love my body, love my husband and somehow be sexual. insert eye roll. Reality
Growing up, PTSD wasn’t a thing, I mean, there were always random passing conversations about my Grandfather’s post war condition, and that he suffered from shell shock, but he dealt with it the same way other veterans did, by going to the local pub and drinking with his fellow air force cronies once a week. There was no PTSD, it
There are a lot of misconceptions about this whole Diplomatic Life thing, I have spent my life correcting people, and setting certain things straight. That all diplomats sip Champagne and eat canapes and that is the end of their jobs. Sure I remember seeing canapes, it’s a fancy word for cheese and crackers… o.k it is a little fancier than
My Father, was British and Canadian, but decided to join the Canadian Diplomatic Corps at the height of the Cold war, if you don’t know anything about that era, you might want to look it up. Every once in a while, he had a little Whiskey, usually when tensions in a country were high, and he needed to have some
Growing up, PTSD wasn’t a thing, I mean, there were always random passing conversations about my Grandfather’s post war condition, and that he suffered from shell shock, but he dealt with it the same way other veterans did, by going to the local pub and drinking with his fellow air force cronies once a week. There was no PTSD, it
There has been a running theme that I keep encountering with Diplomatic friends, their kids, as well as the random group of lovely Third Culture Kids I have collected as friends from around the world: none, and I mean none, have grown up feeling like they had an identity. My Mother was always Canadian, she grew up in Canada, as
