Wednesday, February 3, 2021

Weekly Scribblings #55: “What You Resist, You Become.”

What have you been reading lately, dear wordsmiths? (I’m sure we are all reading even more than usual whilst waiting out this pandemic.)

I’ve been reading a variety of things, as always – poetry, satire, history, literary novels, ‘Young Adult’ fiction (one of my favourite things) – but more than anything I’ve been immersing myself in the Romance genre, most of the books quite forgettable, but nevertheless enjoyable at the time. This is a startling departure for me. Except for Georgette Heyer’s Regency romances in my youth, for most of my life I’ve ignored this genre, even despised it.

I have turned into my mother! How disconcerting. My Mum and I loved each other but were very different people. If there was one thing I was determined on when I was growing up, it was not to be like her or live her kind of life.

"What you resist, you become," I learned in Personal Development years ago. Hmmm! Yes, now that I look back, I see various patterns I seem to have replicated, both in my private and professional life.

And specifically, I’ve become her in her final years, when she was elderly, widowed and living alone –  just as I am now. 

When she, in her eighties, started borrowing a steady stream of romances from her local library, I was horrified. How could such an intelligent woman, with hitherto such excellent literary taste, such willingness to engage with ideas, so abreast of world affairs, suddenly have sunk to that? 

Now here I am, just like her! I do still read the other things; I do still engage with ideas and acquaint myself with what’s happening in the world. But I’m also ready for a large helping of escapism. 

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said a friend to whom I confessed my shame. ‘It’s light entertainment.’ I decided I could wear that.

I don’t want a real romance of my own, not at this time of life – having enjoyed lots of that when younger, including my own personal happy-ever-after. My Mum was the same. When people asked if she would ever think of finding someone else after my stepfather, the love of her life, died, she always said, ‘He’d have to have every hair hung with diamonds and three feet in the grave!’ Neither of us missed out when it came to love and romance; and there’s a lot to be said for the freedom, in age, to live life just as one pleases (if one can't live it with the best-beloved). But it’s nice to recapture some romance vicariously.

Finally I understand. But it’s still startling to perceive that I’ve turned into her. I never thought I would.

Mum and me

The prompt:

I invite you to write about turning into one of your parents – which for you might be something desirable! – or to write about resisting such a fate.

The guidelines:

You may choose poetry or prose, but we ask that prose be limited to 369 words (excluding title). One piece per person, please; post to your blog and drop us the link to that specific post in the space below. 


  1. Although this is my prompt, when it came to the point I found it difficult to write to. Someone else said she did too. Apologies, folks, if it gave you trouble – but I think, for me, my trouble was worth it. This took me places I hadn't quite expected to go but I'm glad I did.

    1. It wasn't the easiest of prompts to write for. But, like you, I ended up writing something I probably wouldn't have written if the prompt hadn't been difficult. So, thank you!

  2. I didn't try hard enough, mainly I'm still resisting being like my father. He was mean to me physically, we never talked about that. Two of us nine cousins grew up to be like my grandfather, being a person of their own like Grandpa was. For sure not like my father. In his thirties Dad had an abrupt change of life, nothing he said that I know of, he was nice to my mother ever after but he still boxed my ears regularly. I did not mention him in my write, I'll always resist so much, he doesn't belong here.
    Thank you for this prompt and please forgive me for not mentioning Dad. Perhaps, thinking about it, I'm like my mom. She too left home, Dad called her a "flapper" but she came back to marry Dad. I did not, When he died at age 97 I was a thousand miles away. I never was hateful toward him and would visit about once a year, still he was a hypocrite always.

    1. Well, Jim, you have certainly mentioned him here! I'm sure you're not anything like him; you seem essentially kind and candid.

    2. Your mention of the romances reminded me of my mother. She used to subscribe to a romance magazine called "My True Story", and when she was busy cooking she'd ask me to read her a story. I was most likely the only child in school who practiced her reading skills by reading true romance stories to her mother! It's also likely I formed an early picture of male/female relationships!

    3. Ha, that's rather a lovely tale, Bev. It was probably excellent practice! I wonder if those stories were really true.

  3. I'm pretty sure, for me, this was an inevitability. I have a distinct recollection of the exact moment it happened too. :)

    1. Oh, that's intriguing! I'll be interested to see what you've written.

  4. Replies
    1. Rajani, this looks like spam but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt just this once. If you read the posts on this blog, do as they request, and provide a link in the space provided in Mister Linky, we will read your posts. Otherwise, we'll delete your comments in future..

    2. Dear everyone else, I have also left a comment at this person's blog, explaining the position in more detail. (I think it's not malicious so much as someone having received very bad marketing advice, lol.)

  5. Playing late AND I still have old prompts to go back and read and comment upon. I have been organizing and cleaning lately (that's why I've been gone for these past few weeks as I had said I wanted to be back in the swing of things... I am having a hysterectomy in less than three weeks and want everything in order. Anyway, thank you for the inspirational prompt. I might have strayed a bit, but I think it still complies with the rules.


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