I have spent much of the summer feeling what my mum would have described as ‘churned up’. My finger nails are the most chewed they have been for years. My usual irregular midlife sleeping patterns are more disturbed than ever and I’m crying rather more than I usually do. Recently I took part in one of the social media polls that most of us come across every day. I answered the ‘Has the current Labour leadership election affected your mental health?’ honestly opting for ‘A lot’. Although, like many others, I get angry and upset by what I see as private and public injustices I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly anxious person. The almost constant mental and physical unease I have experienced for the last couple of months or so is very new to me.
As I sociologist I could write about (and support with references) the current misunderstanding of the ideas of Marx and Trotsky or the misappropriation of feminist agendas and anti-racist debates in attempts to score political points. I could also draw on social science discussions (some of which have become mainstream, others less so) concerning ‘media socialisation’, ‘false consciousness’, ‘emotional labour’ and so on. But I’m not going to do any of that for now. Instead, a little more about me, my feelings and concerns.
I care about current and future generations. For example, although sadly I have no biological children of my own, I care for and support, in various ways, the children and grandchildren of others in my personal life and through my work. Having had a father who died nearly 38 years ago of a heart attack and a mother and husband (plus several very good friends) who died four and six years ago respectively of cancer I care about the health and care needs of others, my own as I age, and of those that follow me.
The majority of my working life has been spent with young children whilst working as a nursery nurse and youth worker and young (and not so young) adults as a teacher, researcher, mentor and manager in higher education (following a late degree supported by a grant). Currently, alongside continued academic work and some newer types of writing (including fiction and memoir) I also work as a civil celebrant (qualified to conduct non and semi-religious funerals, weddings, and other commitment and naming ceremonies). All my people focused work (which also included a number of jobs in the tourist industry) has been significant in my personal political education both experientially and through the related reading I have done. This week I have read two articles highlighting worrying concerns at both ends of the lifecourse:
Midwife crisis will 'let down' a whole generation of new mothers (written in 2013)
The NHS's chronic shortage of midwives will last into the mid-2020s, despite ministerial pledges to improve maternity care amid a continuing baby boom, according to new figures.
The calculations, by the Royal College of Midwives (RCM), suggest that the gap between the number of midwives the NHS in England needs and the number it now has will not be closed until 2026. The shortage is certain to force maternity units to close suddenly and lead to some mothers receiving inadequate care before, during or after giving birth.
The ‘cost of dying’ outstrips inflation as funeral costs increase 5.5% in a year year
Insurer SunLife’s annual Cost of Dying research shows that the cost of dying is the fastest rising of any fixed cost in the UK – rising much faster than any cost of living such as rent, food, utilities, insurance or clothing.
The overall cost of dying which includes death-related costs such as probate, headstones and flowers in addition to the basic cost of a funeral – has risen by 8.3% to £8,802.
The funeral – which makes up 44% of the cost of dying – has soared by 5.5% in a single year, a rise more than 10 times the increase in the cost of living.
The average funeral in the UK now costs £3,897 which is more than double what it was when SunLife first started tracking funeral prices in 2004.
I worry about these issues. I care about the people affected. I worry and care about prejudice, in/equality, safety, peace and more. Don’t we all? Maybe, maybe not?
My recent reading has also included the following two pieces just this morning.
The first: The fall of Labour’s golden generation
Seems to me to be a lot about politics as a career.
The second: Jeremy Corbyn: ‘People say I should be tougher. But it’s not my style’
Highlights (again in my opinion) that for some politics is a vocation.
Of course my analysis here is simplistic and there is much more that can be said about each article but with the focus of this piece in mind it was the second one that prompted tears today. Following weeks (and of course it's not over yet) of mainstream and social media programmes, articles, posts and tweets full of misunderstanding, misrepresentation, personal attacks, bile; to read something so human disarmed me for a little while.
From the reading I have done and my social media presence I know that my own feelings are anything but unique and in concentrating on myself I make no claim to be any more, or even as, affected as many others. But still my stomach misbehaves. Will it steady following next weekend’s announcement? I doubt it. There’ll be more to worry and care about, more to challenge, much more to work for and on.
Despite the last almost 1000 words in the great scheme of things me and my feelings are of little consequence. For as someone recently said:
Real pressure - real pressure - is when you don't have enough money to feed your kids, when you don't have a roof over your head, when you are wondering if you are going to be cared for, when you are wondering how you can survive, you are wondering how you are going to cope with the debts you have incurred, you are wondering if your lovely employer is going to give you a call to give you a couple of hours work or not bother, or change their mind when you are on the bus on the way to do that job.
And, if I may add, real pressure is when midwife shortages negatively impact on birth experiences for all concerned and when people are literally too poor to die.