Home schooling, Highschool and what I have learnt.


I educated my daughter for four years, and considered it a privilege. She recently started  high school, and a myriad of emotions hit me. I hadn’t seen her in a school uniform for many years, and I must say, that seeing her beaming face as she tried it on, brought nothing but happiness. I have learnt much from our home school journey, and have made many lifelong friends.

Trust

I learned to trust myself as her mother. I guess every parent second-guesses themselves when it comes to their child. They worry if they are doing the right things and making the right decisions, and many sleepless nights are had. I certainly agonized over my decision to home school. Mothers know more than we give ourselves credit for, sensing the big picture before it becomes clear. If I knew then what I know now… I farewelled my daughter on her first day of high school and she bounded off,  confident and assured. It was beyond my wildest dreams, and I found it thrilling.

Joy

Home education gave both she and I the time and space to rediscover a love of learning. Shakespeare at nine years old, physics and chemistry whilst still in primary… She tried scores of classes, and ended up loving them. She debated and wrote essays, and was amazed at the ease in which she picked it all up, once taught. She was stretched beyond what she thought she could do, and learnt that she can achieve anything.

Friends

She has friends from playgroup, preschool, choir, dancing, drama, home schooling, and from her three years at school before starting home education. They are scattered all over the place, and even if they don’t see each other for ages, they pick up where they left off, and time and distance mean nought. I think it has taught her to be confident in her friendships, that they won’t diminish without daily contact, and can be depended upon as a touchstone to her life.

Self-Reliant

She would map out a plan for each week, and we would sit and discuss the classes and workshops she would attend. She would pack her bag, and any equipment she needed to take for the day ahead, then tend to any homework the teachers gave her that evening. She now unpacks her bag at night after high school, and organizes her own lunch in the morning. She is a kid who loves routines, and scrutinizes her white board to see what awaits the next day. Attending a local high school is like a holiday compared to the planning and time that went into our weeks prior!

Highschool

I know that she missed having the experience of a year 6 formal. There are some experiences that home school can’t replicate, in my experience. Little things that mean a great deal when looking back. Having an entry in the year 6 yearbook and the school camp, for example. The things we used to go to were scattered around Sydney, and I felt it important to attend so to give her a well-rounded education. This left both of us feeling exhausted at the end of the day. Now, she walks eight minutes to school! They have a farm with lots of animals, dancing, drama, hospitality classes, and everything else I had been sourcing from all over the place! She is making a lovely group of friends, and bounds out of here, looking forward to seeing them of a day. As we live outside of the city, trying to organize social outings and classes was pretty full-on. I found as she got older, I wasn’t able to give her everything that she needed. Needs change the older kids get, and what suits one won’t suit another. She needed the buzz of high school, and the camaraderie. If you had an anxious child, or several children schooling at home, their needs would probably be entirely different.

Nothing Lost and No Regrets

When she expressed a desire to go to high school, we attended an information session. I was impressed with the school, and one look at the unadulterated joy radiating from my child told me all I needed to know. I didn’t want her to look back and regret not at least having the experience. What is the worst that could happen? I knew that home schooling could work and work well, providing an alternate pathway to higher education. If need be, we would just pick up where we left off.

Experiences

She has seen and done some pretty amazing things. She knows about the arts, science and history. She has acted in Shakespearean plays and produced art. She is able to talk to a wide range of people, from babies to 100 years of age. Most importantly, she knows where she starts and other people leave off, crucial when it comes to boundaries. Home schooling laid the ground work for the years ahead. It has been a week today, since she started high school. Just as I had when we began home schooling, I am excited at what lays ahead.

I must say that I miss my little mate when she is at school. We divided our time into home days and outside classes throughout home schooling. I loved traveling with her; having lunch together in a new place, perhaps going for a swim afterward. I loved our adventures, and relished the sense that anything was possible. I am grateful to all the teachers, kids and parents who made our journey so special. Her wings have unfurled, and she is ready to fly. It is why we started home schooling in the first place, and I couldn’t be more proud, nor happier.

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Womens Wave, Sydney


Perusing the commentary on social media, there are apparently people who don’t believe that we need to march in support of women’s rights. That would be welcome news for  the thousands who marched in Sydney last weekend. If only it were true… We demanded the right to feel safe on our streets, our thoughts turning to Aiia Maasarwe, the vibrant young student killed in Melbourne. She will never be forgotten, and was certainly remembered Sunday. It could have been any one of us…We traveled into the city with a woman who had survived domestic violence. She left her marriage when pregnant with her youngest, and has been to hell, lingering to grab other’s from it’s fire. We stood spellbound, listening to Yumi Stynes, Aunty Norma, Jane Brock, Rae Johnston and Bri Lee. If you can imagine several thousand people, silent and keeping space for the speakers, the trees themselves staying as still as the air. The peace was occasionally broken by rapturous applause. As we began our march past the courts, my friend began crying. So many of us had experienced violence in the past, and being part of a collective was in direct opposition to how alone we had once felt. “Things are going to change for our girls,” I whispered, hoping I was right.

I have witnessed girls being too intimidated to play at a local park, right near their home, after boys demanded that they be their girlfriend. They refused, and the boys didn’t like it. Now, they will only go to the park accompanied. I have seen cat-calling of eleven year old’s, suggestive messages left for them in their bags. I had the displeasure of traveling on a train with two teenage boys the other day. By the looks of them, I would hazard a guess that they were sixteen years old. One was talking to the other about sending “a chick” pics of their anatomy, and demanding that she do the same. The way in which they were talking, and the phrases they used to denigrate young women, made my skin crawl, and I let them have it both barrels. Once upon a time, the defence brought up the fact that I was on the pill as an argument in court. Never mind that I was taking it for severe period pain, later diagnosed as endometriosis. Certainly never mind that it had nothing to do with my being raped. I have seen misogyny at work, and felt it’s cruel aftermath. I have met gentlemen and fabulous boys too, many of whom took part in the march. They give me renewed hope.

Do you know how hard it is to leave an abusive marriage? Even if you are the one fiscally responsible, adept at paying bills and stretching money, real estate agents prefer to have a husband’s name on the lease, particularly if you are at home with small children and he works full-time. So many things in your husband’s name, and none in yours. There are many ways to feel trapped in this world, and a lot of rabbit holes to disappear down. My daughter was asked by a reporter why she was here. She said “because my mum was hurt badly when she was a teenager, and women and girls deserve to feel safe and respected.” We sure do, sweetheart. Her friends chatted to the reporter too, adding their heartfelt sentiments. They are the daughter’s of  women who rose like the mythical phoenix, and shall be silent no more.

The call was placed for a Safe State, a list of recommendations put together by frontline workers and experts to end family and domestic violence. You can show your support here.

Financial Abuse


I recently met up with a friend whose partner (in secret), had racked up substantial debts, which they were repaying at $550 per week. If you asked her partner what he’d bought, I don’t believe he would be able to tell you, such was the lack of value placed on the items. It has added up to a huge chunk out of their wages. Financial abuse is insidious, tied in with emotional and mental abuse, and at it’s heart, control.  Ultimately, living with someone whose goals aren’t aligned with yours, is unworkable. Being lied to, having money taken out of your account and being forced to withdraw what you have saved in order to live, is more common than most people think. It consists of regularly making up excuses when you can’t afford to go out,  whilst trying to keep the household running and school supplies bought. It is incredibly stressful.

I have seen and heard it all in my time. I have seen people I love left with nothing after sacrificing everything, in order to pay off debts that aren’t even theirs.  I have seen people trapped by ill health and other issues, rendering it harder to leave. I have seen people promised money over the Christmas period, or a partner swearing that they would pay their share, and then not do so. I have seen it all, and wept with those on the receiving end.

I have written an ebook about financial, emotional and mental abuse, available on Amazon. It is such an important subject, and my main goal was to help people feel less alone. The fact that you are still here and fighting for yourself and any children you may have is extraordinary! It takes such a massive effort (and toll), when you are locked out of your own life; financial matters and fines, debts and betrayal hidden from you. If this is you, keep going, please. I have seen lives rebuilt after suffering these particular traumas. I have seen a woman five years down the road- and now financially secure-cradling the hands of another, promising that they too shall get through it. I believe her.

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Get your copy here.

The Consolation of Shopping


I once knew an elderly gent whose house was filled with clutter. The living room had no available seats, and he had given up using his mahogany dining table. There was no room for cutlery, let alone plates. I have seen shipping containers filled with items which still had their tags attached, never used. I have seen sheds built in yards to house the surplus of a person’s shopping addiction. I have come to understand the motive behind chaotic shopping patterns.

The $100 shoes that were on sale, in a style they would never wear, in a size that doesn’t fit, represents the love they never received. It is also symbolic of ill-fitting relationships.

The designer dress is symbolic of needing a lift after a failed attempt on IVF. Having the news broken over the phone, seeing prams and pregnant women everywhere is enough to drive a woman into the closest store.

The new furniture, smart TV and rugs represent the sinking feeling that something is not quite right within a cultivated life.

The bookshelves crammed with ornaments is symbolic of the urge to hold onto the past and it’s people, even though it is time to let go.

The broken pots and detritus in the garden is symbolic of a life out of control. They looked so inviting at the garden centre! You had grand plans to make an entertaining area in the yard, but realised that everyone in your family flits in and out, and the conversations you crave aren’t to be had. Those items symbolise abandoned dreams. It is akin to telling yourself that you aren’t worth the effort and time, nor is it worth doing for your sole enjoyment.

Perhaps, people that are content in life don’t shop excessively. The items that they buy are needed, and valued. They use everything that they buy, and don’t purchase gifts to win favour. A life that is in balance doesn’t swing like a pendulum.

The endorphin kick one feels at the shops is as forgotten as the identical shorts and shirts at the back of the wardrobe once home. The sinking feeling when one surveys the damage held on receipts is not worth the fleeting rush to the brain’s reward centres.

This stuff can’t make up for the cruelty inflicted on you. It is no substitute for inclusion, nor love. It can’t make pain disappear, or a longed-for child appear. It won’t make people love you more, and it can’t vanquish illness.

I have had the sad task of clearing out several homes of friends when they died. I have seen their bedrooms crammed with makeup and skincare, shoes and clothes, and gifts hidden away in case they are needed one day. Everything still had the prices attached. I have seen beds used as repositories for shopping bags, thrown into the room as though they were a live stick of dynamite, ready to explode. I have felt desperately sad as I surveyed the magazines and kitchenware, piled high in living rooms. Not wanted nor needed, nor ever used. I have understood that such scenes have been their attempt to stockpile in case they meet with a cruel winter. It happened once, and it can happen again. This stuff is their insurance policy. Mindlessly purchased, they felt the lovely flutter in their tummies, their brain beliving that this purchase will make their life better. Heck, it will make them better. It will make them care less that their husband is a philanderer, their family is a hot mess and that they are depressed. It will eradicate all of it. The shopping culture lies. It manipulates us, deliberately and often. It knows what it’s doing, down to the displays, the lighting, the music, the colours and scents. It knows how we think, the holes we try to fill and what we are trying to make up for.

Here’s how you can beat the horrid high and low during this Christmas season.

  • Make a budget and stick to it!
  • Make a list of those whom you want to buy for, and decide what you want to gift and how much you can spend beforehand.
  • Check in with yourself before leaving home. Buying stuff is no consolation for feeling lonely and sad. Make sure anything that you purchase is for the right reasons.
  • Eat before you leave home, and carry a water bottle. That horrendous disorientated feeling brought on by shopping centres is made worse by hunger and dehydration!
  • Check in any rewards points you have accrued throughout the year. These can be used for groceries or you can opt to donate them to a charity.
  • Declutter your home. The stuff that makes you depressed has to go. The clothes you have held onto but never worn, the kitchen gadgets in boxes and books you have yet to read, need to be donated or sold. No good comes from a home without sufficient room for energy to circulate.
  • Give experiences, whether that be movie tickets, a voucher to dinner in the New Year or babysitting services. Experiences last longer than stuff.
  • You have nothing to prove to anyone. You are enough, just as you are. Put down that item you can’t afford, and bake something for your friend instead.
  • Call your friends and organise catch-ups. Go on picnics or have a coffee together. People need you, not stuff.
  • Shop local! Support your local farmers markets and shops. These people are your neighbours and possibly your friends.

I remember in living colour, the sadness I felt as I surveyed dusty shelves piled high with items still in their original packets. The hope that this product would be a game-changer had long perished, and all that was left was a prison built of  discarded aspirations for a better life. Sit with pain, befriend and understand it. Shopping won’t help what needs fixing. Self-love can.

Christmas in Sydney


As we near Christmas, the scramble to wrap up the year has begun. It has been a whirlwind for us all. I am not ready for Christmas. I was not ready for all that transpired this year. Yet, here we are. We always go to see the Martin Place Christmas Tree, on its maiden lighting, my daughter and I. We had a lovely surprise two years back when another family joined us on the train to Sydney, and we have shared this occasion with them ever since. My daughter had been unwell, and our friends assumed that we wouldn’t be going in this year. Not a chance! My girl bounded in and announced  she was feeling better, insisting we go. We met up with our friends, and amused the other passengers with our musical elf and reindeer ears. We walked through Martin Place, noting the food van and the grateful punters lining up for a meal.

When the tree was lit, I screamed with excitement! It doesn’t matter how old you are, it is a thrill!

 

Life can suck, sure, but when thousands of people go ‘wow,’ and people either side are smiling at you, all is forgotten in that moment, even the light rail debacle. It was made pretty with lights and choirs.

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There were performers on every corner, and as the choir sang a request for peace, I felt it reach inside my soul. We stared into each other, these choristers and I.

 

We greeted strangers in the Pitt St Mall, admired the Swarovski Christmas Tree in the Queen Victoria Building, and pressed our faces against the David Jones Christmas windows. For a few precious hours, we were as enthralled and excited as young children. For a few precious hours, there was beauty. May it continue throughout the new year, this hope, this energy.

Christmas Decorations are up, and hope is cutting through


I lost a friend the other day. Joan was 102 years of age. She still lived in her own home, and had a special interest in social justice, regularly attending meetings and hearing speakers talk on homelessness, refugees and domestic violence. I met Joan when I was handed a card addressed to ‘the lady with the long blonde hair who has a little dog.’  I was pregnant, and opened the card to find a letter containing the most sublime writing. So began a decade of correspondence; heartfelt, searing and thrilling. I would smile when I saw her cursive on an envelope, knowing that she had poured out her heart to me. Her life hadn’t been easy, but then again, no great heroine’s is. She adored Christmas, and I thought of her as my daughter and I put up our tree.

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When I was going through IVF, a group of us would put our trees up early, to lift our spirits. It is such a difficult season to deal with infertility. As we looped the decorations onto the tree, we paused. Each bauble contained a memory, and we talked of who had given us each one, and where we had purchased the rest. We reminisced as I told my daughter what age she had been when she had made the paper angels and ceramic bells.

This year has felt like a battering rod has crashed through my life, leaving little more than debris. Fortunately, I am skilled at building decent shelters from remnants. What a strange time it is to be alive in this world. Can you believe that our Government wanted to cut funding to Foodbank, an essential service for some of the most vulnerable in our society? I am pleased to report that after public backlash,  they changed their minds. I am astounded that they attempted to pick up chump change in this manner!

The house is ready for Christmas, as my daughter rehearses for end-of-year plays and concerts. We are ready for hope, for light and for miracles. We are preparing for 2019, and the start of a new dawn. Having the tree and decorations up has brought fresh energy into the house. It is a statement, saying that in spite of everything, we are ready to celebrate. In spite of everything, we are looking forward. The twinkling lights represent every dream we hold in our hearts. Those dreams are ready to burst forth.

The Ozy Youth Choir-Sydney Peace Project


OJ Rushton, musical director of the Ozy Youth Choir Honouring Defence Service, had a dream. She invited kids from the Southern Highlands and bush to come together and join her fledgling choir. Some of the kids had parents in the military, and all immediately felt a sense of belonging. The lessons are completed online, though the choir regularly meet up for rehearsals and camps. I heard about the Ozy Youth Choir via another parent. My daughter and I went along to a performance to see what it was all about. Within moments, I had been embraced by OJ, and my daughter had been given a choir shirt and was singing! We experienced a home-coming, as though are souls had been searching for these very people. It felt as though we had landed on a puffy cloud, surrounded by alto and soprano tones.

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OJ Rushton

Throughout the last three years, my daughter has had the honour of singing at Government House, at the Australian War Memorial, alongside Damien Leith and Harrison Craig, Ian Moss, Laura Wright, Kate Ceberano, the Australian Army Band and many others. The highlight would have to be singing at the opening ceremony for the Invictus Games at the Sydney Opera House. It coincided with our camp, and what a week we had! Concord RSL kindly offered us the use of their old bowling green to set up our tents, and went above and beyond, gifting use of a kitchen and showers and providing us with food and transport to and from rehearsals. The heavens opened up on the second day, and the camping ground was flooded! All we could do was laugh and try our best to keep dry! The choir worked hard, returning to our base late most nights.

Finally, the day of the opening ceremony arrived! The parents looked up as an ominous clap of thunder sounded over Sydney Harbour. Then, the lightning came, along with torrential rain. The massive storm delayed the start of the show by an hour, and then it departed as swiftly as it had arrived. The memories of the opening ceremony shall remain with me always. We cheered on the athletes, listened to sublime music, and everybody stood and gave Prince Harry a standing ovation after he delivered his powerful speech. The kids understood how pivotal this event was for the athletes, and all who came to support them, and felt deeply honoured to have been there.

 

The choir got back to camp shortly before midnight, and woke at 5am the next morning, to prepare for a breakfast at the Australian Museum to honour the families and dignitaries connected to the Invictus Games. My daughter still talks about Elisabeth, who is a member of an organization called TAPS (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors). My daughter had sung with the choir outside the Sydney Opera House, and had held Elisabeth’s hands. This dear lady explained to me at the breakfast, how much this had meant to her, showing me a photo of her son, Toby, whom she had lost in Iraq. Singing helps to heal; it reaches into the core of a person, assuring them that they aren’t alone. It is a way of telling stories, and uniting people. Here is a video, detailing our time at Concord RSL and the leadup to the Invictus Games. After the breakfast, we walked down Art Gallery Rd to cheer on the athletes competing in the road cycling. We were in awe of them beforehand but nothing prepared us for how we felt afterward!

We were also honoured to have joined with Invictus as a Peace Partner to launch the Peace Project at Government House two week’s ago. Several schools joined us, both online and in person. Here is some footage of the wondrous day! Last year, the Ozy Youth Choir reproduced an iconic photo from a century ago, on Bondi Beach, in honour of the Centenary of ANZAC. On Friday 2nd November, we shall be gathering at Government House in Sydney, to do it again! We shall sing as one to honour the end of the Centenary of ANZAC and to welcome in the Centenary of the Year of Peace. His Excellency, the Governor of NSW and Mrs Hurley are hosting the  Sydney Peace Project on the Parade Ground. Join us at 1pm, either in person or online. Registration is essential. Follow this link to join!

Studies have shown that those who engage in singing enjoy better health. I can understand why, particularly when you sing with others. Coming together to sing unites us as one unstoppable, unflappable, powerful force.

 

 

What I have learnt about camping…


I recently attended a camp with my daughter. Now, I have limited experience with camping. There was the time I went to Kangaroo Valley, and our tent collapsed in the middle of the night, and the wombat population decided to climb on top of me, laying under the flattened canvas. The less said about that the better! I have some handy hints, learnt from my limited experience.

  • Buy a popup tent. Our campsite got flooded, and the people who fared better all seemed to have popup tents.
  • As we struggled to get our tent up, we noticed the ease of which the pop-up people had erected theirs. Within minutes they were done!
  • Buy a tent that has a decent height. I am under 5 feet tall, but still had to crouch every time I went in and out of the tent. It was hard to do with a fused spine! My next tent will be of such a dimension that I can just walk in.
  • Buy self-inflating mats. We brought along air beds, which went down constantly. We had to keep lugging them over to the air pump. The first night, we slept on the ground whilst rain water ran underneath the floor of our tent. Self-inflating mats are easy and surprisingly comfortable.
  • Buy mini-toiletries to take along. Nobody needs big bottles of shampoo or body wash when camping!
  • Bring a first aid kit, with painkillers, Band-Aids, bandages and disinfectant for the inevitable scrapes.
  • We had to attend several functions, and those ironed clothes that we had neatly folded, were in no shape to be worn after being retrieved from our case. Only bring clothing which doesn’t crease.
  • Bring fairy lights to decorate your tent. Okay, normal lighting will do (you can buy magnetic lighting for inside your tent), but hey, fairy lights are pretty!
  • All of the stuff you were going to bring; go through it before leaving for camp, and halve it. You only need a pair of thongs to get to the bathroom, and a decent pair of walking shoes.
  • Bring an air dryer. Dirty clothes can be washed when you are in the shower (body wash makes an excellent detergent as it turns out).
  • Bring at least one camping chair and a table to stack all your belongings on, particularly if you have a spinal injury and find getting down difficult.
  • Stretcher beds to put your self-inflating mattresses on are a great idea, so you don’t have to get up and down.
  • Microfibre towels dry 6 times faster than ordinary towels, and are a great inclusion!
  • Make sure you keep hydrated and pack sunscreen and hats, even if the weather is mild.

I had a wonderful time on our latest adventure. The above are lessons I learnt, so as to make the next camp even better. We woke at dawn, the neighbourhood kookaburras laughing at our efforts to sleep in. There was camaraderie, hugs, dancing and singing. There were shared meals and kindness. You revaluate what you actually need in way of possessions. All you require can be accommodated in a tiny space, as it turns out. It is freeing, to get back to basics.  I can’t wait for the next camp. Next time, I am going to do it right!

Safety for Girls and Women


This year, I have seen many glorious, smiling faces beaming at me from news sites. Young girls and women with children and careers, friends, family and pets. I have memorized the names underneath their pictures. They were killed strolling home from work or walking their dog on a beach. They were killed at a shopping centre and near their sleeping baby. I didn’t even get to fifteen before being exposed to male violence. I live with the consequences of having being treated as a thing, rather than an autonomous being, with the right to liberty. I was once asked on ABC National radio how I cope with having a girl of my own. I said it was a daily battle to not be a nervous wreck when she is out of my sight. I also said that I didn’t want what had happened to me to taint her future, and so I had to be brave every day of her life. I give her little pieces of freedom as she grows.

This year has seen me fret further. This graph presents the reasons why I am furious.

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We attended self-defence classes for mothers and daughters when she was six. They were run by a former homicide detective. My daughter knows where to scratch and kick for maximum effect, and to call out ‘fire!’ if she is scared, as people apparently look to see what is happening. I hated that my little girl had to be taught to be alert and aware of her surroundings, and I hate that it wasn’t enough for the women and girls I have grieved this year. Growing up in the 80’s and 90’s, I was regularly approached on the street by creeps. I have been harangued, denigrated and worse. Australia is in a deep crises and we need funding, now. Women stay with dangerous men because Centrelink makes it so difficult to fund an escape. There is a lack of refuges and assistance at every level. I know, as some of these women have been my friends, whom have died.

Our whole culture needs to change. We need to call out sexism when we hear it and see it. We need to stand together, women and men, to end this scourge. It has nothing to do with the environment a woman is in, nor what she wears. This is about power, and seeing girls and women as lesser than they. I have friends who have come from places where they tell me they were told never to stop at a red light. They were advised to floor it, to avoid car jackings, rape and murder.

I have done my bit to keep my girl safe. She is a confident young woman, who knows self-defence. I have tried my best to instil in her that she can do anything that she wants in life. I have made my scars my own, and not transferred them to her. Is it enough? How can it be, when there are some men who still hate women; have this unadulterated rage against them. The time for action was a century ago. We have to catch up, and change everything we have known. I believe intent is everything with alcohol. We can enjoy a glass of wine over dinner, or use it as a crutch to amplify our anger. I have known men who take drowning their sorrows to be their creed, effectively making them a danger to all who love them. Cars become a metal prison in which to terrify their families when they are angry. Bills don’t get paid when one partner sees all the money as being theirs to dish out as they please and when they want. It is insidious, and affects whole communities. It is our job to declare that we won’t stand for it. It means having hard conversations when somebody is behaving badly.

I want my daughter to be able to go to the shops, catch a train and walk along a beach, without fear. I demand that she and her contemporaries are able to enjoy simple pleasures. I want her to be able to turn down a boy when he asks her out, without fearing retribution. Can we please be the generation that states in voices that roar in unison, ‘This stops here!?’

They held a good thought for me…


This life sure can bring you to your knees. There you are, doing everything you possibly can to improve your lot, and you still don’t feel you have gained any traction. My old laptop was falling apart (literally), last year, the keys missing and the screen jumping. I had to put up with it for a year, whilst I saved to get a new model. If I plan to finish my new book, I really need a decent ‘puter, and I put the call out for suggestions as to what to get. A particular one was recommended by a friend who is a Hollywood screen writer and best-selling author. I have had it on lay-buy for a year (remember them)?! In a month, it will be sent out to me, and I am beside myself with excitement. To be able to finish a chapter without the screen having conniptions and my words ending up where I didn’t intend them to be, will be such a thrill! I was so grateful to my friend, who researched based on my needs.

I have kept a great deal to myself, as to what this past year has consisted of, but it hasn’t been fabulous. It has been hard graft, with no breaks. Within the mental confines of which I found myself, I was humbled and astounded to have friends reach out to me, knowing without me ever having to explain that I was troubled. There was the friend that offered me a Buddhist prayer, ‘May I be filled with loving kindness. May I be peaceful and at ease. May I be well. May I be happy.’ She suggested I say it several times a day. It did fill me with peace.

There was my friend from interstate who sent me the following breathing track.  It activates the parasympathetic nervous system. It has helped me cope with the chronic pain I endure. I hope it helps you too!

I had a family invite my daughter and I for a sleepover, feeding us pizza and letting us join in their Friday night karaoke session. They then drove us into Sydney for an appointment.

A dear lady I had befriended on social media got in touch. I had only met her once, on a camp several years ago. We connected on a deep level, but still I was astounded when she messaged me the other day, offering her beautiful Airbnb for myself and my daughter to have a little break away.

All of these kindnesses keep you buoyant, and end up becoming the foundation from which you can build the future. When a friend is going through hard times, we sometimes feel impotent. What can we possibly do or say to relieve their pain? What if we barely have the resources to cover our own bills? As much as we would love to send flowers or gift them a trinket of affection, we can’t afford to. I can assure you, that you don’t need to. What your friend needs is you. They need your time; they need your thoughts. The messages I received, linking me to prayers and meditations, music and photos, meant the world.

I will never forget the time I was involved in a charity with a well-to-do couple. He owned a bus company, and his wife had diamond rings on each finger. She mentioned that she was going into hospital to have a serious operation as we bid each other goodnight. The intractable thought kept coming into my mind that I simply had to see her before she went under. I felt foolish, as I was sure her husband and extended family would be there with her in the morning. Surely, I would be in the way! The urge refused to dwindle, and so off I set, to the private hospital. I found her in pre-op, the regal lady I had known. Today, she seemed diminutive, with no rings or nail polish on her fingers. Her auburn hair flopped over her ears, not perfectly coiffed as usual. She glanced over and saw me, and burst into tears, her right arm crossing to rest on her heart. I walked over, and sat next to her in silence, my hands in hers. I sat with her until the wardsmen came to get her. It taught me to never presume that other’s lives and circumstances don’t require your presence. It taught me to listen to those urgings. The people with a million friends, are most likely to need you more than you know.

I tell you, every ounce of support, advice and love I have received has been tabled in my book of life and is reflected on continually. Come as you are, with what you have. All you need do for a friend is just assure them that they are seen; that you see them.  In a few week’s, I will go to this Airbnb in the Blue Mountains, with my new laptop. I will recite the Buddhist prayer, and play the breathing track I was sent. I will look out the window of the violet-hued living room, and know that my story has only just begun, propelled forth by friendship. I will return restored, and with a cup filled to brimming, ready to be these things to my friends in turn.