The only time I have been to a hairdresser in the last few years.
We have read about people’s morning rituals with great interest. They seem seamless, calm, orderly. My world is the opposite. I have scores of de-cluttering books standing forlornly on my bookshelf (and under the bed). Despite my best efforts, my house isn’t orderly. I blame the fact it is tiny with no storage. At the end of a busy day, clothes are thrown in a heap on the floor, toothbrushes and hair brushes are abandoned by the bathroom sink and a pile of books and magazines I intended to read are scattered around the bedside table.
I swear at my alarm, usually set for 6am or earlier. I stumble to the shower, where I perform a sacred ritual. I crouch over and let the steaming water hit the stiff and agonizing points on my spine. “You can do this. You are going to have a beautiful day,” I state with determination. I process whatever abstract imagery has been brushed into my dreams, then stagger to the kitchen for my instant coffee.
Yep, instant coffee. Quick and easy.
I grunt as I survey the piles on what should be a dining table, and sit down to sip my coffee.
The tiny lounge room is full of errant treasures. The birds are tweeting for their breakfast, and the guinea pigs are squeaking. I fill their bowls with yummy food, then get my daughter her breakfast. She has the same thing each day, soy rashers cooked in olive oil and a glass of milk. She is a radiant bundle of energy as soon as she wakes. My breakfast consists of whatever is easiest. Sometimes I will make up a container of energy balls in advance, consisting of dried fruit, seeds and nuts. If I have been too busy, I may throw some veggies and fruit in the blender and have a smoothie. I remind myself to take medication to keep my sugar levels even, sustain my bones and keep my pain levels under control. If we are at home all day, I wont bother brushing my hair, nor changing clothes. I iron about twice each year, carelessly tossing crinkled clothes into an ironing basket to be dealt with later. I gravitate toward clothing that doesn’t require ironing each and every day. I refuse to look at the ever-growing piles pocketing the house. We have to get to work. Mid-afternoon, a quick clean is accomplished. More often than not, we are out of the house by 7.30am and on a train. We may not get back until late, and the cycle of discarded clothes begins again. I have had to let go of any ideals of perfectionism I previously had. You can have everything you want, just not all at once. The time will come all too soon when I have an orderly home, and my chick will have flown the nest. Educating, writing and being together is what matters at this point in time. She won’t remember (I hope), that she couldn’t properly see herself in the streaked wardrobe mirror, nor look out of a clear window. Sometimes, I am called to dress up for an occasion. This means I throw an outfit together, brush my hair and put on some makeup within twenty minutes.
The chaos is the same as the orderly, you can’t have one without the other. Often, they are both on offer in the one day. That’s okay. I know that I am advised to chant and meditate, do forty minutes of yoga and cardio. I know I am meant to plan my day and start off calm. I know too, that it creates stress when I hold a vision of what a morning should look like. I just roll with it now, and the mornings are okay, as am I. It’s enough to wake up. It’s more than enough.
The Development Effect is a new business, set up by two remarkable women. Their modus operandi is to inspire, give back to their community and empower women and girls. I was privileged to be asked to talk at their inaugural event a while back. I sat alongside Michelle Cashman, an extraordinary singer/songwriter. Michelle has been there. You know, ‘there,’ that horrid place of loneliness, depression, anxiety and chaos not of her making. Not only does she write songs which reach deep into your soul, she creates podcasts to uplift others who have been through the fire. Her blog can be found here. To listen to some of her incredible songs, follow this link. When you are going through the fire- the heat searing your flesh- you tend to wonder what the point of it is. Often, there isn’t a point. When your flesh has cooled and you are alone with your wounds, it can give you leave to demand that your pain mean something. To be able to write, sing and talk about the fire gives it such a meaning. You will inspire others, and they in turn will inspire. Perhaps the fire itself is a pointless and cruel pit of flames. Perhaps that doesn’t matter. What comes after, that is what is important.
Last night, I noticed a message from a fellow blogger. She implored our community to send comments of support and love to a woman she didn’t know, but was terribly worried about. I went to the blog she was referring to and saw a photo of a gorgeous young woman. Her dark tendrils of hair and the faraway look in her eyes were reminiscent of a model from a Raphael painting. She wrote about being battle-weary, of finding comfort in the notion that she may quietly slip away. She was saying goodbye. Many people were concerned about this stranger. We need her in this world! Messages of love and support were sent. Please hold on. I have been there, sweetheart. I know how it feels to be done with this world and all the anguish contained therein. I wanted to fall asleep forever. I thought that my life would have to expire in order to slay the demons slowly killing me. I never imagined turning eighteen, let alone thirty! My attempts (plural), were executed with the help of a medical manual and many prescription pills. I had to be resuscitated, was in ICU, and in coma’s. Nobody was more surprised than I to awake. It took a long time to feel thankful that I hadn’t succumbed. Before these attempts, I could see beauty. It was presented outside of my realm. In music, art, other people and their pretty lives. It seemed inaccessible to me. I know what you felt last night, for I have felt it too. You get to a point where you feel like you are committing an act of mercy, by setting those you love free of witnessing the torment you have been facing. Setting them free to start anew. That is scary territory; when you believe that you staying is worse for your loved ones than you leaving. I am so proud of this young woman, for telling us what she was feeling and why. That took enormous courage. We were strangers at the beginning of the night, and by the time dusk had smeared the sky with cinnamon-hued light, we knew you.
Many years have passed since I last woke in Intensive Care, furious that I had been saved. Many years have passed since I felt I had no place in this world. My days are filled with wonder and mirth. I laugh at the silliness of some of my encounters. Others have me weeping in the shower. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss any of it. My daughter growing, having a beloved colony of guinea pigs, meeting friends by the river, riding buses with groomed elderly ladies, seeing in another year… The list goes on and on. There will come a day sweetheart, when you shall be glad that you are here too. Keep talking and please keep writing. Life won’t be filled with darkness forever. It is merely the background for the painter. They shall fill it with stars and swirls of blue. You will be in the foreground, in all your Raphaelite beauty.
Stephen Fry sent this response to a young lady who had reached the end of her ability to cope.
I would tell my younger self to hold on tight. As a teen, I had to fight to retain my sanity, my heart and my life. I refused to put up with nonsense, nor manipulation. I would walk away, and if I couldn’t leave, I would fight. Fight for the right to live my life in the way it was ordained by the moon and stars before I had even arrived. When one is having continual operations and intensive periods of rehabilitation from such surgery; when one can’t work because of the above, you find yourself vulnerable. Grateful that people are willing to chat briefly to you, grateful for a lift or an invitation to dinner. My boundaries were blurred and I was overwhelmed by any crumb of kindness shown me. I would say to that girl, ‘honey, you can trust your instincts. You have a right to leave any form of cruelty, and run from any lack of empathy. It isn’t worth the pain you will suffer by staying. Trust your first impressions, and measure the benevolence or otherwise in a person’s conversation. It’s laid bare on the table, and your ears aren’t deceiving you. Years of your precious life will be squandered on trying to understand the intricacies of toxicity if you don’t run.’
Groups will be disbanded, and you will move in new circles. People not meant to be in your life will leave, not before offering a few sharp scratches to your already scarred psyche. As you grow older, you will tolerate less nonsense, and savour the real people. Those who weep with you, hold your hand, laugh with you and are present. They want your company for no other reason than that they celebrate you. No masks required.
I wish I could erase the memory of the walking wounded who caused you more pain. I wish you had turned away, no explanation needed nor offered. You didn’t, and its okay. You have resurrected that teenager, the one who was selective about who received the key to her inner world. You have given out multiple copies of the skeleton key. Happily, those who have received this gift unconditionally love you. There is no more hurt to be had. You have yourself, first and foremost. You can love the whole world, without letting it all inside the inner sanctum. Some will appreciate the chandelier, the candles, the frankincense oil, the violet walls, the poetry and art, whilst others would only try to disassemble the sanctuary. Careful with yourself, young woman. You have to firstly love yourself in a manner that will then mirror how others love you. You have yourself forever.
Hummingbird picture by 12 year old home schooler, James Julian
To register for home schooling in New South Wales, you need to apply online. Bostes then get in touch, and arrange a visit. I frantically put together a program for the year, ensuring curriculum targets are achievable. I have just had my review and was given two years accreditation, of which I am thrilled! I journal what my daughter has studied each day so I can keep track. I have been flawed at the wonderful reactions I have received since I started this journey. Everybody has been so supportive, and it has certainly made the going easier. I was worried that I would receive negative comments, though thankfully they haven’t come. My daughter sees friends most days, and sometimes asks for home time, as there are so many excursions we can go on! We usually start around 8am, and do a solid four hours before lunch. My daughter goes to singing, drama, guitar and gymnastics lessons on top. I am thrilled with her progress and relieved that I made the right decision in home schooling. As a parent, you second-guess yourself (frequently), but the proof is that her confidence has returned and the pressure has eased. There is nobody to compete or compare with, and she can absorb information in her own time.
Sydney has a very active home schooling community, and we are blessed to have met many wonderful kids and parents. In three terms, she has acted in plays and attended performances at the Opera House and Casula Powerhouse. She has visited May Gibb’s home, been involved in a sports carnival, toured the Opera Centre, Sydney Observatory, Wildlife World and attended a science workshop as well as puppet-making. I have to be organized, to keep up with it all! I start my writing when her school day finishes, and often get up early to do so too. We have a comfortable routine. I love doing life with this kid, and I am definitely smarter as a result of absorbing information!
Here is a poem about home schooling from one of my daughter’s friends. I love the perspective of an 11-year-old!
Home Schoolers
Someone freaky,
Someone wild.
Someone cheeky,
So much a child.
Without the school uniform,
Without the Smiggle bag,
Someone who’s not the norm,
Without the shop’s latest tag.
Home schoolers, Home schoolers,
That’s who we are.
Friendly with people of every age,
Each of us a shining star.
Free, not in school’s restricting cage.
We’re all unique,
We’re all ourselves.
We’re all home schoolers,
That’s who we are!
Someone weird,
Someone new.
Not much revered,
Sounds like me, sounds like you.
But, whoever I want to be,
Home schooler?
Is there something cooler?
Well, I’ve decided: me.
-Jemma Julian, 4/09/2015
For many kids, it’s the perfect fit. To be able to devise a programme that caters to your child’s interests is a blessing. Wherever we go in Sydney, there are friends to visit and fun to be had.
In the past five days, I have seen four performances! Spamalot was the first, and it contained some wonderful Monty Python skits and songs. I was delighted to take my daughter, and she roared with laughter throughout. A friend’s son was onstage, and to see the happiness on his face filled my heart. It is one of life’s gifts, to see a young person in their element. I also watched a group of talented kids perform skits based on the environment. It was poignant and funny, much like life. We also saw the 56 Storey Treehouse with a group of young theatre-goers. What an imagination Andy Griffiths possesses! Finally, I saw Les Mis with a very dear friend. Now this particular friend was by my side throughout my many cycles of IVF ten years ago, guiding me and consoling me. I met her through an online support group. Our daughter’s adore each other, and we have such fun when we meet up. This friend has gone through hell this past year. I would do anything to vanquish what she is enduring. She is irreverent, cheeky and really rather naughty, and it has held her in good stead. Her stubbornness is the stuff of legend. She is also incredibly short, so I decided long ago that she is a keeper.
It sounds silly but it felt rather rebellious and decadent to slink off into the city for a big night out mid-week. It shakes up your world, in a very good way! I got home at 1am, and it was well worth the hell I paid today! To see her laugh, relax and enjoy herself was priceless. I cant take her burdens away entirely, but she laid them down for a few precious hours. We talked about crap and chuckled at our own hilariousness. This is the lady with whom I went to see Vivid- the annual extraordinary Sydney light show. We were having such a good time, we couldn’t be bothered wandering about to see the pretty lights. She was enough. She always will be.
Ten months ago, a friend asked her doctor to be referred for a mammogram. She hadn’t felt a lump, and had no other symptoms. She wasn’t in the age bracket where they are offered free of charge. She knew she wouldn’t feel peace until she had undergone the screening. They found a lump, and within a week, she had undergone a mastectomy. She took her kids to school that morning, and myself and another friend held her hands as we walked her back to the car. She was going straight to hospital. I didn’t want to let her hand go. I would have given anything for her not to have to endure what was ahead. In the months ahead, she underwent a course of chemotherapy and then radiotherapy. It seemed like an endless night, and there were many days when she languished in bed, too spent to communicate. The day came when the treatment finished. It had begun swiftly and brutally, then one ordinary day she walked out the door after her last treatment and into daylight. An ordinary day for all but her. Changed forever. She offered me a lift to the train station on the way, and impatient drivers refused to make room for her to turn onto the road. She joked that she was going to lift her wig, and holler, something along the lines of “now, do ya think you could let me in?!” All these silly people, thinking that their time is so important. Unable to wait five seconds to let a good woman in. The storm changes you.
Her family arranged a surprise picnic to celebrate the end of her treatment. It was held on a thirty degree day in Spring, a slight breeze tempering the heat. Perfect. She walked up, crying. This is for you. We are assembled for you. We couldn’t step in for you on the days when the thought of more treatment seemed unbearable. We couldn’t take your discomfort away. We can do this. Your daughter’s made a glorious cake and cookies, and we enjoyed an Australian BBQ and salads. You got through it, sweetheart. The dark night of the soul has passed. Her message to others is to routinely check yourself. To have the necessary screenings, if only to put your mind at ease. It is harder to feel comfort in burying your head in the sand, when you have a friend that has saved her own life by not doing so. Cheers to you, my darling. I look forward to enjoying many more Australian picnics with you.
Camp was amazing! I feel that I am not the same person who left home a week ago. Staying places by myself (albeit with child), is not something I have done much of, and certainly not so far away. It was mainly to do with safety, and gradually it was born of terror. Fear isn’t a strong enough word. What if something happened? What if I fell sick? I would be all alone. Can I rely on myself? The answer was that I could. We left early afternoon, and by the time we were an hour away, dusk was folding in. I had visions of driving around in the dark, unable to find the place! “Breathe though it,” I told myself. I tremulously opened the door to our cabin and was astounded at how lovely it was. I got a great deal as it was off-season. In my adult life, I have only had a few short breaks away, all available funds going into IVF and surgeries. The kitchen was bigger than mine back home! My daughter had a great deal of fun exploring! That night, I had the best sleep I have had in years, and actually slept in! We then met our fellow campers. My daughter was asked to play spotlight by an older girl and delivered back to the cabin afterward. It meant a lot as a mum.
She organized her social life with a little friend for the next day, and met up at 9am for putt putt golf. When we went to get supplies from the local supermarket, she found a little tree frog at the doors. She brought it back to the cabin, and lovingly placed it in a box filled with grass. She found the perfect spot to relocate him, brimming with frogs, and went by herself to release her tiny friend.
It is officially Spring here in Australia, and whilst the sun beamed down, the swimming pool was still freezing. Things like that don’t matter to kids and she took the plunge. The women gathered as the kids played, and I found their intuitive, compassionate take on child-rearing and schooling awe-inspiring. They were my tribe, filled with artists, students, dancers and writers. We went on a koala walk, where the kids found buried treasure. The day ended at the fire pit, telling each other stories.
The next day, we tried hula hooping. To my amazement, I could sustain a weighted hoop, once I had been taught to take a step, rather than try to swivel it (impossible with a fused back). One of the new friends I made was a single mum, with a remarkable child and 5 week old puppy. The puppy considered my cane more of a prize than the stick he was offered, and ran off with it! It took some coaxing to get it back. This mum was an astoundingly gifted artist. Mainstream school wasn’t working for her child, so she packed up their life. bought a camper van and car, and hit the road. As her child played with the kids and his puppy, I was privileged to witness a young life restored with the joy it deserved. The cruel taunts of classmates was being replaced with the reinforcement of other’s encouragement. How brave and inspiring was my new friend, to leave her old life and plunge into the unknown? I hope their lives are filled with the peace they deserve.
We played board games in my cabin that evening, the kids overtaking us at Beat the Parents. There was much laughter and irreverence and happiness. I had nowhere to go and had abandoned my to-do list. I had stopped and was living in the moment. I hadn’t realized how stressed I had been. I slept brilliantly when removed from it all. On the way home, we stopped at a wildlife sanctuary. My daughter loved the piglets and gravitated to them at feeding time. She also fed wallabies.
She went on rides and we were hugged by an enormous Drop Bear! To the uninitiated, visitors to Oz are sometimes warned that koala bears drop out of trees and get quite cranky. Of course, it isn’t true!
We could have gone out on the water and seen whales and pods of dolphins, but the days were filled with connecting, walking and resting. We came home ready to continue on, bolstered by the friendships we had made.
My daughter and I have been unwell with a respiratory virus. It was the sort that leaves you no option but to crawl into bed. We had five days at home in isolation, which is quite uncommon for us. Of course, daughter regained her strength before me, and when I shuffled out of bed for a drink of water, I encountered a paper-art shop and the creative use of food-stuff!
A friend made cupcakes the day before her birthday, and we went to a beautiful park. The sky was clear and blue and the weather was nudging toward spring temperatures. The day of her birthday, she woke at 4am, which was the time she was born. As she snuggled in my arms, I recalled being given a tiny bundle at that same time, nine years ago. She was a miracle from the outset. I paused to remember all I know who have battled their own private hells with infertility and pregnancy loss.
We walked to a local café, which is owned by a friend. She decorated the table, and gave my child a beautiful gift. How wonderful is it when a grown-up makes a child feel special and important?
Afterward, we hopped on a train and went on an adventure! A traveller from Manchester had found a gig at a stationary store and when he discovered it was her birthday, not only did he dance, but he made a balloon animal for her. I hope Australia decides to keep this young man! We strolled around, meeting many characters. Time got away from us, and I hurried us to the station. We had tickets to Matilda that evening!
As soon as we entered the Lyric Theatre, we found the atmosphere joyous in anticipation. What can I say about Matilda? It was everything you desire in a stage production. It had spunk, it was irreverent, hilarious and heartbreaking. We were in fits of laughter one moment, and the next, had tears. It is a story for every person who has ever felt unsure of their place in the world. Anyone who has ever been subject to ridicule and contempt. It is a story of a daring little girl, who has the power to change the destiny of those around her. The sets, performers, music and lyrics were simply stunning. There are surprises aplenty. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the evening of my daughter’s ninth birthday. If it is playing anywhere near you- now or in the future- go see it!
Our children need to be exposed to realistic heroes and heroines and to my mind, Matilda is an aspiration. She inspires young and old to listen to the nuances of their heart; to keep telling their stories and sharing their truth. We bought the soundtrack, so we can listen whilst I save up so we can see it again! Happy Birthday, to my daughter. You are one of the funniest, kindest and most creative people I have ever known. May the years ahead be full of wonder. If I had the power, I would create a musical score for your life. No sadness, just high notes, accompanied by harps and flutes. I wish I had that power. I will be accompanying you on your journey, doing all I can to buffer the low times so that there are no sharp edges.
It hurts my soul when people I adore can’t see how incredible they are. I want to say each and every day, “Try to see yourself through my eyes…How would you feel if a friend chastised you like you do to yourself? ” If something I said helped them to love themselves, I would be thrilled. I would like to say, “let’s cut the small-talk. I see in your eyes that you are yearning to talk on a deeper level.” None of us really want to chat incessantly about the weather, and we bore ourselves with the stock answer of “I’m okay,” when asked how we are. I love it when a friend shakes me out of my apathy by asking deeper questions. “Why do you run around so fast? Are you avoiding something?” These recent queries shook up my world in a good way! “Forgive yourself, love who you are as we love you, you are doing a great job at this thing called life.” I would say these things over and over again, hoping that they are taken on board. Life is tough enough, without beating ourselves up added to the soup! “How are you really?” “I am proud of you!” Affirmations of love.
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 