For those that have been Betrayed


I see you, even though you feel invisible. You are trying desperately to hide, even whilst yearning to be found. I sense the psychic wounds; the blood-letting you have endured. You are surrounded by pretty photos of pretty times by pretty lakes. There were pretty hotels in pretty, faraway lands. You have retreated from Instagram and Facebook, feeling you have nothing to contribute by way of pretty stories… Not anymore.

You had hoped that none of this was real. It can’t be real, for that would be intolerable; unthinkable. Your heart is pierced with wire, barbed and cruel, another searing pain striking whenever you think of him, and what transpired.

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Pain that sees you crawl into a ball in the shower, undone by wracking sobs which seem unworldly. What to do with the pictures, strewn about your home? The albums filled with memories? Hell, you even learnt the art of scrapbooking, so the stories were inked on pretty paper, in an orderly fashion. Each chapter had it’s own album, as great stories should.

I can see your collarbone, your flesh receded, along with your appetite. When did you last eat? I can see you haven’t slept, your eyes hollowed and red.

Next we have anger. Why didn’t you see it coming, you rage at yourself? Why did I believe their lies? Why did I think it was possible to retrieve our life together? It was concealed from you, dear heart. They only reveal what they want you to know. Lying is a game for one, and you weren’t privy to the rules. Anger extends to the partner. How could they take your family and carelessly shatter all that you had? They aren’t there to deal with the aftermath.

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I see you trying to adapt to being a single parent, and a single person. I see you having to navigate the legal system, locate counselling, and deal with financial matters. I know it feels overwhelming. The evenings are lonely, but then, so are the mornings. There shall be many firsts. The first time you attend a dinner, where you are the only one solo amongst your friends. The first walk, the first Christmas, the first mothers day…

There will be immense sadness and there will be grief. You wonder if the whole of your relationship was a lie. How much of it was ever real? Hindsight is a cruel teacher. It is only through it’s looking glass that we are able to see the complete picture. How can they love you like you need and like you deserve, if they don’t know themselves? If they came to you as an incomplete person, the union had to break. You aren’t responsible for filling up the mental and emotional needs of a partner who is punctured. It isn’t your job.

Your job is to tend to your own wounds. To discover the simple pleasures of a bubble bath or a solitary stroll. The kids are at sleepovers and you are alone. Now is the time to discover how decadent it feels to prepare a nourishing meal for one. You can curl up with a novel, or Netflix, unimpeded. You can play whatever music you desire. You are free now. Free from betrayal, and from the years of subterfuge. No more deceit, and no more wondering. You are worth far more. Now it is time to heal.

Go gently into your new world, and lean on your inner circle of friends. Slowly, you will begin sleeping through again. You will start eating more and cry a little less. You are going to show this world what a single woman can do. Right now, if all you did today was  go through the cycle of bewilderment, denial, anger, hurt and sadness on a continual loop, you did okay. You are still here, and have much to build on.

Remember the young woman who lived before this relationship? Open that photo album. Find her, retrieve her and offer her revivification. She has been there all this time. What does she want? What did she sacrifice or put on hold? Take all her dreams out of mothballs, and bring them to life.

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Learning from Toddlers


Hopping onto a full carriage at Central station, I was cursing myself for arriving in peak hour. Tired and hungry, I stood next to an equally exhausted lady, who grimaced by way of a greeting. People left at the next few stops, and a mother with a stroller boarded. That is when everything changed. I hadn’t noticed the mother and little boy before, seated in the middle section. The little boy stood as I found a place to sit, and wandered over to the stroller, greeting the little girl with  unadulterated joy, as though they were old friends. After he introduced himself, the little girl’s mum was offered a seat by a building worker. He actually insisted. The little girl was let out of her stroller and the kids sat snuggled together. I watched as their rapport was built, sharing toys and French fries.

The lady I had been standing with smiled knowingly, when she heard the mothers describing how hard new parenthood had been, and how they had been certain they were screwing it all up. Parents of older kids chimed in, and told their own stories. We confessed all the things we vowed to never do with our kids, which we all did. We talked of our own battles and what we had learned through the years. I laughingly relayed that I had vowed to never feed my toddler chips, and stories were told about all the silly rules we had administered, pre-children. Banana sandwiches are great, but then so is the occasional bucket of chips. Pretty soon, the whole carriage was chatting, introducing ourselves to one another. The toddler’s energy and ease of friendship had contaminated us all. They alternatively sung Wiggle songs, played with toys and ate chips.

An hour passed, and it was time for the toddlers to say goodbye, and they hugged one another. I thought of the ease in which the little boy had gone up to greet the little girl. It had brought out the best in all the weary travellers. It taught us to get our noses out of our phones, and actually smile at one another. Even if you are only going to be with a group of people for one solitary hour of your life, make it count.

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Naked Bike Ride Sydney, Parrots and Friends


As a result of a recent slip and fall, I have had to take more pain medication for my spine.   Come Friday, I was hunched over my toilet, continually throwing up (this medication can interfere with the nausea centre of the brain). As a result, I missed seeing my daughter sing at her Highschool’s talent quest. It was the end to a stellar week, which saw us being notified that our darling little home was being sold. We are hoping with all our hearts that an investor buys it, and we are able to stay. Saturday was spent eating dry toast and apple to settle my stomach, and resting in bed. That evening, my girl and I watched a very silly movie, and laughed until tears streamed down our faces.

We had arranged to meet friends on Sunday in the city, and there was no way that I was going to cancel. We all did IVF together, ending up with daughters. We hadn’t seen each other for the longest time, life getting in the way. It were as though no time had passed, as we hugged and caught up. IVF had taken a lot out of us, but it had also given us an inner resilience. Boy, have we needed it!

Strolling along, we came across a very sweet man, who was walking his three dogs and his Eclectus parrot. The girls were invited to hold him, much to their delight!

This gorgeous boy is named Apollo, and you can follow him and his family on Instagram.

Light exuded from Apollo’s dad; he was one of those people of whom you leave lighter and much happier.

We had Italian ice-cream for brunch, then indulged in a gorgeous Earl Grey and rose donut, baked fresh. A long walk was in order afterward, and we found an eatery, where I ordered a zucchini flower and plate of Brussels sprouts, pan-fried in balsamic vinegar. Surprisingly, my friends asked that the surplus be put in a container for me to take home,  and were more than a little reluctant to finish them off!

The girls paddled in the harbour, and as we reclined at a nearby park, we were surprised to have the Naked Bike Ride, Sydney, stream past! A helpful fellow at the front, announced to the gawkers that they were indeed nude riders, as if we couldn’t figure it out for ourselves! I admired their chutzpah, and the whimsy of it all. Such a random event to come across! It certainly made everyone smile!

At the end of the day, I was tired and sore, but no more than I would have been had I stayed home. In fact, I would have been worse off. I wouldn’t have seen my lifelong friends, watched my daughter have fun, met a very kind man with his canine and bird family, eaten glorious food and seen the naked bike ride. I wouldn’t have been embraced by my glorious city. I love that I can go into the city depleted, and come back retrieved.

Christchurch


The unbearable news broke on Friday, regarding the massacre by a white supremacist at mosques in Christchurch. It is crucial to squash racism and hate speech, wherever you find it. My daughter recently spent time with kids of every religion and race. They had an absolute ball together, taking photos and playing charades and UNO. They broke bread together over lunch, and shared jokes. We were onto our second week in this joyous atmosphere when a new mother joined us. We exchanged pleasantries, and all seemed calm, when suddenly,  bile dripped from her tongue. I won’t repeat what was said, but I am sure you can imagine, her gaze steadied on my daughter’s new friends and their mothers. I was horrified, and got up and moved away from her. She assumed that because I was Anglo-Saxon like her, that I would be bound to agree with her warped views.

 

Every time she approached, I moved away. I will not give hatred the time of day, nor listen to it’s uneducated ramblings. Racism is poison, infecting one’s soul. This woman watched as I hugged my Muslim friends and exchanged details when it was time to leave. I messaged these families on Friday, telling them that I loved them, and that I was so very sorry for what had transpired in NZ. They told me that I was loved in turn and that love will save us from all the hatred in this world.

I hope it will…

I know it will.

Grief and the Seasons


I spoke to a friend on the matter of grief, and she said something profound. She mentioned that those grieving would be best to give themselves a year before making huge changes. “They have to endure the four seasons…when you think about it, each season contains first’s. There are birthdays, anniversaries and Christmas. The list of first experiences without their loved one is excruciating. Enduring those four seasons will take all the strength in them.”

 

Grief can be felt in a myriad of ways. There can be grief for what was left unsaid, and for what was spoken in haste. It can present as regret for what never was and for what had been. The relationship you wished you had, compared to the one you experienced. The pain of an empty chair at your dining table, or felt after reaching for the phone to call. It can present as it’s twin, anger. You may be so bloody angry at everything, not least what others concern themselves with. Don’t they know that an angel just died?

Grief is complex; one moment you may feel fine, and the next be in the foetal position on the floor. It is not a linear journey, rather it is a mass of swirly pathways. Grief is messy, it’s trajectory launching you into a future wherein you have to leave the fallen behind. You take only the memories, and the love, with you. I imagine butterflies, dragonflies and fireflies escorting the bereaved as they rest in a cave. The walls perhaps lined with glow worms as they sit and weep. It can be a lonely journey, and certainly a puzzling trip, for which nobody wants a ticket.

Piercing through the hymns, the eulogies, the visual displays and the flowers, is the love you hold in your heart and the promise of what might have been. It sears through the ICU monitors, silencing the alarms and machines. At the end of it all, we leave with only love; that which we gave and accepted in turn. If you can endure the first four seasons of bereavement,  hope and love wait on the other side.

 

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.

Time


I had such a cavalier attitude to time when I was younger, and it was little wonder. I stared up at the tiled ceiling from my spinal rotor bed, counting the dots on each square for months on end. I anxiously waited until I was old enough to make my own choices, and lead a life of my desire. Time seemed to stretch on forever, as it is want to do when pain, isolation and abuse feature. Always impatient, waiting for and recovering from surgery was agonizing, not to mention the years in physiotherapy. I had to learn to break everything down into tiny steps. Those little steps added up and became quite a hike! IVF came along, and each day stretched out. The two-week-wait to find out if I was pregnant seemed to defy time on earth. Pregnancy felt the same; endless, as I impatiently waited to meet this baby.

Since her birth, I have a new respect for time. It can be a hard taskmaster, both when you long for it to speed up, and when you yearn for it to slow down. Having a child has made me yearn for it to lean in and stretch out. If I could turn back the hand’s, I would. How can it be that I almost have a teenager, starting her last term of Year 6 after the holidays? I don’t even know how it is possible? You finally get a handle on differing ages and the milestones reached, and they are gone, replaced with the next expectation.

It is as though an editor has rushed through the movie reel, speeding it up in a race to the end. I have only fully appreciated each age by looking over videos and photographs after the events. It is true that you often don’t know you are enjoying a perfect moment in time whilst living it. As we waited to board a country train to where my daughter would be performing, I turned to her and said “we will look back on these adventures as being some of the most perfect moments in our lives.” She stopped and smiled, nodding her head, and we both ceased our hurriedness to the next destination, to fully appreciate what we had now. In silence, we looked around the small station, hearing the kookaburras and cockatoos in neighbouring gum trees, and admiring the cherry blossoms in bloom. We heard a solitary crow in the distance, and we knew that this moment was magic. Now is all we have.

I peered over at my daughter, and marvelled at how her journey is only just beginning. There is so much for her to look forward to. It won’t be as hard a trip into adulthood; I will make sure of that. I am trying to live in the moment after our sublime experience at the station. On Tuesday, we were waiting for another train, and were sitting near a young Canadian traveller. She was soon joined by a man forty years her senior, and as I heard their banter, I grew increasingly uncomfortable. He was asking her questions at a rapid-fire rate. No sooner had she answered, than he was asking her another. She did that thing where you smile and try to be friendly. So many of us have done, as we secretly hope that the stranger will leave us alone and not hurt us if we do. He asked her if he could show her around Sydney. She politely declined. He then insisted on taking her out to dinner. She stammered and tried to deflect his attention. By this stage I had heard enough, and went over. He was decidedly irritated at my intervention, whilst the traveller was grateful. Eventually he moved away, and left her in peace.

I talked to my daughter about what had transpired, and told her that she need never feel like she has to put up with a stranger being invasive. I told her that I had done it many times, frightened of angering a persistent stranger. So many times, passing women would come to my aid, some pretending to be friends who were meeting me in order to thwart advances. We talked for the whole hour into the city, and it was wondrous. My little girl is growing up and there is nothing to fear. She has this. She is growing up in a time where girls have a voice. She is growing up in a time where she doesn’t feel the pressure to conform nor accommodate everyone. She has got this.

I am planning the next term, and shall be scheduling more trips and adventures, as I know that this precious time won’t come around again; at least not in the same way. I have heard that once a child reaches high school, time seems to speed up. I pray for day trips and camps, walks and other adventures in which time stands still. Right now is perfect. This is all we are guaranteed, this moment in time. I plan to lean into it, and make a second last a day.

 

Happy Birthday, Raphie!


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The anniversary of my fall happened recently. I consider the date to be my actual birthday. It could have been the end date between the dash, stating when I was born and when I died. If he had his way, it would have been. I have done everything I could think of to get through this particular day. I recall one year, I visited a dentist, and wept uncontrollably in the middle of Bondi Junction afterward. It was only when I looked at a newspaper, that I realized it was the anniversary of the fall. It convinced me that we have a powerful subconscious reaction to anniversaries, even if we don’t consciously dwell on them. This year, I took my daughter to lessons by a beach. On the bus, a brilliant stream of sunshine pierced through the windows, bathing me with soothing honey and saffron light. I closed my eyes and smiled, just as I had done the morning after the fall. Sunlight had broken through the clouds, and reached its honeyed fingers through the hospital window. Tears poured down my face at the sensation.

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I sat on the beach whilst waiting for my daughter and watched the waves crash in and then be pulled back. I was asked to hold close the following in the aftermath of my fall; ‘It came to pass…not to stay.’ For years I had imagined the waves crashing in, and then receding, taking with them all the challenges and pain. It was a marvellous saying, and an inspired piece of imagery.

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There were many ways I could have died that particular night, and he spoke aloud all the possibilities. I was strangled into unconsciousness at one point, before being pushed after I regained consciousness. I was then dragged across the ground, my survival having been an affront to him. The people on the waterfront looked at me curiously as I grinned maniacally from sheer joy, incredulous that I am still here. I talked to strangers, and patted little dogs wearing winter coats. I pulled out my key chain; I had found the perfect reminder for this date.

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I spent the rest of the evening looking through old scans, deciding what to take to my appointment at a pain clinic. I was of course, asked what had happened, and my throat grew dry as I revisited the trauma, trying to provide a recap in an hour. It is a saga that goes on, year after year. It demands time spent in surgeries and in surgery. Doctor’s surgeries tend to have the same inane and dated sporting, golfing, automobile and real estate literature, though if one is lucky, you may come across an old Reader’s Digest. I find it all laborious and tiring, and frankly can think of a million better uses of my time. However, I have an eleven year old daughter to whom I am the epicentre of her busy world, and I need to be on my game. I have to think of the future, and all I want to do with this kid. Spending time and money to maintain the wonder that is this vessel; well, it has to be a priority.  On a positive note, I have reached the Medicare Safety Net for the year! Go me! My daughter and I were having a girl’s night recently, and she tried to teach me some of her dance moves. She did so slowly, and we were in fits of laughter at my uncoordinated efforts, until I fell to the floor in pain. She kept apologizing and my heart broke. It is always there, demanding to be acknowledged. Each time I require my girl to do things I can’t do without extreme pain. Each time I have to explain how I was injured.

After my daughter bid me goodnight, I did what I do most years on the anniversary. I poured a glass of red wine, lit a candle and wished myself a happy birthday. It is always a birthday party for one. That bitterly cold evening, I imagined I was covered in a blanket, a pillow underneath my head. I imagined I was safe. I sipped my wine, then blew out the candle. I tucked myself in, and fell asleep. Another year passed.

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What I missed when I was a Hermit


I went through a long period as a hermit,  both out of necessity and for health reasons. The outside world became a terrifying spectre, one I feared may swallow me whole. I read books and wrote of my experiences whilst inside hospital wards and in my room. Worlds can be contained in a small space, and I lived a hundred lives and died a thousand deaths whilst awaiting my return to the outside world.

I dreamed of performing simple tasks and going to ordinary places. The thought of going to the bakery and asking for a seeded loaf, or opening my own bank account, terrified and enthralled me. The thought of ordering food in a café or requesting a movie ticket was unthinkable. I would go through the actions required to get public transport from Point A to B a million times. Going to the letterbox made me feel vulnerable, let alone going down the street. I missed conversations, and the strangers whom you bumped into as part of a day. I missed the aromas streaming out of restaurants and the music of street artists. I missed the harried workers rushing to the station and building a rapport with the people at my favourite places, until they had become friends.

I don’t regret my years of hermitage. I was unencumbered by other’s input. I wrote stories which weren’t savaged by critics and dressed in my best clothing, styling myself without popular opinion playing on my mind. I was ruler of my thoughts and if a bad pain day or stalker caused me want to scream or weep, I could, freely. I knew where I started and other people left off with regards to boundaries, as I was the only one there! Much was given, but there was also much taken away throughout those years.

I didn’t travel, nor dress to be seen. I couldn’t think of anything worse! I could be dressed in electric blue, though still invisible. One day, the doors were flung open, and there I was, out in the world. I was eighteen years of age. I took note of the prices at the local shops, writing them on a notepad and memorizing them. I had to learn everything, from how to ask for services to how to talk on the phone. Everything was new and thrilling, terrifying and stultifying.

Circumstances have seen me recede at times. I may have had surgery and am not strong enough to go out into the world, or circumstances have conspired to push me into a constrained space. When I am able to open the front door, I am greeted by sunshine and fresh air. I have had enough of living inside; of living within my imagination, and not out in the world. I am privileged to have been given the gift of knowing that I don’t need people to fulfil me, rather I delight in being with them. There is a marked difference.

To go to a movie or concert by yourself; to travel and dine singularly is still a lovely experience. To have been a hermit and not enjoyed your own company would be a nightmare! Fortunately, I can still laugh at my own jokes and bounce ideas off of myself. I look forward to seeing more of this world, what with its questionable leaders, crazy politics, beautiful folk, glorious art and delicious food. I have merely dipped my foot into the waters away from hermitage valley. I look forward to being fully submerged.

Living Life on your own Terms


She knew what it felt like to be owned, or rather, how it felt when others presumed to own her. She had never felt as free as when she placed her most treasured possessions in a suitcase and left the detritus of her old life. The wardrobe was crammed with dresses and coats she would never wear again. The comforts of times past were still sitting on the shelves, her linen on the turned-down bed. She looked around her room one more time, and then closed the door, not looking back. One suitcase and a pocket filled with dreams were all she carried. She would never again see photographs of herself as a child, nor read through old schoolbooks. Stories were contained inside her mind, recollected at a moment’s notice. It is much more fun to belong to oneself. She thought of who she might be as an older lady. She hoped that she would have honed her own style, after years of discarding what hadn’t worked. She hoped that she may have found what did. Whether that be becoming a Lady in Pink, or the Chick in Green.

Perhaps, there would be the wistfulness that comes when one has had to make hard but true choices. This Iggy Pop song would take her back.

There is a price to pay for freedom, whether it be emotional, material or everything in between. One must not think too much about the risks, or one would never be brave enough to leave. All it takes is a deep breath, and the knowledge that the centre isn’t holding and is actually giving way. The trip into the unknown is the only way to survive. To be one’s own master, not owned nor contained. Twenty years pass, just as in the song, ‘Candy.’ She is ever closer to reaching her golden years. Perhaps a lady in pink awaits, or maybe she will become a rainbow. She wonders whether she has used up her quota of colours in younger years; maybe she will instead cloak herself in charcoal and grey? She knows that birds, dogs, a wild garden and books shall feature heavily. Wherever she ends up, and whomever she is evolving into, she can say she has lived life on her own terms. She was always an unruly spirit, unconstrained and certainly never owned nor boxed in. No matter what they thought…