Category: Self-Care

Papa Al Pomodoro

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This seems like just another food picture, but there is more to it. It is an act of self-care, something I have felt unable to do for the past six months. This Papa Al Pomodoro heralded that I was coming back to life after a time of treading water. Stressful times get the adrenaline surging and self-care recedes. The things you love to do and the fresh food you used to love preparing are swept aside, thought of as time-thieves.

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The thing is, that by making space for preparing good food and doing the things you love, you end up with more time, not less. There is more energy and a clearer head space. I am learning…

Papa Al Pomodoro

1 kg ripe tomatoes, halved

1 tbsp olive oil

1 red onion, sliced

4 cloves chopped garlic

1 red chilli

400g can chopped tomatoes

1 L veg stock

1/2 bunch basil leaves

1 cup torn sourdough  bread

Preheat oven to 180 C and line oven tray with baking paper. Arrange tomatoes on tray. Drizzle with half the oil. Bake 30 minutes until roasted. Set aside to cool slightly. In a large saucepan, heat remaining oil. Cook onion until tender and then add garlic and chilli, stirring for one minute. Stir in roasted tomatoes and canned tomato, mashing tomato slightly. Cook 4 minutes, and add any seasoning you wish. Pour in stock. Simmer and cook for 15 minutes.

After serving, add the basil and sourdough to soup. You can include a sprinkling of Parmesan if you wish. It is divine!

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An Angel left a parcel

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I was watching a show the other evening, as there was a segment I was interested in. It was uplifting and joyful. Afterward, the show revealed what was coming next. I recoiled as though I had been punched in the stomach.  I knew I’d have to  watch it after the commercials. The damage had been done, and the memories had burst forth. I knew I had to see it through. 

As a fourteen year old, I was in the esteemed clinic mentioned in the segment. I had no definitive diagnosis, other than that I wanted to live, and kept tenaciously holding on. For a year, this clinic became my home. A man twice my age (and a heroin dealer to boot), prayed on me. Nobody stopped him; nobody cared. I saw many things that were unjust, corrupt and plain evil in this place. My part in this story ended when I was thrown off a building. For the next decade, I campaigned to ensure that such horror never recurred. I tried to ensure it never could.

A few years ago, several young women came forth to tell of the horrific sexual and emotional abuse they sustained at the hands of their therapist. These young women were a part of the eating disorders unit. They were threatened with not being able to see their families in some instances, and some were highly drugged. The place they had come to heal (and for which they had paid a fortune), had let them down. Tragically, one young woman took her life afterward. Sworn police statements obtained by the network detailed a series of complaints about the doctor from clinic staff. This was years before the full horror was uncovered. The clinic did nothing. He has been released from jail after serving two years, and will be free to practice as a doctor in five years. 

After what happened to me, I was assured that children would never be put in with adults again. I was assured that a Patients Charter of Rights was now in place and that such things would never be allowed to happen again. I watched the segment, feeling ill when I saw the clinic appear on screen. I also felt numb; hollow. This should never have happened, particularly as they were warned years prior as to this doctor’s behavior. I had nowhere to put the feelings that came up by the next morning, and life commanded that I participate. 

I came home that evening to find a parcel on my doorstep. There were flowers and a card, herbal tonics, essential oils and a tea flower, all nerve tonics. Restoratives, put together by my dear friend, Natasha, who happens to be a herbalist. She knew nothing of what I had watched the night before, nor how desperately I needed her parcel. I put the flowers in a vase, and prepared the maximum number of drops. I sprinkled the oils into my hands and breathed in the aromas. 

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How did she know that I needed a parcel at my door? Humbled by her kindness, I slept well that night. It is heartbreaking to know that others have suffered at the hands of this place. It should never have occurred. I think of all the correspondence I entered into, the statements I gave… It takes others to turn a blind eye for evil to triumph. Sometimes, memories can’t be vanquished, but the tempest can be soothed with tinctures, aromatherapy oils and the love of a dear and thoughtful friend.

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Raphaela’s Latest for Siren Empire

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I love writing for Siren Empire, a website that is visually magnificent and inspiring, offering different viewpoints. 

A story about a Living Rainbow! 

Reactive Depression.

When people are snowed under.

Reconnecting with your Tribe.

Banishing Shame.

 

 

Pressure

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I have been suffering the worst anxiety of my adult life; well, since I had IVF at least. The kind that makes you wake in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking. The ferocity of which makes you heave and feel as if you can’t catch your breath. I am entirely responsible for my child’s education; that alone is a lot of responsibility. I am trying to look after an adult with a mental illness that is unpredictable. I am trying to keep a household going, pay bills, and keep a grin on my face. I am preparing to see specialists and have necessary medical tests; attempting to scrape together the money to do so. Society regularly tells mothers that we are responsible for our health; that if a parent goes under, everything falls apart. I have been trying, I really have, to not go under. To ensure that my daughter is happy and secure. To not fail in my sworn mission to make everything okay with everyone I love. Oh, also to complete a book this year. 

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This year has pummeled me, the marks of which I acknowledge  in the rare moments  I have to sit and reflect. I knew the anxiety was turning into a monster by the following: 

I had two panic attacks in as many days.  I couldn’t work a door handle to exit a building, and the other when a lavatory door got stuck. I went straight into full panic, and passers-by had to calm me.

Feeling disengaged from life. Having  a list of things to do, but not having any idea as to how to do them. 

A pounding head all day, every day, and a terror of everything that once provided comfort. Social outings and social media, phones and emails procured extreme anxiety. 

Forgetting to eat, to sleep, to stop moving and sit quietly.

I called Lifeline, and tearfully relayed the events which had transpired to heighten my symptoms. The counselor was marvelous, and said they weren’t at all surprised that I was finding the going tough. When everything is all up to you, it can be anxiety-producing! I made contact with a counselor, whom I am going to see for a while, and I also saw my local GP. I am going to start medication, until I have a handle on the anxiety. It is not something I can do by myself, and goodness knows, I have tried. My brain feels as though it has forgotten how to relax and is ticking away 24/7. I am sure many can relate. Chronic pain is exhausting. Being a carer is exhausting. Having high expectations of yourself is exhausting. 

It took a lot for me to admit that I couldn’t cope; that I was in trouble. Relaxation and walks, chamomile tea and lavender oil are lovely adjuncts but weren’t offering a complete solution to such extreme anxiety. Spring is now here, and help is at hand. It is a matter of resetting a brain that has spun out of control. It is a matter of calming it down and soothing the tempest. I will still be responsible for an awful lot in life; that isn’t going to change. However, I will have the foundation required to cope with it all. One short woman alone.

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I saw the doctor and she agreed that I needed some help. I have started on a mild dose of medication and my mind already feels clearer. If you are suffering, please know that you aren’t alone.

Inflammatory Speech on Social Media

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There is much angst out there on the inter-webs, and so many people spoiling for a fight. One blanket statement or offensive Meme and it begins. My question is, where does it end? I am exhausted by merely scrolling through the rhetoric. We live in dangerous times, and things can swiftly turn ugly. Why would I want to contribute to that? By adding my two cent’s worth, I am not helping, nor am I convincing an individual to see another side. Social media isn’t the place to be having a healthy, respectful debate. If one’s mind is closed, no amount of evidence to the contrary will pry it open. People end up angered, feelings are hurt and relationships damaged.

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I know what I believe, and feel strong and comfortable enough in my convictions that I have no need to convince others. Whether that be how I raise my child through to my political convictions. I live as I see fit, and am delighted that you do the same. I feel that birds of a feather do indeed flock together and I adore my tribe. There is respect for each other and how we see the world. Those who seek to make a perfectly lovely day gloomy with inflammatory posts on social media make this world ugly. I want to see pieces about social issues by those on the front line, in well-respected, unbiased publications and websites. I want to learn more about the problems in our world by reading pieces from those with direct knowledge. I have no need for blanket statements from those far removed from said issues, do you?

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I will continue to scroll on by when I see this sort of bait, for that is what it is. You aren’t going to get a rise out of me for attention! If something is truly horrendous and inappropriate, report it to the relevant hosting site, rather than starting a fight with someone who would love nothing better.

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I think that the above is key. To live your life in a manner that speaks of your convictions. Your life tells people what your beliefs are; what is important to you. If you will excuse me, I have a Meme of a chicken to share. This world needs beauty and humor, more than it requires your continual outraged opinion. 13599797_911708792288487_2688553416528517412_n

Wise and compassionate words

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My friend wrote an articulate and heartfelt response to the following:


‘You know what? No! Just no! I’m sick of this sentimental BS being shared around FB and people thinking it’s true. I have been through, and had many friends go through, serious life changes. I have had friends battling ongoing or chronic health problems and are just too physically weak to even handle the thought of a coffee (yes even with close friends). I’ve had friends that use every ounce of energy they have just to get through their day as they have serious challenges with their partner and/or kids (probably worse than you’re imagining cause they’re doing their best to try and keep it a secret too). I’ve had friends battling mental health issues where getting out of bed and getting dressed is a huge accomplishment for the day (again the stigma attached to that one only makes them want to hide it and if you haven’t been there then you just won’t get it so don’t even start to preach at them how they need to think positive etc). 
So screw this sentiment! If your friend doesn’t have time for you for 6 months, suck it up, cause the pain/hell they are going thru that they don’t even have the time/energy for their friends, is more than you’re going through by not seeing them. Rather than adding a guilt trip to their situation just msg them some encouragement and remind them you love them and are there if and when they need. Don’t take it personal, it isn’t about you and making it about you just makes it worse. 
So once again, just to make sure you really get this – no! Just no! This is crap.’

The above is full of compassion and empathy. I am still learning how to be assertive, and on occasion, have had the following happen. A text, asking when I may be free. If I am out each day, I will relay that in a couple of weeks my schedule shall be more open. I then receive more texts, which I don’t have the opportunity the read. This has been followed with emails and messages on Facebook. When I go in to see what I have to reply to, there are scores of messages, which I have neither the time nor energy to answer. I have offered by way of explanation, that my spine has deteriorated, I am in constant, merciless pain, and by the time I arrive home (after travelling up to four hours), all I can do is crawl into bed. I assure them that I shall be in touch in a week or so, and am looking forward to catching up. More messages ensue, (usually involving guilt trips, attempting to shame), at which point I am almost in tears. It is an energy drain at a time when you can’t afford to leak! I have racked my brain, trying to see when I have five minutes to make contact. It has inevitably seeped into precious rest time, or time when I had necessary things to do to keep my life running smoothly. I have found that it isn’t appreciated by these kinds of people. They demand another commitment before the present catch-up is over.

This happened to me regularly, and added to the load, when I was simply trying to get through the days. Every life has it’s seasons; a person’s days have delicious, empty space and then gets crammed with more activity and stress than one can handle. Kindness toward another is being accepting of it. I have long-standing friends whom I haven’t seen all year. When we do catch up, it is as though no time has passed. They don’t question my love for them, nor do I their’s. We both know that if we needed anything, we would move planets to support each other. My friend’s response to memes such as that above is filled with wisdom.

 

City 2 Surf for a little boy named Archie

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Walking is magical! It is a free tonic for what ails you. I have walked through grief, depression, feeling lonely and lost. I have walked when I am happy, laughing with friends. Yesterday, I walked for a little boy called Archie. I met his beautiful mother at a kid’s party a while back, and adored her on site. I had never entered City 2 Surf before, although it was on my list of things to accomplish. When I saw that this mum was raising money for Bear Cottage, I had the incentive I needed.

We caught a hire bus from our town with the most wondrous group of people. Before we knew it, we were in the city, ready to go!

 

 

My daughter and I paced ourselves, after I realized that 14km is a long way, and it would be best not to peak in the first hour! We didn’t want to show anyone up! I was silly on heavy painkillers and had my trusty TENS machine stuck to my back. It was a thrill to walk the city streets and go through tunnels without the interference of cars. People took their jackets off and they were in piles, of which the homeless could look through for one their size. Sydney isn’t a cold metropolis; this was shown through many kindnesses I witnessed. Encouraging strangers and helping those who were struggling. We stopped to chat to enterprising kids on their lemonade stands and made a sneaky detour to a service station for chocolate!

Heartbreak Hill came into view, and my daughter chose to cartwheel through a large portion of it! When you started to slow, there were bands playing awesome music to get you back into the swing of it! Archie was never far from our thoughts, an angelic little boy with an infectious smile and chubby cheeks. He and his family had spent a lot of time at Bear Cottage, and they wanted to raise money for them, whilst paying tribute to their little boy.

 

 

We met so many amazing people, and the people of Sydney felt like a big family, rather than a large group of strangers. When we saw the finishing line, we squealed and hugged each other. It’s funny how you can cope with such a big walk, but when you cross the finish line, your legs feel like jelly! We stumbled into the Bandaged Bear tent, where we were fed and given refreshments. We met up with the rest of the team, and found that Archie’s mum had injured her leg. She was being so brave, in spite of the pain. She has a long history of being brave.

 

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It was an amazing experience, to be part of a team of beautiful people, and to finish what we started. “You can do anything!” I whispered to my daughter, “this proves it!” We had a bath filled with Epsom salts, and lit a candle for Archie last night. I am sure he carried everyone through. Donations are still open for a few weeks. If you would like to make a donation to Bear Cottage, you can do so here.

 

Raphaela’s Picks of the Week

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A parrot with a villainous cackle!

This is a heart-achingly real piece about how it feels to have difficulty with fertility.

I found this Cube Test fascinating.

This video, wow!

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Confessions of an introverted extrovert.

A gorgeous dog with a butterfly on it’s nose.

 

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Follow me on Facebook!

Flower Markets, Pie shops and Friendship

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Some time back, I went through a hellish week. I hadn’t endured such concentrated crap for quite a while. Unpleasant people from the past tried to sneak back into my atmosphere via social media, money that I was assured would be there to pay essential bills wasn’t, and I was devastated by other events beyond my control. “What on earth is this?” I shrieked, to nobody in particular. “I’m a good person!” The week before, I had been blissfully unaware of the universal dump that was about to be bestowed on me. I wasn’t at all prepared. The thing with trying times, is that they are often beyond our control, but not our capabilities, despite stretching us to our limits.

I knew that I was in strife when I couldn’t stop my arms from trembling, and my hands from shaking. I lost my appetite and three kilograms in a weekend. I was exhausted and longed to rest my thumping head. I was on the loo constantly, my digestive system unable to cope with the stress. My heart felt as though it was leaping out of my chest, and I felt numb; disassociated from what was occurring. All the above were symptomatic of the massive adrenaline rush I was enduring. I couldn’t articulate what I was going through, and so I retreated. I didn’t want to burden anybody, anyway. I longed to disappear. I couldn’t see a way out of the situation I was facing. I felt I had let my daughter down, even though events had been out of my control.

There was a little tap at my door. A friend had been working around the corner and had called in to see me. My eyes were rimmed red from crying and sleep deprivation. Upon seeing me, she held me close, then took me for a drive. We stopped at a pie shop off the beaten track, and I ordered a vegetable pie. They began to make our pies, and we were shown to a round table, the linen tablecloth and colored serviettes adding warmth to a chilly day. There were flowers on each table,nestled in bright vases, and we enjoyed the best pies of our lives. The pastry was flaky, and the filling had just the right amount of seasoning. Afterward, my friend took me to a flower market. We were allowed in the cool rooms, and admired the floral displays. My daughter was asked if she wanted to pick out some flowers to take home with her, and her little face lit up. The dear lady who was running the farm even let us look out the back to see where the gerberas were growing in massive irrigated sheds. Watching my daughter play with the little dog on the farm, I felt the oppression of the past week loosen. The lady at the flower market was gracious to this stranger, and I am sure she could sense that I was fragile on this day. As for my friend, well, she did more for me than she will ever know. She enabled me to escape my own mind, gifting me temporary reprieve.

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The next 24 hours, saw two other good friends call in, and I cried some more as I relayed the impossible situation I faced. What they gave me in terms of support, love and compassion outweighs anything I could calculate. They are indeed my sisters, and they effectively pulled me back from the abyss, and helped me seek ways to continue on. You can feel overwhelmed when a friend is facing a crisis, particularly when lacking funds, time or the health to physically assist.Let me assure you, that real friends understand all that. I equally treasure the cup of tea I was made, a friend opening her house to me, the phone call I received and the heartfelt messages I was gifted. Just knowing that you aren’t alone is enough to sustain you, and bring you clarity. Each and every kindness shall be recalled and valued always.


I still haven’t any resolutions to long-standing burdens, but at least I have a list of steps I can take, right here and now. I feel a little more empowered, and certainly stronger than I did throughout that horrific weekend. It all started with a country drive, a quaint pie shop and a flower market.

Felting with The Magic Weave

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I had always loved felting, and longed to learn how to do it. It was one of those things you have a curiosity about, and throw on your bucket list. After twenty years of hankering, I finally had the opportunity to do something about it! There I was at the Gnome Convention in January,when I felt pulled toward a market stall, selling the most beautiful felt angels and castles. I got talking to the felt artist, Cristina, and she offered to come to my home to hold a workshop. I turned over her details many times, keeping the slip of paper on my desk. Life was busy as usual, and I became annoyed with myself as the weeks passed. I had to get over my mental block, and stop seeing holding a workshop as an indulgence. It’s silly, the limits we put on ourselves! I contacted Cristina, and a date was arranged.

Cristina and her partner, Frank, came early one Sunday morning, and I felt as though I had known them forever, such was the ease of our conversation. The other attendees arrived, and we began. We concentrated on wet felting. I felt the stress leave my body as I arranged felt onto a line of bubble wrap. There were no other thoughts, nor anything to do, other than gently playing with the fibers, in order to make them compliant to being styled. The ladies shared experiences and laughed as we rolled our precious bundles of wet felt.

It was a tremendous thrill to make something with our own hands! Hands which spend their days working, gardening, hugging, picking up after others, cleaning and generally being of service. Those hands were on their own time, and they were creating pretty and colorful felting! We shared stories, and our eyes welled up upon hearing Frank and Cristina’s  love story.

Cristina also showed us how to make flowers, balls and jewelry. It is the start of a beautiful friendship, and I am going to attend more of her workshops in the future. To see what all the excitement is about, visit Cristina’s Etsy shop.

I was able to take what I learned and show my daughter, much to Cristina’s delight. It is her dearest wish that her knowledge be passed on and the art of felting continue for a very long time. Seek out an artist at your local markets and adopt them! It is one of the best things I have ever done!