“In every encounter we either give life or we drain it; there is no neutral exchange.” —Brennan Manning
I pray to always give life, rather than drain it. I think intent is all-important. I am going on retreat with my little family for a while. Back to basics. Have thrown a few items into a suitcase, and will sit on the beach and listen to the waves. Eat cheap meals at the local vegetarian restaurant. Just be. I haven’t done that in a long while. I said to my daughter that we were gifted with a holiday, rather than presents this year, and she was beyond happy. She cant wait to swim with me in the pool, and go to the local parks. To sit atop a mountain and reflect. I pray that whatever you are doing on Christmas Day, and no matter how challenging your year has been, you can find peace. Enough to fill your pockets, and cheer your heart. I know what lonely and broken is. How it feels. Connect with others. Go to one of the free meals angels such as Bill Crews at Exodus in Ashfield put on. Know you are loved. Know that even though the world seems to have stopped, it shall continue and you wont be a hostage, rather a willing traveller. Eight years ago on this date, I was told I was pregnant. Hope resumes, loneliness subsides, and life begins anew.
Category: Self-Care
Thankyou.
Thankyou for believing in me and for the unbelievable support I received during this year. Having my book launched in 2013 was both thrilling and terrifying. The messages and love made me buoyant. If I could give you one further message as this year winds up, it is this. You can survive, you can endure and you can overcome. I have a situation at the moment, which has rocked me to my core. That is how these things happen isn’t it? Unplanned and swift, without any notice. Here we are, minding our own business, ambling along, when thud! I was stunned by the visage of my tree of life falling. I started shaking, and then I cried. I talked my truth, and held my child. Shocks have a habit of seeping into the festive season, have you noticed? Everything is so concentrated. The need for more time, more energy. Day five, I am feeling stronger. I will make it. A tree fell, and I am crestfallen. If I put it in a pot, decorate it with bells and lights, it will be pleasing throughout Christmas. In 2014, I shall plant a new tree. It will be small, but with dedicated care, it shall grow. I shall grow. Remember throughout this season, to gather your thoughts, make time for a cup of tea, and breathe. Just breathe.
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Weird day today.
After a concentrated, delightful weekend, I faced a weird day. One of those days when you feel out of sorts. I got home from pickup, the most pressing feature being getting feeling back through the right side of my body. A hot bath then voltage via my Tens machine! Yes! A missed call from my beautiful publicist, saying that Radio National wanted to interview me for White Ribbon Day. Oh my goodness! I called her back and she said I was to be interviewed live at 5.15pm! I felt a weight of responsibility on my shoulders. My little girl was excited and declared she would hold my hand throughout the interview. What a price to pay. It is a daily price. The pain never fades, in any respect. I am not doing any of this for me. I could have written children’s books from the start! I am whimsical and it is what I relish. I am ill-prepared for my story. It is ill-prepared for me.
My daughter is on her headphones, listening to Katy Perry, and singing her lungs out. We are cool! I feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I am so sorry, so very sorry, for all those that didn’t survive. I am hoping to lead the way for all those that did and wonders what happens next. I am so glad I am here. I understand those that couldn’t hang on. At the end, there is nothing but love. It is hard to rebuild a life. I am still constructing, but after the violence ends, there is nothing but joy throughout the whole process. I am thinking of all who have been told they were nothing, have been abused in any manner possible this White Ribbon Day. Believe me, you are everything. xxx
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Fear of Anger.
I have learnt an important lesson, regarding the power of my mind. It excels at terrifying me, leading me to envisage catastrophic explosions. A teacher had invited my daughter and myself along to a festival, to take part in a parade. We would be walking with the Scottish group. I used to do Scottish dancing, and my husband and I both have Scottish heritage (our clans were mortal enemies). This teacher is incredibly passionate and creative. I gasped when I saw her classroom. Every available space-including the ceiling,was taken up with art. Colour and shape, movement and whimsy. Recently, floor space had been taken over by costumes.
She had borrowed quite a few from celebrated dancers, and the kilts were valued in the thousands. I went for a fitting for my wench outfit weeks ago, at the same time my daughter was fitted for her dancer outfit. I lovingly put my dress up and got on with life. Several nights ago, I sat bolt upright with a horrible thought. Where was my daughter’s outfit? Where the bloody hell did I put it? Mine was staring at me, but I couldn’t for the life of me recall where hers was. Oh my God! Catastrophe! My daughter wouldn’t be able to march. Everyone would be bitterly disappointed in me, and the worst part? They would be angry. I was awake throughout the night, worried that I would incur wrath the next morning. I couldn’t find my daughter’s outfit anywhere. I went into school after having turned out every bag I own, every wardrobe and drawer. My friend greeted me and reminded me that the kid’s outfits were ready to be picked up. You mean to say, I didn’t take it home with me? I could have kissed her! All that panic, for nothing. I am a confident and capable adult, but when I am faced with confrontation, and possibly anger, I become a child. I was never allowed to be angry, and if I disappointed anyone as a little girl, their rage didn’t bear thinking about. It’s exhausting trying to make everyone happy, tiptoeing around danger, afraid of letting anyone down. I still have work to do. There are parts of my psyche that need to be gathered and strengthened. I learnt that the adult needs to reassure this kid, and find solutions. She retreated. The threat of anger was just too much. Healing is like an onion, and you peel back one layer, to be presented with many more. It was a wonderful parade.
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Free Time.
In the Telegraph, on October 2nd, there was an article which caught my attention, ‘Why kids crave more time with parents.’ Multiple after-school activities have left kids craving more free time with their parents to enjoy spontaneous pleasures. In a direct quote, “Ikea’s Time to Live research discovered nearly half of kids aged six to 16 are busy with three or more after-school activities and two-thirds pine for more free family time. In the past month, 43 percent of teens and parents did not manage any spontaneous time, despite 66 percent of teens and 73 percent of parents believing the most enjoyable times have been unplanned.” Life gets crazy, particularly at this time of year when activities and commitments ramp up. However, is there something amiss with palpable relief that the classes stop during the festive season? The game was cancelled due to inclement weather? We can now play board games at home? Doing things we love sustains us, and in fact, we feel liberated as a result. Over-commitment kills spontaneity and that’s sad. My daughter and I need that as much as we relish the assurance of structure. Getting the balance right is the key and takes some doing! What are your guides for activities? Do you have rest days in between?
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Time slipping away.
Oh crap! It’s almost the start of November, and November leads into… Freaking out! I can feel my heart racing. I need to flesh out the three books I want to complete in 2014. I need to do a lot before school breaks up for the year. The days and weeks are rushing by. You know when you are paralysed with panic, can’t think straight and don’t end up accomplishing much? Yeah that. I refuse to go into December feeling ill-prepared, bad-tempered and exhausted. Instead of sitting in my office, accomplishing little, I took up my camera. This is what I captured. 
Our yard.
Our Guinea Pigs.
More Guinea Pig beauty.
Tree of Life.
Portrait a young friend did of my daughter.
I picked this up at a Lifeline store for $6.00
Heart painting my child did in art class.
Santa! Yay!
The birdy gang (or some of them).
How extraordinary to have appreciated so much glory within five minutes! Makes you wonder why we don’t all stop and marvel at what and whom is in our world much more than we do. You know what, the end of the year skulks up on us, and its okay. We can carry projects and dreams into the new year. All we need do now is breathe, and capture some images to appreciate on the way.
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A week.
What a week it was! I did the presentation for new investigator’s. Suffered from the palpable relief of having done so, not to mention the memories that were stirred. The day before, I went into the laundry to do some washing. I peered up at the branches (yes, we have branches in our laundry), over the bird’s homes on the wooden bench, and counted five little birds. One was missing, Rosie the budgie. I turned around, and saw her on the ground, in the corner. Her eyes were closed. It was a shock. You never really believe that a beloved pet will die, even one’s of advanced age. Her partner, Cuddles, tweeted for her, longed for her. All the birds ended up in the office with me that day, needing to be close. It was a loss as real as any I have known. Final and unexpected. The day before the presentation. I couldn’t cry. Friday, I spent the day inside, and the tears came. Relief that the speech had been done and grief that my little bird had flown away.
The past two days, I have been unable to breathe properly. I know it has been the case for many. Too much smoke and not enough oxygen. Worries for loved ones caught in high-risk areas, worry for the volunteers. An unexpected turn of events this past week. Little bird’s hearts suddenly ceasing, bushfires breaking out. Extreme heat and danger. The remarkable thing is that we get through it. We continue to breathe. The tightness in our chests ease, the rains come, donations stream in. We witness astonishing acts of tenderness. We rebuild. We are all living in hope that the winds don’t live up to what is anticipated tomorrow. If the rain comes and is hard and long, we shall collectively breathe much easier.
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Police Presentation.
I was asked to go to one of the largest police stations in Sydney, and give a presentation last week. A friend of mine was running an investigator’s course, and wanted to give her students new perspective on what it is like on the other side. I looked through the Charter of Victims Rights-devised in […]
The Body Cast and other Relic’s.
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The Fountain (part two).
I had been to a church service, and the people seemed friendly. It was mother’s day, and they had given each woman a lovely pair of earrings, which someone had made by hand. It warmed my heart. I was contacted by a lay preacher, and she invited me to a morning tea at a café with the ladies. I wanted to be connected, despite it being an evangelical church, with arms raised and eyes closed. Not a scene I was familiar with. Despite only being able to mumble, having my face bandaged, bruised and stitched, I decided to go. Hubby was going to drop me off, and mind our three year old daughter. The ladies gasped at my visage as I sat down, and smiled at this fragile creature. It was as though we were from two different planets. I was given a gift of a book written by one of their members, and said my thanks as I ordered a water. My back was turned to the fountain behind. A woman shrieked, “look at that little girl! Where on earth are her parents!” I turned slowly and saw my child completely saturated, in the fountain. “The water is dirty!” someone else chimed in. Hubby was trying to coax her out, to no avail. My free-spirited child was having the time of her life. In his flustered state, he finally handed over our dripping, shivering little girl to me, and hollered over his shoulder that he was going to duck into the shops to get her fresh clothes. He disappeared, and I shrouded my child in my coat as all chatter ceased. Awkwardness reigned, as did judgement. I felt exposed, not cut out for this particular group. I surveyed the perfect talons, the coiffed hair, the diamond rings and pressed outfits. It seemed like an age until hubby returned. It was the same week that he came back from an errand to the electrical store to buy a new speaker, and came back with a flat screen television and brackets, so our daughter could watch her shows from the comfort of her bed. He took it back on my insistence. As I slowly rose, I called out a meek farewell, and went off with my two ragamuffins. I drank wine that night, knowing I would not be courted by these ladies. I thanked the fountain, knowing that it had washed me clean. Clean of the misguided notion that I didn’t belong. Three years have passed. My scars have healed, and these two ragamuffins are by my side. These women are still having their coffee meetings. I was never invited to another.
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 
