believing – RAPHAELA ANGELOU

I thought I was a fairly optimistic person, considering all the trauma that has bounded into my life at one time or another. I thought I was pretty calm in the face of disaster. I never stopped to wonder why I had to start taking medication for anxiety, and why I had been waking up in the middle of the night with heart palpitations, unable to get back to sleep. I had come to expect catastrophe, and my body was vigilant for it’s approach. These last few weeks have been a lesson in trust. Doing all that I humanly can, and then letting go.

I was told that my home was up for sale a while back, and was frankly, devastated. I love my little home, and the street on which I reside. I respected the decision, and cleaned and prepared the house for Open Homes, hoping that an investor may purchase the property and let us stay. The anxiety was so bad, that I just had to release the outcome, or be consumed by the unknown. The amount of times I envisioned packing boxes, paying thousands toward another move… I could see myself spending hours changing my address online and unpacking somewhere new…Today I was told that we are able to sign a lease for another year! I can’t tell you what a relief it is, and the joy I felt when telling my daughter.

We can come to expect life to cheat us; to not be kind in it’s approach. I was grumpy the other day, when a bus I needed to catch arrived early, and I still had some way to walk to the bus stop. “Great!” I seethed. To my complete surprise, the driver noticed me and opened the doors, patiently waiting until I could get on board. “I didn’t want you to have to wait for another hour,” he smiled after I had thanked him. This kindness gave me a lightness of spirit, and I had further meaningful interactions with the teller at the bank, an elderly lady and a shop keeper.

It reinforced that the world isn’t in fact out to get me. I have been abused and seen the perpetrator walk after a ridiculous sojourn to jail. I have been robbed and taken advantage of. I have been discarded and ostracised. Haven’t we all? I used to say that there are more good people on this earth than bad, and I believed it. We seem to build up an irritation, as though we are preparing a pearl inside our shell. All that we end up doing is keeping the world out, and shutting ourselves in.

I was talking to a friend who had suffered abominable abuse as a boy, and recent events in his life have served to affect him negatively. I told him that a year ago, when I had to leave all that I was and the titles I had aligned my identity with, I thought that the bad guys may never come to justice. “You know what kept me sane?” I asked my friend. “Cardinal Pell being found guilty and put in jail.” Heck, watching all of the bad people coming to justice. It will happen to them all. They will be punished, one way or another. I have lived long enough to see it occur, and know that more shall follow.

I will open my heart once again, to both life and it’s people, trusting that a driver shall wait for me, the teller shall be pleasant and that good people do get rewarded for being a good tenant or a good person. I have to trust this life, as it is all I have. The bad guys will fall, given enough time. I have seen it happen. I once again believe that life isn’t trying to bring me to my knees; it is trying to help me up.

It’s time to get out my dusty Gratitude journal, and at day’s end, list all that I am thankful for. The list is massive.

Children are such a wonderful mixture of curiosity, bravado and determination. If they want to do something, they will find a way. That is, until someone tells them that they don’t have a strong enough voice, for instance. When my daughter was three years old, she wanted to sing Over the Rainbow on stage at a talent quest. She dressed as Dorothy, and listened respectfully as older children performed before her. “Are you sure you want to do this sweetheart?” I asked. She nodded “yes!” I was worried that she would burst into tears up there, that she would be afraid. Shame on me. She didn’t remember all the words, but she hid her discomfort by twirling around. She was a hit. From that moment on, she wanted to become a performer. This Christmas, she will be singing with a group of her friends in front of 10,000 people at our local carols. She was sure could she sing in front of people, at three years of age, and she was right!

Three years old, singing Over the Rainbow

She also loves gymnastics and acrobatics. My stomach used to twist into knots when she was younger, and I would see her ascend to the top of climbing frames, and show off by releasing her hands. I was sometimes lectured by passers-by on the importance of keeping her on the ground, of keeping her safe. “She and I know her capabilities,” I would reply. “She is safer up there, secure in herself.” It was true, she was. As I watch her climb to the top of trees, I have the usual motherly reactions, such as the fear of her falling. I fell, and it hurt! My child isn’t going to fall, there is nobody behind her ready to push. She’s got this. I have to be calm and watch, ready to applaud her efforts. This world has already run some commentary around my daughter, as it does every child. Commentary as to what they are capable of, what they should fear, the dangers and pain that await. She shall never get it from me. Perhaps she will be an artist/rigger/acrobatic performer? I love watching her evolve into who she is destined to be. She is gathering all the corners, and making herself a parachute of dreams and hopes. She will not fall.