Making lemonade

Image source

No, this is not a home-making post, so if you're looking for a recipe for delicious homemade lemonade you'll be sadly disappointed. However, if you happen to know of a good lemonade recipe, I'm all ears!

Our house was egged yesterday. Again. Yes, it's happened before and it will happen again. Actually.I'm expecting another onslaught today sometime. It is still the weekend and the neighbourhood kids are bored. Heaven help us when school holidays start at the end of the week!

Our attackers are rather bold. They will do it at any time of day, circling the house on their bikes and calling out the "m" word. I filmed one of them on my phone yesterday. Evidence I guess.

I'm choosing to act in love. I greet the boys and tell them my name so hopefully one day, when they get bored with what they're doing they'll choose to get to know me rather than attack us simply because of our genetic condition. Human behaviour truly baffles me. We reduce ourselves to the animalistic instinct of picking on the different, the weak, the infirm, knowing full well we are doing so rather than acting based on the instinct of survival of the fittest. This is what the animal kingdom is genetically engineered to do. Human beings were designed to do things differently to animals. Unfortunately some human beings are unaware of this fact.

I'm choosing to rejoice in the fact that the front windows of our house are sparking clean now that I've washed the eggy residue off. I'd been meaning to wash the windows for the longest time. There's nothing like the smell of rotten egg to stir you into action!

I'm choosing to not let these boys know they're actually getting to us, that their actions hurt. I'm choosing not to react in ways other than making our environment clean and safe. If I discover where these young boys live I will inform their parents, but that will be my only retaliatory action - unless of course the missiles become dangerous objects; in which case I'll be going to the police.

This is one small aspect of living with difference. It's typical, it's annoying, it can be disheartening; but I choose to remember that it is only a minority of society that chooses to act this way. The rest just let us be. I choose not to define myself based on the ignorant actions of others. I know who I am and it makes me wonder if our attackers are happy with themselves and their lives. Their need to attack others simply for being different from them seem to suggest otherwise.

Regardless

It's simple really. The day I accepted the simplicity of this reality was the day my heart found peace.

I stopped striving and struggling and denying the reality of that truth. I stopped trying to make it not so and rested in the knowledge that it was. Plain and simple.

Despite everything.

In spite of myself.

It's the best part of myself. The part I treasure most of all. The flame that burns and keeps me going. The gentle glow that warms me and assures me that I'm ok, even if circumstances remain the same. Even if this glow is not reciprocated.

The plain and simple truth is that I love you.

Just as you are.

Rollerbaby

After riding an emotional high last night I find today I'm struggling. I'm quiet today; going about my work with solitude and serenity. I'm tired.

Last night we had a Christmas Party and I truly enjoyed it. I didn't have many conversations but the ones I did were interesting and friendly. Most of the time was spent dancing with my kids...and by myself. I just didn't care that sometimes it was just them and me just cutting loose. I loved it, they loved it.

Bit today I'm flat. Hormones have left me drained and depressed and I feel dreadfully alone. Some days I'm tired of just carrying on, especially in the face of someone else's depression.

Why do I always feel as though I've got to be the uplifting one so that the other person doesn't plunge too deep down? Why do I feel as though I have to make the effort? There are days where I wonder who is there for me?

This too, shall pass. Sometimes I find its helpful just writing it down, acknowledging how I feel and emptying myself so that I can process it and keep on going.

Access Rant

You know what I wish they'd teach in schools? AUSLAN. Instead of teaching languages we're not likely to use (yes, and ok I know we are a multicultural country and being able to communicate with each other is a good thing, but this is known as an English speaking country where English is the predominant language so hear me out!) why don't the powers that be make it a prerequisite that Auslan is added to the curriculum? Auslan can be universal. Auslan uses symbols so that if English is not your first language then ALL of us get the general gist of what we're saying to each other!

The reason I am up in arms about this is that we have a colleague here who is Deaf. He is awesome. I love him to bits. He needs to attend meetings of all sorts but cannot participate to capacity unless there are Level 3 interpreters available to interpret everything for him. Of course you have to PAY for this service....and the costs are quite pricey. My colleague is given a budget for interpreting services but he runs out of that quickly. We went through the DHS credit line with a certain service so we could get interpreters for free but they just give you very second rate interpreters to the point where the interpreters don't know how to accurately sign what is being said. It sucks.

So, which brings me to my point. It would be AWESOME if we all knew basic communication in Auslan - not just the alphabet. Who wants to s-p-e-l-l o-u-t e-v-e-r-y w-o-r-d i-n a s-e-n-t-e-n-c-e? Why can't we start earning Auslan in kindergarten?  Makaton is often used in some childcare centres and kindergartens, so I think it would be great to extend this! I want to talk to my Deaf colleague. I want to just be able to go to him and tell him that we're out of milk and can he please go and buy us some? Or that I had an awesome weekend at the MBS Festival, or that my daughter is in the middle of exams. He and I get by, but often it's awkward and I feel rotten for not being able to communicate effectively with him. He appreciates people at least attempting - even if you mime to him. But if I had've been taught Auslan at school, rather than a smidgin of French, a smattering of German and two and a half years of Indonesian (which I've found totally useless and a complete waste of everyone's time!) both he and I......and many of the other Deaf people we encounter here on a weekly basis......would be able to communicate more effectively on a daily basis.

And while I'm at it.

Physical access. Lifts and ramps........ALL buildings should have them........and in easy to find locations........not round the corner, down the lane, through the freight access. They should be located at the FRONT of the building where everyone else enters so that EVERYONE can enter a building with dignity, not just as a second thought.

Access Toilets. They are for people with access requirements. Not for you to meet with your boyfriend or your girlfriend or random to get in a quick 5 minute bonk. Not for you to smoke a joint in or get drunk in or sleep in. Not for you to spend time fixing your makeup. Yes I know you might be in a hurry and you need to pee just as much as a person with a disability, but you can just go into a loo, unzip your pants and go. A person with a disability may not have the luxury of doing these things quickly and easily....or even without assistance.....so waiting outside the occupied Access Toilet to find someone walking out with no obvious access requirement REALLY pisses people off! (ok, I understand needing to inject yourself with insulin. This counts as an access requirement!) If you don't have a SPECIFIC access requirement which means you NEED to use the Access Toilet - please use the other loos, because.....you can.......and you can have your choice of ANY of the 6 to 12 cubicles available. Unfortunately, those with access requirements only have ONE choice - even if it's filthy dirty and filled with cigarette butts - or WORSE!

Access Parking Spots. I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE ONLY GOING TO BE FIVE MINUTES! If you don't need it, don't park there! I've got a Disabled Person's Parking Permit in my car, but it's not for me........so I park elsewhere when it's just me in the car because I can walk the distance between the carpark and the shops. When I have people in my car for whom the permit is for, then I use the Access Parking spaces. Access Parking Spaces are NOT loading zones. Truckies, don't park behind people in the Access Parking Bays to offload your freight. They need to get out at a time it's convenient to THEM - not to you. Just like everyone else who drives.

If we all just extended a little common courtesy to our fellow human being, disabled or not, then the world would be a much better place.

Rant over.

*Disclaimer*

You may have noticed that I have refered to the "disabled toilets" as Access Toilets. This is my acknowledgement that it is not just people with obvious disabilities who use these facilities. Often there are no Family or Parent Toilets/Bathrooms provided therefore it makes sense to me that having a baby or a toddler with you means that you have an Access Requirement and should therefore be entitled to use the Access Toilets/Bathrooms.

*Disclaimer #2*

I never question a person with a Disability Parking Permit displayed on their vehicle, even if (to me) they don't "look disabled" when they get out of their car. What I get riled about is when there is NO permit displayed at all.

The road to the mirror

What a journey this past 15 months has been. Realisations and reflections and facing up to some things with the benefit of having the space to do it has ensured that I am in a much better place than I've ever been in my entire adult life.

I feel free in more than one aspect. The biggest thing has been freedom from the religious ideals and ways of thinking that, in my ignorance, I thought were SO RIGHT. Not just so right, but the ultimate and only truth. I'm still not entirely sure of what I actually do believe, but in my own heart and spirit and mind I feel that there is a Creator God. Of that I feel certain. There is just too much order and symmetry and design in everything for me to think that it all "just happened". So, for me, that's part of my truth at least.

I've come to think that now I've left the hierarchical and organised place I called church that I have been a judgemental person, simply because life was divided into what was right and what was wrong - people who were right behaved like "this" and people who were wrong behaved like "that". I judged myself according to those standards. I harshly judged others according to the same standards and in the end there were no winners because none of us are anywhere near capable of living up to them.

I harshly judged my husband daily. Out of my own insecurities I expected him to never forget his shortcomings. If I was motivated by love, then I should have just let him walk his own path and concentrated on my own healing journey. I needed to be the change I wanted to see in my world.

I now understand what people meant when they said they felt judged by me. I did, and harshly. This wiser head would let them be. This wiser me would just love them but continue on my own life path towards my own healing. Having my eldest daughter live away from home these past two years has also helped me realise this. There have been many things she has gotten into and done that worried my mother-heart and I had to fight my own inclination to come down heavy and read the moral riot act and to rescue her from a few less than safe situations.However, I know that if I did she possibly wouldn't have figured out her own life path. It took HER wanting to take control of her own life to stimulate her into instigating change.

In this journey to the mirror I have seen my own ugliness reflecting back. I didn't like what I saw, so it was up to me to do something about it. I began to see that other people in my world were also mirrors. Traits that I found annoying or undesirable or just plain ugly in others would make me think and reflect about myself. I began to see that I was seeing my own tendencies reflected back. I began to work on changing them in myself and let people be who they were, with no judgement. I began to respond to people in a more positive manner, rather than with suspicion. Since then I have been blessed with how responsive and friendly people are in my daily encounters. Smiles from strangers, a cheery, "Good morning!" when on a walk or a jog, people simply just passing on useful information when we are out having fun as a family, the kids at G's school being friendly and courteous. What's changed? My outlook on the world!

There will be other mirrors along this path. Right now I'm liking what I'm seeing in this one. There will be times where I won't, in which case I will reflect and continue on my own journey towards change. Life is good and green and challenging and exciting; filled with possibility and hope.

What the photos don't show.

We gotta get us one of these!

I must preface this entry by saying that I don't resent what follows one bit. I'm simply writing it as a statement of what life is for us. All of us have accepted this reality and are at peace with it.

A trip to the beach is not easy. Once we're there and have secured our spot on the sand reasonably close to the water it's easier but the actual getting there and then packing up and heading home is, for me at least, exhausting.

Beaches are not made for wheelchairs; or maybe I should say, wheelchairs are not made for beaches. I have often said that some clever person should invent the "Hover Chair" so that one can just hover over the sand and stop at the waters edge if one wants a swim. I have seen a wheelchair with tracks like a tank which would possibly also do the trick but finances don't allow for anything so expensive, let alone something that would only be used sporadically and that we have no way of transporting anyway.

But no, wheelchairs are not made for beaches. However, I've never wanted the girls to miss out on a wonderful beach experience. As a family we've always loved the beach and I've never wanted the girls to ever miss out because their disabilities have posed a challenge.

And so I carry them down to the waters edge. I always have and, for as long as my body let's me, I always will. And yes it's exhausting, yes it's sometimes painful, but I've challenged myself to never let them feel as though having to do it is a burden to me. We've made it into a game on many an occasion; we've pretended we're the girls from Rabbit Proof Fence, trekking through the desert trying to get home. We've laughed. They know it's hard and I know they worry for me but it's more important to me that we have shared, happy family experiences together and I'd rather be uncomfortable for a short while than all of us miss out on something we love to do just because it all just seems too hard.

And I know the girls don't take it for granted. Between us there is a beautiful level of respect and gratefulness. I am so blessed to have such thoughtful, loving, positive kids. They make all the extra tasks that are part of their package into things I feel honored to be able to do for them, rather than being a burden. When they can, they try and make things as easy as possible for me. I look at them in awe sometimes because their positive, calm nature just astounds me.

So that's what you don't see in the pictures, but I'm kind of glad you don't because you see the important part; the greater part. You see a family just enjoying an evening on the beach.

Lasso the moon

There are times where you just have to say, "Hang it all!" and get out there and do something that soothes the soul and reconnects you to those you love.

Yesterday would have been the tenth birthday of Chloe's little dog Lucy. Chloe still misses her and wanted to do something to commemorate the day so we decided to go to the beach - Lucy's most favorite place in all the world - and have some fish and chips and watch the sun go down.

It was a magical evening; balmy and peaceful. We laughed and made up stories about the flock of seagulls that were waiting rather impatiently for even a hint that we were going to toss them some of our food.

Pick the bossy one!

Georgia quoted Shakespeare to them as they seemed to have some kind of power struggle happening.

When the evening was drawing to a close, Chloe said that she lassoed the moon with a golden thread and tied it to the car so it could follow us home.

I love the way she thinks. At the age of 22 she hasn't lost that childlike magic.

Kindred Spirits

Image credit

You know, the more "recovery groups" I do, the more blogs/diaries I read and the more I attempt to connect with people; the more I learn that the experiences I've had as a person with a "difference" are not exclusive to me, to people like me, to people with a difference/disability. They're all part of the human condition.

It's been quite comforting really, because I've realized that there are more kindred spirits out there than I originally thought.

People I've judged as being physically attractive often struggle with being extremely insecure about their bodies.

People I've seen as happy and confident, who seem to have no shortage of people who like them can often be insecure and shy.

People who have no reason to suspect that they stand out and are up for public scrutiny can feel horribly self-conscious when they're out in public and they almost pray not to be noticed and will do everything they can to avoid attention being drawn to them.

This year I've learned to let people in and I've learned that we can ALL relate on some level. I've felt less alone on what I perceived as my little island.

Let's hear it for SSRI's!

I think taking control of my mental health is one of the most sensible decisions I've made all year.

I guess there's still a stigma attached to antidepressants. Maybe people see it as admitting defeat, that you're too weak to cope on your own, that you really are seriously losing the plot. I didn't *really* want to take them. My prior experiences of them weren't really the most positive. I felt like a bit of a zombie, looking at life around me through a glass box. I felt neither happy nor sad, excited nor down. I just felt...nothing. Just this disinterested observation of life around me; just going through the motions like an automaton. The only thing I could feel was a soaring libido which was annoying more than anything.

I didn't want that again, especially this time when I was about to embark on a ten week Art program for people who experienced anxiety and depression. I wanted to be able to tap into emotion and draw on it to be able to produce good art. I didn't want my art to be a reflection of disinterested observation.

But I knew I needed something to help me undertake some necessary changes in my life. Mental health is just as important as physical wellness. Let's face it, if you presented to a doctor with a broken leg the doctor wouldn't just say, "Cheer up! Things will get better! Just keep going and your leg will get better eventually!" No! You'd be treated, your leg set and encased in a cast and you'd be given a pair of crutches to help you get around until your leg totally healed. Perhaps you'd even be sent off to a physiotherapist to help with the healing.

So why do we think that when we have a broken heart, or broken emotions and an overwhelmed mind we should just carry on? We shouldn't! For me, I knew that I was on the right road, but with my current mental circumstances I was easily going to get overwhelmed and just keep traipsing around in the wilderness, never fully healing, never getting anywhere. So I went to my doctor and I told her where I was at, told her all the practical things I was doing to help myself heal, explained how I felt on the last course of antidepressants, and together we formulated a plan to help me on the road to holistic health.

This time I've been dedicated to it. I've stayed consistent with my medication, my exercise plan, my diet and building relationships. The medication has helped me balance everything. I'm not a zombie looking through a plate of glass. I can feel all emotion but it doesn't overwhelm me like before. I can plan and think logically. I still tear up at touching, emotional scenes in movies and at beautiful, joyous moments in my own life. I feel more like ME - and I like it.

So, that's the reason why Lexapro is my friend right now and one of the most sensible things I've done for myself this year. I hope one day I'll be healed enough to be weaned off it but for now it's part of my daily routine. I like the way it's helped me through an incredibly trying year. I like the way it's helped me give myself a break and enabled me to learn that I am ok just as I am.

Teenage wasteland

I think one of the hardest things about being a parent sharing the same genetic difference as your children is watching them experience the same things as you did as a teen, remembering how hard and hurtful it was and feeling powerless to "save" them from it.

I've come to the conclusion that childhood/teenage friendships can be as fragile as gossamer thread as well as being wonderful and fun. When it's all good you feel good and strong and happy, but when things are in their fragile, changeable state you feel alone, as if the whole world is against you, worthless, unloveable.

For the first three years of her Secondary School life, my youngest daughter has enjoyed a happy friendship with another girl she met in Year 7. Both of them share the same name but they've developed pseudonyms for each other - Bailey and Riley. I forget who is who.

Unfortunately this year, their friendship has been tested with my daughter having to have a good part of first and second term off due to her spinal surgery. Then when she did return to school it was for half days. It's only been in this final term has she been able to go full time.

In the natural progression of things, the other G has had to develop other friendships in my G's absence. These friendships have now replaced the one she had with my G and now she's feeling left out as her friend now chooses to spend her free time with the new friends in an area of the school grounds that is inaccessible to my G. Naturally my G is dreadfully hurt and spends her days at school alone, trying not to look alone by looking busy and purposeful, as though she has somewhere to go and something important to do.

I remember those days. I hated those days. They were the loneliest days of my life. It's hard being in an environment where being part of the crowd and feeling like you belong is of utmost importance and you feel as though you are invisible or, even worse, an outcast. It wasn't until I was in Year 11 that I found a friend who stuck around, who bonded with me just as much as I bonded with them. Alas, we drifted apart as adults.

G and I have talked about everything. I have listened to her hurt and wanted to be able to help in some way, to do something, to make it all better. I also have to remember that I am only getting my daughter's side of the story and, although it is valid, it doesn't make up the whole truth. I have to remember that, as painful as it is, this is the way it has been for teenagers since the beginning of time and my daughter's experiences are shared by billions of other teens - disabled or otherwise - all around the world.

G is a reader and gains inspiration and hope from others who have gone before her. Yesterday she told me that she "had a crap day" but found this little gem from one of her literary heroes:

"Getting socially outcast can be the best and most informative thing that can ever happen to you because you have to learn who you are separate from the pack."
- Ezra Miller

Reading this encouraged her. This experience has opened the doors for many deep conversations between the two of us, and with her siblings. We talk about the value of learning about who you are, learning what you like and what you don't, what your passions are, what your goals are, learning that you are OK on your own. Being OK with being alone but not lonely.

Today she said to me, "When I find a boy, I want him to make me feel pretty before he makes me feel sexy." So I told her that the most important thing was to know that she was pretty without someone telling her that she was. After telling her that though I then went on to tell her she was beautiful, inside and out - because she is. Very much so.

I think my girl is on the right track. She'll be ok.

In the woods.

With the events of the past week and my reactions to them I've realized that although I'm in a good space at the moment I'm not entirely out of the woods yet.

Fragile stability I guess you'd call it.

The desire to isolate has been strong this week. I realize it is a reaction to perceived angst, criticism and disappointment. I've become unsure, hyper-sensitive and slightly anxious. Again, I realize that some of this is also hormonal which is why I've also committed to giving it some time to balance out before I start looking at seeking help.

I don't want to see my family most of all, because they are the ones I want to please the most...and somehow I feel as though I am failing them or letting them down or disappointing them, which heightens my anxiety.

And that mirrors my relationship with J. I wanted to please him more than anyone. HIS acceptance of me was of critical importance and if I felt I didn't have it the anxiety would soar and I'd feel as though I had to find the ONE THING that would secure that for me. But now he's not here anymore and I've found that that insane need has transferred to my birth family. I don't feel it with my kids. At all. Being my nutty self with them is easy. They accept it and I feel their love easily reciprocated.

So the intense desire to escape is what I feel right now. Where I don't have to perform and prove and seek...or even make decisions that may affect others, although as a mother I know that they do. Even if I act on the need to escape and G and I take off for a while and take a year off & she does some natural learning, exploring, self research and enquiry, this will have an impact on her, whether it be now or somewhere down the track....

Not out of the woods yet, but at the same time I recognize that this is all part of the journey. I'm still discovering things and with each discovery comes an opportunity to face the issue and learn how to deal with it. It's all part of moving forward. It's not a step back.

Half a story, half a picture doesn't mean a whole truth.

Amongst my siblings and I we haven't had much of the above picture as adults. As kids, yes, but with there being seven of us you just found someone else to play with while you forgot about what the problem was and then you were friends again.

Dynamics change as you get older...and you add partners into the mix who come in with their own ways of doing things, own preconceived ideas, own ways of looking at life, own baggage. What was once a fairly functional, non-functional way of doing things and relating with your family of origin eventually becomes something that is questioned and challenged by the new-comers.

The hardest thing to deal with is when people only get half a story and half a picture and they come to a conclusion which becomes a whole truth. Offence is taken, feelings are hurt, accusations are hurled and the "innocent" party is left with their head spinning wondering, "Where the hell did that come from?" The hardest part is when the offended party refuses to communicate, refuses to hear an explanation, refuses even to hear a genuine, heart-felt apology for being unthinking and perhaps a little insensitive. Everything just gets blown out of all proportion and the event that was the cause of the angst is now tainted because of the offence taken.

How often do we all form our own truths from half a picture, half a story and a whole lot of assumption? Whatever happened to believing the best in people?

Total midlife crisis?

No, I don't think so.

It's more about me exploring things, letting go of long-held conventional thoughts, looking within and finding what I think and believe.

I don't feel bound by anything anymore.

So, I did this. It may adorn my face for the rest of my life; it may stay a couple of months. (Hope it's longer. I paid $55 for this baby!)

Maybe this is just my own symbolic gesture of being free.

I heart my body

I didn't always used to heart my body.

In fact, I hated it.

As a child I couldn't have cared less. See, the fact that I had achondroplasia meant nothing to me. Sure, I was littler than everyone else my age. Most times I was littler than kids younger than me; but I could play and run and ride my bike and swim and climb trees and do pretty much everything that kids did at that age back in the 70's. God they were great times!

But then the teenage years hit, and hormones were let loose and there were changes in my body. And those changes were causing someone who was remaining the height of a 7 year old for the rest of her life, to develop the chest, hips and thighs of a woman.

And although I was in no way fat, to me it LOOKED fat, because all that womanliness on thighs that were less than 30cm long...well...it looks bigger than it really is.

Sometimes there were insensitive things said by people who I loved and admired:

"Little people shouldn't wear bikinis."
"Little people don't look good with long hair."
"You have short, fat feet."
"I'd be worried if a tall man/boy showed an interest in you because I'd wonder what they were after."
"Don't worry Leisa. Your brothers and sisters might beat you in height but you'll beat them in width."

So that left me with the impression that I was a freak, ugly, fat & not worthy of an "average" statured persons love - or anyone's really.

As a result I developed a pretty intense eating disorder, characterized by restricting what I ate, purging and intensive exercise. I continued this even as a young mother. My weight dropped to a tiny 31kg, my periods ceased...and I wasn't happy, because the need to be super skinny consumed my every waking moment.

I don't know what made me turn the corner. All I knew was that I couldn't go on like that anymore...and I wanted another baby. So I sought help. I talked to a professional. She wasn't the greatest counsellor in the world, but she helped.

And I began to realize that I was trying to change proportions that could never be changed. I would always look as though I "have junk in my trunk" because I have the stocky build of a person with achondroplasia...and that won't change.

Now, at the age of 45 I can honestly say that I heart my body. I am 36-37 kg - just where I should be. I am strong. I am healthy. I have taken up jogging and I just love it because it's "my thing". Through jogging my cardio fitness has improved so much, I am lean, I am strong.

I have the soft belly of a woman who has had the wonderful experience of carrying and growing four beautiful people. I love my belly with it's softness, pliability and the silvery stretch marks that serve as a reminder of my growing babies.

I watch my face as time carves it's lines and I see my skin bearing similar lines that adorn the faces of my beautiful parents...the two people I admire most on this earth. Although the aging process is confronting at times I am grateful that I have lived long enough to have these lines. I smile and watch my face crinkle and hope that the lines I bear when I'm an old, old lady are the deep smile lines of someone who has laughed and loved and lived.

I still have "junk in my trunk" but I love it. I am alive, strong, healthy. My body does everything I need it to do and I reward it by nurturing it with good food, an appropriate amount of exercise, plenty of sleep and relaxation. I keep my hair the way I want to - it's been super long and looked great. At the moment it's super short and looks great too. I wear what makes me feel good, regardless. This summer I'm going to be in a black bikini simply because I heart my body and wearing one makes me feel good, womanly and sexy. Maybe I'll still be wearing bikinis for another 20 years! Who knows?

But one thing I do know is that I now love my body, my little, achondroplastic body. I live in it and it's served me well. I'm proud of it. It may have taken 40 years to get to this place, but I'm here now and it's a wonderful place to be.

The pull of home.

As I headed down the South Gippsland Highway yesterday I felt the old, familiar tug of my heart that tells me I'm going home. Past the rolling green hills, through the little townships that are so pretty with their huge flower plots in the middle of the road and their sweet little shops and houses, around the windy roads through lush, green bush. The roads are so familiar, even though I haven't driven myself very often. I remember riding them with my family, my Dad at the wheel. Still, yesterday I felt sure of the way; my heart being the navigator. This was the country I was born in, the places my brothers and I explored, the place that my heart longs for and has done for so long. Thirty four years of longing...

And it's the place to which my parents are returning. I think they've always longed for it too. I received news on Thursday that they had bought a fully furnished little cottage in McLoughlin's Beach - 20 minutes out of Yarram, where they both grew up, went to school, worked, got married and had the first five of their seven children. They're going back home and I haven't seen them so excited for a very long time. Yarram will be their closest town. They will do their grocery shopping there, go to church there. I'm so happy for them.

I visited them yesterday down in Port Welshpool where they are preparing my Nanna's house (Dad's mother, who died 14 years ago) for sale. It is the right decision. The house would need too much work for my parents to live in. Over the 14 years that my Nans defacto was living there he allowed it to disintegrate to an apalling state. The bathroom wasn't cleaned one so the walls were black with mould, the soap scum in the shower was so thick that Dad had to scrape it off with a paint scraper. And the junk! Nan was a terrible hoarder. Some of the things would have been quite valuable at some stage, but things haven't been kept well and they've been allowed to rust and rot and break till there's no point keeping them. Sad really.

Nans house is a mystery to me. It stirs memories that I can neither understand nor make sense of. They come from somewhere dark where I think the little me of back then filed them away so I wouldn't have to think of them. Memories of people I choose not to think of too much, names I'd rather not remember, a dark night with a howling wind. I can't make sense of the memories, so I choose not to. Always have. I think it's better this way.

I took Mum and Dad for a drive into Port Albert. I wanted to see the boats and the jetty, another place that holds golden memories. It was beautiful. We ran into my Dad's brother Bill, who we found dozing in his car, watching the water & the boats. My Uncle Bill is a fisherman, always lived boats and fishing and the ocean. He told us that he's been having trouble sleeping, so he heads down to the jetty to watch the sea & the boats and it soothes him to sleep. The pull of the ocean is strong.

We drove into Yarram and passed a house that my Nanna's best friend owned. My mother, my brothers and sisters and I stayed there for a week once while the woman was on holidays. Yesterday I told Mum, "There were ghosts in that house." She kind of scoffed at it, but I know it to be true. Children know these things. My Nanna's friend had lost two sons quite tragically. All of us kids could feel them in the house. It was a sad house.

I'm sure that one day the pull of the ocean and the rolling green hills will take me back there again. The yearning has always been there, since I was eleven years old and we moved here. I'm looking forward to it. No plans as yet but somehow I know that I'll be there one day. My parents look content and happy. Dad looks flat out excited. The stories just poured from him yesterday and the hope was once again shining in his eyes.

Another golden day.

Journey

I feel as though I took a journey, completing the Art & Soul course - a journey of self discovery and expression, spiritual discovery and processing a lot of things that have happened over the past 15 years. I feel as though I was stuck in the process of grieving for the past 15 years and now I'm in a time of awakening and celebration. Simple things are now filled with such appreciation and gratitude - the food I eat, the running I do, the blissful sleep that tends to fill my nights these days, the simple act of appreciating people for the small acts of kindness they bless me with; time with my kids and learning more about them, what interests them, engaging in conversation about things they contemplate, the passions they have, their dreams & inspirations. My mind is filled with seeds of dreams and plans I want to see happen.

Happiness is a journey, not a destination; and happiness is something I'm now choosing on a daily basis. I feel as though I'm being given a second chance - to do all the working out of who I'm supposed to be that should have happened many, many years ago in between being someone's daughter & becoming someone's wife. The act of buying my own car being the first of many experiences to come. I catch myself in the process of contemplating a trip to New Zealand, realizing I'm "free" to do this and my planning to make this happen is not dependent upon someone else's opinion or agenda. It's a freeing feeling.

I love being single. I haven't been "single" ever. Maybe this is the reason I found the separation so hard. But now I'm ok and will continue to be so.

Fly little birdy

I've just left my big girl at the departure lounge of the international terminal at the airport. Today she's winging her way to Los Angeles. This is her first international trip on her own.

I am unafraid and so incredibly proud of her. Over the past 18 months since she moved out I have watched her work out her own way. I have no longer been able to hover & anticipate problems. She's worked them all out for herself, so much better than I ever could do for her. She's learned to (figuratively) stand on her own two feet, stand up for herself, work out her own way, search for her own path. She's made mistakes and learned from them. She's had incredible triumphs, some failures...but none that have left her beaten.

As I travel back to the city on my own, leaving my girl winging her way across the ocean, I feel as though my mothering role has come to an end today...and I am not sad, but rather left with a feeling of complate satisfaction and a sense of pride. I will always be her mother, but we are now equals and friends. She can fly on her own now, and I am glad. Maybe this is the ultimate goal of parenting; to see them fly free to discover for themselves who they are meant to be. She will always be mine, but she also belongs wholly to herself, and that makes my heart soar

The Precious...and more running

Hey guys,

I bought a new car yesterday. Me! The owner of a BRAND NEW, silver, Ford Festiva XL! I've never bought my own car before. Ever! I've never even been the part owner of a new car...so this is a big one for me. I'm as excited as a kid in a candy store. It's a good feeling.

Yesterday I had 8/9ths of my family here for afternoon tea. So fun. So lovely to see those who came. Emotional batteries have been recharged. I've been grounded again. I've been with my people. I feel a sense of belonging again.

I ran again today - even further this time. I finished off the run with a lap around the 1.1km reserve across the road. I think I'll be ready for the 5km course for the annual Run For The Kids next March. I'm going to enter. Then, if I do well at that I might train for the 14.5km course the year after. Goals. I need them.

More than running

Image credit

This would be my ideal run. I wish....



This morning I ran my entire running circuit for the first time. Usually I schedule a couple of small breaks, and I look forward to them so much. My goal though, has been to get to a point where I run the entire circuit, no stopping.

Today I did that.

I hit the wall early in my run. I always have. The wall hits around about 200m into the run. My breathing seems erratic and I'm sucking in oxygen for all it's worth. My legs tell me that they don't want to do it. My mind says, "Oh God! Today I can't do this!" and then I argue with myself, "Yes you can! It's just the wall. You know the wall! Keep going!"

Today I hit the wall and I had all the same thoughts....and then my mind drifted off and I started thinking about mundane tasks...like making a battery cover for my daughters wheelchair....organising transport to the airport....the Opening Night I am attending tonight....and I forgot about the pain and the discomfort....and I got to my first walking break point and I thought, "Hey! I'm feeling good. I'm going to keep going!"

So I did....and my mind kept wandering and meandering around all the things happening in my life lately...and I was distracted from the protests of my body....and I continued to feel good. My breathing was controlled and regular, my form was good. And I kept going...and going...until I got home.

My running is more than just running. It is my grounder, my sanity saver, my anchor. It helps me put things into perspective. It clears my mind. It soothes raw emotions. It makes me feel strong, alive.....and most of all, in CONTROL. When all else seems to be going haywire, this is the one thing that enables me to see that I have a measure of control over myself and what happens to me.

I don't know why I have let others have control. I don't know when I learned that behaviour. I guess it comes with being the eldest of seven, the one who was supposed to get it right, be responsible, show the way, be good, be an example. People mattered to me. People's emotions mattered to me. Being "good" mattered to me. Being liked mattered to me....and it still does. I know I have no control over that...but sometimes it feels like I should...and that if someone doesn't like me that it is somehow my fault...that I have done something wrong...that I am bad. When did that happen? How did I get that message?

But running gives me reprieve from that...and I start to feel strong again, and good again...and right again. It's like I've conquered something more than the distance and more than my body. It's like I've started to stand up and challenge those strange and false beliefs.

Nowhere close

I'm nowhere near ok at the moment. Not even within cooee of it. Maybe I'm putting on an ok face at the moment, maybe I'm not. I look in the mirror and see this skinny little sad eyed person who looks eons older than she should be. I can tell I'm not ok. Can anyone else? Does anyone know how often I look into the streaming traffic and wonder how quickly it would be over if I just walked into it?

I'm walking around as half a person. That's what it feels like. The other half of who I was has walked off and just despises me for breathing I think. Do you know what that feels like - to have the person you used to love more than life despise you like that?

I know there are billions of people who are infinitely worse off than me, but I feel bereft right now, loveless, terrified, discombobulated, strange.

In which she reviews the situation

Image credit

Today has been one of "those" days. I didn't think we'd ever get to a situation where we'd have one of these days but we have.

I need to take serious stock of how we are going to move forward into total independence and set myself a timeline as to when it will all be achieved.

Some of these things will be totally out of my control as they rely on the decisions of others that I definitely have no control over - funding bodies for example, people building a wheelchair according to our specifications. Unfortunately, the wheelchair funding and building will be the biggest catalyst for us becoming fully independent.

And being fully independent is what we need to get out of a rapidly deteriorating situation right now.

Spontaneous silliness



Image credit

 For a while there I was beginning to question my own sanity. For some reason over the past 18 months or so there have been times where I have had almost out-of-body experiences and I've looked down on myself and thought, "What the heck are you doing woman? You're acting like an idiot!" as I would do and say the most ridiculous things. Silly things. Nutty things. Sometimes embarrassing things. The great Hammer Pants Goof of 2011 is a prime example.

But I've come to realise that I was just doing what I needed to do to get through what has been a pretty goddamn awful 18 months. I'm not losing the plot at all. In fact, silliness has helped me stay sane! Silliness has reminded me that all is not as bad as it seems and that it is still possible to laugh and enjoy life in the face of some not-so-nice circumstances. Silliness has assured me that I AM OK and that I will get through this. Silliness has brought me back to a place of peace in my mind, in my heart and in my home.

Silliness for me comes in the form of singing and dancing along to the music in the supermarket, much to the chagrin of my 16 year old daughter....but she laughs at me and pretends to be embarassed and will then sing and dance along with me. We make up ridiculous lyrics to whatever song is playing at the time...and usually the lyrics are something to do with whatever we're trying to locate in the supermarket....from vegetables to feminine hygiene products! You gotta love being influenced by children's entertainers like The Wiggles and Peter Combes who make things like Fruit Salad and Newspapers such fun things to sing about!

So, I'm all for silliness in the everyday humdrum of life, regardless of whose watching....and sometimes in spite of whose watching! (and people are...I already attract enough attention by just being!) It promotes a smile. It promotes happiness...and most of all it stops me taking life so seriously!

Mask

Last night's painting exercise at Art & Soul was on the subject of Emotions. We talked about emotions, what they're for, the ability to identify and name how you're feeling, your EQ versus your IQ.

I find it hard identifying emotions. I learned very young how to repress them, to categorize them into "good" and "bad", "right" and "wrong". In my adult life I've hidden them, denied them, reigned them in to keep the peace, hidden how I really feel.

To the point where I have lost the ability to know what I'm feeling and feel what I'm feeling.

But with this exercise I found myself going inside myself. I painted in silence. I painted deliberately, carefully...and the paint seemed to just flow to express the two extremes.

But I feel as though I live somewhere in the in-between - where I know that this rage rages and this deep depression weeps but the SSRI's from the Lexapro just keeps me in this balanced state; feeling a sense of calm relief. The in-between's really not so bad when I think of the alternative...and I'm still in touch with what's underneath to be able to produce good art.

But since producing the mask I have kept looking at it...and I look at it in silence, almost reverently. It disturbs me somewhat - not in a bad way, but where I know that these two extremes do have a voice that deserve to be heard.

And I think with my art, I am learning how to give expression to those voices.

Seeds of ideas

This weekend was faster than a speeding bullet. Honestly. Maybe this was because I worked for half a day on Friday and by the time I got home it was after 3:30. My weekend usually starts on Thursdays these days. At the moment I love the fact that I usually work three days and am off for four. It makes things so much more easy to cope with.


Well, I think I have the final word on Bessie. With all the repairs and rebulding that needs to be done she's going to cost me a good $5,500. I don't want to spend that on an old car that's done about 850,000k's. I want to put that money towards a little car that's going to get me around. Jimmy at the garage handed me a list as long as my arm of things that need doing to the car and then said he'd keep it there over the weekend while I decided. It wasn't driveable anyway. So, after trudging all the way there in the rain (I went there straight from the train station) I trudged all the way home again. In the rain. I was freezing by the time I got home. This walking everywhere really sucks in the winter. Especially in Melbourne.


So now I have a month to find myself a new vehicle. J and I have agreed to a cut off date as to when he will stop coming to my place early in the morning to take G to school. It is a reasonable request and I have agreed to it. He comes out of his way to do it and has been most helpful whilst I've been carless, but he can't do it forever. I understand that. I'm going to have a look at a few local car yards this week and see what's on offer, see what they'll give me as a trade-in and what I can afford. I've never bought a car on my own before so this is a whole new world to me...and I'm kind of a little excited about it.


On Saturday I went with a group of my Kaleidoscope friends to paint a nine-panel group painting for a women's conference that my friend Michelle was speaking at. We (the artists) didn't know what the end piece was going to look like, but we were given a canvas already marked out, as well as the paints we were to use so the chances of success were really high. I was as nervous as heck to start off with. I'd never done this kind of thing before and I'm a relatively new artist so I was scared of stuffing it up. (It’s got to be RIGHT and it's got to be PERFECT!) We had to paint our panel within the space of a song.


As soon as the music started I began to relax. I think the title of the song did it for me - What Have You Got to Lose - by Third Day. What did I have to lose? Nothing. Why was I so afraid? There was no reason. So I painted. And in the end we put our pieces together...

My piece is the top left hand corner. As you can see, I envisaged the light coming from the right. *shrugs*
I love it with all its imperfection.

This is one of the best things that has happened to me so far this year - finding Kaleidoscope. I'm starting to take risks there. I'm extending the hand of friendship and accepting offers of friendship. I'm being challenged...in a good way. I am starting to have seeds of ideas growing...seeing where this art can lead, wanting to be involved in Kaleidoscope's social justice programs - things that have nothing to do with "religion" and everything to do with community involvement. There's talk about taking an abridged version of Art & Soul to the girls working the streets in one of our local suburbs...and I find my heart wanting to jump at the opportunity and get involved. For some reason I find myself wanting to work with them...to find out more about them...to see where their hearts are and what led them into the life they have...

Maybe that's a part of my healing too......I can't explain my reasoning really......it doesn't make sense on one hand, but perfect sense on the other....


Art & Soul excites me like nothing else has for a long time. I don't want it to end...and because of that I want to offer to come to the next program and help out in any way possible...mixing paints, helping facilitate the groups afterwards, get involved in Art for Justice. It makes me want to give back to something that has given so much to me.


Friendships are forming. Kel comes and picks me up every Thursday night for A&S and we spend the next 30 mins talking on our way to Pakenham. We are both going solo to a Dinner & Dance fundraiser for Operation Hope on September 8, so Kel has offered to pick me up and we'll both spend the evening busting a move on the dance floor. My new friend Kerrie picked me up for the group painting thing and we too spend the trip talking and finding more out about each other. It's been great. I'm starting to feel less isolated...but then again I am taking more risks and LETTING people in, as opposed to me hiding away in my cave and not wanting to be a bother to anyone.


Because people want to help. It's not a bother. I'm not a bother....and I'm slowly learning that. It's ok to say, "I'd love to come but I need a lift," or "I don't know what to do about getting a car so can you please give me some advice." The guy who comes around to do my lawns every few weeks no longer wants to be paid. He knows I'm on my own, he knows finances are strained, so he just comes past, checks the lawn and if it needs mowing he does it and just leaves. He stopped me in the street one day and told me that it's ok and not to worry about it.


I am surrounded by more lovely people than not......and when nasty incidents like last week happen I need to remind myself of that. Sometimes the quiet beauty of the majority of people gets lost amongst the noise and cacophony of the not so nice few.

Softly, softly

Image credit

Quietly, quietly.

It's a fragile day today. I don't do confrontation well. Actually I don't do it at all.....but I was confronted big time over Facebook last night. I'm not going into it....but how did 45 year old me handle it? Me, the person who is old enough to be that person's mother lay down and just let that person run rough shod all over me. I backed right down, apologised profusely and apportioned all the blame to me. Just to make the person stop. Just to make the person calm down. Just so that that person could be the good one and me the bad and they'd calm down and leave me alone.

So much for being a grey-dweller. I still want there to be black and white, right and wrong, good and evil.
All this played out as I was taking the train home. I was teary on the train but when I got home I just sobbed and sobbed. Couldn't do anything. Couldn't make dinner, couldn't get off the couch. Fell asleep watching Super 8, on the couch. Again. This morning I got up, had a shower and left for work. No breakfast. I've eaten a banana and an apple today...and had a latte. I didn't go out for my lunch time walk. Being glued to this seat in my office is...safe.

I can't believe the impact this has had on me. It shouldn't, I know...but it has...and I feel like half a person today. Wrong just seems to ooze out of my pores...all from a non-rational decision I made last week. I don't know why I did what I did....and it really wasn't a huge thing...but in the age of social media and the importance we all place on it, it apparently IS a big thing...and now the price is being paid.

I think I actually hate communicating over the internet...It makes people way too bold, takes away their inhibitions, makes them forget the importance of being gracious and polite. People just say things they may not say if they were face to face - because they're not face-to-face and they don't see first hand the impact their words are having. They can just type them and then click SEND and close their browser....not knowing or caring that when those words hit they may just put a fragile someone over the edge...

And despite all my positivity lately, despite the inroads I'm making into my own healing, despite the progress I'm making, I'm still incredibly fragile........and it wasn't until the events of yesterday evening that I discovered that.

In which she completes her first abstract



We got to use COLOUR this week!

Art & Soul is the highlight of my week. Four weeks into it and I already don't want it to end. Last night was the first time I felt totally relaxed whilst painting - although it possibly didn't look like it because I was the last person to finish the base colours and had to be told to hurry several times.

This piece doesn't have a name....and I've just realised I didn't initial it. I should have. We were encouraged to draw the profile of a face in charcoal on the left hand side of the canvas, saying the words. "forehead, nose, lips, chin, neck" as we did so. Then we were instructed to draw the same profile on the right hand side of the page without saying the words. It was to help in switching from our left brain to our right. I was ok until I got to the chin and then it was like I had a mental blank and my hand didn't know how to draw the curve of the chin. Interesting. We were then instructed to bisect the drawings with several lines with our eyes open and then with them closed. We then painted each shape with different dark and light shades of the one colour (mine was orange). After all the shapes were filled with colour and the paint was dry we taped five pieces of masking tape over the canvas and painted swirls and lines in a contrast colour. The tape was taken off, the paint dried and then we repeated this process in a different contrast. The results are seen above. I'm pleased with it, although sad I seem to have obliterated the left hand face. Still, I'm going to give this one another try at home. I enjoyed this process so much.

After the painting class we have some supper and then head into group for discussion on the week's theme. I am getting a lot from these discussions - namely the realisation of how far I have travelled over this past year since separating from my husband. I think it's a combination of things - time, medication - but the biggest factors that have helped me move forward is acceptance and being kind to myself.

Is this what I planned for my life? No, but this is my life. I have stopped fighting against it. I have stopped ranting and railing at the universe, saying how unfair life is and how things SHOULD be better. I've accepted things the way they are, doing my best to just take care of my little corner of the world. I can't change anything external, but I can change what is internal. I am responsible for my own responses, choices, behaviours and thoughts. I may not understand other people, but I can just accept that they are responding to life from their own perspective...and that may be totally foreign to me....and that's ok.

I've opened my mind to different ways of thinking, different schools of thought, different philosophies. It's been kind of freeing. Actually, not just kind of.....it HAS been freeing. I've embraced being a grey dweller. I used to want the world to be in black and white, right and wrong, good and evil, "This is what the rules are". It's not....and I'm finally ok with that. I accept that there are no answers sometimes and that sometimes things just don't make sense. I've always looked for someone or some place to have all the answers; especially in the area of faith. I used to think that there was only one place that had it right - the gospel in all it's fullness. I don't think that anymore...mainly because I realise that God in all His fullness is MUCH bigger than that and THAT place only had a miniscule idea of what He's really like. I think God accepts more stuff than they give him credit for.......

(sidetracked!)

So......this abstract was good for me....because the process of actually DOING this painting was a real reflection of what's happening in my life at the moment. A letting go of......stuff that I thought was "me" but wasn't really. For the first time in 40-something years I feel like I'm working out who I am.

The Tuesday Ten

Ladies and gentlemen.

We interrupt Leisa's current musings with a list of TEN random facts you may or may not know (or even want to know!) about this strange creature.



1. She loves disaster movies. As a child she had a love/hate relationship with them. Watching such films as Towering Inferno, Crack in the Earth ,and Airport 77, made her both excited and terrified. Now she just loves them. Poseidon, 2012, The Day After Tomorrow, The Core? …bring them on!

2. She cannot, for the life of her, understand why shows such as Yo Gabba Gabba, Boobahs, In the Night Garden and Teletubbies exist. She has looked at them and the little 3 year old Leisa that still exists in there somewhere, cringes and feels kind of frightened and disturbed. The surreal quality of Boobahs is downright scary to her! What ever happened to intelligent children’s programming like Play School? It’s run with a tried & tested formula in this country for as long as she's been alive. It’s intelligent, real, interesting & gently introduces children to real concepts. Why all these wigged-out trips that make you think the writers have been on acid?

3. Giant waves and very windy days scared the living daylights out of her as a child. She still feels that tremble when she sees them now but she's also fascinated by them and is drawn to them. She’d love to go with a team of storm chasers across Oklahoma one day.

4. One of her dreams is to journey through Israel and visit as many Biblical sites as possible
.
5. She'd love to do singing lessons and do backing vocals for a well known band or someone. Just once. It would be awesome.

6. When she sings along to a song by Kiss she normally likes singing Gene Simmons’ parts. She seems to be able to sing them better.

7. Don’t dare her to do anything. She’ll possibly try. Don’t tell her she can’t do something because she’ll prove to you that she can, one way or another.

8. She often looks at one of her sisters and think that if she wasn’t born with achondroplasia she would most likely look like her. It’s a strange feeling to her.

9. She’d rather clean toilets than do the ironing.

10. She sometimes finds it difficult watching films that have short statured people in them. She finds it confronting.

MuchAfraid Transforming

One of my favorite books is called "Hinds Feet On High Places" written by Hannah Hurnard in 1955. It's a work of fiction depicting the spiritual journey of a girl called Much Afraid and her two companions Sorrow and Suffering as they transform to become Grace & Glory, Joy and Peace. I read it several times as a young adult and drew a lot of comfort from it, despite it's quaint language and older style of writing. It reminds me of my Nanna. I don't know why. It just does.

Good things are happening. I feel peace within for the first time in the longest time. I'm just going with it, you know. I'm not scared of if and when that little bubble there in the corner will burst. Maybe one day it will, but I feel I'm getting stronger every day to be able to cope with it. I am realising every day that I am beginning to reach out and become part of a community that is warm and welcoming and encouraging, and as I do that I am becoming more confident and daring to believe that I am liked, maybe even loved, respected and valued. I posted my August goals in my Notes section on Facebook and last night one of my new friends at Art & Soul approached me and said, "Leisa, I want to help you fulfil one of your goals. I'd love to catch up with you for coffee. I can't for the next fortnight, but after that, I'd love to catch up." 

So cool.

Painting last night was a joy. All of a sudden, the terror of getting it just right vanished and I simply painted for the sheer pleasure of it, pouring love into what I was doing. My painting represents the one relationship I feel I have succeeded at - the one with my kids - so I just let myself go with it and relaxed. As I did so I saw that painting transform into something I was truly proud of. I learned so much about shading and contour with that painting, but more importantly I learned some things about myself. This is what Art & Soul is about. It's amazing. Two weeks in and I already don't want it to end. I'm pouring everything I've got into Art & Soul. I'm a firm believer in the notion that you only get out of something what you put into it. I want to learn how to paint at Art & Soul, but I also want to learn more about me and from that move into a better future, rather than be stuck in the place I've been for so long. I feel it happening. I'm daring to believe.

Accepting the pit view

I had coffee with a friend the other day. I started pouring my heart out to her and she in turn shared some things that had been going on in hers over the past few years. It was very therapeutic, for both of us I think.

I'm not going to pretend that things for me at the moment are hunky dory. They're anything but and I have spent a lot of time and energy trying to climb out of this pit, expecting that as soon as I climb out of this pit that everything will be ok again. People don't like knowing you're in a pit...and they constantly encourage you to not give up, to keep climbing and promise you that one day you'll clamber over the lip of the pit and stand in the sun again and things will get better.

However, the other day my friend encouraged me with a different thought. She too, spent a lot of time down in the deep pit of dispair. She told me that she'd feel herself climbing out of the pit and getting to the top and then it felt like something or someone put their foot in her face and pushed her back down again. She said that this happened constantly, time and time again. One day, she told this to a friend and the friend said something to her like, "So why do you want to climb out of the pit? Why not just sit there a while?"

Radical thought, huh?

So, sit there she did. She stopped climbing and struggling to get out and in that she discovered some things about herself...and she discovered an artistic side of herself...and she began painting. She said to me that she would possibly have never discovered this new passion if she hadn't just stopped and accepted that she was in the pit for the time being. There were lessons to be learned down in the pit; new things to discover; new truths to explore, and one day she found that she wasn't in the pit anymore.

So, maybe I can learn something from that. What are the things I can discover down here? I'm not saying that by stopping the clambering and clawing I am going to wallow down here, but maybe if I can just accept things the way they are then my eyes will open to discover some new things. Down in the depths of the earth there is beauty to behold. Have you ever wondered at the beauty of stalagtites and stalagmites down in a cave? I have! Those things were only discovered when someone decided to go down deep and see what was there. Who knows what beauty I might find down here?

Just a radical thought.

Walking the path



Source

 I've been an independent soul all my life. Let me clarify that a little. I walked earlier than a child with my diagnosis should, I was always wanting to do things "Self!" despite the fact that I needed people around me. I hated being alone when I was little. Mum says I was never happier than when I was in someone's arms, or in my high chair amongst everyone. I hated being alone in my bedroom at night, always prefering to fall asleep on the couch and be carried to bed later on. I hated waking in the middle of the night and hearing the silence. I felt afraid that there was no one on watch, no one to hear me call.

But for the most part, I have been an independent person; not knowing how to ask for help, not even being able to identify when I need help. I kept up with my family on bush walks, participated in sport with my class at school.

I'm too independent. I hide things well. People ask me how I am and I answer, "Yeah, I'm fine thanks!"

I'm not.

Walking this new path on my own is lonely. The kids are growing up and starting their own lives, just as they should. I am happy for them. I want it for them.

But it wasn't supposed to be this way. They were all supposed to fly from the nest and then there was supposed to be he and me heading off into our future together as "Darby & Joan", keeping each other company and discovering new things together; having the time of just he and me that we never had in the beginning. I was looking forward to it.

Honestly, this feels like a death. I can't describe it any other way. I feel similar to how I felt when my grandmother died. This unfamiliar, empty, mourning feeling.

I feel as though I've woken up in the middle of the night and the house is silent and I know there's no one up keeping watch. No one to hear me call. My throat feels constricted. My chest feels heavy.

I try and remember all the reasons why I am walking this path. I keep reminding myself of all the reasons why I should accept and even embrace this path. Sometimes the remembering is enough to stir up the anger and the hurt and I feel myself marching up the path doggedly, knowing it's for the best. Anger is so much easier to feel. It's proactive. It can even be positive. It stirs me into action. It doesn't hurt.

But this melancholy is harder. It stops me in my tracks.  It causes me to look around the room not caring about what it looks like, how messy it gets. It makes me doubt myself.

I don't know how to ask for help because I don't know what help I need. The body just keeps on going even when the mind doesn't want to. I can cook, I can clean, I can organise things, I can take care of my family.

But I'm doing it on my own. Alone. In the night. And there's no one on watch.

I don't like it one bit.