I am not entirely whole, for there is

little her

requesting cookies with sprinkles on top

and him over there,

hiding behind the fence

playing detective

(though it’s his real job, you know)

There is he who had

a moment of terror one day

and escaped into the hills

ashamed at his outburst –

visiting again, on occasion

but a changed man.

There are others,

who have lived lives unseen

and will live lives untold.



A twinkling in the eye

Reaching out to hold hands

Pointing at a bird in the sky


Sometimes they ask if their names could be on our gravestone

How many lives will end

in one body?


I respect all of them, now

We love each other

We have saved each other again and again

Perhaps we will never stitch

into one

The ordinary, glorious, One…

but I’ll take Mine.


I’ll take mine.













Today is my 35th Birthday!

I am grateful to have been born.

Sharing this beautiful poem by Mary Oliver 🙂

Sending love for all.




Mysteries, Yes:

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.

How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.

How two hands touch and the bonds
will never be broken.

How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

– Mary Oliver, Evidence







Yesterday I did a tarot reading. Growing up, my grandmother would regularly read my cards, as well as interpret my natal star chart. One day she phoned me up and said that after carefully reinterpreting my chart, she wanted to let me know that I had many lessons to learn in this lifetime. She’d never before seen a chart indicating so many difficult lessons.

I’ve no interest in star charts these days, but recently my daughter pulled out the tarot. The set an aunty gave me during my teens is truly beautiful – ‘Arthurian Tarot’.

In my opinion, tarot reading really just allows a person to open up and think of their life situation from different perspectives. Last night the cards lead me to this understanding:


Ceasing contact with my family of origin is not a great tragedy, but justice. 


For so long I’ve been feeling drawn back toward them; as though I am missing out on something precious we could share. This isn’t realistic.

Justice, not tragedy.





Wedding anniversary blues

Today is our 13th wedding anniversary.

D & I.

I feel as though there is little to celebrate. No declarations on Facebook today. D has  been dropping hints of late that he wants to see declarations of love from me, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.

Truth is, this here is progress. In the past, I thought just seeing out another year was cause to celebrate – but in the case of marriage, years together do not trump relationship quality.

D regularly threatens to leave me. He did just the other day when I tried once more to put my foot down and say he isn’t allowed to uphold his ban on finger clicking in the house. A & I are musical people; A is a drummer. We click our fingers in time to music, or just when we’re happy. It’s not allowed though. He claims it hurts his fingers. I’m not sure if it’s that, or the fact he got annoyed because he couldn’t click his own fingers. Shortly after he gave up trying to learn, the finger clicking ban was enforced in our home. It’s horrible for someone to start clicking happily, only to be cut short and yelled at that they’re clicking on purpose to ‘torture’ him.

I tried to stand up against that, in a reasonable way (for the 5th, 10th? time) and got told that he might just leave me then.

There is little to celebrate today.

I used to swear at D during arguments and sometimes threaten to leave, but haven’t done either in over a year. He still swears at me. I see myself in that behaviour, and it is disturbing to notice what a gigantic toddler my husband looks like when he behaves this way. A real turn-off.

Keep telling myself that I’m still far from perfect, and we don’t all change at the same rate. D just needs more time to grow.

Keep trying to pay attention to my own small victories – for example, each time I treat D or A in keeping with my intention during difficult situations. I’m definitely improving as a mother, which is strengthening the relationship between A & me. My improvements as a partner just seem to be widening a gulf between D and I though.

I’m not allowed to express sadness about anything. If I ever cry in front of D because I’m grieving, he says ‘You’re not allowed to do this’. He doesn’t touch me, just goes to the room and reads his comics. By doing this he’s taught A to also be derisive of people’s sadness and tender feelings. A has major blocks when it comes to identifying and feeling her own emotions – and that scares the heck out of me. D is allowed to behave however he wants, but A is not allowed to show any reaction to it or else D ups the aggro.

A couple of days ago I couldn’t see/walk straight when upright and so was stuck in bed. This is not unusual and part of my medical condition. As D was heating up my evening meal in the microwave I said something to him in a tone he didn’t like. When he yelled at me about it I apologised. He then went to his room to read comics, leaving me without my meal. This kind of thing is regular; withholding my care needs when I displease him. Makes me feel about 1 inch tall, and extraordinarily frustrated at myself and my body. I think he likes to have me feel helpless and dependent; to drive the point home that I ‘need’ him.


I have vague hope that there may be reason to celebrate our wedding anniversary, in future.

It would be nice to have a husband I could talk with about my concerns, hopes, goals, without defensive vitriol being served up to me. The extreme tiptoeing around topics and still being punished for speaking, is exhausting.

I won’t leave my husband now because I am too physically sick to have custody of A. My leaving would really screw things up for her. I believe my physical incapacitation was one of the best things that ever happened to D. When I try to stretch myself, go for a little walk up the footpath with A on a good day, D tells me I ‘can’t do it’. I used to believe him when he said he was just scared because of how sick I was in the past. Now I see there are probably more sinister motives underlying his disapproval of my healing endeavours. D is petrified of me becoming healthy.

I’m staying in this marriage, and trying really hard to heal myself.

We can only do that, though; heal ourselves. We cannot do other people’s healing for them. No matter what is at stake.


I love D. He’s my best friend. My only friend.


There is nothing to celebrate today.








analysis as distraction

Constant analysis is a distraction from feeling.

Analysis is a very controlling process. It seeks to quantify, label, put in boxes aspects of experience and therefore dominate said aspects.

Myself, I’m a very controlling person.

Underlying that, I’m a deeply anxious and neurotic person.

Owning up to extreme anxiety and my side-stepping of it via controlling impulses, as well as projection of it onto others, is a big step.

I feel anxious admitting to the depths of my anxiety. Even the distant, misty silhouette of this lumbering, mammoth entity scares the daylights out of me.

But it is where I am stuck.

My turning away from (running from) anxiety is what is holding me back.

I don’t know how the heck I’m going to face up to this.

The very start? I am making a conscious choice to stay silent during times I would usually have projected my anxieties onto D or A.

I’ll breathe, imagine myself solid like a mountain, remember that everything is connected, and remain silent. 

Then maybe smile. If I can.

I’m also going to be more mindful of self-care during this time.


We’ll see how it goes.

I am a coward. A terrible coward.

I 100% believe I will fail (and the failure will give me more ammunition against myself, in future analysis, once I regress).

I’ll try anyway.

I’m sick and tired of living the way I live.


– End of analysis –



Edit: Just after pressing ‘publish’ on this post, I received a phonecall from my daughter’s school to say she had a headache that got worse after treatment with paracetamol. My daughter’s health is a huge anxiety of mine. I said I’d go and pick her up. Today is the day of the week my husband has work commitments over an hour’s drive away instead of being his usual 10 minutes down the road. I phoned for a taxi, my heart jumping all over the show, nausea, dizziness – my usual symptoms exacerbated due to the stress. I looked down at my hand, to what I’d written on there earlier:

J B T I (Just breathe through it)






Not knowing what I’d be met with at the school, and if my body would hold out through the taxi ride and the walk in to the school office & back (if I’d be able to live up to my expectations of motherhood/adulthood/partner in this instance) I locked up the house and waited for the taxi to take me to A.

And then, as best I could,

I kept my mouth shut.