The pea that perplexed me

I’m a perfectionist

Most days I hover somewhere halfway between “order really pleases me” and full blown Rain Man and on those especially neurotic days even I can’t quite believe my inability to cope with change and disorder

It’s normal to notice spelling mistakes in books and professional publications, right?

Common to order your wardrobe by type of clothing first and length of sleeve/hem etc next…no?

Keep lists of the lists you need to create?

Plan everything down to such detail that you could probably organise your own funeral today, if hit by a bus yesterday??

Down right sensible to insist on eating in the same restaurant every single time an opportunity to eat our arises? (Yes??)

I noticed this oddly placed picture of a pea…in an awesome new restaurant I agreed to try, only because it was 2 hours away from my usual preference due to a work trip…which was not aligned properly to the cow

(The pea that is, not the trip)

It bothered me significantly due to its complete lack of respect for the layout of the wall

Total disregard for the pattern created by the 15 other picture frames that knew exactly where to hang in order to create an aesthetically pleasing abstraction of art…

Which made me realise something

There’s a safety that comes from knowing what is coming next, keeping tabs on where something is and that comfortable feeling you get when things line up, follow the rules and just bloody well “fit”

Feelings don’t do this

Feelings are fleeting and fickle, follow no format and can’t be framed.

They surprise you and surpass you and sometimes they leave you shaken, unsure and exposed.

This inner world is contained yet uncontainable

And I both love it and fear it.

Avoid it and crave it!

This wild untameable freedom of spontaneity and reckless abandon

The rebel with no applause

She who rides the

unpredictable

wave of feeling and emotion, free from the constraints

of

construct and co-operation, compliance and conformity

Free to hang wherever she damn well pleases, for her own enjoyment, not the satisfaction of others or simply just to follow the “plan”

Very much like the pea picture that really should have known better and just lined up and fit in

I think I actually like that little pea

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The persistent apology

“I’m sorry” is my constant

I’m sorry I’m not good enough, don’t achieve enough, do it fast enough…

I’m sorry I haven’t fixed all your problems along with my own

I’m sorry I’m flawed

I’m sorry I’m so bothered by being flawed…that I feel the need to apologise

I’m just sorry

…my self sometimes gives an apology just for being me…

I work with endeavour and purpose, integrity and grit, but still sense the “not enough” at the end of the day.

So I do more

Take on more

Apologise more…

Then I get sick and take a rest, but the banging guilt somehow feels worse than the thump in my head

Fear of disappointing (I’m sorry)

Fear of letting someone down (I’m sorry)

Fear of appearing weak or imperfect (I’m seriously fucking sorry!)

(I’m sorry I swore)

Decisions made for my own good come with a ransom I issue, from those who don’t understand…pay up one million apologies to keep the peace…or just keep your needs to yourself, ok?

Hurtful words burn and cling…guilt arises and binds…(“I’m….sorry”)

Others withhold care and accountability and, though they are the ones who are guilty…

It is I who hurts

I who cry

I who doubts

I who awaits an apology…

But the “I’m sorry” only ever comes from me

The sadness of a two slice toaster

Has an electrical appliance ever made you cry…?

Or even just a tad sentimental??

Ok, just me then…

I’m relaxing in the bath with a wine, as you do on a Wednesday night, flicking absent-mindedly through a discount store catalogue (“buy NOW!” why wait when you can finance??!” when I see it…

Page 7

Right hand side

Two little boys playing, and laughing, next to a bunk bed (“King single loft also available!”)

Oh my….it seems like yesterday my two grown sons were that “niddle” (My youngest never could that word properly lol)

We couldn’t afford fancy beds back then and the boys slept in clean but second hand, hand me down or cheap as chips from China “Pipeline” beds – and my heart stretched slightly north at the memory…

What we did have though was laughter and games, niddle men made out of honky nuts (you’ll need to Google that if you’re from anywhere but Australia!) silly shenanigans involving sweat pants pulled up over shoulders (try it…and then do a jig. Honestly it’s the best!!) and sleep filled eye deep and meaningful’s about Spider-Man and today’s plans over breakfast.

Trust me…even “Home brand” bread (lovingly cooked in the cheapest 4 slice toaster you could buy) tastes awesome when it’s being jammed into tiny, tooth filled mouths that are adorably laughing at their own fart jokes!

That poor toaster got used and abused! Often refilled 2 or three times to satisfy the four of us…

The best part was watching clumsy hands layer Vegemite, butter and jam so thickly and meticulously (eyebrows furrowed, little tongues stuck firmly out!) and then crying when their uncoordinated efforts to jump down off the toddler step while clutching their masterpiece, promptly launched the toast onto the ground. “Naughty toast!!”

Did I realise the beauty and magic I was witnessing at the time? Probably not…

…my eldest son moved out 2 weeks ago and my youngest son is barely home these days…

I’m proud of them and happy to see them living their own lives but you do forget that slowly and surely it is also your own life that will have to change a bit too…

It’s so gradual you don’t see it coming

It’s takes years and tears and milestones and growing pains and morning hellos becoming weekly goodbyes

It evades you and makes you believe you’re fine…

…until that one Wednesday night, when you’re aimlessly browsing through a catalogue and find yourself wondering if you should buy that shiny, expensive and brand new 2 slice toaster…

And your heart breaks

And you cry

Surrender

Breathe in…

let it go…

Breathe in…

…and let go…

The fight is tiring

The battle hard

It is silent

…secret

and scarred

Let it go…

But what then?

Control is my fiend

And my friend…

Breathe in

Let it go…

Trust and surrender

who I know

Exposed and in view

I breathe in…

and see you

The heaviness of being…

You know those days when you just aren’t feeling “yourself”?

Such a strange thing to say when you think about it…how can you not feel yourself”?

How can you not be your self?

…who else can you be?

It’s a feeling of not quite being “right”, of not being connected to your sense of what feels normal for you…

Your vision of your “self” that knows how to behave and go through the motions of life, how to put on a brave face for the waiting world…this idea of self is totally unavailable and you wonder where you’ve gone?

It is at best annoying and at worst scary as hell…as you are suddenly at once both the witness and the weirdo

The haze around your own personal outlook on the world seems so visible you are convinced it will walk in to the room and announce you’re apparent craziness on your behalf

Connecting with others feels near impossible, as you fear they’ll sense your absence…or worse, try to cross over and join you

Energy low, the weight around your will to move is a heaviness that seems to come from your very soul

Such a strange feeling…have you ever felt it?

It almost feels like the universe has quietly taken a hold of your body and momentarily suspended it from being capable of movement, motivation or momentum.

It’s not boredom

It’s not tiredness

It’s not laziness

But it is as though you just need to stop

Regroup

Refocus

Allow your thoughts to go inward for a while

I’ve learnt that it’s not weird

Or crazy

Or scary…

And it is still absolutely you being, and feeling, your one and only “self”

Just another piece of yourself…that part who knows it’s actually okay to stop once in a while

That the world beyond the haze will just have to wait

…and the connections you feel so compelled to maintain on the outside, will just have to be patient for a while…as you reconnect with the world that’s so obviously needing you more on the inside…

And that’s where you will truly find yourself

Bubbles

Diamonds afloat

They crackle and shine

Pop pockets of joy suspended in time

Tender caress

Envelops my cares

Heavy surrender of today’s weariness

Movement brings warmth

And stillness brings calm

Fluid so softly…safe world of mine

Absence

I love my husband, but I love it so much more when he goes away…

I’m really brave writing that, aren’t I??? Considering he’s pretty much the only person who reads all my blog posts (well, at least I think he does)

Don’t get me wrong, I do love him…with every ounce of my being!

But hear me out…(dearest hubby and anyone else bored/foolish/strange enough to be reading this)

Being happy when he’s not here is actually a huge thing for me…

After years of struggling with crippling, infantile behaviour inducing, (and downright inconvenient!) separation anxiety, I am finally free and it feels amazing!

It took a long time, my friends.

Hours and hours of counselling and self reflection, steps forwards, leaps back and with the help of the unwavering love and patience of said husband who was both the unwitting cause and cure to my curse…I finally relieved myself of this burden.

There’s so much more I could say on this subject, in order to accurately convey the whole mess that it (and I) was for all those years…and maybe I will one day…

But for now, I just want to share this little piece of my heart…

To learn to be at home with your thoughts and completely on your own

The old so used and comforting but now a new way’s shown…

To embrace the space that comes from holding a healed heart

To know the joy of leaving fear as you behold your own work of art

When you feel safe and saved and brave…’cause you’ve seen the other side…

Knowing you are both the victim and the victor, the lonely child still inside

Darkness cruel and unrelenting in its bid to be your end

Battles fought and dragon slain, that most feared is now your friend…