BEAUTIFUL TRAUMA -Waiting for the Curtain to Fall

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What a bloody awesome title for a tour! Is trauma what inspires all creatives?

When my little girl chose PINK last term as her hero to write a school project about I was blown away with pride that she had chosen someone who follows her own rules, not societies and is such a strong, powerful woman. So even though pennies were tight as single mum status was in full swing I swallowed the overdraft and bought tickets for her birthday.

We started to research PINK together, I had grown up with her songs and watched her be the antipiode of Britney Spears and Christine Aguellera.  This girl wasn’t prouncing around in school uniforms, it was clear her music was more important than her media. Also what became quite apparent was that it was the break up of her parents that inspired her to start writing, quite apt! Her words were what inspired me to stop and listen and (even though apparently I get most of them wrong, according to my beautiful little girl) it would seem that is what inspires her too.

We took the train into town and walked to Rod Laver Arena from Richmond, a nice stroll as dusk set in and we waited for the doors to open …. and then another hour for the inside doors to open, anticipation building!

I have always wanted seats near the stage at a concert and so when I saw they were available online I couldn’t believe it! I wanted so much for this to be the best experience for my daughter.  However, when we sat down the stage was completely obscured by a hanging curtain.  Immediately dread took over both of us, we wouldn’t be able to see anything. I tried to placate the situation by explaining PINK does alot of acrobatics and wouldn’t just be standing on the stage singing. However everyone in our seating section was having similar gloomy conversations. Then the supporting artist came on and our suspicions were confirmed we couldn’t see a thing! Even the tv screen was positioned directly above our heads and so didn’t help.

My heart sank as her smile turned to a frown after all the ups and downs of the last eighteen months I just wanted one perfect night with my little girl and I couldn’t even get that right!

Frustration turned to determination and I realised that we could see behind the curtain back stage and I told my baby I thought I could see Pink. Then we saw her with her little girl, huge ear defenders on, this lifted our spirits. We could see all the dancers stretching in their lycra and Pink giving her daughter the biggest hug.

Then the huge curtain dropped and we were ten feet away from this awesome woman belting her songs out, her heart out! My little girl beamed with joy and I simply wiped the tears away.

Memoir Writing Mentor

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How a Memoir Writing Mentor Can Help You Write Your Story in Record Time

Writing a memoir is no easy task. It’s a personal journey, filled with emotions, experiences, and reflections that shape your narrative. Whether you’re just starting out or have already begun your memoir, having the right guidance can make all the difference. A memoir writing mentor can provide invaluable support, helping you stay on track, refine your ideas, and ensure your story is told in a way that resonates with readers.

The Importance of a Memoir Writing Mentor

A memoir writing mentor isn’t just someone who reviews your grammar or punctuation – they play a much more critical role in your writing journey. They are a sounding board, offering advice, feedback, and insights from their experience. Working with a mentor gives you a fresh perspective on your writing and helps you develop your memoir into a polished piece of work.

If you’re wondering how to write a book in a weekend or simply need someone to help you structure your narrative, a memoir writing mentor can help you fast-track your progress and ensure you don’t lose sight of your goals.

What Does a Memoir Writing Mentor Do?

  • Personalised Feedback: A mentor helps you organize your thoughts, offering feedback that’s tailored to your specific writing style. They’ll guide you through structuring your memoir, creating a compelling flow, and ensuring that each chapter builds on the next.
  • Help You Stay Motivated: Writing a memoir can be an emotional experience, and it’s easy to get overwhelmed. Your mentor will be there to keep you motivated, provide encouragement, and push you to stay focused, especially during difficult writing moments.
  • Focus on the Big Picture: A memoir mentor helps you look beyond the day-to-day writing and ensures your story has a clear purpose. They’ll help you define the theme of your memoir and focus on the most meaningful moments that will resonate with your readers.
  • Learn from Experience: A professional memoir writing mentor has been through the writing process themselves and understands the challenges you face. They’ll provide helpful advice on how to overcome writer’s block, how to shape your story, and how to ensure it has the emotional impact you’re aiming for.

Why You Need a Mentor for Memoir Writing

If you’re new to writing memoirs or looking to refine your existing manuscript, a book writing mentor for beginners can help you gain the skills and insights you need to succeed. With a mentor’s guidance, you’ll be able to avoid common pitfalls, find your voice, and craft a memoir that you can be proud of.

When you decide to embark on writing your memoir, don’t go it alone. With the right memoir writing mentor, you can bring your story to life and share it with the world in a way that truly resonates.

About Frankie Banks: Frankie Banks is an experienced author and memoir writing mentor who understands the power of storytelling. With her deep passion for helping others express their personal journeys, Frankie works closely with aspiring writers, guiding them through the memoir writing process. Her expertise ensures that each writer’s voice is authentically captured, helping them craft memoirs that not only tell a story but also connect deeply with readers. Ready to take the next step in your memoir journey? Contact Frankie today to learn more about how she can help you bring your story to life. Email me now at frankiebanks27@gmail.com

Hysterectomy – What to Expect When You Are Not Expecting!

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Hysterectomy is not what you want to hear when you go to the doctor with a few minor aliments that you have been living with for a few years!

Ailments possibly ignored and untreated and tried to forget while life happens at a rate of knots that you can only hope to keep up with. The story is very similar for a lot of people that they put others before themselves, keeping the world together whilst ignoring their own pain. I’d  actually started to walk like I was in the last trimester of pregnancy by the time I went in for the operation and I had not realised this slow regression.  I wasn’t going to have the bundle of joy at the end of this, on the bright side I also wouldn’t have the sleepless nights!

My first Gynecologist (Gynie) was local to work and rushed through everything quickly, looking at the scan she said ‘well it looks like a hysterectomy is on the cards’ very matter of fact, I was put on the waiting list.  One good thing was it’s free, thank goodness for Australian healthcare!  I didn’t hear a thing for a couple of months and then when I called her office, she was on extended leave, no one had bothered to let her patients know! By now I was walking around (unbeknown to me) carrying kilos worth of diseased uterus (adenomyosis).

The next gynie ‘Trish’ (I love how all Aussies shorten their name no matter what their profession!) said after looking at the scan ‘well it looks like a huge fibroid that is pressing on your bladder and your bowel and making everything very uncomfortable down there, not to mention making you bleed excessively’.  Well yes, it was the case, one week I couldn’t go to work because I had literally bled though most of my clothes,  hysterectomy was the only option. ‘So I’ll go through what this operation looks like, has anyone done that?’

‘Not really’, I replied ‘I mean I’ve googled it of course!’

She smiled and shook her head ‘Well, there is this kinda important thing called medical consent and you need to know what is going to happen to your body, this is a big operation!’

To be honest it was pretty straight forward after she explained it and I would get to keep my ovaries, not something they used to do! That would mean estrogen would continue to flow! No immediate menopause to worry about, (hopefully).

Mid forties is actually quite young you would think to remove your uterus nowadays but just because women have started to give birth later it doesn’t mean that our uterus has other ideas! Luckily I have two beautiful children.

Hysterectomy – The Operation

It was early, very early and there were so many people waiting at Frankston hospital to be admitted, I wondered where on earth they would all fit. After triage and putting the smurf outfit on the wrong way (well how were they going to cut me in half if it was tied at the back?!) It was time to meet my rather gorgeous anesthetist, he was Irish, that accent is always a winner! He knelt by my bed and held my hand (started looking for veins) and explained what he would be doing before and during the procedure, a lot of information that I didn’t really need or take in but his presence was very welcome indeed.  ‘Oh they look grand, to be sure!’ he said getting up and walking away. Hang on, I was enjoying that! I thought, but it was ok he was back in seconds.

I was wheeled in to a small pre-op room and then my heart rate started to accelerate as Mr Irish started to put the canula into my vein. I was then introduced to Gynie 1, Gynie, 2 and Anesthetist 2 at which point I said,

“Wow there’s a lot of you!!”.

“This is a major operation! How are you feeling?”

“Slightly anxious now!”

“Well, we have all the good stuff here, I’m sure we can give you  something for that”  replied Mr older Anesthetist and he nodded to Mr Irish who went and got something that felt a lot like a nice hit of valium, (I’m sure it was something a lot more elaborate).

Then came in Trish (my Gynie) all cheery and happy, ‘how are we?’ she said and touched my shoulder, a nice gesture. ‘Good thanks’, I replied ‘Great, lets get you feeling a bit more comfortable than you have been, shall we?’ I could hear her saying hello to her team and talking them through my scan. ‘Would you like me to take a photo when we get that uterus out?’ she asked “Sure my daughter will like to see!’

Feeling very relaxed, they wheeled me though to the very bright operating room, it was huge and there was the ominous operating bed. I was asked to hop off my bed and onto the operating table and so I floated across, looked up at the light and the mask was placed on my face, goodnight Mr Irish, I thought.

When I woke up, Mr Irish was no where to be seen and I was given a little buzzer thing to hold like on a game show that I could press for drugs to be administered into my veins (PCA pump).  It wasn’t really pain that I woke with, more a weird uncomfortableness and a need to have something pressing on my tummy that felt very loose.  The nurse gave me a wrapped up towel in the shape of a baby which I held on my stomach, it made it feel a lot better and then I adjusted the bed so that I could sit up a bit.  My throat was sore and dry and the nurse gave me a yoghurt followed by an Icey pole, this was like a five star hotel! ‘Are you feeling ok, any nausea?’ asked the nurse, holding my wrist. ‘All good’ I replied.

I wondered what time it was and was told it was around 3.30pm, I had gone into the operating room at about 10am, so I’d been out for a while.  ‘We’ve got Archie coming down to pick you up and take you to the ward, we’re just waiting for your blood pressure to return to normal, Archie should do that, I think you’ll like him’ she gave me a wink.

Another yoghurt and along came Archie a ‘built’ Philippine guy, with a huge welcoming smile! This place just gets better and better.  I was wheeled up to the ward taking an occasional hit on the ‘buzzer’ next question please Bob! Realising how strong that stuff was and how hungry it was making me I soon stopped.  When I got to the ward I was greeted by a lovely guy who asked me what I would like for dinner!

A young nurse came by with a supervisor, ‘Oh hi we just want to do a patient blood pressure test, we take your blood pressure laying down and then we ask you to stand up and walk up the ward and we take your blood pressure again’ I laughed, ‘No’ I said with a smile, ‘I’ve just come out of surgery and I still have a catheter in and my cannula, you’ll have to find someone else for that experiment’, I smiled again. ‘Oh ok’ and away she walked. I’m sure she was just learning the ropes but she wasn’t going to be pulling on mine!

I won’t lie, a mixed ward leaves a lot to be desired when there’s one bathroom between four, luckily two of those were bed bound, well luckily for me, not them!  I was released (from my bed and the catheter) about six hours later and much enjoyed using normal functions again, all be it into a witches hat to be examined by the nurse. Ok time to take the catheter out, she ripped it out like ripping off a band aid, I let out a little yelp. ‘That shouldn’t of hurt!’ the young nurse exclaimed. ‘It’s coming out of my bladder of course it hurt!’ I smiled back at her. A quick look at my stitches and that was that.

The guy next to me, early sixties was in for some kind of alcohol related problem and would constantly ask the nurses to wipe him after using the toilet, ‘who does it home?’ the first nurse asked ‘my carer’ he replied. The said ‘carer’ showed up at visiting time and yes you guessed it, his wife.  ‘Did you go out last night? ‘ he pointedly asked her, the cloth drape not creating any vocal privacy between us. ‘I, erm, I went to Cheryl’s for a bit’ I could hear her nervously reply ‘You didn’t have a drink did you? While I’m stuck in here!’ I lovingly named this man Mr Ahole.

I had to put my ear phones on, I couldn’t listen to any more. I played some Vance Joy.

The first night I slept like a log, occasionally being woken for observations, the second night was much more interesting.  Mr Ahole next to me was still asking the nurses to wipe him after every toilet episode however Mr Ahole 2 had turned up on the ward in the shape of a guy who needed security with him because he had abused staff on another ward. I heard the nurses chatting and heard him ordering them about, ‘I want stronger drugs, these aren’t working!’, ‘Who are you? Are you a doctor?’ ‘Do you know how to administer drugs?’ He was with an African orderly (security) that sat with him. The nurse on night duties was rushed off her feet. ‘I’ll do your obs in a minute sweetheart’ she smiled at me, ‘it’s ok I can see you’re busy’ ‘yeah no-one wants the night shift!’ her big brown eyes darting towards the white ceiling. ‘You need to speak with respect’ the African security said to the patient. ‘I am, of course I am, are you telling me that I’m not being respectful, these girls don’t know what they’re doing half of the time’ ‘I think that’s enough’ replied Mr security.  Mr Ahole 1 not getting any attention hobbled over to the bathroom.  ‘Nurse I’ll need you to’ but she turned her back to him and talked to Mr security, ‘This guy needs help in the toilet apparently!’ ‘What!?’. And that is how to delegate! She walked off down the ward to do her obs, I think there were around 6-8×4 sections on the ward, she was very busy. The conversation  in the toilet between Mr Ahole and the security man was hilarious. ‘What do you need?’ ‘I er need you to wipe’ ‘Oh man!’ There was a lot of movement in the toilet and a little yelp, suffice to say Mr Ahole didn’t ask for any more toilet help whilst I was there!

I was ready to go home on day three, I’d seen enough and heard enough and had huge empathy for these amazing nurses. I realised how unsympathetic I would be in certain situations. I wanted my bed and my comforts.  Now that the canula and the catheter were out I decided to take a walk around the ward, I was very slow, so slow I felt like a hundred years old but that was ok, I knew I would be slow to start with, I held my stomach with the towel as if trying to hold everything in. I did a lap and was happy, then I decided I would have a shower. I started to feel a little bit more normal. The nurses came round with my meds and I asked if I could have a smaller dose, I could feel the chemicals oozing out my skin. ‘Have them with your lunch instead, I’ll come back in a hour’.

My gorgeous son came and picked me up from hospital, carrying my bags and the beautiful flowers that my friends had sent me to the car. I had stocked the freezer with lots of homemade meals, so after a quick, well slow, stop at the pharmacy, I finally got into my own bed, asked my son to heat up some food, ate and slept. Two weeks bed rest was really what I needed but I did get up and start to do things earlier than that. Everything was slow and steady and no lifting, by week six I had started to feel like me again. I went for my six week check up with Trish and learnt that I had adenomyosis, my uterus was four times the six it should be! I saw the photo Trish had taken with her tiny  finger pointing to the middle and what a normal uterus would look like.  I was still in the shock phase of post operation and didn’t really take it all in, however somehow this was vindication of the last year of my life. I now had to concentrate on healing.

Exactly six weeks of not driving and it was New Years Eve, I could finally have some freedom. I went to woolies and bought a big box of chocolates and a card for the nurses. ‘You are All Superstars, thank you for helping me though my hysterectomy!’

By month seven months my body had returned to some form of new normality. I went on b12 weekly injections for five weeks soon after the operation which also made a huge difference. My stomach was tender to the touch for a good few months and now 11 months later occasionally there are a few pains.  I’ve had a scan to make sure everything in there is ok and they even found one of my ovaries working which was nice to know. Things are different but good different.

How do you Worry?

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Worry is a strange word and something we have all done at some point. Worrying about things we can’t control is completely useless and yet we all do it!

Worry for me starts in my tummy, a knot of what if? My brain is then drawn in with a slight jerk of, What if what? Most of the time I have to remind myself what I’m worrying about, my brain talking to my tummy as if it was a child always asking Why? But in this case it’s What if?

‘What if what?’

‘Who cares?’

‘Why do you always ask this? Just settle down! Stop worrying!’ My brain tells the troubled tummy but my tummy doesn’t have ears, it only has emotion. Occasionally the amazing happens and my tummy tells my brain It’s ok right now there is nothing to worry about. That is a lovely sense of freedom and strength and yet it is only a perspective.

Of course I could always find something to worry about in this world that is far beyond my control and most of the time I do. Is that emotion useful? Probably not! Am I actually going to change any outcomes from worrying about a situation? Probably not. Thinking and brainstorming and writing things down to order them from the jumble in my brain perhaps can help but worrying or ‘stressing’ is not useful to me. I know this and yet my stomach does knot!

 

Justice, Vengeance & Vigilantes

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It’s very easy to judge a person without knowing their back story, we are used to watching our Netflix binges and getting the back story given to us on a platter.  Sometimes I think we have lost the human initiative to actually ask questions or read behaviour that gives these clues away.

This weekend I was privileged to watch a couple of shows with fantastic backstories that really made me think!

Thirteen

Thirteen with the wonderful Jodi Comer (Villanelle) from the ballsy series Killing Eve playing the victim was frustrating to watch. The female police officer acted so well questioning Jodi’s character continuously to the point of disgust, treating the victim as the perpetrator in my experience is all too often the case.  Obviously, the facts need to be established but creating a supportive environment surely would get the better result, “You catch more flies with Honey”.

Justice is a wonderful thing when it works out. When it doesn’t the ethics and morals that surely are the backbone of the justice system seem contorted, broken and in need of some physio!

Occasionally the police and the courts seem to have two completely different sets of values, then throw in the CPS and DPP who actually decide what goes to trial and you create a less than satisfactory system.

If I had watched Thirteen before I had watch Killing Eve the anger and frustration of Villanelle and her psychotic ways would have been an easy progression to make for the characters to link together. Jodi Comer did such a great job as the groomed and frustrated, lost victim of abduction in Thirteen the complete antithesis of Villanelle, the strong hit woman who I’m sure many of us wished we could emulate figuratively, not literally!

Villanelle ended up being somewhat of a vigilante in the third and final season of Killing Eve when  a victim of domestic violence kills the husband, cut to the next scene where said wife brings all her friends, “they all have a Pedro too”. Now that was going to keep Villanelle busy!

When the justice system stops working is this what actually happens, unfortunately there is a huge part of me that really hopes so!

Three Girls

Human trafficking is often thought of as taking someone from one country to another country. However, human trafficking just means a trade of people for human labour so it actually prolifically happens in the same country. However, it’s just easier to prosecute when larger barriers are crossed such as countries.

Three girls is a true story of sex trafficking and grooming, a huge problem in most societies. This story starts in 2005 when the police investigated and a ring of sex traffickers in England.  As teenage girls these victims were not reliable witnesses or the right kind of ‘vulnerable’ to be victims. Although the social worker involved had the moral standing of a saint her views were too far fetched from the realities of the police and the justice system.

Yet again the victim, a young girl was made to feel like the perpetrator as the male group had enlisted her to recruit other females.  A lot of persuasion and a ridiculous amount of bureaucratic nonsense ensued until eventually the ring of traffickers were brought to justice.

The writing of these two series was just fantastic and really made you question your own values. Another step forward for female leads and the telling of truths.

 

The Betrayal of Skinny

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Tiny people have heart attacks too! It wasn’t until someone I know had a heart attack and my first though was but she’s tiny, skinny. I realised I felt betrayed by the media’s portrayal that skinny is good, healthy or the way any of us should look. It’s complete rubbish, healthy is where we should be aiming, healthy, happy and kind. It was this thought that spiraled my thinking into many places regarding body type and skinny. I have been aiming for healthy and strong since my early twenties when I realised quite quickly that my love of food outweighed my love of feeling skinny.

Sorry Kate Moss ‘Everything tastes better than skinny to me!’

Even marmite and I don’t even like that very much but on a thickly cut slice of whole meal lightly toasted with some French butter, on a cold winters’ morning with a hot cup of tea, that outweighs the image of my blue dress on a size 12 body in my teens (the only time I’ve ever been a size 12 and ever will). I also realised early on that boobs are also better than skinny! Imagine if men’s penises increased twice the size when they put on a little weight?

The fact that it’s clinically proven that food gives off the same chemical in the brain as cocaine and that people who eat small amounts of sugar are actually happier does not surprise me in the least. So, Kate as much as skinny looks very good on You, it can never taste as good as food to me.

Which brings me to another point, the look of skinny doesn’t actually suit everyone. As you get older your skin needs a little plumping, looking drawn in the face in your 20’s you can get away with, the older woman can only fill with so much collagen before wrinkle upon wrinkle will start to appear. Fillers let’s face it distort your face leaving more quizzical looks! 

Waist training, plastic surgery, media and just the normal general human looking someone up and down, (whenever anyone does this I cringe). Look into my eyes my friend that is where I am, not in my sandalled feet, shaven legs, work skirt, size fourteen blouse covering the sometimes C, sometimes D, sometimes DD’s depending on my hormone levels. Again, don’t let your gaze get stuck there those boobs have earnt their right to wiggle and jiggle (but that’s another story). Higher, higher that’s right that’s where I am just look into my eyes that’s where you will find my empathy and kindness, humour and humanity. Kindness is one size fits all thank goodness, however not everyone can quite squeeze it over their ego and vanity. It’s definitely worth trying it on occasionally, it’s been around so much longer than skinny and will make you shine, in fact with a little kindness you will be the most beautiful person in the room.

 

Dolphins

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We are so lucky to live somewhere that spotting dolphins from the shore whilst walking the dog is a regular occurrence.  The first time I recognised what was happening was a few years ago while I was walking my beautiful kelpie Ray.  All of a sudden Ray spotted a group of seagulls circling the water about 300 meters from the beach, puppy went crazy running up and down barking, what were they doing? I stopped and looked and all of a sudden a fin came out of the water and then another, the dolphins were feeding and the seagulls wanted some freebies!

So now whenever I see a group of gulls a couple of hundred meters from the shore I look for the fins and generally they are there, its a beautiful sight.

Today however was different I spotted the fins as I walked down the cliffs, Ray hadn’t seen them and there were no gulls! I kept looking but they were doing a different dance today, swimming on their backs, swimming on their sides, almost waving at us, but still no gulls, they obviously weren’t feeding.

Then I saw another group and another, there must have been four or five pods of dolphins all playing, I had never seen anything like it and couldn’t take my eyes away from them. It was like they were playing football or basketball, up and down and in a out of the water they swam. Even after our walk as we wandered back up the cliffs they were still at it! Waving and flipping around.

I stood at the top of the cliffs and then I realised what they were doing! Doh! I had a little giggle at these wonderful creatures obviously enjoying themselves enormously. I wanted to tell someone to come and watch with me, it was such a wonderful, beautiful amazing sight. Instead I wandered back to the car and smiled all the way home.

9-5

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A couple of years ago I started back at a 9-5 it seemed typical that whilst everyone had discovered working from home. Myself, having done that for 7 years I was going back into the office! Life sometimes hands you the dichotomy of your dreams, that doesn’t mean it’s not the right path it’s just a little curve in the road.

It’s a strange concept being in an office for 8 hours after 16 years of being at home with my beautiful children and creating a business.

I’ve spent a third of my life at home with my kids and to be honest I missed them terribly. However independence was shoved into their hands and they rose to the challenge going from asking me to get them a drink, they are now able to make themselves breakfast, lunch and dinner!

I came home the other day and my son had mown the lawn, my daughter had brought the washing in, they had both gone and walked the dog together, had lunch at the cafe and dinner was in the oven! Proud is an understatement.

It had been a balmy 35 degrees but the cool easterly wind was found on the balcony and we sat eating our dinner, discussing our day. Family makes what could be Groundhog Day into a lovely day. We watched the birds each commenting on our day enjoying the support and familiarity.

That was the summer holidays, when they return to school I’m sure a new ball game will ensue, that’s if any of us have the energy to catch it.

Vivid Births

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Vivid are the births of my children; so much pain and so much pleasure. I would relive either or both for a hundred years, such a powerful sense of self.

With trepidation I entered the ER ward for my first and was thrust into the unempathetic arms of a large African women her skin shimmering from the flourescent lights as she told me how she had ten children and this was the easy bit.

‘Oh Great!’ I thought

Whilst my husband slept in the hospital chair I wriggled and writhed with the power that was trying to escape me. I walked, I stood and in the end I gave way to the nurse and lay down. Big mistake! I lay there for hours enhaling gas and air, occasionally being told I wasn’t ready and to stop pushing. How do you stop a force that only nature can control?

Eventually our beautiful boy was born and I was in shock, you can call it PND or whatever you want but new mothers are in shock! We’ve just had our bodies ripped open to produce another person, a whole new person that we are so emotionally and physically connected to that a change in their breathing can make our nipples leak and our vagina flood, not to mention our mood literally trapeze.

This shock was a wave of impressionist thinking, it wasn’t the real world just something I had created to survive. The world had changed on its axis and nothing would look the same again. It was play dates with 3 month olds, they can’t play! It was weigh ins at the clinic for a child who isn’t moving only eating. It was coffee with Mums who all talk at once whilst each are leaking from somewhere. It was walks to the park to sit on a swing, gently, whilst the stitches heal.

I had no idea what to do all I could do was try to love this creature that wanted nothing but yet everything.

My second birth was blissful! No hospital this time, a home birth, a birthing pool, my folks to look after baby number one and The Ashes for hubby to watch. Of course there was effort involved and wobbly moments if I wondered if a home birth was a selfish choice. But with music and candles in the front room of our 300 year old Hertfordshire home that had probably witnessed many births over the years, my baby was nurtured into this world.

I was bathed in my roll top bath with my baby, the midwife had ran the bath and afterwards sat me at my dressing table and brushed my hair! All on the NHS, she was pushy and in charge and exactly what I needed. I hadn’t respected the brash matter of fact midwife with number one but I had grown in the last three years and realised what was required.

The powerful sense of self whilst giving birth the fact that there can be only one result which is the baby will come out. The fact that we are forever connected makes me realise these significant days are to be cherished even after the fact.

The first few weeks of number two was easier but not easy this time I was breast feeding and so could take that private opportunity to breathe. Trying to nurture my boy at the same time not always easy but a necessity. Making our new bundle a play thing.

Watching the two of them roll around on the floor playing like cats giggling, tickling and occasionally scratching, finding their place in the pack. Listening to their squabbles, their questions and support for each other. I wouldn’t change a thing.

The Murray

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Whilst on holiday by the Murray River I was able to lose my self persecution of why, if and how and replaced these questions with evidence of now.

Discovering new destinations for this road now so strong, not that crumpled bitumen that seemed to take so long.

Turbulent and exhilarating the street signs just a blur and then some traffic lights to check what might occur.

The Murray River winding through sandy banks, reflections of gum trees and muted sun, a water road, soft yet strong wandering and wondering, flowing like a song.

Fight, Flight, Flow and Freeze

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I recently read a meme on Facebook:

‘I’ve thought about running away a lot more as an adult than I ever did as a child!’.

My primal instinct has always been flight not fight and although I laughed out loud on reflection I thought about all the times I did want to run away as an adult.

Ending up at a free camp site 4 hours from Melbourne, my camp chair plonked in the river on a 40 degree January day. Another time taking the kids to Adelaide, when I was aiming for Alice Springs and another flight of fancy in my twenties a trip alone to Nimes, France, the list goes on…

Right now in my life I don’t want to run away from anything or anyone.  It’s a nice place to be.

Fight

Fight is an interesting place to find yourself, anger rising until it has to explode. I’ve always liked to think I am a lover not a fighter however there are times, especially with my motherly instincts that fight can be ignited. It’s not somewhere I generally inhabit and it usually involves conflict with a vacuum cleaner to be honest, bloody things! I’ve broken more than I care to mention maybe I should stop fighting with them and run away next time.

Flow

Flow is my favourite place to inhabit and I believe we all have moments of flow, when your brain switches off from distraction and you are purely focused. I experienced this whilst writing my first book. However after experiencing such huge amounts of it in one year I could then appreciate the other ways in which flow works in life, at work or studying, even housework or spreadsheets. Sometimes shutting off from the world is easy, sometimes not.  Meditation i believe is another form of flow and one I have only recently discovered, such a blissful state.

Freeze

Freeze is another place I have inhabited on a few occassions and apparently trauma can bring this human reaction on.  Again once it has been ignited I believe it is easy to relive.  It’s not necassarily a nice place to be but the brains way of protecting us. It’s not always trauma, time can freeze in wonderful moments too watching a band or holding a hand when all of our emotions are hightened and the brain seems to slow down and freeze frame.

What a lot of F’s!