Mother, Lover, Inspired.
A Creative Events Student.
Mother, Lover, Inspired.
The most difficult thing about the situation is the pressure to now be well. It could be perceived as a positive thing but also terrifying negative. The soul bursts with energy, ideas and power. This power can easily turn to self destruction.
I am well but I feel that all comfortable and familiar slide creeping in. My instinctive habit is to embrace it. To drown my sorrows in a false happiness. To dance, to drink, to run to friends, cities, to spend cash I don’t have. To internally panic that my aura is unstable leading to a fake show of avoiding the presence of instability, I become manic with a false positivity.
It isn’t that I don’t enjoy the days. It isn’t as far as depression, its flirting with the idea of insanity. In these undeniably scary times, I see beauty in the most profound places. Small acts of kindness and the strength of quality time with lovers can bring me to tears. The shades of colours and dribble of an English summer on my young, soft skin remind me how lucky I am. I try to be productive and end up falling behind, leaving tasks and indulging my moments into creativity and potential plans. It may not be the best way to deal with situations for some. But alternative therapies and mind opening, inspiring projects can be all I have to rely on.
The cycle is ongoing. I am awake to my mental illness. I am aware that I can be rash and worrying and that my brain becomes difficult to balance. Therefore I openly inspire my mind. This is my medicine.
This post sounds incredibly negative. I understand that from an outsiders perspective I sound completely unstable, insane and unpredictable. But the actual point of this Reader, is that the soul is so unbelievably confusing, we never stop learning about how our unconscious thought process affects our actions on an unwell mind.
Not that my mind us unwell, it just has its days. This mindset only creeps in to haunt when I become anxious of my Cub’s return. I am learning to use my energies in a positive manner. I get paranoid and realize these feelings are only present because on occasion he hasn’t returned home. I was emotionally tormented for such a period of time that it is only natural to go into defense and panic. Any mother would be exactly the same. It’s a long game of driving somebody completely insane. I was always, always going to win.
The point I wish to make is that I’m so proud of my soul for its slow healing process and in the lowest points of total despair and heartbreak, I continued on and always had support. My family, my friends, my fiancé, these people kept me alive. Currently, I’m not great. All I wish to do is curl up with my golden haired, fierce little man; but that isn’t possible until Saturday. So instead I have been creating, sketching, smiling, taking long baths and sunny walks. I have been planning, creating, making lists. I have had late nights and late mornings. I have been giving my body what it craves.
Self healing isn’t just about not harming oneself physically, nor is it about not drinking or eating well. These things are obvious. It is deeper than that. It is trying to understand your tics. This has been the hardest part for me. It is about spending time on the mind. Not necessarily happiness itself – if you are genuinely unhappy in a result of a situation, that may not be depression – but knowing the way your incredible mind works as you do the unique moles that pattern your aging skin or your Mother’s mannerisms from childhood memories. It is understanding particular natural reactions to certain situations and how to stay well.
It didn’t come naturally to me. For a long time I tried healing myself not through care and balance but through overworking. Then it was under-eating. Then it was becoming reliant on the wrong company. You cannot escape a struggling mind. It will not heal. But it is always temporary. Do not rely on control, rely on balance.
Use this time to indulge in ideas you believe in. Run around and feel your homeland, spend a day in bed if need be, eat ice cream, eat kale, eat whatever you need to, read lots, sing loudly, indulge in a little of everything. Take the help thats available. Do what your soul and body crave. Talk.
But never, ever, ever ignore, move too fast or feel guilty for these feelings. It is the first step. We are always learning. My path is so young and I’m so proud of myself. Everything is temporary.
Mother, Lover, Believer.
Folding myself into my toddlers bed, he is stroppy. ‘I want a little more play’ he whimpers but it is way past bedtime. My soul sister speaks softly and I watch the cubs face listen, imagine, relax as his body softens beside mine. Her smile is wide and she has a perfect twinkle to her eyes as his full attention is transfixed. I tenderly stroke his golden mane. She speaks of the stars, of the moon, of all his favorite characters traveling to a magical place. She just whispers. Her presence is bewitching; the words she breathes are mesmerizing.
She will be a wonderful Mother some day. She has reminded me that you choose your family. Noah was asleep within minutes.
Another evening this week, I had my parents and three childhood friends around for wine and dinner. I dotted around our tiny kitchen preparing dinner and laughed gratefully for the playful abuse I received. These are my sisters, my parents, my son. I think back on darker times and feel accomplished. These are the people that never gave up. I’m a recovering drug addict, I’ve been depressed, I’ve been raped, emotionally abuse, tested tested tested tested. But I survived. These are the people that saved my life.
In these actions I shall never give up on others. If an individual comes to me for assistance, it is my soulful right to help. Although an intention of friendship and comfort can at times lead to the forgiveness of snakes. I have learnt the hard way not everyone on this earth is good. Emotional and physical safety of yourself, your family and children are priority.
I met a woman years ago in our little village, but only recently have I learnt her struggles, achievements and unworldly strength. It is obvious she is a beautiful lady with much grace but one can never assume another’s battles. It turns out we are rather similar and I am overwhelming appreciative she chose to share her life story with me. When this happens reader, when another soul shares themselves with you, it is human nature to want to listen, to help another. She doesn’t need my help, she wishes for friendship. As do I.
People are brought into your life for a reason. This reason may negative, but it will lead to lessons, allowing you to eventually blossom.
My existence in this life is to protect my lion cub. My entire life ambition is to teach him the kindness my Mother taught me. I wish to educate him in happiness – the simple, perfect pleasures in this world. It is as simple as that.
Mother, Lover, Survivor.
I have endlessly wondered about the future my entire life. I’d walk a particular way over the steam railway through our peculiar village and always let my imagination consider the same speculations. Maybe it was the norm of that particular route, triggering same fascinations. Wondering what was to happen. Depending on a positive or negative mindset, the daydreams would lead my naive mind to various outcomes. The obvious of change to our ever evolving era, but how this change unfolds to effect individual souls. What is in it for us? What have our fates in store? Anticipatory anxiety: The fear and procrastination of future paths.
I would constantly anticipate my cards, waiting all my life for a particular moment that hadn’t arrived yet. All that time I’d been waiting, fantasizing. I suddenly realize this is exactly what I’d been waiting for. Lo and behold; it wasn’t a nuclear bomb, my family haven’t died in a horrendous accident, I haven’t become president and I am certainly infertile. It seems to have been pure contentment and happiness all along.
I’ve been away with the fairies my entire life. Quite literally when you see my Mother and her friends. I’d romanticize the future, imagine a perfect portrait ignorant of reality. This happening, whatever it was, was certainly going to be dramatic. The butterfly effect; a situation where to save my friends, I’d have to have never been born (or something equally as ridiculous). When honestly reader, there would be no need to muse my future. My present has turned out to be utterly perfect.
Everyday I shall wake, load the cafetiere with betty’s fine coffee, make Noah his breakfast and clean our beautiful, imperfect kitchen. I genuinely look forward to my mornings. Somehow whatever goddess decided I was to be his Mother, my other halfs lover, I have been blessed with waking to their faces each morning. To tend to them, make them smile and spend my life reminding them quite how utterly impeccable they are. I tell them as much as I possibly can, but it will never be enough. How they have saved me from my unpredictability and unfulfillment of my own being. I was never enough. By simply being , they have allowed me to enjoy, appreciate and accept the purest, absolute artistry of this earth. They have educated me by their mere existence of the enjoyment of purity, my first morning coffee, the assignments I hate to write, the ink I have on my body, the blue oceans that concoct my two unworldly creature’s eyes. All of it has become unbearably graceful in my perception.
I’ll smother my cub in kisses and dress him for an hectic day at his child minders of being extravagantly creative. I may make myself a smoothie but always save a glass for my baby. I’ll have to rewipe his berry covered smile before we leave. I always forget to brush his teeth, so to run back upstairs quickly finishing this morning routine by singing the teeth brushing song. My love will drop him off but only after a dozen delighted screeched ‘I love you Mummy’s before driving away.
Lately I’ve spent my time studying on my ledge for a bed away from the world. Fairy lights, nipping for cigarettes and coffee and watching the spring sunshine creep in through the wide open window. My consciousness may wander with brushes of inspiration and excitement of potential projects but I manage to hinge my attention back to the list that needs accomplishing.
I have two cats that tolerate either ones company in order to indulge in mine. Tyler the all black schizophrenic with huge eyes, largely resembling toothless from ‘How to train your Dragon’, and Evie the bumbling queen with rosa pink jelly beans for paws matching a tiny snout and magnificent grassy observant eyes.
I make the bed before perching, surrounded by my books and notes. This environment is safe, positive and for happiness only. Therefore the studying that takes place follows this same pattern. I may not shower till midday, I may change into fresh comfys. I will always lather and scrub my skin, floss my teeth and moisturize, I will not apply makeup, I shall take my time to massage bio oil into my ‘imperfections’. I might use my breaks to work out money making tactics from home as my days are for studying and my nights for my love and life.
These days are positive, productive and safe. These times have allowed me to love the reality of myself, not to romanticize, but to appreciate the enchantment of my personal ordinary.
He will be out or in the attic. Occasionally I hear him take a break himself and sing to a guitar. I hum along in my own space. He loves the truth of me. I worship the absoluteness of him. He is my best friend, my partner, my lover and Noah’s perfect influence.
These days are simple, honest. They are the unknown daydreams I have craved. They are my soulful reward for survival. In the endless quarrels I have endured with my physce, the disagreements of not having the conscious ability to no longer punish for the past. To teach myself the beauty of enjoyment and love. My reality is no longer glamorized, it is simply wonderful.
Mother, Lover, Believer.
The power I now have over my mind is enough to make me weep. My boy came home tonight. Every cell in my body danced when I saw his fathers car arrive, my cub scrambled from his car seat and bounced into my arms. In a week, his understanding and intelligence has once again exceeded my beliefs. He is my life and stood there with my love, my day of complete ecstasy began.
I’m not engaged, I’m not pregnant, I haven’t won the lottery. Ecstasy in the sense of pure ultimate happiness. I obviously haven’t taken drugs, I’ve been off them a long time. I’m not drunk, I just find an incredible peacefulness about my world today. Enough to bring me to tears. Every time he is away I struggle. His presence is unworldly, it is a mystery of complete beauty beyond us.
He left last Saturday. I took the train to Carlisle, dropped him with his father and immediately came home. I stayed up late with my love and enjoyed motherly freedom. It only lasts a day or two and I start to struggle with simple tasks without him. The difference now makes me ecstatic of my progress. I was sad but I got out of bed and studied, I worked out plans, I did the days. A year ago it wouldn’t have happened. I awoke early, after nights of staying up late to understand my own mind with the persuasion of the moonlight; no one judges you when the earth is asleep, you become free. I attended a meditation class with my Mother but had to leave early. The room was too new, the people too awkward and unacquainted. My body refused to go limp, enslaved to my anxious thoughts. The monk we spoke to was understanding and although I meditate most days in my comfortable environment – my safe place – I shall try again next week.
I got by baby home, we went to the park and I thrived in the idea for about an hour before I messed up Gracey style. I was so excited, getting sweating running after him, kisses and slides, pushing the roundabout, laughing like an idiot. I fell, managed to slice the whole of my knee on a rubber park safety mat (I know), and had to leave my baby to wait three hours in A and E. Typical. But I stayed in a constant state of bliss. It’s possibly the fact I’ve finally cracked into a ridiculous amount of coursework or Noah has returned and my inner child blooms in his company. But honestly, I have had this conversation with my love recently, without any chemicals to induce my mood, at least once a day I am almost brought to tears of how thankful I am for my progress, for the person I have become and the way my life has changed. I am thankful for my mistakes, my faults. I have fucked up enormously and at twenty-two, I’m free.
I would use meditation to escape my problems for ten minutes, to settle my mind, to understand that whatever is going on isn’t equivalent to the apocalypse. Then without noticing, I gradually interpreted it into everyday life. Having a shower I would breathe in the lathering soap caressing my skin, I’d be slow. Or realising how much I love to cook, using different oils, vegetables, seasonings. To smell, eat slowly, enjoy the sensations that I’m experiencing. I’m in love with simple things again.
Today Noah was so worried about my cut. After being convinced to visit the hospital I realised how desensitised I have become to that amount of blood. Realising this, hit a nerve. I tried explaining to my Mother, ‘its okay! I’ve had worse! It isn’t that bad!’ Actually it wasn’t okay. I obeyed commands and went to get checked for the sake of those who loved me. Otherwise it’s me accepting that a wound like that is everyday life. It is not. Not to an undamaged mind.
When we eventually crawled into bed for kisses, passionate fairytale stories and overreactions of the century to a snail loosing its shell – which was well worth it causing a fit of tremendous giggles – he asked me over and over if i was okay. This isn’t just a toddler knowing Mummy has a cut. This is a child that has grown understanding his mother has been massively mentally ill. The constant ‘you will be okay’, ‘don’t get upset’, ‘in the morning things will be fine’. As a parent it breaks your heart. I mostly write about mental health and motherhood but the fact he is the closest person in my entire life. Himself and my love that can understand it in an empathic and adult sense, and the child that has grown with it as an ordinary. That hits you like a bolt of lighting. That realisation.
I laid with him and smiled. I kissed his skin and desperately made him laugh. I explained that Mummy hasn’t been well but she is okay now. Mummy has been ill in her head, not a bump Noah no, inside. Like when you have a tummy ache but your skin doesn’t hurt. But it happens and she’s okay now. I promise you. He kissed me and stared though those big ocean eyes before minutes later falling asleep. I was nearly sent to tears.
On a daily basis I am in awe of my life, how far I’ve become and the fact I have met a man that mirrors me in ambition, love, attitude and everything else I can think of. I am blessed. I’m writing again and that is proof. When I was seriously ill I kept thinking, it has to get better, I have to eventually be rewarded for everything bitter. I still have the extent of those emotions but now I have no idea what to do with them. Things became not okay, no. Fucking unbelievable. The sun came up just as he told me. The happiness is exceptional and I am finally making those incredible people proud. The ones that never gave up on me.
Mother, Lover, Forgiver.
I’m lucky to have got to the stage I’m at. I found acceptance through help, appreciation of beauty through the world around and meeting my soul mates. I’m teaching my mind to understand and control itself. Today has been a difficult day. I still thrive on them by creating, learning and dreaming. I can control it by taking each hour as it comes. It’s okay to not be able to get up – just try and have a shower, feel the soap lather your skin, wash the bad feeling away, lose yourself in the steam. If you can’t bare to see anyone, send a single text. When it is completely impossible to create, browse ideas. Let your mind wander. Take the first step. It’s always easier said than done but that one tiny everyday task can make your day a success.
So today instead of drowning in my own emotions, I stayed in bed. I eventually had a shower which led to a coffee which led to studying. The poisonous society we live in teaches us that if we aren’t constantly achieving, busy, earning, then we are wasting our time. It took me so long to believe that isn’t true. A cat may enjoy the heat through a patch of sunshine, glowing onto the tiniest section of a floor. A plant will do nothing more than thrive from water and heat, to simply survive. Now obviously I’m aware we are more physiologically and psychologically developed than cats and flowers. But we can learn from them. To appreciate and enjoy simple happiness. The idea we constantly need to be better can brainwash and destroy us. It creeps up on you, I am a prime example. I recently bought a stunning highlighter to make me feel more beautiful, in vanity it pleases me. I want to earn as much as possible to indulge in experiences. To buy gifts and please the ones I dearly love. It isn’t a bad thing, we can’t escape consumerism but we don’t necessarily have to obey it.
I’m not suggesting we should all grow our own vegetables, make clothes from found materials and move to a tree house in the forest (as wonderful as that sounds it’s probably very hard work). Instead I’m raising the idea that a successful day can be a walk, mindfulness, making an aeroplane from toilet roll tubes with your children. It can be making someone smile. It can be contentedness, to understand the blinding power you have especially when you don’t believe it.
I’m not okay today. I woke up from a dream with a sinking feeling in my gut, a weight in my chest making my body so heavy it was impossible to move. Living in my subconscious was an alternative life style. One I once foolishly rejected; a decision I later suffered for. It was a simple dream. I dreamt I felt occupied, another soul was present, another faint heartbeat. In this dream, I took a pregnancy test which instantly resulted in two fat pink lines which led to tears of ultimate joy. These dreams of mine, colours are so vivid, made up memories are photographic and emotions are bonafide. So awaking to the dimmer colours of reality with goosebumps from leaving the window ajar, I didn’t even attempt. I collapsed back into bed ridden with heartbreak, limbs aching and a blank mind.
Dreams are simply a muddled collection of unconscious thoughts. You create stories that are out of your control. The fact Noah is in Edinburgh just amplifies that difficult maternal emotion. Every time he leaves for his father’s I swear to myself I’ll be productive, active and refreshed on his return. A few days pass and all I can do is stare into space and wait. Reader, if you don’t have children you are yet to understand. It’s an unbearable love. They don’t just physically come from you, they are an extension of your soul. It’s a pure, truly ugly, heart wrenching, overwhelming, eternal love. There aren’t the words.
But I know he’ll always come home. At these times I prepare for the onslaught of anxiety, I need gently tending to in order to eliminate ugly thoughts that threaten my idea of safety.
When Noah was a tiny baby, I discovered for the second time I was pregnant. Some people I told the truth, some I didn’t tell and others I lied to and said I had a miscarried. I understand that that is wrong, but I was grieving from my mistakes and the more I told, the more I believed it was out of my control. I wasn’t at fault in that lie. I’m pro choice but life is unbelievably sacred. It’s a gift, it makes you discover strength you didn’t know was possible. But if your mental or physical health is endangered or the decision will send you to actual poverty, then it’s a lesser of two evils to not go through with it. It doesn’t mean you won’t be heartbroken. I once met a girl in Edinburgh when I was three months gone with Noah and she told me she’d had a few terminations. She casually talked of her cravings and pains. As a teenager I was gob smacked at the idea of abortion being a form of contraception. Ethically I was disgusted, but everyone is entitled to their opinion.
I tell myself we wouldn’t have been able to cope but deep down I know I’d have found a way, I always do. How can you grieve for something you never really had?
I do, often. Not for any child. I do not wish to be pregnant, but for the soul I gave up. I know the feeling is magnified without Noah in my arms. I’m not religious but I do believe in reincarnation. It is scientific fact that energy cannot disappear – and what greater energy is there than the conscious mind, the purity of the soul? I also believe that life starts from conception and this soul will return to me. She will forgive and come home and I will wait until she decides it is her time. Until that day I will continue doing the best I can as a woman. Noah is the rawest, most perfect example of kindness and he is destined to grow into an incredible man. He will love her when she arrives.
I shall not dwell on my life choices. Instead I shall smile, grow and simply be in awe.
Mother, Lover, Believer.
I would like to give you a romanicised reason for not having written for months. That I struggle to process the ongoing intense thoughts that cloud my mind or that inspiration appears and dissolves quicker than the time I take to unmuddle my thoughts, or that 2016 has finally broken my heart. But reader the truth is, I’m finally happy. Purely speaking I haven’t felt the need to speak out about struggle. As that is when I write with most passion.
I feel a healing process I’ve been craving for years. It brings with it inner peace, social freedom and simple happiness. Every soul I know has suffered from this horrendous year in one way or another. My story consisted of self destruction, threat of loss and eventually, thankfully.. self care. I also fell in love with another and myself again. He mirrors my self frustration in terms of success and is driven and beautiful in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine. With undying passion behind his eyes.
Deep wounds eventually stop stinging as they become dark red, rising scars. The healing process proves to be ongoing as the risen ugly marks snag on clothes and unconscious itching nails catch the skin causing recurring sharp pains. Like itching a mole you had forgotten was there, because it belongs to you. It reminds me of the disgust I feel towards this year and the delight of what it’s end has taught me, and the relief to be given another fresh January.
When people throughout the year commented on our situation I could have screamed. I’d be snappy, aggressive, dismissive and protective of Noah. By having to prove myself as a Mother, without being allowed to be a Mother seemed a ludicrous idea and I was left defeated. I felt I had failed him. These people cared yet I wanted to shake them. ‘Oh really? You think it’s been hard? That my child has been pulled between two countries every weekend? That every inch of my privacy has been destroyed and a full four months of my sons life has been stolen from me? His Mother? No pal, it isn’t fucking fair.’
Today the light sends anxiety through my veins and I dare not look at my diary. I know this feeling is false, it’s a build up of stress, nerves and six months of hell about to reach a climax, the expectation of a final relief. Recently the reason for my survival and everything that is beautiful in the world was to be ripped straight from my breast. People could recognise my soul rotting and the spark in my eyes fading. When you loose that, everything you stand for is irrelevant. The perfect wrecking ball is nutured for nine months in my womb is my only reason to continue.
Today we went to Hebden. We stood by the stone bridge and allowed the ducks and pigeons to surround us, nipping bread from our palms. They fly up to perch on our arms and Noah shrieks with delight as the colour on their necks shine and alter in the bright winter sun. The first few days in the year with not a cloud in sight, and the beautiful promises of positivity for a better 2017 ahead.
These ongoing unfortunate situations nearly took my life. The everyday had become a task I was no longer capable of undertaking. I was untouchable, and I had become venomous. I would return early mornings as a euphoric wreck. I would take pleasure in unhappiness eventually passing out, hoping when the sun rose, the light would shine into my soul through the gaps in my skin to save me. Whatever I blamed that I needed saving from. Or maybe I believed the dribbling colour was the worst of me escaping. But it’s impossible to keep secrets, people notice the lack of glitter in your eyes.
Today I rested, watched and battled my thoughts. Recently my body told me I was pregnant and it was wrong. I was disappointed and relieved at the way I’d let myself down. I was convinced. But all it has done is remind me of what is important. Noah and happiness. That’s all.
Mother. Lover. Happy.
‘Are you scared Mummy?’
His question stopped me in my tracks. A peculiar sentence to leave my three year old’s lips. He’s stopped playing and stares into my eyes. I tread carefully not to upset him.
‘Yes.. but it’s okay to be frightened.’
‘Because all the bravest people are.’
It troubles me when people suggest he’s clueless to these changes. He may not fully understand but he’s intelligent. This ongoing feud has affected him in different ways and it breaks my heart that I can’t protect him. He craves control, plays people off against each other, packs a bag everywhere he goes and panics when I leave the room. If anything it makes me more determined to succeed. I am blessed and I have blossomed in ways I could not have imagined.
Becoming a Mother changed my fears. My earlier escapism through recklessness didn’t mean I wasn’t in fear; I was just selfish enough to temporarily care nothing for my own existence. I’m no longer frightened of needles, the dark, heights or even death. (Although I have developed an unexplained wariness of pineapples that I never suffered from previously.) Instead these days I’m terrified of being a disappointment to those I love. I’m petrified of depression, of that suffocating feeling that is anxiety and of failure. Overall my worst phobia is loosing my child. In that, I would loose my sanity. You could almost conclude that these dramatic elements all add up to the ultimate horror of self destruction.
My worst wordly fear reader, is the ability to destroy my own mind.
Therefore to avoid this fear, I have to be in complete control. I surround myself with beautiful minds in the most interesting environments. I grow from educating myself through books, creativity and focus. Because of these acts and this self control, I’ve never been so stable.
These first weeks back at University have been extremely difficult. Commuting and time away from my Cub has been emotionally strenuous. The idea of so much being expected from me in terms of extra reading plus attendance knowing Cub is already struggling with the weekly life swap. It can get beyond difficult and sometimes I spill over the edge.
I constantly remind myself of that first pop of a champagne cork. That overwhelming feeling of closure when Christmas is closer. I smile thinking of it waiting under a willow for my love to arrive. The tree shades me from the autumn sun decorating dark patterns on my skin. I’m excited for my incredible future.
I am not bitter. I no longer care for previous mistakes. What I do blame for, is the precious time I’ve been deprived of in the process of this hell. The hours of my Cub’s youth stolen I’ll never have back. Pick your friends wisely, they maybe dancing with a she-devil. But anger cheats joy and sociopaths aren’t worth a second of that stolen time. Never be surprised and grow from the right places.
No other season can compare to the calming sense of sharp chilly shadows, sun with the last memories of Summer and colours of burning in the trees. Autumn reminds us change is beautiful. The sky is cloudless, a deep blue. I sit. To just be. A sense of stillness.
And reader I’m so so happy.
My love took us back to Haworth. I didn’t let him leave. He worked on his music whilst I pieced my house back together. When the sun set, I lit the sire, we carved pumpkins with my Cub and learnt be enjoy a perfect bliss. Element. He played with my Boy all evening until I carried his tired body to my bed. Exhausted he drifted into sleep and I pull his body against me rocking him. I kiss his pouting lips and his eyes twitch, the way they do when he dreams. I’m the luckiest woman alive. It’s the first time in months I’ve lit the fire. Scarlet flames lick the wood and these evenings are my favourite. I curl up on our wool rug and cook hearty dishes, music playing soft kisses. Bliss. I would die a happy woman.
I separate the seeds and blend the inners creating a pumpkin puree. I freeze it to make Halloween treats for the party in a few weeks time. We sleep together in the attic, curled up in my brass bed, muscles softening to the sound of rain on the sky windows. My life is complete. Here, tonight. I’ve never been so lucky.
Three weeks and I’ll be back on track. I welcome the winter. I welcome 2017 with open arms. Because I am finally the woman I aspire to be.
Mother, Lover, Lioness.
My scars ache today. They look particularly ugly this morning, but only skin deep. My soul is healing. It’s my bodies way of reminding me I’m still fragile and to be kind to it. So I wake smiling and take a slow, hot shower. Still wary of myself but aware, positive and loving. I caress my skin in oils and the steam awakes my senses. My arms are smooth. I take care to wash every inch and my toe nails are freshly painted. The sun is coming up he tells me. And I finally believe him as the words play over and over in his voice. I miss him. I’m in sync with the running water. Late to bed and early awake I filter fine coffee and can taste it’s bitter strength. I love myself today, so today is all that matters.
I face an ongoing battle. I have developed a habit of punishing my body when my mind cannot cope. I see these elements as two separate souls and obviously one effects the other. Its become so natural to me that sometimes I won’t remember doing it. But like all habits can be broken, this is a battle of wills.
People are uncomfortable with it. Some may assume it is a tactic of attention seeking, others it scares. But it should be neither. My body and soul are working together slowly to create the balance needed to love myself and stay loved. Day by day, one at a time, till eventually I’m healed.
He left me Friday and my baby arrived home. I struggle at worst when he isn’t here but it gives me time to concentrate on myself, my skin, my mind, myself. With an aim of slowing down and mindfully enjoying my time. Day by day. One at a time.
He understands more than anyone I’ve ever met. Linear similarities throughout our lives that nobody else has ever wholly understood. For an entire week we have been inseparable and I feel I have known him for some lives. This isn’t our first time together, it’s completely impossible.
The sun is coming up he tells me. I never believed I deserved it. I was led to believe I never deserved it, I was to live a life struggling in my own mind, consumed by negativity and not deserving to be loved. I convinced myself I was to loose Noah, my soul mate and by this my being would be again be pointless. Too much going wrong for too long..
Last time I traveled to drop him off we stayed a night in Berwick. He couldn’t sleep, excited by the environment around him. His birthday was a sleep away. So we rose from bed and escaped to the river side, dancing barefoot in the stones to music and entertaining the reflection of the full moon. The childlike, excited energy burst from every pore and we kissed and jumped in the starlight. Passing souls laughed at our wildness and I wrapping him up tight in my cardigan when he grew tired enough to sleep. We read stories and played in the lift, causing innocent havoc. Reader I love him. I love every hair on his head and breath he takes.
Lately I’ve had nightmares. I dreamt of a child I lost being newly born and taken along with Noah. I hadn’t seen her face and she was taken to Edinburgh as was he. I dreamt the next night my Son had disappeared and everyone knew where but me. Like a caged animal and saw red, attacking anything around me and screaming tears and fierce words. My love for him is beyond words and I wake thankful.
I’ve been staying in Leeds when he isn’t here. Attending lectures for a first week back has been extremely difficult but a huge change has arisen and it’s possible. I’m falling back together. We got tattoos, kissed, smoked cigarettes in the bath and danced in creative projects. Noah is my priority, he is the reason behind my entire existence, but the love I have discovered for this wonderful, creative, insane man has lifted me higher and kept me strong. I am capable of anything this world has left to throw at me. I am indestructible and I absolutely dare you to fuck with my strength. I love them both reader, beyond words, beyond anything I could type into words. It would never be enough.
But the sun is coming up. I believe him. And reader, I’ve fallen back in love. With the woman I’ve always wished to be. Scars fade and I am blessed.
Mother, Lover, Daughter,
I look around my kitchen for anything I deem appropriate to experiment with. I concoct two. One out of olive oil, dried rose petals, oats, sugar and a few drops of patchouli. But it isn’t rough enough on the skin and left my hands a little too greasy. I need more sugar, brown if I had any. The texture isn’t how I intended and I scowl at the bowl in front of me. Next I use coconut oil as I have friends that swear by it for every aspect of their lives. I add too much lavender oil, use salt instead of sugar and rub dried heather and parsley into the mixture. It’s very strong and the salt granules are exfoliating but still not enough. I realise grinning, that this is going to take a full day of proper experimentation to make the perfect scrub. This was just a curious attempt after a whole load of online research on home made soaps, scrubs, creams and what essential oils I personally would benefit from.
This morning I ran. I walked to start with until the anticipation invigoring every cell made my soul take flight. So much so I couldn’t wait take any longer. I kicked off my flip flops and ran as fast as my legs would carry me to the salty water. I stopped abruptly with my ankles sinking into the sand. Something about the ocean especially in this harsh wind and open skies drives the wild creature out of you. Stirs an old sense turning you unconventional and passionate. I stood for a good while just staring. Marveling. I couldn’t tell you how many times my feet have touched this beach. There are pictures of me as a toddler making sand castles on the same shores. But this time, staring out at the vastness. I know things have changed and I’m meant to thrive from here on out. Burn so beautifully and work so hard I will be the best person of my ability. The difference now is I am kind to myself. I’ve actually managed to accept myself and learn to be kind. Truly kind.
I am hypnotized by the waves. They start so fiercely but are a mere ripple by the time they meet my ankles. I breathe in hard, letting the open air purify my lungs and listen to her speak. Whispers of an ancient language. I wish there was a storm brewing.
Far ahead of me is Norway, Denmark and Germany. I wonder the stories I’d encounter from their cities and the people that are ahead. I decide they are thoughts for another day and to enjoy the mindful happiness of the present. Here with my toes in the sand.
He left me yesterday and I was heart broken, as I always am when he leaves. I have a busy week full of exciting plans and beautiful people to hurry the time and fill the hole when he isn’t in the country. I am well. I am thriving. He will be back in my arms before I know it, but the blow ceases to soften.
I have been camping in Beadnell the past two nights, breaking up the journey to visit his father for my son. The night before last I’d curled around him in our single bed in the caravan. A 70’s gem that my mother rescued from a field in Haworth costing her a thirty pounds donation to the local riding school. We rest close, my body curled around his covered in a mountain of duvets and a lamb wool cover. He tugs at my ears and kisses my face as I start to fade, flowing into a limb dream state in utter ecstasy with my child. Last night I slept in the same bed alone. I tried to sleep quickly but my body was colder and sleeping felt unnatural without his limbs touching me, dreaming to his whispers. I love him in ways words fail to encompass. It’s not a dreamy, fairytale kind of love; it’s so raw and undiluted it’s painful. It’s a love that drives my passions and keeps me alive.
I found help and thank god things are as different as they are now. He needs his mother and I need him. Being alone makes me so strong and utterly determined day by day to prove my capability to myself in every way. I try to be kinder to my body but sometimes that’s still a struggle. My soul has better attention. My anxieties now lie with the worry of failing again. It terrifies me to the point I’m certain though fear it’s impossible. Which I guess is good in the wrong ways. My skin is clearer, my nights are shorter, my mornings earlier and my mood is grateful. Forever grateful for the people that kept me above water all this time and proud that I’ve managed to come out this powerful. Such life changes.
He will be back Saturday, we will dance at a festival on the moors and come sun down we will watch the stars though the mesh of my curtains in a mountain of quilts. We will make smoothies and skid our knees, kiss and adventure. Until then I continue experimenting with natural ingredients. These scrubs will be perfect within the week.
Lioness, Powerful and most importantly. Still here.