Category: small stories

New Battle Plan

*trigger warning rape, sexual abuse, abuse. 

When you look at me, what do you see? When you listen / read the things I present, does this change your perception of who I am and what I’m capable of? I champion mental health with no shame. Yet if I feel I am being judged harshly for mine or my coping mechanisms I feel shame almost immediately. Humiliation, that at times I never feel good enough, stained, reviled. A very human fraud.

Even though I have struggled with my anxiety disorder for most of my life ( some periods more debilitating than others). I have always believed that I can find better strategies and healing. As I’ve gotten older I see where some of my survival techniques are becoming more habitual and more harmful than helpful. 
My need to please and be loved is a huge piece ( but not the only) of my anxiety. It takes up a lot of space in my head. My ego, fractured and vacuous- ‘Love me! Value me! Reassure me!’ And when you don’t…..‘Why do you hate me? What did I do? How can I fix it? Grovelling? Blood? My soul? What did I do? Tell me, love me, look how awesome I am!!!’ When I win forgiveness I am temporarily satisfied. When I don’t, well, I take that as a very keen assessment of how horrible I am. And I will berate myself for failing the other person (right or wrong on my part). Now to be somewhat fair, I am happiest when I can be of service, when my ego and monsters stay out of it. But when they don’t, I am easily hurt, resentful and paranoid.
I want to try, after all these years, to quiet those monsters, if not get rid of them completely.

To know my monsters I need to acknowledge their beginnings. In the beginning this dance of doing the right things and not making waves was a protective motion. I grew from alcoholism, violence, having a terminally ill parent, loss of my two protectors ( Mother and Nana at 12). If everyone was happy, no one got hurt. I needed to be quiet and not bother anyone, there was enough going on without me being a bother.

There are many layers to this I have discovered, my Mother being sick and dying for a quarter of my life, has created its own brand of monsters. A mentally unstable alcoholic father, who threatened suicide often, pulling guns on me and my mother. Being sexually molested repeatedly as a child and later raped and assaulted as a teen all fed into me wanting to hyper-please, not make waves and give into the needs and expectations of those around me. Because if everyone is happy no one gets hurt. If I can be good enough my worthless self maybe redeemed. I will always be the one to make amends, I will apologize for being angry at you (even if it was justified). I will back down, just to keep the peace.
The real trouble comes now, when expectations come into play. Why am I not getting the same as what I give? ( asked the damaged pieces craving grace) Because you have never been worthy ( giggles the monster)  If I try harder, give more? Dampen down more of me. Be beyond expectation. Then surely I will be loved ( pleads the broken) Not when they see you for the worthless used trash you are ( grins the monster) I shall apologize for doing it wrong, be more of what’s expected…. but I’m tired ( the broken prostrates) You won’t matter ( the monster roars until all is drown out) you didn’t then, you don’t now. All they know is you are weak and damaged.

So stupid, this drama. It is false. I am not perfect, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. But there are people who love me. I have done good in the world. I have accomplished a lot, given where I started. I truly aspire to help those around me, to connect and encourage. It is a beautiful moment seeing the light on someone. A beautiful moment of connection to feel that you have truly made even a small difference. And yet this can become misunderstood and tainted if it appears I am only doing this for self gratification and/or to seek attention. When I do allow that vulnerability to ask if things are ok? Or if I’m too much? It can be off putting and appear overly dramatic. Met with frustration and dismissal. I can move into passive/aggressive mindset as a protective armour. That manipulation is never my intention but can get easily twisted. And yet the monsters over shadow my true intentions, they steal joy, deflate relationships, create horrible communication patterns all to prove to my self I am the broken, and not worthy of respect, compassion and to just be.

I do not want this. I am not responsible for the inappropriate violent things I was subjected too. I am not responsible for these survival mechanisms created, at the time they did their job. I am responsible now, to address that these are not serving me ( and have not for a long while) any longer. That my need to be needed and reassured causes harm to myself ( can’t say no, try to be too much to too many, devalue my own needs and wants) and to others ( misread intentions, exhausting intensity).

I am intelligent, creative, spiritual, caring, kind, empathetic. I have compassion and the ability to communicate love and to be trusted. I do not want to loose or shut these abilities down because of my monsters taking over.
So, I’m committed to learning about myself, with clear eyed compassion and analysis. Owning where I have hurt others, apologizing when I can, trying to not have the expectations of forgiveness. Being mindful of what I need, setting the boundaries and using my voice to champion myself. A new way of thinking. A new way of doing. Lots of breathing and patience on my end. Fear. Knowing I can not control what happens next, just because I’m ready to change these things does not mean my world is ready for me to change them. Risk. It will take time, it may not be 100% but I know that I will never be defined by my traumas or my mental illness. I will be defined by how I lived in spite of them.
Thank you for reading. ❤️ 

Being overwhelmed. An understatement.

 We’ve all felt it. We’ve all muddled through. There are degrees. 

It’s a silent thing. Sometimes it’s a response to mental health issues. Sometimes it’s a trigger for them.Sometimes, even when help is offered, we are so far down the rabbit hole we don’t know where to begin. The fear that if we open up, the tidal wave that may come out won’t stop. So we don’t. Vitriol and sarcasm leak out instead. We detach from those that can/want to help. We hyper-attach to people or things that may serve as a temporary distraction. We fix a mask to our faces and hope it holds for public viewing.

We look at others who seem to manage and think we are just weak, disorganized, deficient in someway that we can’t handle our day to day. We choose to see their mask, not the chaos.

This is a marker in my own mental health. Over the years I have been working hard at certain aspects of my mental illness, digging out triggers, learning new tools to work through an anxiety attack, working through buried trauma and anger. Over time I did a lot of things to distract myself from the day today overwhelming crush of life that I could not manage while the battles raged.

I was pretty decent at giving the appearance that I could juggle it all, marriage, motherhood, career(s), creative outlets, working on my anxiety disorder, a social life. I even fooled myself, until I couldn’t.

When I was in Vancouver last year with a dear friend for the SPN con, I was blessed to spend time with another lifelong friend I hadn’t physically seen in years. We’ve always had a bond that can not be explained. We talked late into the night. He has struggled hard over the years too, and last year was one of the hardest. I supported as best I could, from the physical distance that had separated us. I was so relieved to finally look into his eyes and see he was finding solid ground.He took my hands and looked me in the eyes and said ‘enough’. He could see my through my mask. He knew I had hit a critical time. And he lovingly called me out. He saw all the cracks in the facade.

There were other profound experiences and conversations I had that weekend ( who knew a tv show convention would lead to profound life changes?!) that began to percolate ideas in my head and heart.

I had been rocking the bright red hair for some time prior to this ( ‘hey look, i’m good! I’m vibrant! I am a spectacle to enjoy!! I am on FIRE!!!!) It represented the ‘fiery drive’ I was bringing to my 40s. Living past my mother. Determined to prove I deserved to do so. In Vancouver I dyed it black/purple. Initially it was for cosplay, so, I could have done it with a temporary or a wig.But I knew in my heart the redhead was not coming back from Vancouver. She couldn’t. The next step could not be done by her. The wild red needed to be grounded and brutally honest with herself.

In my juggling act of the last few years my anxiety would often take over and I would go back and forth between proving all ‘ I am!’ And lamenting my torment with some of my monsters and how much of a failure I was…. it’s funny, because at that time a newer friend would take pains to remind me I’m human, and that was ok. I’d feel disappointed and angry at this, which looking back now, I didn’t want to be seen as mere mortal, I wanted to believe I was ‘better’ than that because ‘look how many plates I can spin in the air!All while battling my monsters!’( please pay no attention to all the broken plates on the floor). 

There have been a few catalysts since my return in September. Situations presented to me that forced my hand to truly be accountable, not just for what’s going on, for what’s been avoided, but the fall out on others around me. I had to take a long glaring look at what I was avoiding and why, my boundaries, my actions and really decide what I was going to do.

I realized I had let so much fester in the background, that the ‘hidden’ clutter in my head and house could no longer be ignored. I was and had been, for sometime feeding some of my own monsters. All the while, dear reader, sharing some of the battles with you, raising battle cries, encouragement and showing how much I was learning about my own mental health struggles. I was and am still determined to help myself and the people I care about.But in someways I’ve failed you all dear readers. I kept to the light and didn’t really jump into the muck until the fall. I had risked relationships due to the clutter, disorganization and noise.A few situations came to a head. 

It is hard. Small chunks at a time. Set a new boundary here. Clean out that closet there. Get paperwork in order here. Hard conversation and accountability there.Still battling monsters. Trying to not chastise my self for the disorganization. Trying to not feel broken at the disconnect with others who had been pulled into my vortex. Hoping that I can be forgiven by those I’ve disappointed by the messes created. Hoping to forgive myself and be less disappointed that there was such a wounded duality. Learning to say no. Learning to hear no. Making it not so much about me. Making honest room for others. Work at undoing a trigger. Keep trying move forward and plan. Find forgiveness. Reconnect in healthy ways. 

Try to reestablish so much of the good, creative and ‘magical’ things I discovered about myself, my spiritual nature, and the world around me, during the last few years. And be the person I intend. The person I almost thought I was. All the while fighting the slippery slope of falling back into comfortable patterns that no longer serve a healthy purpose.
A tall order. With no guaranteed outcome. 

Reflected in the mood hair, I suppose. The red flamed out. With it, I hope, the burning chaos that cluttered the spaces, scorched myself, others and pulled all the air out of the room.In its place, a shadow of the embers. Dark, earthy. Rivers of purple and faint red wind through the pitch. Representing cool movement forward, I hope.

I appreciate all of you so much, those who have followed, read my stuff and encouraged me. I hope you will continue to do so. I hope my honesty will not discourage your faith in me. As I work at the changes in my real ( not online) life I also hope to find forgiveness from those I love. And forgiveness for myself.
Thank you all so much for reading. ❤️💜

Pillow Talk

Poetry dripped from her lips

rich, like honey

warmed by her breath

delicately teased a curious tongue 

Winding itself delicately, fluidly 

to your ear

a lullaby so sweet

you melt into its velvet deluge 

The pulse of the moon

moved her heart 

gentle waves 

of electric motion

Matching the beat

of the words as they flow

from the heart, the mind

the soul

Whispering of stars, 

reflected in the waters

realms known,

yet unexplored 

Plays and plans and life

My heart is aching this morning.
We’re told to envision what we want for our lives, when we create these plays in our heads, we have the other actors do as we need, do as we want, to create an idealistic dream.
Growing up I didn’t have a grand sense of community or family. There wasn’t the regular coming together of dinner or shared times, there wasn’t the effort put into building and maintaining deep connections, relationships, the practice of forgiveness or acceptance.I’m not faulting anyone for this, it just happened to be the environment I grew up in.
In my 20s I had a group of friends, that hung together all the time, we were in and out of each other‘s apartments, backyards, sharing drinks sharing laughs doing like 20-year-olds do. The tight bond of the time.
As we all grew into our 30s and started to create our families and “settle down “we tried to maintain what we could. We moved to different parts, got different jobs, headed in multiple directions. The ‘togetherness’ was less frequent, deep….Life began to change and grow and we meet new people, in part because of your kids, in part because your life takes different directions career and hobby wise, changes come again.
By the time I hit my own watershed at 40, I had a clear sense of what I wanted, what I wanted for my family.I wanted a regular village of people to come together, that were supportive, understanding, creative, calming, and that we would all look out for each other. Build a sense of community and a sense of varied deep connection that I’ve always yearned for.I wanted to have that for my own children so they knew in their hearts that there’s so many people around who love them and want to see them grow and flourish.
I wanted old and new to bond, grow, become my village, my family’s village. 
One began to emerge out of the ether, it was blending, it was growing, I could feel my creativity humming, joy at having multiple kids running around the yard, communal foods to prepare and share. People to rely on, being meaningfully relied upon. Laughter, ideas new and old to be discussed, challenged, stimulated. 
I envisioned an ever growing merry band of misfits that looked out for each other, helped foster our creative and spiritual natures, supported and gently challenged and nurtured each other. Creating a safe open environment for our children to learn acceptance, forgiveness and that vulnerability is strength. 
As fast as it felt it was coming together it seemed to fall apart. Why? Ego? Life? Pettiness? Misunderstanding? Time? Jealousy about perceived positions? Circumstances? No room for change, understanding, vulnerability, acceptance or forgiveness?I have been given many reasons, many ‘justifications’, and maybe I’m too naive or stupid to get it, but I never understood the actual why.
I just knew that no one read my play. No one read the words or understood the meaning. They all had their own stage production they were mounting. No one acknowledged how important these connections, village mind, if you will, can be for mental and emotional survival. How beautiful it could be. Especially given our current world state. 
So it collapsed upon itself. Seemingly having fault lines and divides appear. Coldness replacing warmth. Excuses to not get together, eventually no plans and in some cases silence.
I maintained hope that after a time it would come back together. I lamented to a friend about how deeply I missed all of it. I was harshly told I was being stupid, no one wanted to put the time and effort in. No one wanted these things. Just me, and I should knock it off. Although I was apologized to later and told it should have been put in a nicer way it didn’t matter. It stung and it broke my hope.
I withdrew. Fearful of trying to plan gatherings, bringing people together and the stress and anxiety this now caused.Sad at how restrictive it felt. Isolated that I was the only one who seemed to treasure and miss what had begun.Looking for contentment in smaller, less frequent visits with various people.
Today another friend who was a part of this mentioned to me how she too missed it and was remiss to mention that for fear of making my heart ache.Bless her. While yes it awoke an ache, no more so than FB memories from that time, (I choose to not share them. I sigh, shed a tear, stay quiet and scroll past, for fear others have a very different view and it will cause discord)I am so grateful that someone else misses it. Saw the potential for what it could have been. I don’t feel quite so stupid or naive.
I don’t know what may happen, if anything in the future. If my ‘play’ will ever come to fruition and who the ‘players’ may be.At least I know what is possible in the right time, circumstances and knowledge. And for that I’m gratefulI’m grateful for the connections I had and those I continue to have. I have gratitude for the abundance that is in my life. I am grateful for what is shared and can be shared.
Thanks for reading. 
💜❤️💜

Sent from my iPhone

Winter is Coming

Today I asked the Goddess what it was I needed to know
I felt a moment of stillness and I looked into the snow 
To remember what we are in our perfect state No pain, no anger, no disappointment, no hate 
Dismantle constant comparisons, superficiality  Revel in the magic that inherent to our primality  The sparkle of the sun, diamond twinkles full of promise of the magic yet not spun.  She whispers in my ear,  hold steady, keep going you have nothing to fear 

But you seem like you have it together……. 1

I have what is classified as a Generalized Anxiety Disorder, with a small side of PTSD and BFRB.
GAD- or generalized anxiety disorder makes it sound so mild. It’s not. Even when it’s not in the forefront, it is still there. The following are symptoms I can have to varying degrees at anytime.
Physical feelings of anxiety (e.g. heart racing, sweating, stomach discomfort) Feeling fidgety, restless or unable to sit still Feeling irritable, getting easily upset, snapping at people for minor reasons Sleep problems: this can include having a hard time falling asleep, waking up frequently during the night, or having a restless and unsatisfying sleep Difficulty paying attention or concentrating Being easily fatigued Muscle pains (often in the neck and shoulders) Paranoia that I am disliked, being set up, used, laughed at.  Digestive issues ( mine were some of my first symptoms and originally diagnosed as IBS) that get bad enough I can’t eat.

PTSD- or post traumatic stress disorder is actually one of my milder issues ( although for many others this is a devastating and debilitating condition in its own right). I only seem to get involuntary physical/emotional reactions when certain areas of my body ( neck, jaw, shoulder and feet) are touched without warning and/or I am already in an anxious state.For the most part my PTSD has just resulted in a ‘Swiss cheese’ type memory, periodic runs of vicious, vivid nightmares, relating to the first 20 years of my life.
BFRB- or body focused repetitive behaviours. Again this is relatively minor for me, but can have serious repercussions for others. I continually bite the inside of my lip, tongue and cheeks.
A few other symptoms I can have are: Tremors/ shakes in my hands ( mostly left). Again my left hand will tightly clench into a fist at night. Issues with my TMJ, chronic headaches. My breath can become ‘hitched’ like I’ve been crying and can’t catch it. The inability / fear to talk on the phone. Areas of old physical trauma burn like they are on fire. Defeatist/ negative talk becomes overwhelming. 

When I was young and running the gamut of trying to get a proper diagnosis ( no I’m not depressed, hysterical, just trying to get attention…….etc) I was medicated often. I self medicated often. I acted out, stealing, promiscuity, cutting, drug use……
I discovered that the standard medications had very negative effects for me. My symptoms would get worse or the side effects, even the most obscure would be unbearable. I am grateful that these medications exist, I know they help some of my most beloved friends and family. It just never worked for me.
With varying degrees of success I had begun to build coping strategies/ mechanisms.
I replaced promiscuous behaviours with trying to eat myself to death ( 400+ pounds is where I topped out at 28)
I became a driven achiever 
Cutting became less frequent, but well hidden outbursts of hitting a wall or something equivalent until I was bruised became a more ‘acceptable’ outlet.
I would write, but the ‘characters’ I would create to be my avatars always met a vicious and violent end.
As I became a Mother and have gotten older there are better strategies I have created, a much cleaner diet, more physical activity, massage, alternative therapies, meditation. I still write fictions and battles but now the avatar finds strength, sometimes help, sometimes faith, but ultimately overcomes. Beautiful symbols and art are now tattoos that have replaced the ugly scaring of self harm. Making sure to get family time and time outside can also help. Getting time to shut down and be alone is also necessary. But the demons are still there, pretty quiet at times, raging psychos the next.

I am now in my mid forties, a mom of an amazing 11 year old girl, in love with the same man for 25 years. I run a successful business. I’m still plagued by demons. I have for the most part kept myself busy enough that I could out run them, ignore them because I didn’t have time to deal with it. What I had been doing up until then had got me far, served me mostly well. Just keep plugging along. Break in the shower, keep the ‘twitches’ hidden as best as you can. Write a little, work harder, achieve more……

Circumstance, age, chronic injury and fatigue have forced my hand into reexamining my mental health, coping mechanisms, accountability, boundaries and complacency. This has not been a fast paced journey. This has been a brutal path. Exhilarating, terrifying, beyond challenging, emotional and definitely not for the faint of heart. Four years ago I knew something needed to change. I just didn’t know what that was going to look like. I didn’t know the work involved. I had no idea how much of my darkness I have faced and continue to do so. This is where the spiral begins……..

Goodbye my friend?

Make the decision to let something go. A song will no longer remind you of a breakup, seeing the person will no longer cause pain in your chest, hearing their name will no longer bring tears, happy memories may be once again looked on fondly. Make the decision and you can get there. But it is not easy. It is not linear. It is a spiral, it creeps back on you, out of the shadows. You feel the prickle on your neck, the heat move up your face and the tears threatening to spill. The sick drop in the deep of your gut, the hurt, anger and grief.

We often use this kind of imagery when talking about an ex lover, an acrimonious break up. The death of a dear loved one, deep grief of loss. Seldom about the break up of a friendship. But I am the first to attest that these deep wounds of loss that I am feeling are for the loss of a friendship that I loved, and for the collateral damage it has caused. It was a long time, long held friendship. One I thought would stand the test of time. With the demise of this once enjoyable, adventurous, always interesting relationship, so much else was irrevocably changed.

We had once worked together, our families celebrated so much together, birthdays, weddings, births, sometimes just a nice summer day was enough to bring us together. These gatherings started long before children, they morphed over the years to include children and growing families. We went from our twenties to our forties, with humour and style. Then it changed.

Can I pin point when? I think maybe now, I can kind of see when it first began to take a turn. But that has taken time for me to figure out. If you had asked me six months ago what happened and when….. I would have told a much different story. One where I am the complete victim of an unprovoked, subtle, destructive, gaslighting. One where I had no culpability to the drama. A drama that came out of no where. One where some very important relationships in my life had become collateral damage, or specific targets to destroy, meant to hurt me. A story where my trust and faith in so many people was broken, where I felt alone, unimportant, tainted by her alleged portrait of me.

At first I wanted it to just disappear, there had been so much other drama I had been dealing with, the addition of this had the potential to be crippling to me and very sacred things in my life. I decided to just ignore her, at least for the time that the drama blew up. But the ripple effects became wider and things had to come out in the open. I eventually wanted to hear her side, what was truth, misunderstood, what ever, just an explanation, a healing, a finish…something, anything. I thought maybe she would want that too. That our friendship had meant enough for her to want to sort out the mess. I reached out, I tried to ask, I was met with nothing. No one else could offer an explanation. Or wanted too.

I tried then to ‘let it go’. Tried to make peace with not knowing, make peace that few involved, seemed not all that bothered by what had happen and the destruction it had brought. I had asked that not much be disrupted on social media as our kids were friends and this did not involve them. Our connections are many and it makes life complicated. I was hopeful that a few may step up and ignore her in solidarity with me. But it did not happen. I was hoping time would soften and some type of resolution found. Nothing. I took a break from much social media, I could not handle seeing everyone else interact as though nothing had happened (even though I said it was ok, that no one owes me anything, that I can not control who talks to who, that it was a better way to handle things- but remember I do have anxiety and the gross trauma based need to please and keep things calm). My anxiety monsters feasted on the distrust, anger and sadness this brought. I did my best to contain the worst of how I felt when it bubbled up.

But my brain chewed on this, I need to try to understand, for myself at this point more than anything. In looking back, I think the slight cracks began to show at at a critical time for my friend, she was going through great loss and turmoil. ( Due to the anxious nature of my brain, I analyze things to the smallest parts, replay to try to figure things out. Sometimes it’s a handy skill, sometimes it is a paralyzing task.) I don’t think I was the friend she needed, maybe. I don’t think I was completely there for her due to the circumstances of my own life. I am sure I have some accountability. We had grown apart for some time, long before this, life was hectic. She needed support, I gave what I could, perhaps not mindful enough of what was needed. Perhaps I said something hurtful but was not mindful enough to notice and it set a poison seed. I had begun to make peace. Things were quiet, her presence seemed to diminish some.

I waited a few months. In a moment of hopefulness, and at an opportune time I tried to send her a birthday greeting, noting social media settings had been manipulated so I can see her but can not contact her. So I texted. It was met with a thank you, and that was all. No follow up, no anything. Except a bump in her presence again everywhere. Again the anxiety returned, bringing with it the ugly monsters of grief, distrust and deep sadness. Again I made the decision to ‘let it go’. I can’t change what happened. I will never understand except for the explanation(s) I have created in my own head.

The sick feeling I got when her name would pop up (thanks social media for having to show who is always doing what and where), was starting to soften. But I could feel the grief, it was hard but getting easier to move through. Until it hit again this weekend. Having to do with birthday party invites, family dinner expectations, and a semi rehash of assumed/alleged events, and the loss being felt by not only me, but my family. And her presence everywhere else increased. The sick, sad, confused feeling returned. Hopefully for a short while. But again, with the exception of this post, a break from direct social media until it ebbs and I can once again be the grown up who can handle the observation of whom is chatting, commenting or ‘liking’ and not feel hurt, sad.

I keep telling my family that sometimes we don’t ever get to understand fully what happen’s in some situations, that it can be ok to let go, disconnect from someone, wish no ill will, that life will move on and be ok. I keep telling them that truly we are not owed anything by anyone and time will move on. That at this point no answer will satisfy. That anger is pointless. And that the sadness will fade. I will keep saying it until I can fully believe it all the time, and the memories I have of all the times spent and shared can once again be seen with love and grace, not sadness and grief. That my anxiety trigger around this is temporary. That the distrust I feel with heal, and I will no longer wish that anyone will stand in solidarity (us vs them immature mentality) with me and cut her out. That I will no longer let the monsters periodically play on my self worth by feeling I didn’t matter enough to her, or to others who did not ‘choose’ to side with me.

I do believe the Universe will keep bringing us back to the same, to show us if we really have learned and/ or let go. I fundamentally understand why this is important, to teach us to really move on, to provide us healing. But I don’t have to like being brought back to this place again.

I resent that it still drives me from other connections (even if temporary), I resent the feelings that still come up, that I still have to work at it. I resent so much of this, I am grieving so many things because of this. I resent that I still want to understand why. I resent that she never tried. Today it is hard to find hope that I can move on. It is hard to hope that all of this sharp pain will dull permanently. It is hard to have hope that I will be ok with her presence and not feel the just a bit resentful and so sad. It is hard to manage the trigger this pulls for the anxiety monster that eats at me. It is hard to have hope that all the things affected by this will ever be completely righted. It is hard to not wish that she feels just as sad and hope that the loss of me matters. It is hard to quash that tiny little flame of hope that it can be saved, that it should be saved, that it was worth enough to both of us.

Tomorrow I will again choose to ‘let go’ and hope that there is a longer reprieve, that the next round is softer, shorter. Tomorrow I will again choose compassion, and hope that someone makes that choice for me. Tomorrow I will choose to wish her well.

Hey Witch, wake up!

When I was little my Nana would talk to me about my dreams and show me how some of the things I could hear and see were useful information. She taught me that I could access these things even when I was not dreaming. She taught me how to read a plain deck of cards, to see what was, is and could be. She taught me to speak to and honour the Garden Fae. How to read what Mother Nature shows us in the sky, water, fire and movement of the plants. To listen to the whispers of the trees. To cook and bake with intent and love. To have faith and humour. And to have manners and respect for all beings. She made the colours of childhood much brighter.

I lost this amazing Crone when I was twelve. The same year I lost my Mother.

I knew early on I was a Witch. I knew the wisdom that had been passed to me was ancient at its core. The small superstitions and rituals my Nana had instilled in me, took root and bloomed in me when I was a teen, as I discovered the Craft.

But I was very young, angry, sad, lonely and had no guide. I devoured what I could about Witches, Pagans, spells, rituals. I had much of it romanticized in my head, mixed up with the core connection to the Elements.
I was not a very respectful or responsible Witch. I did spells and ritual without having the respect of the meaning and connection. I wanted so bad to manipulate the energies around me for my gain, the harder I tried, the less anything good happened. It was disappointing to not be immediately gratified. It took discipline I did not have and wisdom I was too impatient to learn.

Slowly over time the shiny color of the Craft became muted. I never fully lost my connection to the Gods and Goddesses, but it was a very small, quiet piece. And life went on. Through my twenties and thirties I would call on the Tarot now and again, the odd observance of the Moon. For many reasons I kept a fairly tight lid on my calling. 

As I approached the age my Mother was when she died so many things happened in that watershed three years. The year approaching, year of and the year after. This story is centred on my (re)union with the Craft.
Slowly into my 40s I began to revisit some of the childhood colours my Nana had created. I had a daughter of my own ( my Nana’s namesake), and I wanted to give her some of that so special magic. Gardening ( when there was time), honouring the Fae who would watch over our plants. Cooking with intent and love. Watching the sky, talking to the animals and hugging the trees to hear their whispers. 

At 43 ( the ‘year approaching’) a fuse was lit. A small stream of air, feeding the embers that were beginning to grow in my soul. As random as the connection seemed at the time, looking back, I really don’t believe that at all. I know not the full extent of the meaning, but at the time was a catalyst for much of what was to come. But it hi-lighted the need, the draw, the pull, that I had to fall fully into ritual, cards and magic. It came on like a runaway train.

Of course at the start of this reawakening, there was the rush of familiarity, the hum of playing with Energies, calling on the Spirits of the Ethereal.
But as the ‘year of’ began to wane, the reality of how much work there was to this, the responsibilities, the knowledge yet untapped, started to set in. There was still an air of fun, play, discovery and connection. But this too, would undergo much fracture, change and alteration. 
As the ‘year after’ came to pass, the lessons and detachment were becoming obvious, self reflecting and painful. That what I believed, this journey was to be undertaken not as a Solitary, but that there were others to walk at my side, was indeed false. And an unfair assumption. The harder I wanted to hold on to that rush, bright coloured, beautiful light, the faster it seemed to slip away, some reasoning understandable, some still confusing. 

As yet another tidal wave of change began, and healing was sought, I fought hard to keep my faith. I opened my eyes to the truth that no one walks a journey with anyone else. We may be side by side, but perceptions and needs are never the same. We may be side by side for a little or a long time. We may part, temporarily in this life, or understand we must wait till the next to again share a piece of the path. 

In this understanding I noticed something else. There was a difference this time. An evolution. That if I were to be true to my calling I needed to begin to study my relation to these Elementals and to myself, first.
Only then will I have an understanding to my relation to the world and people around me. 
As I look to honour my Nana, I delve deeper into the history of where my soul comes from. My connection to the Elemental Magic grows in technicolor.

I am grateful for all that has happened, what it has stripped away, mined from the depths. I am blessed to find a home within the Craft once again. This time with more mature, respectful eyes and heart. 
It’s hard to not want to share every bit of the colour, shape and sound of what I am and what I am learning with those who are similar in heart and sight. But this too is not the way it is to be at this time. There are moments, but no shared Sabbats, bread broken to share, wine/mead raised in celebration of the larger clan. I hope the time of celebration in this time will come again. But I am not alone, as the Ancients are always with me.
Until then, I study, I listen, my heart and eyes open, my hands ready to help. This journey is not easy, but it is so worth it 🔮

Blessed Be My Brothers and Sisters-

In the dark

Your best didn’t help anything.’

Those words finally broke the pin that was holding it all together. Those words shred me to ribbons. 
Said by my daughter, in a moment of exhausted, frightened, frustration.

As I lean against the bathroom door, gutted, snot and tears running down my face, in this moment, it crashes in how right she is. 

My best did not salvage her summer. 
My best has not stopped the the nerve damage in her face from making her self conscious at an already precarious time. 
My best did not ensure the pharmacy would be able to get the medications she needs to start right away. 
My best has not hastened the wait to get them tomorrow. 
My best does not reassure her it is temporary. 
My best has not changed my work schedule to be more present for my daughter, my husband.
My best has not armed my daughter well for the pressures of this world. 
My best has not alleviated my husband’s chronic condition. 
My best has not stopped friendships from drifting. 
My best has not sorted my clutter out. 
My best has not supported my friends in helpful ways. 
My best has not defeated my mental monsters.
My best has not gotten me physically back on track
My best has not been a stellar role model

This week has felt like spears coming from all angles.
A long seemingly continuous few days of various life dramas. 
Nights of broken sleep. 
Then my daughters nervous energy about starting school in classes where she really doesn’t know anyone. Hyperaware of her few chicken pox scars and crooked smile.
Tonight, after a long wait at urgent care walk in, to be given a prescription and a referral, only to be told by the late night pharmacy, we need to go to a different one tomorrow as they don’t have what we need. I tried to soothe my frazzled child. I gently remind her I’m doing my best.

‘Your best didn’t help anything’

Her spear hit the pin holding me together and knocked it loose. It all comes out in a torrent of silent tears, behind the bathroom door, as to not disrupt her falling into a sleep she needs.

I sit hours later in the dark, writing, silent tears again, as to not wake the household that so much needs it’s rest. My head pounding. I feel overwhelmed by life, broken by the weight of it. Punished for reasons I’m unclear on. I’m so tired I can’t help but feel this is all personal.
In the silent dark, I try to let it run out of me, the fear, the frustration, the anxiety, the sadness. 
Try to find the pin that was knocked loose, jimmy it back into place. 
And hope that by the light of morning, maybe, just maybe, tomorrow, if I can find my way to it, my best just might be enough to help something.