Monthly Archives: February 2012

grey

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I did beat myself up at 3 am this morning when the alcohol I imbibed woke me up. Pathetic. Embarrassing. Well, that’s that, because after all I’m an all or nothing kind of girl. So at 3 am this morning I gave myself permission to accept my failings and no longer do this silly alcohol fast for the month of feb. But at 7.30 am when I finally gave up wrestling with my interrupted sleep patterns, I realised I always prided myself on being grey, but was horrified to realise I’m actually black and white. There are simply too many absolutes in my world. Like the fact that you only get one chance with me. There is an invisible line that only I know and once that’s crossed, that’s it. So, instead today I gave myself permission to forgive. Me for my silly glass or two or three of wine and you for letting me down. And so it continues. One gracious step at a time.

twenty eight

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I am grateful for the most perfect Sunday morning spent with beautiful girl friends. Beautiful friends who haven’t forgotten how much fun can be had with an ocean and a wave. Even if most of us are a bit older than 40.

twenty seven

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I am grateful for the friends Kate and Jem have found here. I know they thought they never would. And I know it isn’t always rosy, but that’s just life. It isn’t always rosy. But a measure of a true friend is one who is still there, no matter what you or she said. Kate and Jem have these friends and for that I am very grateful. Today and everyday.

wobble

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This control thing is bothering me a bit.  Especially because The Happiness Code Jo gave me says that being a control freak is a sign of a vulnerable self esteem. Apparently the better you feel about yourself the less you need to control everything around you. Hmmm. I actually think there is quite a bit of truth in that. And vulnerable works for me. As opposed to low. I think I do have a vulnerable self esteem. It wobbles a bit from time to time. Hence my constant need for validation. Which is apparently linked to over achieving… the more I achieve, the more I’ll be validated, and the better I’ll feel about myself. Despite this mild epiphany if i”m really honest, it’s something I’ve always known, but the ripple effect of my wobbling from time to time is what’s got me worried. All I’ve ever wanted to do for my girls is help them develop a strong sense of self and self worth. To believe they are good enough.  But controlling everything the way I do, or trying to, is probably doing the opposite. I am not letting them make their own mistakes, not letting them learn enough about how much they really are capable of.  How they are good enough. And I’m not talking about school work here, but life. Living here has definitely helped me be better at this. I am finally accepting that I am good enough. But sometimes I wobble. Like we all do.  I am wobbling less and less and learning to let go more and more. I am.  Except maybe of the packing of the dishwasher. They just don’t do it right.

twenty six

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What a wonderful moment this morning when we realised a beautiful Galah was in the tree above us. I am grateful to be living in a country where cockatoos fly free. I am grateful to Grant for instilling a love for them in us via a soft toy long before we even knew what they were. Or where we’d be. I am grateful for the moment to enjoy its beauty and am determined to forever be amazed by their abundant presence.

freak

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What is it with my need for things to be a certain way. Jay chuckled when I moved the yellow 4kg weight at gym this am off the blue 2kg row, where someone had put it, back to the row of yellow weights, where it so obviously belonged. It was amusing. But he had absolutely no idea how much it really did bother me. And don’t get the wrong impression, I am not a neatness freak. It’s not that. My cupboards are an abomination. Another word I love. But I do like to feel in control, and maybe that’s why I focus on the things I can control, like the damn weights, because there is so much I can’t.

twenty five

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I get to drive along this river every single day. I am extremely grateful that this is my route to virtually everywhere, including Kate and Jem’s school. I am grateful because it takes just 3 mins. And because it gives me a moments pause to reflect on the things I should or shouldn’t have said.

dare

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I dare you. If you knew me when I was younger you would know that was all it took to make me do things I probably shouldn’t have. That’s the reason I hold the dubious honour of doing a bungee jump at the Rand Easter Show. Not at some fabulous waterfall, or bridge or river …. over a slab of concrete. At a tacky annual agricultural and exhibition show. And I really shouldn’t mention the car my friends and I borrowed and crashed at 15. The car belonging to my friend’s father. That I drove into a restaurant wall. And only because the boys in class said we’d never dare. I realised today that those three words still do it for me.  Sneaky B took this of me this am. And no I’m not meditating Jo. Some of you won’t get the humour, but those who shared a boardroom table with me, you will. And those of you who like me, until I came to Australia, have never ever cleaned your own kitchen floor on your hands and knees, you will. Those of you who know I value honesty above most things, but still seem to need to keep up appearances, you will.  B never thought I’d share this. Not exactly a good look. The I dare you was implied. Damn I am a sucker.  But, you should see my floor.

twenty four

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What an unexpected treat. A cuddle from a tiny bub. I am grateful that it was me little Yumi chose to fall asleep on. I am grateful I had a moment to spare. The feeling of that little body relaxing, getting heavier and heavier. Pure bliss. For me. It reminded me of when Kate and Jem were little bubs. I am grateful I was blessed to be a mom. To be their mom. Or mum.

liar

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I lied to my sister in law and best friend yesterday. Or actually maybe I lied to myself. If letting others yourself included believe you’ve got it sorted is a lie, that is. I lied that I was okay with not working.  I lied that being available to my girls made up for my loss of self, of self worth and independence. I lied by making it sound like when Jem told me how much it meant to her to have me just there, that was all I needed. I lied, because that isn’t all I need. I wish it was. I need more. But I need more to feed that place inside me that for some reason feels not quite good enough. Not for mental stimulation. I am stimulated, by my reading, my learnings, my friends, my lessons, by B and through B, by my daughters, by my teachers. It’s that damn need for acknowledgement. For validation. And is much more than just financial. I thought I was over the woman at the dinner party who writes you off on hearing you no longer work. Who turns to someone else, who she believes has more to offer.  Even though she has no idea of who you are, who you were and where you’ve been. I no longer introduce myself as I used to be yadda yadda. So, there is progress. I am ok with who I am. But, I can’t lie anymore. I can’t pretend it doesn’t still make my toes curl. The disdain that is.  I realised today thinking about my conversation with Lynn that I have been lying to myself.  I remembered how I felt  a couple of nights ago, when a well meaning working acquaintance, or at least I think she was well meaning, asked that question. That bloody question. So, what have you been doing with yourself? Fuck. I felt myself panic. Shit, what have I been doing. So much but nothing at all. Nothing that anyone values. (But actually the only ones that matter do) Fuck fuck fuck. Who am I, what am I, what is this all about, what was it all about, is this all that there is, is it all over for me. It all came back. Then, I breathed. Truly. And smiled and said. I’ve been existing. I did. She was happy with that answer. Lynn, soon I will be too. But I lied, I’m not there yet.