my dad

I love my dad. He is genuinely the world’s best dad. Growing up he guided us with so much love and tolerance, now that I have my own kids I am in awe of his patience. He was kind, he was firm and he was fair. He never shouted at us, but we knew when he was displeased. He treated us with utmost respect and care, so much so that we grew up in a solid, safe and kind world. He made us believe that we mattered. He always had time for us. No time, no matter how much pressure he was under, was a bad time.He loved and loves my mom, which is probably the best gift any father can give his kids. To love and respect their mother. And yes vice versa. He made us believe we were good enough to do anything we set our minds to. He never made me feel I had disappointed him. Ever. He always told me when things got too much, not to panic, because panic or not, the outcome will be the same. I was blessed to grow up in a world with my dad as my father. I still am. He’s still making me believe I can do anything. That my attitude, my will is everything. Well Dad, right back at you.


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.