I wrote this one evening last winter when life was pressing in on all sides. I desperately needed to relieve the pressure so I took myself off to visit a glow worm population that inhabits a damp cliff face by our local stream. There was no light pollution and no moon - only starlight (which is pretty magical) and the luminescence of the glow worms which, sprinkled amongst the ferns, messed with my depth perception as I marvelled my way slowly along their communities. After a while I sat down by the stream, running my hands through the icy current and allowing the soothing water to wash away the last of my lingering distress. Enjoy 🙂
Run Away
from the Loud
the Lights
the Overwhelm
Run Away
to the quiet
dark
and still places
where only soft silver starlight illuminates the world
space and time collide
and all that exists is me - in this moment
water wends its way to the sea
carrying away my cares to its infinite depths
cooling and calming
my head
my heart
it caresses
embraces
i am home
Run Away with me
see what we can be
when we are free
A short observation I wrote in a notebook back in July 2021 whilst enjoying a proper chai latte (in a mug not a glass!) at my favourite local café which (very) sadly had to close its doors after Christmas having struggled (like many other small businesses) in these challenging and uncertain times.
Living in the country, trips to town are events rather than outings and my little chai ritual helped in fortifying myself to tackle the inevitably extensive list of errands which invariably culminated in a long and stressful trip to the supermarket before heading for home – it was a lovely way to balance the day.
I laugh too much, I cry too much I think too much, I worry too much I love to much, I hurt to much I care to much, I give too much I feel too much, I hide too much I smile too much, I hug too much
sensationally sensory
bathing in the naked glow of a lightbulb moon
reflections in
and on
and dancing all around me
warm water embraces, caresses
icy gusts tug at my hair
my eyes water
i squint and the lightbulb becomes a kaleidoscope
closing one eye, winking
the moon jumps over my nose
the chill wind lifts the hairs on my arms
it whips away my warmth
exposed skin vulnerable
drawing more from the water
i enjoy the juxtaposition of sensations
the flow of heat in
and through
and away from me
i stare into the depthless twilight
blue skies darken
almost imperceptibly
unrelenting
the cold moon shines
brighter with self-satisfaction
eventually, i become aware there's a star
the faintest of awakenings
i blink and there's another
they appear slowly at first
hiding themselves if i look straight into them
but then there are dozens
hundreds
thousands
unfazed by their sister
they augment her light with their own
cold and yet warm
ancient
timeless
imaginary lines connect the dots
the southern cross
orion's belt or alternatively
the pot
satisfied
i withdraw
the wind delights in all of me
i stand there shivering for a moment
then wrap myself up in a giant towel
sliding into bed
i am accutely aware of the clean, fresh sheets
their smell
their sound
their feel
i lay my head
it sinks into a soft cloud of feathers
and i close my eyes
i listen to the comforting sound of the dishwasher
and the low humming of the fridge
the wind sounds like waves crashing on the shore
i fall asleep dreaming of the ocean
A man whose genius improved with age and for whom Death came too soon.
Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darknesshas always got there first,and is waiting for it.
Terry Pratchett – Reaper Man
Also…
in memory of Robin Williams
the brighter the light, the darker its shadows.
Carl Jung
Light
have you ever felt like your heart is going to explode?
like a star going supernova
every cell in your body effervescing with so much joy and happiness
it's surely impossible to contain it all
laughter bubbles up
an overflow of delight
starlight twinkles in your eyes
an extension of your smile
************************************
sometimes it's a silent explosion
internal combustion in a quiet moment of absolute perfection
the smell of a hot, spicy chai or a bright morning after heavy rain
the sound of your child breathing, in a deep and restful sleep
the sight of your best friend, after too much time away
the touch of the ocean as it embraces you – welcoming you home
the taste of a handmade honey truffle as it melts into heaven in your mouth
a smell, a sound, a look, a touch, a taste
your senses ensnared
light expands through your soul
filling it with warmth
until darkness is but a faint memory
Dark
have you ever felt like there's a giant black hole in your soul?
a sentient monster that no matter what you feed it
it always wants more, more, MORE
sometimes you think it's satiated
but it's only slumbering -
one eye slitted
watching
waiting
biding its time until you're tired
or alone
or overwhelmed by life, or your thoughts
or the state of the world
thenit awakens
once more clawing its way through the cracks in your defenses
that hunger which cannot be satisfied
you feed it with sugar, alcohol, drugs -
it grows bigger and hungrier
you escape into fictional fantasy worlds -
it makes reality harder to live in
you distract yourself with music and art and things that bring you joy -
it shrinks until it's almost imperceptible, but never disappears completely
so you fight it with light
spreading love and laughter and kindness
in the hope that no one else will ever feel so empty and alone
the way that you do
but it only makes the hole deeper -
smiling on the outside when you're nothing on the inside
************************************
sometimes the emptiness grows so large it devours you completely
leaving you curled and alone
small and naked
the darkness pressing in on all sides
it's hard to let people in
the doors are shut
the curtains are drawn
there is no way out
you're a wraith walking around in your own body
************************************
the darkness likes having you all to itself – three's a crowd after all
it whispers in your ear
caresses you lovingly
“stay here with me – I can take away your pain”
your head knows it's a lie but your heart aches to obey
“YOU are my pain” you cry into the void
you reach out a hand and the soft susurrations turn to silent screams
“worthless, hopeless, useless, fat, ugly, broken, fucked-up, sorry excuse for a human!”
you retreat - curling back into yourself
************************************
If you have ever felt like this
please know you are NOT alone
keep reaching out
keep your hand extended
somebody will grasp it in theirs
strong and sure
and pull you up, up, up
they'll embrace you in their warmth
shine a light with the unspoken awareness that You. Are. Loved.
even when you don't love yourself
their heart will beat for both of you, when yours is too heavy to carry on
the darkness will recede
until the candle burns low again and the light flickers
it's easy to forget
and the darkness is always waiting
if the light goes out - reach out
Yin Yang (a not quite haiku)
light and dark combine
joy and sorrow together
forever entwined
First up, I’d just like to say a massive thank you to all the wonderful people who reached out to connect with me after reading my last post ‘Addiction, Connection & Resilience’
I was really quite moved.
One of those amazing people happened to comment on this connection quote by Brené Brown…
I was delighted to see a Brené Brown quote in your blog
Over the course of the day, I found out that this random quote I had found on google and fallen in love with, came from a truly incredible researcher story-teller, who has spent decades studying shame, vulnerability, empathy and courage. To date she has written five number-one bestselling books including The Gifts of Imperfection, Daring Greatly, Rising Strong, Braving the Wilderness, and Dare to Lead. She also hosts the Unlocking Us and Dare to Lead podcasts and has a filmed lecture on Netflix called Brené Brown: The Call to Courage which debuted in 2019.
But before I learned any of this my friend directed me to her TED talk entitled: The Power of Vulnerability.
All I can say is PLEASE WATCH THIS VIDEO!
It has been viewed over 53 million times and translated into 52 languages.
Stop reading and watch it now.
5 mins in, I paused and immediately linked it to my previous post because I could not believe what I was listening too.
Words failed me trying to describe it.
It was just so…. accurate? Life changing? Empowering? Validating? Enlightening?
How had I not come across Brené before?
Once I had finished, I went back to the start and listening again – and then I listened to her second TED talk (which auto-played afterwards), entitled Listening to Shame which describes life after her initial talk, and explores what happens when people confront their shame head-on.
It took several hours for this new information to really sink into my psyche.
In the wee hours of the following morning I woke up. I tried to go back to sleep but failed – the shadows of my mind were closing in and I yelled at them to, “FUCK OFF,” telling them in a small voice that, “I am enough” – but that voice was wavery and full of disbelief.
So much shame swirling around me – pressing in from all sides.
I had to let it out or it would destroy me.
When people reach out and ask me if I am OK, words get stuck on the way to my mouth. There’s so much that wants to come out, but most of the time it all gets jammed in the doorway and I smile and say, “I’m fine”. It gets stuck because of Shame and Vulnerability.
Words tend to flow much easier through my fingers.
They flow easier I think, because I am confronting and baring my vulnerability in an indirect way – in the quiet and solitude of the night from the comfort of my couch with fairy lights and two large, snoring black dogs for company.
I have the space to think – to let each thought surface and then organise them in a coherent manner.
I wrote a letter that night.
A very raw, and very heavy letter – pouring all of my shame and vulnerability out of me and onto the page.
It took some time, and a hell of a lot of courage, but when it was finished I felt lighter. Free-er.
I took a deep breath and stood to face the day.
That afternoon, with a little help from some positive interactions and connection, I realised that I had managed to climb my way back up through the spiral of emotions to a place where I could accept my self worth and my spark was burning brightly again.
3 days.
Three days was all it had taken to profoundly change the way I look at life. Three days, compassionate and remarkable friends, and the powerful words of Brené Brown had done something for me that multiple counsellors and even medication had not been able to achieve.
Embrace your vulnerability.
You either walk inside your story and own it, or you stand outside your story and hustle for your worthiness – when we deny the story, it defines us. When we own the story, we can write a brave new ending.
More powerful words from Brené.
Owning our story can be hard, but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running away from it.”
I’ve been running from my shame and vulnerabiliy for so long.
Over the last few days I have realised it’s time to stop running, own my story and stop hustling for my self-worth.
You can choose courage or you can choose comfort – you cannot have both
I choose courage and choose to face the uncomfortableness of vulnerability.
Loving ourselves through the process of owning our story is the bravest thing we will ever do
And to finish I will leave you with this final quote
No matter where you are in life, no matter what you are doing, have courage.
Own your story.
Allow yourself to be vulnerable – because that is when true connection happens.
In a previous post Hell Hath No Fury Like a Redhead Scorned, I described the concept of ‘soundwaves of emotion’ and discussed how the intensity of emotional experience tends to balance itself – the higher the highs, the lower the lows.
Having struggled with depression and anxiety multiple times throughout my life, I am pleased to report that after a pretty awful time last year (which began BEFORE the whole COVID debacle, but which was also certainly not helped by it) I have been in a really good place mentally for the last 6 months. My 40th decade is looming only 4 years away and I am very aware that when I reach it, I would like to be the best version of me that I can. With this is mind I can virtually see and hear my 40 year old self partying it up and calling back through time to encourage and urge me on.
However…
The last two days I have literally crashed and burned to the very bottom of the emotional spiral in the extreme.
And it’s not something that is always there – life is busy, we put on a smile and carry on. But in the quieter moments your mind can drift into those unforgiving dark places and those can be dangerous times.
The quiet moments.
Introverts like quiet. I used to believe that I was an introvert – deriving restoration and recharging my ‘internal batteries’ with solitude, peace and turning inwards. And although I still enjoy solitude (especially poignant for any parent!) Looking back now, I think maybe my self-confessed introversion was actually ‘depressed extrovert’ in disguise. I was someone who didn’t have the right kind of people in my life to energize me in the ways that I craved. Sure I had people around me and went out and did things, but finding those special people who you have a ‘soul connection’ with isn’t that simple, and living in the middle of nowhere is a definite choice, but it is also very isolating.
Sidenote: if you’ve been a hermit for the last 100 years, introversion and extroversion are psychological terms popularized by the swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung. (I tried a modern version of hermitting a couple of years ago… shutting myself off from society and social media in a bid to appeal to my introvert tendencies – it was an unsuccessful experiment to say the least!) If you google either, you will find a plethora of personality tests that you can take to see where you fit along the scale in order to ‘better understand yourself and others’. But that’s not what I want to write about today.
Right now, in the wee hours of the morning, whilst the full moon shines lightbulb bright in the sky and the stars wink to each other in the heavens, I am compelled to write about connection.
Real, human connection.
Not likes or tweets or scrolling through facebook/instagram/tiktok/[insert social media of choice here] but face to face, present in the moment, bare your heart and soul connection with human beings other than yourself.
A powerful quote. For an empowering TED talk by Brené click here.
Johann Hari believes that connection is the opposite of addiction (not abstinence or sobriety as you might think) There is a famous study done in the 1980’s entitled ‘Rat Park’ which showed that rats living in a veritable utopia would try drugs offered to them in a choice of laced or non laced water – but they didn’t get addicted to those drugs (or indeed die) like the unfortunate rats that were placed in isolation and suffered from extreme loneliness. Those who survived were further experimented on by moving them to the utopia, where they would miraculously overcome their addiction by means of connecting with the other rats.
Humans are not rats. And most of us don’t live in a utopia. But we are social creatures by nature, and when meaningful connection is missing from our lives an addiction may begin to fill the void. We can be surrounded by others and still feel alone, and addiction doesn’t necessarily mean drugs – people can suffer many types of addiction such as an unhealthy relationship with food (putting my hand up for this one), coffee, alcohol, porn, sex or self harm to name but a few. And when you’re at the bottom of the downward spiral of emotion, connecting with another person may be the very last thing you want do to.
But you must.
You must be brave and take a risk on those you love because connection is what you need.
It’s your reaction to adversity, not adversity itself, that determines how your life’s story will develop
Dieter F Uchtdorf
The thought of being honest with people is hard to bear because we don’t want to be a burden. We don’t want to cause worry, or stress and we certainly don’t want to people to look at us with pity or treat us differently.
But I know with absolute certainty that if any of my friends or family ever feel the way I have, I would 100% want them to reach out to me so that I could tell them they are not alone. So I could share their pain and show them love and support.
I also know that there are some very special people in my life who I have been brave with and opened up to. It’s still hard, but I am learning. I am learning to reach out and ask for help when I need it. I am learning to accept help when I need it (still working on this one). And I am learning that connection is a major contributor to resiliency.
Resiliency is our ability to bounce back from life’s challenges and unforeseen difficulties, providing mental protection from emotional and mental disorders
Michael Rutter 1985
Here are 5 ways to build resilience according to Google:
Know you are deserving (hard when you’re feeling down but keep telling yourself this)
Build connections. Connect, connect, connect. With real people.
Keep things in perspective – what’s the worst case scenario?
Practice selfcare and compassion – put your own oxygen mask on first. Before you do anything for anyone else today, do something for yourself. Prioritizing yourself and your own goals will enable you to give more to others in the long run.
Maintain hope – find a glimmer, a kernel of something good to cling to. Hope is the one thing that can get us through the darkest of times.
Life doesn’t get easier or more forgiving, we get stronger and more resilient
Dr Steve Maraboli
Wow. Two posts in less than a week!
Many beautiful and creative things in the world begin with strong emotions. Music, art, dance, poetry – they are all an expression of what’s inside oneself, begging to be released.
I saw the most beautiful moon rise in my life last night as I was walking beneath the cold light of the stars.
Now the sun is rising – an orange glow effervescing on the horizon.
Life isn’t perfect, but it does have perfect moments
As I am writing these first few words on a blogpost all about striving for balance, my 6 year old son steps onto a piece of PVC piping (that just happens to be lying around on our wooden floor ) starts wobbling about, waving his hands in the air and saying “whooooaaaa!” This beautiful picture, the unbee-lievable timing of it.
It’s all just so…….
Perfect!
A smile graces my face.
I sit in my favourite corner of our living room, basking in the autumn sun that shines through our picture window. It frames the most spectacular view of our glorious countryside – lush green paddocks, trees and hills transcend into blue mountains that seem to stretch on forever towards a lazy horizon. A slight breeze buffets the flax bushes encircling our front lawn, where a miniature coop rests – housing a clucky black hen atop her eggs.
A large, upside down dog lies next to me – warming her belly with her limbs splayed out at awkward angles. Another is passed out on the floor below. A silky soft cat perches on my other side,
I sip at a cup of milky chai rooibos tea.
A perfect moment.
The previous night was a magical one. A topless, twilight ocean swim in my knickers – jumping and diving alone through the waves underneath a glowing moon playing peek-a-boo amongst the clouds. The water was unexpectedly and deliciously warm and I languished in its caress. Currents tugged at my legs and feet, creating swirling eddies of sand around them as my toes dug in against the temptation to simply ‘let go’ and be carried out into Tangaroa’s embrace. The pure, unadulterated joy I feel is tinged with the darker thrill of an awareness that comes from playing at the edge of something so vast and unending.
A perfect moment.
Dry and warm by the fire, my senses are filled with the sounds and smells of crackling wood, laughing children and crashing waves. Salt and smoke permeate the air. Marshmallows on sticks start to melt and I lean back against a log as a guitar, and voices singing in harmony, effortlessly intertwine themselves into the mix.
A perfect moment.
It’s properly night now. The moon has stopped playing peek-a-boo and and shines brightly on the water. A reflection of reflected light. Young siblings and cousins strip down to their underwear and run into the waves – whooping as they leap into them or run away screaming with laughter. I sit on the cold stones and watch their silhouettes. They are astoundingly beautiful – strong, lithe bodies jumping and cartwheeling against a silvery background. These children are growing up.
A perfect moment.
The evening before, I lie in my son’s bed with him – he is warm against me, still small enough to be tucked in my arms as we sing songs. We are both tired. The song ends and I listen to his breathing.
A perfect moment.
I don’t want this moment to end – so I stay. Gradually his breathing slows until he falls asleep. I stay for a while longer, savouring the feeling for a long as I can.
Yesterday morning we harvested a huge basket of feijoas, fat and warm and freshly fallen from the tree. As one, our family gathered together at the bench, slicing and scooping, feasting on the sweet and tarty flesh until mountains of stacked skins teetered, threatening to topple to the floor.
A perfect moment.
My husband is an amazing gardener. For dinner a few nights ago we had corn on the cob, freshly dug potatoes, green beans and free-range eggs from our chickens. It is incredibly satisfying knowing that everything on your plate is fresh, homegrown food.
A perfect moment.
My 10 year old daughter had all her beautiful, waist length red hair cut off the other day. I cried the night before when she told me she, “wanted to get a pixie cut and donate her hair to be made into a wig for people with cancer.” I cried for the loss of those gorgeous locks and her girlishness – she is no longer a child anymore and is growing into herself more and more everyday. I cried for the generosity of spirit she displayed in her kindness towards strangers and I cried because I worried she would regret it. Then I stopped crying and googled, ‘how to donate hair in NZ’.
The next day as we drove the 40 minutes into town, I worried anxiously that I was doing the right thing in giving my daughter independence over her own body – it sounds silly seeing it written down! The moment those 6 golden ponytails were cut off I cried again. But this time it was tears of joy and relief, because even before her hair had been cut and styled properly, my daughter looked amazing. The smile on her face was the biggest I had ever seen. It was as if her true self had been waiting to be released and in the space of 30 seconds my little girl became a young woman.
A perfect moment.
I’m a hugger. Some people are not. For me, just about every hug is perfect moment.
With very little light pollution where we live, we have an amazing view of the night sky and on clear, dark nights the heavens put on a spectacular show.
It was my friends birthday last month. We came home late after a band rehearsal and following some most excellent cake, we were enjoying catching up in the spa when the most spectacular meteorite I’ve ever seen flashed a long green trail across the sky before exploding with light.
A perfect moment.
A few months ago when the weather was warmer, I woke up in the wee hours of the morning with a physical need to be in water. So I snuck out of our house and drove the 5 minutes to our local school pool. As I swam lengths up and down, the light of the full moon danced beneath me in an elaborate and intricate fashion – no doubt joyful that I was there to provide witness to this most marvellous and otherwise unseen display.
A perfect moment.
I have teenage memories of my mother waking me up to huddle on the roof, with a thermos of milo and cookies to watch a meteor shower, or driving to the top of a mountain peak in the middle of the night to bear witness to the incredible beauty and colour of the Aurora Australis (The Southern lights) – something I have still only seen once to this day.
Both perfect moments.
These memories are a drop in the water and I could go on and on and on until my fingers seize up or my laptop dies… the point I’m trying to make is that life can be shit – children whine and fight, people annoy and aggravate us, we argue with our loved ones and challenges bombard us daily. Apparently it takes five positive events to balance one negative one – but our brains are very good at remembering the good stuff. The perfect moments. So seize the day. Say, ‘YES’. Take risks. Connect with people. And through it all, notice and appreciate the good stuff when it happens, because too often it’s fleeting and gone before we know it. It seems cliché, but burn those perfect moments into your soul so that when you look back, you have a veritable garden of wonderful memories to wander through.
There was a little girl, who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead,
And when she was good, she was very, very good,
But when she was bad she was horrid.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. (American poet, 1807-1882)
This excerpt always comes to mind when I think about my emotions because
When I’m happy, I’m very, very happy
and when I’m sad, I’m miserable…
Also this:
I am a person of intense, passionate feelings.
My high’s are oh, so high – and my lows… well, they run deep.
I do try to stay on the positive side of the line, and often float so high on life that I feel like my heart is glowing, my soul is singing and that every single cell in my body is a tiny little mini me, dancing like no one’s watching under exploding fireworks!
Inevitably though, what goes up must come down…
The classic case of post birthday blues; or a despondent melancholy such as occured after ‘Les Miserables’ ended – The sheer intensity and overwhelming experience of being involved in something so much bigger than myself left quite a gaping hole after the final curtain came down, and I must admit it took some months to adjust to ‘normal’ life again. Sometimes there’s just a little dark cloud over my head and heart for seemingly no reason at all…
If you imagine emotions as soundwaves, it is easy to visualise the variable intensity and polarity of feelings. The higher the crest, the greater our experience of love/joy/excitement/hope/connectedness. The deeper the trough, the more profound our sadness/anger/fear/pain/helplessness.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have quieter emotions. To live more neutrally and closer to the mid-line.
Here’s the thing though.
The deeper I dive, the greater the rebound and the higher I can fly.
If our negative emotions balance our positive ones, then I wouldn’t give up a single second of the tough times in my life if it meant missing out on feeling the joyful times so completely.
So even though the down days can be damn difficult, challenging and uncomfortable, I try to acknowlege and accept them for what they are in order to experience and FEEL life in all it’s ups and downs.
After years of literary silence, I have been moved to write.
No inspiring quotes. No poignant images. No related links.
Just these words that flowed from me following a series of recent events…
As a parent, I believe one of the most difficult things to endure is the distress of a child – any child, but especially your own. To see a child suffering wrenches at the very fibre of my being. It tugs at every single string of my heart and draws up buckets of empathy from the wellspring of my compassion. The wretchedness of such situations sends pangs of anxiety and woe surging through my veins – although this is a only a side stream to the torrent of emotions which wrack my body with convulsions of helplessness and hopelessness.
Are you feeling me yet?
But isn’t it amazing how the troubling moments in life challenge us to dig deep. Allowing us to discover that we do indeed possess the courage, and strength to hold it together.
To be STRONG.
Surviving – nay, perservering from one moment to the next until we emerge, tired but triumphant on the other side of whatever difficulties we have been facing.
And difficult times often allow for a whole new appreciation and awareness of the previously, and seemingly mundane…
A hot shower.
Clean clothes on a clean body. A toothbrush.
The pure, unadulterated bliss of slowly, and deliberately climbing into your very own bed with the sheer and utter exhaustion of a loving parent who is unbelievably happy to be home after a rough week and only a few hours of broken sleep the night before in a hospital bed next to her 4 year old son.
The gentle rise and fall of a little boy’s chest as he breathes normally.
Yes. It is the difficult times that inspire and move us to appreciate and be thankful for not only the good times, but also for the little joys in everyday life.
My Wobbly Life 