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My constant fear of what people will think.

They’ll know I’m a fraud.   It’s all an act.   Say the right thing, appear this way and they will approve.   They do approve, so why change? What does my fear look like?  False bravado.  Pursuing confrontation which I’d rather not.  Overthinking every word.  Replaying decade old conversations in my mind, wishing I’d said something different. Saying no to things I should say yes to.  Being illogically headstrong.  Debilitating fear of failure.  Doing only the things people think I’m good at.  Immersing myself in work in a way that’s not always healthy.  Dying on the hill of declarations I made about myself that no longer apply.  Shutting people out.  Pretending I know the words to say.  Pretending I’m a better friend than I am.  Manipulating narratives to suit me.  Playing the victim.  Anger.  Retelling every story like an epic. Lying.  A constant burden to carry.  I even fear that people will know that I fear what people will think. Does this mean deep down I judge people?  Worried wha
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Hurting but Alive.

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I recently received some painfully disappointing news. The kind that hurts in your chest and takes your breath away for a split second. I know you know it. The news that is followed by the sting of tears in your eyes and the immediate realisation that your dream has died. I wrote about it on twitter the other day trying to my make sense of it all. I do this a lot. I try to unravel my thoughts and emotions by writing. A lot of it is in my journal, it's the purple leather bound one from monsoon. I love that journal. Other times I'll write it in my phone notes and other times I'll come here. So here I am. Trying to put this to bed. I've allowed myself to dream big dreams in 2019, when it comes to my career. I have allowed myself to put imposter syndrome aside for a little while and reach for what could be. Some of it worked. Most it didn't and I find myself here facing crushing disappointment with more questions than answers. When I don't have answers I ask m
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They call me mum.

I am a mother.  Two formidable girls call me mum and it is a role I came into fearfully, one I was ill-prepared for and one that teaches me countless lessons daily. The responsibility of getting it right feels like the proverbial sword of Damocles; looming and constantly reminding me of what other things I have to get right. Will they be happy, are they secure, am I good example, what lessons do I still have to teach, are they eating enough vegetables, will they know that they are capable of achieving all they set their minds to? It goes on and on and I tremble as I type this because the list is actually endless and I often feel I may not have the strength or the presence of mind to actually get it right.  And there is that word! Right. What is the right, correct, proper way to be their mother? I have no idea. But what I learnt today is that it is simpler than I often imagine. It is about being present. Listening and engaging and finding out who these people really are and getting
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Just talk!

There are few things more stressful than grocery shopping. I know it; I am privileged to be able to cart a shopping trolley around throwing in eveything (ish) I’d like with reckless abandon. I work with a shopping list because I’m almost always hungry, not just when I go shopping and we all know that a hungry shopper is greedy shopper. The list also helps to quell my deep seated almost pathological fear of forgetting things. So here’s how it plays out. Grab trolley. Preferably the big ones. Place heavy handbag in the spot where kids can sit. I need to get better at handbag packing because I believe I’m doing myself some long term shoulder damage. Story for another day. Burst through the doors with the gusto befitting such a momentous occasion. Decide which end of the store I’ll tackle first. It’s a quick mental calculation that always has the same result. Fresh veg and dairy last! Head to the very last row and then the craziness ensues.  Two things to note here. Actually one c
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Woman Down

There is something about the moment when your body gives way under you. It is unexpected and brutal, surprising and surreal. Your weakness is magnified and all the things that really matter come to fore. Got me thinking about why it takes a system failure and near shut down for me to pause and think about my wellbeing. Why I can naturally be all things to all people and not myself. Why even typing the word 'myself' makes me cringe a little because it's means I'm self absorbed.  In silence and darkness and the solitude of my pain comes a new clarity. A different approach. A more honest self.  A self more comfortable in self. 
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Born free? I know you don't mean me.

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That's what they call me. But I'm not free. I was just born after one oppressor took over from another. It's an unspoken rule where I'm from. We all know it; young and old. We simply don't speak against those in power. No jobs, no healthcare, no money, no future. But we just remain silent because those are the rules, don't you know? If you speak you're unpatriotic, disrespectful to the struggle, a puppet of the West or subversive (wish they'd stop using that word).  Why can't I just point out that I feel like the whole system has failed me without fear of violence or incarceration. I'm supposed to be grateful that I don't live with South African crime, the dark cloud of terrorism over Europe or the demonising of my Christian beliefs in the Far East. I'm supposed to believe that if my children fall ill today and I cannot afford a pint of blood it's because of sanctions and not because those in power have failed. I'm supposed to cel
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Whatever could I be referring to?

THERE Something is hanging in the air Looming, threatening, frightening It's locked my limbs to inaction Closing my eyes and bracing myself It'll have to find me right here Can you feel it too? Choking the promise that once was Making me dread what will be Stifling, the air too dry to breath Not even shade under the trees Nothing for free To free me, no one Surely this is not how it should be? Comfort in ruins Delight in despair Pray tell what took me there? Laughter in disaster Will I even have a heart hereafter? A book with covers A few pages Not chapters Empty Shelve it, burn it No matter No one will notice Eyes closed, self braced It'll have to find me right here. FINIS
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