Love It

 I have been asked to do something I don't want to do. It's because of what's in my head. I don't know how to show someone what's inside my head. That's what trauma is you see. It's inside the head. Nobody can see it. A physical injury or trauma leaves a scar which tells a story which in turn needs no explanation. You see a bent and twisted, scarred and marred leg and if the person is quite jovial and engaged you can even make a joke. We've all seen it done.  "Bet there's a story behind that one mate!" "Well yes my friend there is, want to hear about it?" The ensuing conversation can take different pathways. The scarred one could make up a brilliant story of a shark wearing a beanie carrying a golf stick and chances are that because the wound is so visible, the listener will believe it! The answer is often "You should see the other bloke". Why? Because a visible scar is just that. Visible.  No explanation needed, we can ...

 I was thinking recently of childhood memories of the Fremantle area in Western Australia. It was so normal to see older European women wearing black. In all seasons of the year. I asked about it once of my Grandmother who was Australian and of English descent. She explained to me that they wore black because they had lost someone dear to them. A death of a loved one bought out the black clothing for a year. I heard others say that they should stop doing it because it was old fashioned, and even because they smelled bad wearing black in the heat. That was the most ridiculous reason ever in my mind even as a child.  After the year I had in 2020 on a personal level I began to question why they would wear black for a year to show the world they were mourning. We have become so used to mourning being a private affair that we have lost sight of how helpful it is to show it publicly. These women weren't proud of it, they didn't wear it as a badge of honour, or to get sympathy. It wa...

 So I've been thinking about feelings. Or maybe feeling about thinking? It came about when someone said "But you know I love you".  What an interesting statement! It assumes so much. Way too much in fact.  Let's call the speaker Person 1 "Feeler" as they have already stated they feel something.  Let's call Person 2 "Thinker" as they have obviously thought and questioned the validity of the feelings. Let's break down the short sentence from Feelers perspective.   But - Sounds like an argument really, they are disputing what Thinker has said, and they have a different view point. It's a positive one in this case, the feeling being one of love.  But is in a small way counteracting that as it's giving a positive emotion in a negative form. What does a child say when you make their favourite cookie and they're not in the mood "BUT I don't like it today!"  How do you feel when you hear the word But? I've heard it too...

 Such a simple phrase that just does not do justice to the amazing man the world lost yesterday. When I was little my Dad talked about his family in Slovakia to me. They didn't have names, he just said "my sisters", "my brother" and "my parents" and so I didn't gain a connection to them, they weren't mine, they were his. He never spoke of my uncle, aunts or grandparents. I find that sad now.  At the same time I understand why he claimed them as his. He  missed them and missed them terribly.   Dad left home as a child really to be a Partisan fighter during World War 2. The family were in a situation that movies are made of and books are written about. Life was so challenging. One of my aunts died just after that war, and for most of it both Dad and my Uncle were presumed dead. I feel my Grandmother's pain to this day. It's called inherited grief. So, my Uncle was a prisoner in the Mauthausen Concentration Camp. He survived that - somehow...

So it begins as all others. Feed the cat, fill the cats water bowl, clean the cats litter tray, jump in the shower. Get dressed, clean the kitchen have breakfast, check social media. Yep same old same old. Then realisation of Mothers Day. The offspring live in other places, and are busy with their lives and work, and that's OK. Then the following realisation that there is an older generation. One I haven't seen in over 4 months now through choice and through isolation. One I have not had positive feelings for in 50 years. One I have had a duty to my whole life, and one I no longer wish to have a duty for. To put it simply I hate Mothers Day. Every feeling of inadequacy that was instilled into me as a child, teenager and adult woman about every aspect of my life just bubbles to the top.  It's also something m men don't understand and having 4 of them in the family makes it an interesting situation every year. It's so hit and miss. Some years a beautiful gift,...

So last week's dread turned to excitement, joy, and some more dread. The message received for the joyous occasion also had the name I despise in it, but I have managed to separate the new person from the old. Just. I think. The usual public announcement was made, and I want to acknowledge with every bit of gratitude and love and respect and appreciation to those granting that name that they omitted it from the public announcement. To just see one beautiful, cherished name was more relief than joy and excitement. I cried with the sheer relief that it wasn't in the public realm. That dread of public joy and praise while I felt such incredibly negative feelings was huge I can tell you. And that dread of something was paralysing me for a while too. I also used the "it's your news" to get out of telling the original name holder the new one had arrived.  Call it what you want, but for me it had to happen. Not that it actually crossed my mind to pick the phone up. ...

So today is a day I should be extremely excited. Today is an incredibly special day. And I'm struggling. Why? I should be just plain happy. I should be putting all negative thoughts out of my mind. I should be constructive and joyous. Instead all the feelings I had a few months ago when I found out a special persons name have flooded in.  That name will go out in the public arena for the first time. All the great things that others think of that name will be blazing around me like flames around Joan of Arc.  My anxiety about that person with that name are in full glorious overdrive right now. And my balanced mind says that they are not important. My anxiety says I'm not important, therefore I have two sides of my brain agreeing for all the wrong reasons.  The person who gains that name I already love. I will do anything for that person. Literally anything.  I cry with the love I have for them and I haven't even seen or held them. And yet the original holder...