Firstly bloggers and followers, apologies for my absence. I have not posted in a few days. I have been doing a little soul searching and some serious, intense work on myself. With my counsellor last week, I broke down a fairly serious dam which flooded me with a torrent of emotional trauma and memories I was very unprepared for. Perfect fodder for the writer but putting pen to paper did not happen. I wanted to write so much but the words just wouldn’t come together in any coherent manner, honestly I was struggling with the day to day so I took the time out. The anxiety was winning out unfortunately.
I felt like I was drowning a little and just decided to tread water until things in my ocean calmed a little. I was also working for my new role and doing some pretty tough training for that. So my mind was logical and fractured at the same time. And of course there is the Mammy and wife role which demands my energy also. I do not want this to be negative, I am lucky to be safe and healthy in this turbulent time. The ‘Invisible Demons’, I struggle with everyday just make things a little tougher. Sometimes I am not sure what has happened at the end of a day or where the day has gone. Time seems so fleeting, you try to trap moments and memories with your kids or something beautiful you notice, trying to slow down time’s engine. So the demons do not win.
I realise just writing this now is probably not making any sense, but the idea behind this blog for me was the transformative power of writing so annoyingly I am going to waffle on. I have always taught my students that waffles are only for breakfast, you should never use waffle in your writing. LOL 😂 I guess we are having waffles for supper this evening! A few pieces will follow this post, I hope they inspire you or open up something for you as they have done for me whilst writing.
The hardest thing about Writing for me are not the words or what I will write. It is finding the time to write. As a full-time worker, mum and wife, I find nearly impossible to get time to gather my thoughts and sit down and write a chapter or two. I find myself stealing moments here and there to jot down ideas or type something up quickly. It is definitely a balancing act and I feel like I am still practicing.
I wonder if anyone else feels the same? I have a great idea and then I am asked a mommy question and puff! Gone. I welcome any tips or tricks you may have to help with all this. As I am writing this my son has come down dressed like ‘little red riding hood’ asking for crisps!
I love my job, kids and husband but, I would love an hour alone to get ideas together. Sometimes there is an evening here or there but then as a human I am wrecked from the day and find it difficult to get my mind in gear.
I have lots of journals dotted around the house, which I think worked for like a week. I wonder how books will get written at this rate and if any other writers experience this also.
And yes, as a writer, I am envious of all those other writers who have time to read pieces, contemplate and put beautiful works together. I do not want my writing to feel rushed or haphazard. I think in the past 20 minutes, I have said “just a sec Hun, mammy’s typing” at least 6 times.
Another time people feel free to Catch-at-me.com or check out the FB page ‘Gourmet for the Soul’- blue icon.
“But I cannot understand them, it’s all jumbled up in my head and my stomach hurts too much and……”
“Trying to fix everything, sometimes, things need to be left broken, that is the way it is meant to be”
“But…”. (voice tails off)
“STOP!, Stop trying to control it and just live it, even love it, just stop trying to make it perfect, it will never be. That is the beauty of all this, it’s odd, awkward and strange and that’s what makes it unique- once in a lifetime you might say”
“Let me clarify, sunsets are by their nature, pardon the pun-Beautiful, but so are wrinkles, they tell the story of a life, that was laughed, lived and loved, they are what we consider imperfect.
“I have no strength for this anymore, it’s all too difficult.”
“’You are wasting your energy on the mundane and silly, they’re not the reason you are really here, they’re distractions. Relax enjoy the moments, find the beauty in the imperfect.
“Why am I so scared Soul, why is there so much Fear?”
“You are learning new things, new is scary. You cannot stay in this safe place forever, what’s the point in that?”
“Exactly, nothing, so why do you insist on staying put, hanging on to the past, not letting go?”
“I do not know; I really do not know”
“Yes, you do” (said mockingly like a child)
“BINGO, you feel safe now, because you control the narrative, the situations in your life, to a point anyway.
“Hmmm I guess”
“’You guess! If tomorrow you decide to change something, you still can and will feel safe. It is about your perception, everyone can lead the very life they want, how do we do this?”
“ We believe in it, make it happen.”
“Yes, now you got it girl! Now you got it. Take a break now, come back to me tomorrow, we can chat more then. For now, start by seeing the beauty in the imperfect, look at your wrinkles.”
‘Go to bed’, his low dark voice startled Anya and she jumped. The light in the kitchen had darkened one side of his face, in this moment he truly looked like a phantom. Anya shivered, trying not to reveal her fear.
‘I came in the back, not that it is any of your business’, his voice was raised and angry. Anya knew this tone and how to not rise to its challenge, she murmured ‘ok’, taking the warm milk off the stove. He watched her every movement, his eyes followed her long fingers as she wrapped them around the cup. ‘Bed’ he repeated in a whisper, Anya obeyed. She listened as he turned out the lights and locked the doors. Her stomach churning as she ascended the stairs.
Silently she placed the cup on the bedside table and slipped under the cool, refreshing covers. As she lay in the dark, her whole body was pumping with her heartbeat, she tried to control it, but it just seemed to get worse. She held her breath, a door slammed. Anya turned her head into her pillow, grabbing it and sobbing so hard she felt sick, but so quietly he could not hear. Her whole body was shaking. Nothing made sense anymore.
The night fell silent. A creeping mist engulfed the paddocks around the house. Anya sat huddled on her cast iron bed, the bars surrounding her like a prison, she was its captive. She knew it wasn’t the bars that kept her prisoner here, but her unwavering love for him. It chained her down and allowed her to soar, all at once.
The fire in the corner had now died away leaving smoky glowing embers. Would his love for her die this way? Would the passionate red licking flames be extinguished ? Clasping her hands over her ears she tried to block out the voices. The voices of fear, unable to open up her heart to him.
The coffee she had made earlier had gone cold, her mind wandering, she picked up the mug and opened the heavy wooden door. It scraped on the rough tiles and the sound echoed through the empty house.
The hall was cold and silent, Anya pulled her dressing-gown around her for warmth. A strange wind whistled outside the house, her heart quickened. The tiles gave way to a soft red carpet on the landing. As she crossed, something caught her eye.
In the glass panel at the side of the front door, she watched two figures blurry but embracing. Anya drew a long low breath, squinting her eyes and moving closer to the banister, she tried to see them. The porch light was dull and obscured her vision.
Glancing back, the china clock struck two am, Anya wondered who was outside and why she had not noticed the hours slipping away.
Quietly she descended the large grand staircase, hugging herself, she was shivering. ‘Damn’ she squealed as the coffee mug, bounced along the blue and white tiled floor before smashing into a thousand pieces. Looking up the figures had disappeared, ‘Damn it’ , Anya muttered under her breath. Panic gripped her heart again, she tiptoed round the mess and crept into the kitchen. Before switching on the light she peered into the darkness outside the window, looking for a glimmer or movement. Nothing.
Hi, my name is Rö, a cute little nickname I acquired in a better moment of childhood. So it was Rö or Pigeon-hmm! Please do not get me wrong with pigeons, I like them, (check out Spies in Disguise), just preferred Rö and that my lovely people gives you a clue!
Ok, ok I’m a mum to two great but can absolutely drive you insane kids! A girl and a boy 😂 chalk and cheese to use a Cliché.
I am also a full time teacher, but bravely made the move this year into a new 5 year role in my school as a HSCL. Wait for it , it is a great title, a Home School, Community Liaison Coordinator! Say that fast, after a few whiskeys ! laughing 😆 now, Laughter is so awesome for the soul. And I know I don’t do enough of it.
So , why should you even read this blog?
Well here are a few more interesting facts about me. I am turning 40 in a week, no this is not a mid life crisis, this is a realisation that I should do this- help me and then others hopefully. I have suffered with Anxiety & Depression all my life but only diagnosed 4 years ago, when my baby boy was 6 months old. I always felt different and eccentric compared to others, I found it impossible to socially integrate meaningfully. I was a tomboy for years, my big brother was my best friend, we were inseparable. I found it hard to have friends who were girls, and I think I still do. I found the honesty of male friendship refreshing.
So I guess, writing has always been my escape, my quiet place , my ranting space and my solace. Here I hope to upload lots of crazy pieces for you to read and enjoy. Maybe like so many writers in my life you might be inspired, as they say ‘you can’t cross the Ocean, unless you have the courage to leave the shore’
She could not remember a time she felt more herself. The person she is and the person she knows she can become, on her own. Her surroundings mimick her mood, beckoned her forward for a better life.
Candles, warm milk and music floating on the air. It is the night and yet she felt awakened in the fresh morning air. Meanderings, a river of idle thoughts, images of past and present playing like a cinema reel, just for her?