Who are you?

Stop burying the parts of yourself that you don’t understand…

The earth will just keep returning them until you plant them into something that will grow.

-April Green

There are quite a few parts to me that I don’t entirely understand. For such an enormous chunk of my life, I’ve kept those parts buried. My past, my thoughts, my dreams, my voice.

After much encouragement from my husband and friends, I decided to take this writing thing a step further and introduce my blog page which has enabled me to express who I am and how I feel through writing.

I refuse to filter my thoughts. I don’t sugarcoat the raw stuff and I most certainly never shelter from the emotional stuff.

In just a few short weeks, I have rediscovered the girl I’ve been hiding for far too long. The girl who used to sit in her bedroom for hours, drawing and creating poetry. The daydreaming stargazer, who was always very intact with her emotions.

Then one day, I just closed up. I lost that passion for expressing myself, because I was afraid.

I was afraid of being judged and not fitting in to a particular mould, more commonly associated with being “normal.”

This blog I’ve posted below, is one I wrote recently, but initially decided against publishing. It’s a pretty personal one and I guess I was hesitant to knock down all my walls and let everyone in.

But then, I’d never be able to prove my point. – To be brave, one must first be vulnerable.

We need to stop hiding. We need to love every part of ourselves – the quirky, the bad, the ugly and the sad. After all, It’s those unique things that make me, “me” and you, “you.”

So, without further ado, here’s my little story of where it all went wrong and then, made itself right, again…

When I was a girl,

I spent most of my childhood in my Grandparents’ garden. I would play amongst the gardenias and pick the pretty faced pansies from their garden bed. We’d make flower chains, hunt for four leaf clovers and climb high up in the tops of the trees.

My cousins and I, we would hunt for butterflies, make mud pies and create “soup” out of vegetables, dirt and peculiar things we would discover in my grandfathers garden.

I would chase floating dandelions from the garden out to the back paddock where I’d wish for the same thing every single time, “I wish for my grandparents to live forever!” and then, I’d disappear in to the long wild grass with my siblings, cousins and neighbourhood kids on a mission to explore and create.

When I was a girl,

I believed so fiercely in the magic of Christmas, the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy that I refused to acknowledge my friends who would try to discourage me by telling me otherwise. I remember the day my mother broke me the news, fearing I’d enter high school still looking for Santa Clause in the sky. My heart broke into a million pieces and I cried for days.

When I was a girl,

We would spend our summer days at the local pool, lying on the hot concrete paths to get warm. We’d devour hot chips with tomato sauce followed by red frog lollies or Golden rough chocolates on the hill.

Friday evenings we’d take our sunburned bodies to the local roller skating rink where we’d just let go and skate for hours to the rhythm of Bon Jovi, blasting inside its walls.

When I was a girl,

We’d disappear all day on our bikes or our roller blades. We’d head off to the local corner shop for a giant bag of mixed lollies or a bubble o’bill. We’d spend all day building tree houses and cubbies and recording plays with our cardboard box video camera. It’d be dusk before we returned, or we’d succumb to our rumbling stomachs, whichever came first.

Our imagination was endless.

At night time, when they started destroying our paddock with development sites, we would climb up into the wooden rafters of the new homes where we’d share secrets under the stars.

My friends and I would head down to the river where we’d swing from the rope or jump from the cliffs or the bridge. The water was murky and filled with all sorts of things from dead cattle to shopping trolleys, but we didn’t care.

We were fearless.

When I was a teenager,

I experienced what loss was. Losing my Nana was one of the most paining memories of mine, to date. She was warm, affectionate and sweet. My grandfather (pappy) lost his soul mate. I still remember him that day, reeled over the kitchen bench, in pain. It was as though he’d had his heart torn from him and it went with nana when she left. Within a few years, he too, would leave this world to join her and life as we knew it would never be the same.

I remember their voices, their smells and the pattern of their heartbeats from when I’d nestle on their chest as a child. Pappy, smoking his Marlborough reds in his favourite chair and nana, humming a little song or “resting her eyes” after reading a chapter from one of her mills and boon novels.

It seemed that no amount of dandelion wishes could have saved them.

When I was a teenager,

I rebelled. I snuck out of windows and I began to drink at an early age. Memories were forgotten as quickly as they were made.

I dabbled with things other than alcohol and I went through depression which tossed me into a sea of darkness.

I was kicked out of home and taken in by a friend who picked me up and got me on my feet. I later joined the Defence Force to get myself on track and start a career.

When I was a teenager,

I’d continue to make poor decisions and put myself in stupid, vulnerable positions. Some mistakes would be at my own hand, which I’d find hard to live with and others were not my fault, yet it would take me years to speak to anyone and to finally accept that I wasn’t to blame.

When I was a teenager,

I’d finally meet a boy who would take my hand and guide me out of the devastation I’d come to know and then, piece by piece he’d start putting me back together. He would open my heart up and allow me to revisit my childhood memories because again, like once before, I was finally at peace. It was time to figure out who I was.

Today,

I am a woman who,

Has the fondest memories of a childhood, lived. Because I spent so much time outdoors during every season, I have learned to love and appreciate it all. The colours of the whispy leaves through autumn that dance from the trees, the warmth of the summer sun that prickles on my neck, the distinct smell of a summer storm approaching and the cool chill on my nose and cheeks during the winter. The aroma of the flowers in Spring get me all nostalgic and the scent of December Christmas beetles has me reveling in an almost childlike festive spirit all over again.

I am woman who,

Knows how she should be treated and how to treat others. I love my children, husband and friends and I am not afraid to let them know. I am convinced, actions speak louder than words which has led me to be extra affectionate with those I care for.

I am a woman who,

Understands what loss is and is fully aware that tomorrow is never promised to any of us.

I am a woman who,

Grew up with a cheeky and adventurous spirit which I’ve now carried with me into adulthood. I make mistakes and I do impulsive things, but I understand that life is short and we need to embrace our inner child – always.

I am a woman who,

Loves the sound of music and listening to the lyrics. I love sweet verses of poetry and quotes and stories about old-fashioned romance. I am raising my children to be inclusive and considerate and above all, to choose being kind over being right.

In a time where violence, terror, and suffering are at an all-time high, our focus on raising compassionate children should be paramount.

They are our future.

I am a woman who,

Will stop at nothing to protect those I love and have them know that they always matter.

I still wish on dandelions and stop to smell the roses. I love the feel of the rain on my skin and the distinct roughness of the tree bark beneath my fingertips.

I’ve no regrets, for that would mean given the option, I might go back to change the past. And why would I want to risk changing one little step? That one slight shift in my past might send a rippling effect to alter my future and everything as I know it, might be different.

I choose this.

When I’m an old lady,

I plan to be relaxing in a swing seat on the verandah of a beautiful old home, a wine in one hand and my husband’s hand in the other, soaking up the air and reliving it all.

Every fun moment. Every heartbreaking moment. Every wild moment. Every loving moment.

Every magic moment.

I know who I am. I am not ashamed of any part of me and I live this life with no regrets.

Look in the mirror and try to remember who you once were. Find your inner child and listen to their voice. Don’t let this world harden your heart or break your soul.

Embrace who you are before this sweet little taste of life you get, is over. Where did you start? What did you want? Where did it go wrong and what can you do to get back on track? How can you make it right?

figure it out.

“Who are you?”

Beauty from the inside, out and the outside, in

I actually wrote this little piece a while back, so to those of you close to me, it might ring familiar. It was a little rant I had late one night on my Facebook page after downing a couple of glasses of wine. A lot of the time, this is when I get the itch to write about the things going on inside my mind.

My mind is like something you might see in the comics, with all the thought cloud bubbles surrounding some poor, confused looking cartoon. Day and night the bubbles fill up, sometimes with trivial things like, “I need to ask my neighbour what those strange fruit like things are hanging off her tree?” Or “I really need to get my nails done. It’s almost February and I’m still flossing Christmas colours from when I was feeling festive” to more niggling things, “Why won’t my children sleep in their own beds?” “Am I doing this right?” “Am I doing Anything right?” Eventuality, there are no bubbles left to comprehend my husband when he starts talking about tax and BAS “stuff”. I just nod and stare blankly at him like a deer in the headlights. Sorry babe. There are zero bubbles left for that kind of talk around here. 🙅🏼‍♀️

Another thing I do think about, that often fills my bubbles is how to bestow confidence within my children. How do I fill their cup every day so that they feel positive and accomplished? How do I ensure I’m doing everything in my power to enable them to grow up to be self-sufficient, contributing members of society?

I might not know a lot about what goes on at the accountants office, but I sure do know how to insist my children feel loved and humbled each and every day.

___________________________________________

Setting: One silent evening in late 2017, approximately 11:30pm. Drink of choice: Likely a Brown Brothers prosecco or a drop of a crisp De Bortoli Villiages Sav Blanc. Feeling: content

I didn’t grow up being told I was “pretty” or “beautiful” by my family – Any such praise was reserved for things such as performing well in sport, or acing an English exam.

It’s important of course, to know you are much more than face value, (which is a credit to my parents) however, I’ve only recently learned to be more outwardly confident – and for me, it’s still a continuous work in progress.

I tell my children every single day how smart they are, how talented and kind they are and I do not forget to remind them of how beautiful and/or handsome they are. I need my children to face this world with the utmost of confidence so that their little hearts are less likely to crumble at the harsh words of a bully.

Confidence not only comes from within. You need to feel comfortable & beautiful within the shell that carries that gorgeous soul, too. You need your child to be able to look in that mirror and see what you see. Otherwise, without that confident exterior, it makes it hard for all that special stuff on the inside to shine through.

It’s not perfection – it’s contentment we strive for. It’s not vanity, it’s self acceptance & self love qualities that we want our children to carry with them in to adulthood.

I hope that by doing this, I am giving them the tools they need to be less susceptible of falling victim to this materialistic & plastic world we live in. I don’t want my children wishing they looked like the model they follow on Instagram. I want them to want to look like themselves.

I want them to know, that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

K x

Children who grow up feeling loved deeply become adults who are prewired to love deeply. – Karen Salmansohn

My Sophie bear. The epitome of beauty from the inside, out (and the outside, in)