Tag: just me

Dear Body

Inspired by this.

Dear Body,

We’ve had a funny relationship, us. I remember only really being aware of your constraints on sports days at school. I hated them, mostly because I was always coming bum-bottom at the end of the pack. You couldn’t run as fast as the other gazelle-like girls, and because you’re made short, jumping hurdles was a joke. I’m sorry I bumped your knee that badly, and you still bear the little scar of the hurdle today.

You saw me through ballet, though, and I loved you for it. Sure, I wasn’t as graceful as I could have been, but I loved the way you moved. You enabled me to be a princess in my head, at a time in my life when my head was a marvellous escape. In playing, I’ve got you dirty, had a brick dropped on your head, rolled around in mud and used you to climb trees. It was you that made my childhood possible.

Life has given you scars – like the one on my leg and the one on my elbow. Each one of them is a testament to something I survived, or a friendship I treasure. I’m proud of your scars, because they remind me every day. You’ve got chickenpox scars too, from when I got chickenpox from a little kid and I played with him in the garden. I was twenty-one, and you and I just cried our way through the pain. You’ve got stretchmarks from babydom, and from the fluctuating weights of our teenage years.

Ah, yes…the teenage years. And, in them, I grew those boobs. Perky and rotund, I loved them. Which was weird, because I had thought as a kid that I’d hate having them. I loved those teenage boobs. Alas, with them came the hormonal weight gain that I think all teenage girls go through.

And then the extreme weight loss, too. I went from fat to skinny, to inbetween, to back again, to round and round the mulberry bush of weight.

I learnt to just rely on you. You never let me down. You just went on existing, no matter what I threw at you. All the late nights, the dancing, the cigarettes, the parties and the silliness. You just kept on existing.

Somewhere, there in my middle twenties, you started to change.

You hid it from me, pretty well. I thought I was getting fat again, and the people around me were too sweet to say it to me out loud. “I think you’ve put on some weight”, was a kind word from a friend after a Christmas party at her house. So we all thought, you little trickster.

You and I both know now that it wasn’t weight gain, it was baby blossoming. It took four months and an eventual twisting of my arm by my sister for you to actually show me that you were incubating life.

You were kind to me through our pregnancy. You kept strong, you gave me an easy pregnancy, whilst the world around me was splintering into pieces. You carried me and this little life, without fear. You let me concentrate on holding life together, whilst I tried to come to terms with my father dying.

And then, just as easily as you carried her, you popped my daughter out. Without much of a squeeze or a push, you let me give birth to my wonder child. You gave me another gift – a relatively easy labour, quick and without too much worry. And there she was, all beautiful and perfect, as babies are.

It was then though, that you put up a bit of a protest. With my dad dying, your breasts dried up (and we both know the left one didn’t work much at all), and I decided to stop stressing and start living. So we gave it a good three weeks of breastfeeding, and then, when the world splintered up, you asked for rest. So, we rested. And my daughter slept, and was happy.

You let me hold her, love her, swing her, carry her, squeeze her, bath her, kiss her. You let me do all these things. You let me sit up with her as she, ill one night, vomited continously down my back. You let me rock her to sleep, You let me read to her.

And, as she grew, you let me lead her into walking. You helped me lift her up high. You let me carry her on your hip. Once, when she was in hospital, your small size came in handy, and I spent the night sleeping next to her, in her cot. I’ve never been more thankful that you were made small.

You got really, badly ill a few years later. Your kidney, which as we both now know, decided to just shut down. But, thanks to excellent healthcare and an amazing best friend called Will, you were in hospital faster than a bullet, and you healed. We spent five days on your back, with nothing to do but sleep, rest and heal. I’ve never felt closer to you than I did for those five days. It was then that I made my peace with you. It was then that I woke up, feeling truly healed.

You’ve been ill a few times since then, with the same thing. Thankfully, we know the signs all too well now and can catch it before it worsens. You and I can laugh about it now, because we know how important each other is. We can laugh about it because it’s a situation we know we can handle.

As you reached thirty, I realised I’m okay with you. I’m really good with you. You, my body, let me love, let me live and let me enjoy life.

It was you who let me hold my mother’s hand for the very last time. It was you who let me kiss the love of my life for the very first time.

Yes, sure, I could do without your “wrinkles on the forehead, pimples on the chin” dichotomy, and the grey hairs you seem to love to sprout. But, dear body, you make me happy. It is with you and through you that I am able to love, to receive love and to live life. It is you, dear body, that lets me do the work I love, and dance like silly person around the lounge with my daughter.

Dear Body, thank you.

Journal Eternal

I journal. I make sure I write in my journal every day. It’s a habit of mine that I once lost, but regained when my wonderful friend Larcy gave me a new one for my birthday.

If I think back, I quiver about my diaries of yesteryear. They were painstakingly written in, every day, and filled with diatribes on the latest high school squabble or wrenching heartache. In retrospect, I can laugh at myself. Thank goodness.

And that, well that’s what they’re there for. To look back, to reflect upon. To laugh at yourself and hold your own hand when you relive a hurt.

I started my journal on my first day of being 30. Swimming out of a year of negativity (barring Shmooshy, Cam and amazing friends), I determined my course for this Journal…

Short sentences. Three at max, per day. All of them have to be positive. The other Cath inspired that process. When I was in a heap, and crying to her on the phone, she told me I needed positive thought and as much of it as I can get. And then sent me pictures of beautiful cupcakes. Do love my friends.

She was right, you know, I need positive thought to keep me going, stop me from becoming clouded by negativity, and left wandering the inroads of my brain, looking for answers.

I love my Journal Eternal. And no, you can’t read it. 😛

Why I won’t campaign for the SA blog awards

Yeah, I’m unpopular just for calling this post what it is.

I’ve thought about it alot, really, and Sheena can attest to this. I’m never going to compete for my writing.

I don’t have an issue with the process. I don’t have an issue with voting. I don’t have an issue with people who do campaign. I don’t have an issue with competitions. Hells, I’ve already nominated who I’d like to see win.

But, when it comes down to me and this little space? This little space is like my diary. It’s where I come home to, to make sense of the world around me and my life within it. I’ve made friends, felt love and it is a reflection of my life.

For me to campaign for a blog award, to me, feels like I would be asking people to nominate my life for an award. And, well, I don’t want or expect anyone to. It is what it is, and I share it as best I can. I don’t write it down for speculation. I write it down to capture it. I write it for Cam, so I can show her the journey one day. I write it for me, to remind me of where I have been and where I have gone, both in my mind and my heart. I write it for the person who reads it and who resonates. I write it for you, if you’re reading something and feel okay about something in your life because you know I’m in that space too. I write it as a part of me, and I’m never going to ask you to give me an award for being me. I have that award already, it’s five years old and is currently pretending that her CareBear is a baby sister, whilst they watch The Princess and the Frog, and eat a bowl of Coco Pops.

So, thank you for the nominations (I’ve seen them). Thank you for the votes, if you make them. But, most of all, I thank you for reading. I thank you for listening and I thank you for letting me write.

Big love,

Cath

The Birthday Benchmark Blog.

So, someone asked me why I didn’t make a speech at my own birthday.

Truth is, I didn’t want to. Truth is, with everything that’s happened in the last year, I was a little scared I’d choke up and fall over, emotional. Now is not the time to be faint-hearted.

In turning 30, I obviously reflected. Lucky for you reading this, I kept that mental regurgitation of a decade mostly to myself (and yelled appropriate parts down the phone at Sheena when I needed to. Thanks, fuckbitch, for dealing so damn well with my panicked phonecalls, like always).

What would I have said anyway? All I am is gratitude. A decade of hell and heaven. So much learning, so much discovery. So much laughter and probably far too much heartache. But, oh, the heart-swelling moments made every ache worthwhile. In retrospect, the times I held hands and grinned at the world, with people I loved, made every time I felt alone and frankly wanted to just disappear, worth it.  Every time Cameron opens her mouth and says something that saves the day, makes the hell of two years of post-natal depression worth it. Every time I felt unsure, was worth it for every time I held a certainty. Every time I meandered into self-doubt and couldn’t get out, was worth it for every time my faith got me through.  Every single insular moment, meant that every moment I felt a part of something meaningful, was even more beautiful. Every time I was left, was soothed by every time I was accompanied.

If I think back, at 20, I thought I would marry the person I was with then. And yes, Sheena, it was who you think it was. You may now snort your tea laughing. Not even a spit of time went by before I realised that was not to be. At all. Thank fuck for that first-of-the-decade life realisation.  How funny, when I saw his parent the other day, and we had a giggle about our past, I realised how very, very different children can be from their parents. I just hope in his life, he got some good parts from his dad. Disparaging comments on exes over with. Maybe. We’ll see.

It was in this decade that I began to write some things I am still proud of. Not all of them, mind you. It was in this decade that I learnt about the inroads of my head, and explored them, sometimes with and mostly without, fear. That got me in to trouble at times. I am okay with that trouble.

It was in this decade that I lost my parents, and gained a child.

It was in this decade that I had to, numerous times, either forced or by choice, to re-define my own sense of belonging on every level I can think of.

It was in this decade that I lost more than I thought I could bear, and gained more than I ever thought possible.

I am forever thankful for this decade. The one with the sparkles and the shit. Even more thankful that, looking back, I don’t recall once ever finding said sparkles mixed up with said shit. That’d be just gross. Always the counter-balance, where the sunshine did come after the rain, even when it looked like the clouds just would not fucking move the fuck on.

I’ve emerged so thankful for every day. Even when given everything, or left desolate with everything taken away, I am still, in retrospect, steeped in gratitude.

But, what  is it about benchmarks? These benchmarks we set for our lives, and we set for other people. Someone who I still hold very dear to me, once told me that I am the benchmark against which they compare every person they meet. I don’t think I’m ever going to be okay with that, and I reckon their bias towards me speaks more about the life experiences we had apart, than it did during our  times together.  But, the truth is, benchmarks exist for a reason. And, when those benchmarks are exceeded, in whatever form, you are left with a choice. The choice to create a new benchmark or to stop measuring entirely.

I choose to stop measuring entirely. I choose to actively try not to compare myself with others, and in particular those people I secretly fear the most sometimes. I’ll do my best to truly love what there is, for what it is. And I’ll not hang on to expectation, as best I possibly can.

Still, I’m learning. I’m excited to learn.

Thank you, decade-of-twenties, for showing me who the hell I was. And, well, decade-of-thirties, let’s see how you take that who I am, and get better at it.

At just being me.

it’s a terrible photo of me but.

i think it sums up how fast life moves.

how fast it sometimes seems to pass us by.

Cam talked. All weekend.

That gorgeous voice of neverending singing and laughing and pointing things out that make her smile.

from such a tiny baby, resting on my shoulder

to this girl who has the world in the palm of her hand and will go shopping wearing fairy wings.

“and if anyone asks, tell them, mommy, that i’m a fairy today. tomorrow, i will be a kitty”

with an imagination bigger than the universe.

i am still awed by her love.

it grows every day.

faster than her feet, even.

And then

there’s me.

Me who’s busy and creating and hoping and working.

Me who is loved beyond love.

Me who is understood.

Even when she makes zero sense.

Me who grew up too fast too, she thinks.

Me who can’t remember making that decision but definitely did.

Heh.

Me who’s okay with it

and me who sometimes wants to channel that Peter Pan complex so hard that i refuse to wear shoes until I get wings again.

There’s me who is really sad for her best friend who feels his heart is breaking again as he leaves.

And even though it is the most wonderful opportunity in the world…

it sucks leaving your family behind.

I know, for a fact, that I can’t do it.

I respect you for your strength to do it.

Even when it comes with self-doubt and tantrums.

This morning, when the sun came up,

I was up.

Hanging laundry.

The DomestiCath way.

I look into Cam’s room and I see her sleeping,

like my sister.

Legs in the air. Sprawled across the bed.

Smiling at her dreams about mermaids, fairies, ponies and Princes of Charming.

I think about her singing twinkle twinkle little star.

And I smile.

I look into my kitchen.

The dishes unwashed from a weekend of chill and sunshine.

I think about waking up on Sunday morning after being left to sleep by Shmooshy and he got up to play with Cam.

I grin.

I’ve never had that before.

I look at my hands.

I feel my heart and it beats.

And I begin my day,

smiling.

In all that happens so quickly.

Moves so fast.

And it speeds up and slows down whenever it wants to.

I get to hold your hand.

Sometimes I feel like crying because I still can’t believe how lucky I am.

Instead, I laugh and I grin and I dance when noone’s looking.

I love how, every time, without fail, you are honest with me.

i love our honesty.

i thrive on it.

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

2 years on wordpress…

Sat on my lounge floor this evening, colouring in with Cam and…

I realised that, a year ago, i had an enormous moment and i wished it would crush me.

It didn’t.

A year before that, and I was –  well, I still do, oscillate.

This year, I thought it was about time I updated this.

I thank you for reading and for now, I bid you good night.

woke up with it in my head this morning.

it’s a 1996 song. Larcy will giggle at that.

anyway.

funny thing.

i woke up with it in my head this morning.

so.

please give me a moment whilst i think about a few things.

on another note. i still love this movie.

must buy a copy of the soundtrack again.

must own it on dvd again.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a-wfhZepvWQ]

a reflection.

when i was in therapy, for a long time, after the whole oh-my-sack-my-brain-fell-apart-and-i-cant-deal-with-it episode of 2006, that included a one year old kid, a mad time, aeroplane rides and a best friend who just wanted to feed me…

 

 

my therapist and i covered alot of ground.

 

 

she made me look at my life expectations and desires. and that what I, in my brain that was so tired, wanted for Cameron was something that seems so simple…(and i quote, by the way, verbatim – please be gentle, i wasn’t very sane at the time):

 

 

I said “a clean kitchen counter and a house that smells of cookies. white walls and being able to wake up every morning thinking of possibilities, not probabilities”.

 

 

So, her challenge to me was to make that happen as best I could.

 

 

And I did, and I have. And I will every day.

 

 

But, the proviso on that was, quite simply, to remember that it’s actually an illusion. That the cookies baking could get burnt, and the kitchen counter shouldn’t always be clean because then that’s not a home. And that possibilities, whilst they are the stars, it is me who will have to let her believe, and help her believe that they are attainable. That the details didn’t matter, and that what mattered was the reality.

 

 

Cam said it best a while ago, actually, when she said
“it doesn’t matter what we eat for dinner, it’s how we eat it”.

 

 

So, I do. And, whilst we’re prancing around the garden looking for fairies and eating ice-cream with our fingers, we’re still real. We’re still messy and we’re still real.

 

 

Reality. The reality is that family is messy, and lovely, and loving, and passionate. But, it’s real. It’s intertwined and mangled sometimes, but it is real.

 

 

Every day, I wake up and I hope that I give my daughter a real life. One with passion and meaning. Not one fettered by opinion or demand to be brave and live up to societal standards that really work out quite boring anyway.

 

 

I realised, during those sometimes torturous therapy sessions, that Cameron deserved better than the average.

 

That mediocre, whilst easy, was not for me.

 

That chaos is sometimes beautiful.

 

But, that in the quiet of a moonlit night, I can look into her room, watch her sleep and know that I have done the best I can to love her and make sure that she knows that I love her.

 

At the end of the day, it’s only love that really matters after all.

burn the books, it bubbles up.

you know..

in this flurry of a day that’s not even close to being a product from a well-known drivethrough.

you know…

in this hilarious race against words that i have forgotten to write and those which i cannot get out of my mouth fast enough.

you know…

in this angry, red space where you reside and i cannot comprehend your actions.

you know…

in this sad, grieving place where you have once again made pain out of smiles at play.

you know…

i’ll think about that phonecall. the one that left me slammed against a bathroom wall.

you know…

i’ll think about how i won’t let you hurt anymore. i won’t be shocked by you and i won’t be tainted by you.

you know…

it’s so easy for me to form this day into a mashed plate of nothing to remember.

you know…

it’s so much better for me to forge on through and forget what you said, and what you did and

you know…

there are nicer people in the world than you.

i know…

because they’re in front of me.

i know…

because they’re honest and real and lacking in deceit.

i know…

because they’re entirely open to being themselves with the world.

even when it hurts them.

i know…

because i’m one of them and you hate that about me.

i know…

because i’m in your face, in your heart and won’t leave anything alone because it’s causing pain.

i know…

because i live to be there at 2am when someone needs me.

i know…

because i need to be able to make that call myself sometimes.

i know…

because i’ve deleted your number from that list.

you just shout at people that love you anyway.

i know…

who i am. where i am. how i am.

i know…

because i took the time to learn.

you know…

maybe you should too.

you know…

i don’t hide, i’m not writhing. i’m not even interested in writing about you.

you know…

i’ve released this faster than it slapped me into that wall so that my best friend could pick me up and take me home.

i know…

in time, the sting will ease and the noise will quieten.

but you know…

you lose you in the process.

i know…

i lose nothing.

i know…

because all i am is thankful for the people around me who know where i stand.

i know…

because all i am is grateful for the hugs and kindnesses bestowed.

i know…

because all i have are those i love so dear.

and i know…

that they don’t care how cross-eyed i’ve gone from a day gone mad.

and i know…

that they’re the brightest lights most shining on the darkest evenings.

you know…

i only hope you have that gratitude somewhere.

i know…

you’re reading this and spitting.

and i know…

that i am okay.

i know…

i am fearless, firm and fine.

exhale

last night Cam and I did the big “GIRLS NIGHT IN”

which included:

*takeout

*doing our nails

*facemasks

*doing our hair

*making a ton of popcorn

*chickflicks (anything with a girl in a wedding dress in it and Cam is SO THERE, although she professes she does not want to get married, just wear the pretty dresses ALOT hehe…)

*talking

*cuddles

*sleep

Tonight, I’ll be at the Durban 27dinner

Tomorrow, I think I need to go fish shopping

yep, another one died. I am a bad fish mama. fish go to heaven via the toilet. apparently, according to Cam:

‘mom, God’s funny with his special fish to heaven portal’

…and then i AM chilling out.

i AM breathing out.

i will, by monday, be…

thinking about Cape Town again

because i’ll be there on friday.

to exhale again.

🙂