Trauma twins.

Was so great to be in the presence of a dear friend today.

We need connection so very badly. All of us. No matter how much we may love our solitary sojourns, other voices keep us tied into a wider community.

I need the affirmation she gives me. It feeds me and strengthens me.

She’s always believed that I have been abused and that Faith in my Word is more valuable than Gold.

She’s always believed that I’m a good mother and again this contradicts my ex and the ICOC church that denigrates women to pre feudal times.

She’s always been adamant that I am capable of looking after myself.

Beautiful sentiments that keep me living and breathing.

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Drrrrained

Thank God I’m going out tonight. Hoping to find some positive energy to turn that down pression toward light and sun.

Winter is seeming to drain the life blood out of me.

This week feels like its put alot of us on the back foot

Days are hard and night seems to be the most inviting. Itching for unconsciousness to take me far away.

Ofsted under the brand spanking new framework put the whole school on heightened alert and tension.

Failing hot water drove me and the kids to biting one liners, filling up kettles and buckets with boiling water, incessant moaning and endless calls to the Council.

Proving I should retain child benefit that my ex is trying to take from me, find witnesses for an oncoming court case and fight for benefits that are my Right: enveloped me in mounds of hard, unsympathetic, blank, crackling, white paper – the canvass for hard evidence, I Must Find.

This is too hard.

It’s All on me.

4 hours of driving each day in a derelict car that needs daily top ups of water and oil filled me with exhausted numbness.

Couldn’t even write a blog. Couldn’t enunciate the sadness fog.

Can’t even find it in me to care if the Conservatives get in again, or look forward .. .

Broken

I am with my dear friend.

Have you ever felt like the broken you can only reveal itself in front of very special people?

I don’t even reveal this self to me.

Somehow, the honesty and realness of this connection means the painful stuff just oozes out.

I find myself behaving in strange ways that I don’t recognise…from the strong,independent, black, conscious, single mother I have been told I am.

I find myself filled with fear, a little girl, a baby sucking my thumb, I’m scared of being used, I’m scared to voice my feelings, I’m trembling to say ‘no, I don’t want this’.

Somehow, connecting with this traumatised child inside me is healing me, piece by piece.

Hearing her, holding her, accepting her is eschewing a new serenity.

Thank you Nikolas.

New You, New Me.

I love to celebrate craft, pursuit of excellence, Quality with a capital Q in whatever field.

Well we all know how much our hair means to us. All of it or none of it. Hair plagues the image-conscious- confidence.

My hairdresser has taken me through many life – hair styles. She knew me when I was living the lie- of Happy Families and ‘holier than though’ church.

She saw me try and assert Me in a coercive church and relationship.

She witnessed me go through many breakdowns…she witnessed me leave my family and crawl back in a suicidal state.

She watched me get help from Mental health workers, domestic abuse support, Judges, Social workers, nearly end up in a refuge, sofa surf and be finally housed for domestic abuse by the council.

Then she saw me start to listen to my intuition, my soul, my Politics, my Purpose in a cocoon of new and old loving friends and equilibrium.

Check her out. She does hair of all races, all styles. Dawnette, North London, UK
Mobile 079-563-30484

Monthly delights…

What an honour to be a woman…to give birth, breastfeed, emotionally yoyo, nurture, intuit.

We also have a massive range of styles and looks to mix and match: the pretty little thing, the ‘tom boy’, the – oversized boyfriend’s garments – look, the red, blaring siren.

Talking about red. I had a tsunami of that this morning. I mean, will my body ever stop taking me by surprise?It seems that as soon as I adapt to new body shape, breast size, energy levels, sexual preferences, hair thickness, length, texture, colour…it melds into something Other.

So can you imagine?

After padding myself to survive racing through traffic to drop child and onto work for 90 mins, blaring tragic heroines like Amy Winehouse and planning some suitably appropriate proper heavy eyeliner in line with my mood…I pop into the toilet to be…

Soiled, soiled…

I mean I was embarrassed and I was alone.

But the show must go on. Right?

A few minutes later, I’m prancing round 30 pre pubescent…spouting authority, maternal, literariness and whatever senior leaders expect of me.

Lethargic, worn out in agonising pain, popping pain killers… It’s what We do.

You can understand why some forward thinkers have given Women flexy time to deal.

Flexy time or not.. we just have to deal.