How do i do it?

 When my children were growing up, I had to tell myself on a regular basis that the years were finite. 

This had a two fold purpose: one, to enjoy every moment because it would never come again, and two, to be aware that these moments would pass and never be again.

The years were a tapestry of moments sewn together. Some good, some bad. Loneliness enmeshed with sheer joy and exhilaration at the task at hand. Hard work with added short lived passionate affairs, work that was unchallenging but easy to navigate given my circumstances. 

I get asked how I did it. And I find I seldom have an answer. It feels like I am almost at the end of the grueling part, and I find I don’t really know how I brought up two children on my own for 15 years. So, for the benefit of other sole parents, I decided to try to break it up.

The first three days were the hardest. It was the first time in my life that I had to depend solely on myself. No parents, no partner. There were friends, but at the time I didn’t have many, and some retreated from me as if they needed to take a stance and pick a side. I felt acute pain. It was physical and raw. It was so painful that I needed to do things to keep it at bay. That first night, as he drove away, the street flooded, and as I waded in knee deep water and sandbagged the neighbour's front door in the rain, I knew I would survive. I did break after that for a few days, but kept reminding myself of how strong I felt that night.

After three days, I got drunk. A terrible way to cope, I know, but it ended that sadness. I vomited all over the bathroom, and somehow, it helped me pull myself together somewhat. 

I sat down with myself and made decisions about my work. Emergency and shift work were not going to work for my young family, so I started looking for a family friendly job.

I had to tell the children that their parents were separating. Phoebe was almost 6 and she understood.  She cried and didn’t like the idea one bit, but I made a point of telling her that it wasn’t her fault, that both mummy and daddy loved her and that she would see daddy all the time. My ex didn’t have a house yet, but as soon as he did, they would go and stay. Dan was only 4 and he didn’t really understand,  I didn’t think. But after a few weeks of changing sheets at night again after months of being dry, I put him back in night nappies. I guess he did understand in some ways. I joined the COPE library, and took books out for myself on how to navigate legal aspects and the emotions rushing through me. I took out children's books, and read to the kids, which was incredibly therapeutic for me. 

I found myself a psychologist, and started seeing her for 2 and a half years. I had intended it to be a short stint.

Dan started having nightmares, and that was hard. He saw my psychologist for a few sessions, and she said he was well adjusted, and to encourage art. So, art materials were provided by the truckload and he was encouraged to express those emotions he has always kept to himself until very recently.

Phoebe seemed ok. She has always been an intellectualiser.  Her issues didn’t become evident until her world changed. She didn’t like change, and moving into a new house was very hard for her. I had ideas of travelling and living in a different city, but I decided that I needed to be a stable base, so decided I would not move from this house if I could help it. I was angry at having to be the grown up while my ex was off living a bachelor's life. This anger lasted years. But I eventually let it go, as it was not useful and all consuming. I surrounded myself with friends.  The kids' primary school was a wonderful source of support and I met wonderful long term friends who are still in my life. Thank goodness. They saved me. These people nurtured me, helped me, supported me, held me up, helped my children and shared their love with me and my kids. It was the best thing I ever did. I thank my lucky stars for these people every day. Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. My sister came back from Perth some years ago, and I have added her to my network of valuable people. My mum still worked full time, but her partner and her provided me with a place for the kids when I wasn’t available, and they loved it! My ex mother in law did not withdraw her assistance, and once again, that was invaluable.

I decided that I would enjoy my children and still do all the things that families do. I took them away on cheap holidays. Last minute hotel deals, holiday packages, joined the scouts so we could go camping  and hiking and have adventures. I opted for optimism despite recurrent and chronic depression that would take me to the edge of despair on a regular basis. I got myself a GP, I put things in place so people would call me out if I was sounding depressed. My sister in Perth would pick it up easily. I got myself a shrink when the drugs stopped helping. I exercised regularly, and this was another saving grace for me, as I couldn’t have done any of it without physical fitness and it kept the black dog at bay. I only ever had to take a week off one time when I was so burnt out and depressed that I walked out of the clinic and decided not to return the next day and instead increase my antidepressants. 

On days when I would feel like a bad mother, I would allow myself to wallow. But only for one day. And then I would pick myself up, shake myself off and keep going. Who else have they got? Who do they rely on? Who is their rock?” My children have saved my life many times over the years, and I am so grateful for the gift of being their mum.

I learned to practice gratitude. I would find something to be grateful for, even on the darkest of days. A jacaranda in full bloom in a dark storm, an outing to the park to blow bubbles when strapped for cash, a zoo membership so we always had a free exciting place to visit, my health,  my strength and fitness, a fragrant candle lit in the evening, fresh eggs from the chooks, my children. Always my children. On days when I was so tired and I just wanted to scream, I would just make my coffee a bit stronger and sometimes have a little brief cry in the kitchen.  I wrote a lot. I did a lot of internet dating, with the mistaken idea that I would find a man to rescue me and make everything better again. That I would have a family again, and more children. But I needed to rescue myself, and I did. I learned how to. I kept this blog to remind me of what was good. And I listened to gems at work, people I worked with over the years and patients about how precious those years were, and not to waste them, be mindful,  carpe diem.

I used movies and television and books, and took wisdom from those places. Buffy was a great teacher to me, about relationships and learning about them. I grew up a lot. I was a 31 year old divorcee with two young children, and desperate to regain a nuclear family. It wasn’t to be for me. My lesson was in all of this instead. To learn to be happy with what I have. It is so much.

I read hundreds of books on child development and parenting, I attended positive parenting courses at the council. I hugged my children, I told them I loved them daily, twice daily. I helped with homework, I helped at school, I did reading. I lived with very little money, in exchange for being with them and enjoying being their mum. You don’t need a lot of money to create fun. We used the library and toy libraries a lot. We exchanged books at the book exchange. We used nature a lot, and made food from scratch. Baked bread and made pizzas. Anything can e special if you make it so.

I had a few relationships over the years,  but the biggest lesson for me was about self love, and learning about healthy relationships.  It was not something that came naturally to me, and after a few years, I gave up my pursuit for a relationship and settled instead on male company, not necessarily casual,  but serial monogamy,  I guess.

My animals became a huge aspect of my life, and I have learnt about respect, mutual affection, security and love from them. Unconditional love. Lucy is one of my best friends, and while this may sound pathetic to some, she is a constant. She has been by my side for 14 years. She greets me at the door every day, comes when I need to hug her (when she feels like it), sleeps next to me, sits near me when I cry, has taught me about unconditional love and mutual dependency.  She is here when my children are not, and has been my substitute when my kids have moved on to seeing their dad more. She's helped me to sit with grief as I cry all over her perfect coat.

She has taught me about beauty, and femininity. She is a goddess incarnate, and she will be the hardest thing to let go of as she ages.

So how did I do it? How do I still do it? 

I found myself and all my gifts, that’s how. I am a good friend, a good mother, a nurturer,  a goddess.

I never knew any of this about me at 30. None of this would have happened to me if my life had not hit rock bottom. And I would have missed out. 

If you are a sole parent, or have depression, or are simply sad today, make yourself go for a walk and find something to be grateful for while you are at it. I am so glad I did. I still do. And I am forever grateful for this life.

Will I fight or will I drown?

I have been single on and off for 14 years. I have failed in that time to find a partner who not only was emotionally available but was happy to have the kids around and able to work through difficulties, and willing to do so.

For many years, I decided I would remain single, because I had enough on my plate, I was busy raising children and providing for them, and I just didn’t have the energy for a new relationship as well. And as much as I love my children and my animals and my life, there were times when I would feel sorry for myself. Mostly around Christmas time, when the school concert was on and parents would turn up to watch their children. They would sit together and enjoy what they had created together, bask in the glow of their kids together. I wanted that. Instead, I would be there maybe with my mum, or sometimes alone. The first assembly, parent teacher interviews, the first day at middle school and high school.

It was lonely.

The hard decisions had to made by myself, the hard disciplinary actions when I felt that I was damaging my children. The hurtful teenage “I hate you”, the first period, the first friendship conflict, the first time and second and third time that I stuffed up and had to say sorry. Or the times I simply couldn’t be there because work got in the way.

It was hard. I had to pick myself up all the time.

I had good friends to help, but on my darkest days, it was all too dark even to share. I would just sit in the car on my way to work and cry, or cry myself to sleep after the kids went to bed.

And I would allow myself these days of “feeling sorry for myself”, and then I would tell myself that that was enough. I had had my wallow, what was I going to do about it?

I would pick myself up and instead make a plan.

How was I going to teach my children about divorce? I went to the library and picked up suitable books to read. We developed systems to keep track of things: the library box that contained the library books so that they wouldn’t go missing.

I made lists for the kids to bring things back from their dad’s house so they wouldn’t be left behind and laminated the lists so they could re-use them.

I made decisions on my own activities and made play dates when I was feeling painfully lonely. I strengthened my friendships, I learned to say no, I sacrificed hours working so that I would have the hours I wanted and be able to spend the time with the kids instead and be a good parent.

I got my fellowship of General Practice. I wasn’t sure how I was going to fit in study as well as the kids and work, so I made the point of studying for just 1 hour every day at bed time for 6 whole months. I committed to it and I did do it, and although some days I would fall asleep reading my textbook, I got through the exams and I got my fellowship.

And I did this just allowing myself the occasional “feeling sorry for myself” day.

About a month ago, I fell in a heap. I was feeling sorry for myself. Every day. Lamenting the fact that I am still single, that I still spend important days alone, that I still have so much weight to lose, that I still have a mortgage and have to work more than I would like because although the kids are grown up, they still need me more than ever.

I lamented the fact that this is not the life I had planned. That this is not where I imagined I would be in my life. I started to look at other people’s lives and feeling all jealous of what they have and what they have been able to achieve and accomplish. I started to tell myself of course they can afford that when there are two people earning money in that household.

And then one morning, on my Facebook newsfeed, I noticed something my sister had posted about 2 years ago. It was an excerpt from something written by the great author Paulo Coelho, and I quote:

“As if nothing had changed overnight, the warrior takes another wrong step and dives once again into the abyss. Ghosts provoke, loneliness torments him.

Now that he is more aware of his acts, he did not think this would happen.

But it did. Shrouded by darkness, he talks to his master.

“Master, I fell again into the abyss”, he says, “The waters are deep and dark”.

“Remember something”, responds the master. “It is not the diving that causes the drowning, but the staying underwater”

The warrior uses his remaining strength to get out of the situation he is in”.

It was like a lightning strike, a reminder of everything I have done for the last 14 years. How have I kept from drowning? I have got out of my situation, I have worked towards getting out of that abyss, time and time again.

Now that the children are older, there is no excuse for staying there. I could, and drown.

What exactly is stopping me having exactly the life I want to have?

Nothing, nothing at all. Everything is possible with hard work.

So I told myself it was time to stop wallowing. Enough, I said. Enough!

I got back to the gym. This was always my saving grace: being fit was the only way I could possibly get through the tough days. Everything else seemed easy compared to the gym.

And kept the weight down!

I would love to have a really nice outdoor area to go and sit in.

Guess what? I have an outdoor area. It needs some work and if I get off my arse and start the cat enclosure I have been meaning to make, I can open the entire house and let everyone just roam: cats, dogs, bunnies and people.

The thing is, it is in my power to make my life what I want it to be. I am free to leave the job that is not satisfying, I could make that decision if I wanted to. There are pros and cons of course, and I do have financial responsibilities. But I don’t have to have those either. I could sell my house and take myself on a travel around Australia trip if I really wanted to and spend all of my money on that.

The illusion is being trapped.

I am not trapped.

I am not drowning. Because I won’t allow it. Absolutely not.

I am a warrior.

The being single thing is not something I can change in a hurry, but being lonely is. It is a state of mind to a certain extent. I have so many people in my life, and it is up to me to continue nurturing those people and forget those who just take from me. I have allowed people to take from me without giving in return. Some of those bad relationships have been a choice.

So, 2019 is looking better than ever. I will have energy to build castles, and climb mountains.

Feel sorry for yourself, by all means, but use it to make plans and change your situation. You can. I can.

perfection

Perfection. No demands, no lies, no tears. She was the perfect person to divorce. She had taken the news of his extinguished love with calm composure. She had stared past his pleading eyes. Those eyes she had looked at for countless years, and she had nodded her head.
She was thinking about the way the trees in the distance seemed to be nodding their assent to her quiet decision. Her decision to accept this, as she had accepted him for the last few years. The way she had accepted him into her bed when she didn't want him, the way she had accepted his silence when all she wanted was a conversation. The way she had accepted his mute insults, his looks of disgust when she wished for an admiring glance.
She awoke from her meditation and he was talking. “I just can't do it any more. You know I love you, and I could never have imagined...” The trees in the distance were now shaking in the breeze, then bowing their heads now denying his presence. No, no, no. Goodbye.
“Ok, that's fine”- she heard herself say. Her eyes fixed on a poplar pine that seemed to be about to break in the wind.
“That's it?”- he said.
“What would you like me to say?”- she answered.
I won't beg, I won't talk, I won't say anything, because nothing works. I have tried, her innards whispered to the wind.
Some time later, she heard the door shut and she glanced at his foot leaving at the same time as the wheel of his suitcase crossed the door frame. 
She was alone. She sat in the lounge room staring at the gathering storm. The only noise in the house was the wind howling and readying, gathering the storm. Within her, a calm sea-breeze swept her tropical seas, lulled to sleep the tranquil and serene boats of acceptance.
Surprised with herself, she watched as the first drops of rain stained the pavement outside her door.
The howling winds gathered up speed, and the rain became heavier and gusts propelled the water horizontally. Before long, the street was flooded, the water touching the confines of the road. The drains overflowed and the rain showed no signs of abating. She contemplated the spectacle and wondered if this was nature's response, crying the tears she refused to cry. Her thoughts were thus preoccupied when she noticed that the water had now broken its banks and was flowing towards the already overflowing creek and directly into the front yard of the house across the road. The grimy water and leaf debris was nudging the front step. A figure appeared at the front door, and a few people down the road were starting to walk towards the house. A rescue truck with sandbags stacked in the back was already parked a few metres down the road.
Without a further thought, and pulling on her gumboots, she ran across the road, taking only her house key.
The water pushed at her, the torrential speed pushing at her legs as she crossed the river that was usually a road.
Leaves and sticks beat at her legs as she forced her way across.
The noise of the water and the roaring of thunder drowned people's voices. Stepping on the opposite kerb, she busied herself lifting large waterlogged sandbags and stacking them against the house. When all the sandbags were used up, another truck pulled up with a load of sand. It was tipped onto the ground, and the rescue officers brought an armful of empty Hessian bags to be filled. The people worked mostly in silence. Digging the sand and filling the bags was hard work. Exhaustion was neglected ahead of the need to keep the water away from the houses. The water had now reached five other houses on that side of the street. Her boots had long ago overflowed, and the cold water and the soft sand that she trudged on underfoot was the same that squidged in her boots.





Orders were given, as the rain gave no signs of easing off. The repetitive task kept her mind occupied. Hours and hours went past, her body aching and her limbs begging for respite. Digging and filling bags, then lifting them and stacking them on top of the others.
In the early hours of the morning, the rain eased to a drizzling haze. The tired neighbours started to retreat back into their own homes, counting their blessings. The camaraderie that had joined them for the night dissipating with the flood waters. The raging river that was the road slowly becoming static.
She stood in the water, at a loss, her sense of purpose leaving her, her distraction ending.
Exhausted and aching, she took her boots off by the door, and walked straight into her bedroom. Her wet and muddied clothes a pile on the floor. She climbed into her side of the bed and fell almost instantly asleep.
The street was a bustle of activity for the next few days. Rescue trucks cleaning up the damage and sweeping up the mud. Engineers assessing the creek and monitoring water flow. Council workers carting off branches, insurance officers assessing homes and storm damage.
She sat calmly watching the world passing by. The world had wept for her, the tears she had not shed; would no shed.
During those weeks, the clean up of her marriage took place in conjunction. The calm after the storm, the repair. As if it had never happened. Money was transferred, furniture was moved, slowly obliterating their lives together. Her curtains were changed, his smell faded, the dent her wedding ring made on her finger fainter every day. The road was swept, the water dried and the mud drained away. The branches were piled and then shredded; taken away to mulch someone's garden.
A month after the floods, the street was as it had been before, calm, still, pristine. Those driving past unaware. Unless you were told the story of what had passed, no signs remained.
She faced looks of pity everywhere she went. People would seek signs on her face, some tell-tale sign. Finding none, they would become confused and ask her how she was doing, or offer advice, or ask if she was seeing someone. She started to avoid people, and spend more time staring at the television. Sometimes she would clean dishes, sometimes she would sleep. She started to become accustomed to solitude, and still she felt nothing.
The rain continued. Temperatures started to rise a little, and flowers came into bloom, and new green growth sprouted on trees. The seasons did not change rapidly, as if the shock of a season change would cause an uproar. Everyone was eased ahead gently. So the rain continued well into spring.
One cloudy morning in summer, she ran into Nadia, and old friend of hers and her husband. She was a woman whom she did not enjoy socialising with, and had thus avoided since the break-up.
Nadia did not look at her, unlike others did. She seemed to skip the step that everyone proceeded to when they saw her: the searching look, the pitiful stare. Instead, more preoccupied with her own agenda, she rambled on about all the tasks she needed to perform for the day. And yet, she was not moved. Her own blank stare remained unabated. She was waiting for the usual awkward excuse that Nadia would invariably reach to eventually: “Well, you look great, it's good to see you!”
Instead, to her surprise, she heard the topic of conversation proceed in an unexpectedly oblique direction:
“....so that was when I heard you guys had split up; and then I ran into Stuart, saw him at the mall, in fact. He seemed different from the last time I saw him. You know what it was? He seemed better, happier. As if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.” This last sentence caused her to look up at Nadia's face. She had not expected such a direct insult. A weight lifted off his shoulders? His burden gone? That wife that made him so unhappy? It was her turn to search someone's face for clues.
“....and then he told me that you guys had split up. I said that he looked like maybe it was a good thing, and he said it was. Oh, no offence intended, but I always thought maybe I would have a chance at him, if you know what I mean?”- she winked in a coquettish manner, and placing her saccharine hand on her arm.
“You did know he is seeing someone, didn't you? Oh, my, I hope I haven't spoken out of turn. He said they have been going out for a couple of months, and she moved in a month ago. She is a keen gardener...”- Nadia's monologue continued uninterrupted. Nadia's lack of awareness of the outside world was useful, as she quietly and calmly calculated the time it had taken for Stuart to find a new live in partner. If he had even waited until after their split. She looked down at her hand, and assessed the dent on her left ring finger. It was still visible. Unlike the seasons, there was an abrupt change in her. Suddenly, anger welled within her, like and enormous wave about to swallow an entire town. It was so sudden that she felt it biting at her throat, urgent. She walked around...her acquaintance, and vaguely heard Nadia say: “I guess I'll see you later” as she sped away.
Her heartbeat was almost at her mouth, she could taste it. Her body driven by a fury that was palpable, raging, surging, attacking. She moved through the crowd, and her only thought was to find him. Above her, the rarest January sky on record; rainy, cloudy, stormy; started to darken. The late blooming jacarandas almost glowed against the blackening canvas.
She found herself climbing in her car, her shaking hands gripping the steering wheel, and her white knuckles tightly holding on to the car, urging it forward. She drove fast and dangerously, weaving between cars and following too closely. Her little car trembled, as she drove it fast towards her prey.
She visualised how she was going to do it. She saw herself swinging her cricket bat against his head, his wet brain splattering on a white wall. The sound of the wood smashing against his skull, the pool of blood on the floor. Over and over again, her mind's eye replayed the scene; she was going to kill him, she knew it. The calm she had felt until then seemed a distant memory. An impossibility of giant proportions. The only way she could spend this fury was to kill him, end him; and the crunching sound of his nose breaking brought almost climactic pleasure to her exploding chest.
She pulled up in front of his house, and her adrenaline driven muscles propelled her. The light around her seemed brighter, the dark sky framing the scene of her imminent crime. All the anger she had neglected to feel when he had ignored her messages for years, pushed the dinners she had made for him away and made a sandwich instead, or mocked her tastes in music now being given freedom of expression, a liberation that would end in murder. Oh, the satisfaction that her decision caused her.
She stood at the door, imagined the fear on his face as he would retreat from her, relished in it. She looked around, and saw evidence of the other woman, her garden gloves, her clogs by the door. And although she would have thought it impossible, her anger grew. The doorbell was like a chiming of anticipation. She heard his footsteps, and she gripped the bat, readying it.
He opened the door, and there he was, staring at her. Her rage surged, ready for its climax. And in the millisecond that it would take her to order her muscles to act, she saw him.
She really saw him. A thirty-something year old man, greying and balding. He looked haggard, and his two or three day growth seemed dirty instead of sexy to her. The deep furrows above his eyes from constant unhappiness she had never noticed before, and his downward pointing mouth, which had seemed to her in the past to be a constant smirk, a sexy smirk, yet another mark of how unhappy he was. His expression was a mixture of surprise and....was it still love, or habit, or longing, or lust, or caring, or another emotion that she would never understand?
Her anger, her propellant, slowly extinguished itself. She looked at him, at his face, at his eyes, and the violence that she had prepared for him gave way to something else. An infinitely buried silence, an emptiness, a loss. For the child she would never have, for the many more evenings to be spent alone, for her sleepless nights without him, for his ability to move on to the gardener. And from the silence, a gathering storm nudged at her consciousness. Small droplets at first, but the stillness of her tropical beach was brewing a hurricane, a monsoonal summer long overdue.
He was saying something to her. She didn't hear him. Her tears were falling and clouding her vision. Her howling wind was loud, her throat tearing at her, and she wanted to reach the refuge of her car. Sobs rattled her, and she knew this storm would cause a flood in her.
She drove away, trying to peek at the road behind her tears.
Cottony soft white clouds had replaced the black ones, allowing the sunshine to stream in strong yellow rays. The dust on her windscreen sparkled in the sun, and the rain had already dried.
A long hot summer stretched ahead in the distance.