Writing

What I have unravelled in my reflection and growth as an adult is that my body is still wearing the armour in a house that is safe. I am safe with my partner, safe with my children, safe in the knowledge that those parts of my life are over.

So why am I still scanning when there are no longer any monsters?

This hypervigilance is what stops my whole body, my essence, from resting. It can make me miss the real message, or the hand that isn’t reaching out to hurt me but is reaching out to connect and soothe.

There is also a part of me that views this not as a flaw, but as a superpower. That little girl kept me safe all the way through to now. She was strong, quick, and intuitive, and she was alert.

While my adult me wants to rip off the cape and tell us both we don’t need these superpowers anymore, I accept this is a slow process. I can thank us both for all the hard work. I can shut my eyes and rest, and I can continue to hold her little hand and keep her safe with me.

I went with it. I reached for it. I was curious. I was sceptical. And I was impatient and moody all at once.

I started to search for answers. What was this change? Why do I feel different?

Like a mix of feeling powerful and confused.

Like a superhero with a new power it hasn’t quite mastered yet.

Like an eagle ready to soar but without fully outstretched wings.

When my doctor mentioned perimenopause, it meant I could attribute a lot of these feelings and changes to something. Something to cling to, to thank, and to blame. When you know, you know!

The load.

The no one to turn to feeling.

Boundaries getting louder with your approval.

Clarity feels almost like a weapon.

Relationships feeling like two people rubbing against each other’s raw edges.

The sensory overload.

The lighting of a new kind of fire within you.

The exhaustion of carrying everyone else’s feelings.

The invisibility.

The craving for meaning and connection.

A scary, amazing, confusing, exciting kind of rebirth.

This is a lot for a person to process while maintaining some kind of normalcy. Friends and family watch on, amazed, concerned, and in awe of your transformation.

Who is this unfolding in front of us, so familiar yet unfamiliar?

There’s an excitement, yet also a kind of loneliness. I don’t think there is any kind of preparing for this stage of life. It isn’t until you are in its midst that you can say you understand what it is like, and as women we are the only sex to experience such a transformation.

It is most certainly to be celebrated, but there is a tricky balance holding everything together as normal while you are changing into something new on the inside.

Maybe it isn’t drowning. Maybe it is just a chaotic rebirth. I know for certain that this is the beginning of the new me I am becoming.

But is it a case of the more we give, the more we lose our “old” selves? The focus on our little ones is so strong and instinctive that they often become our identity.

This is not to say that we do not choose this path, or that there are regrets. But there are times where it is all so consuming that we can’t help but think, “Where have we gone?”

Where is the old me? Do I miss her? Do I want her back? Will she ever come back?

And that is where the bittersweet lies.

The love. The unconditional love for the miracles we produce, tangled up with the calling for something for ourselves.

It all gets so knotted that it is hard to know where the line ends.

Does it end? Or is it beginning?

The blinkered honeymoon period drops your inhibitions. It leaves you giggly, silly, lightheaded and confident. It wraps around your heart and says “go and be free”. And we do. We are free to explore each other. Free to start the intertwining of our lives, a testing of the waters. Can we blend together? Will you stay?

My husband and I never understood, that we both fell in love at first sight, until many years into our marriage. There wasn’t a moment. A spark. A placard saying “this is it”. But there was a mutual ease and a lightness and an attraction that is hard to articulate.

He felt safe.

It wasn’t a conscious feeling. But my body and my heart felt safe. My very being. And we connected in so many ways. My heart danced. It twirled. It started to long.

I felt safe in a way I hadn’t in my childhood. My body knew it though my brain didn’t yet.

Our journey and our lives were so easy to intertwine. We were so aligned and so our story began. Our love grew stronger. Our family grew bigger. Our responsibilities increased.

Our demons visited.

Out of the darkness came the parts of us we never knew existed until we had enough space from our upbringing. We were no longer a child of a parent but an adult with children.

Just having children mirrored back to us what our childhood was like. Hearing our parents in the words that tumbled out of our mouth. Our nervous systems twitching at the flashes of a past we hadn’t realised had been so instrumental in shaping every part of us. That gave us these demons to carry.

Though life is busy. The wheel turns. The responsibilities call. The load gets heavier. You live in a permanent state of tension that has been with you for so long you don’t know any different. This is your normal.

Life is busy. Everyone is busy. But something continues to tug. You don’t quite know what it is but you start to feel the niggling tension. The pull.

Until you realise you need to slow down. You realise you can no longer ignore the tugging.

So, you do the work. You face the demons and you realise it was never your fault. You feel a release. There is relief. There is grieving. Loneliness. Growth. And a lot of hard work to teach your nervous system to settle.

That you are safe.
That it was never your fault.
That it is ok to look at it all and let it go.

To acknowledge it and to let it sit quietly on your shelf as a part of your story, not as a part of you any more.

Through all this my husband and I have turned away from each other. Towards each other. We’ve argued, loved, cried, argued some more, and held each other tight because that is the love that binds us.

He is my person. He has been from the moment we met. He strokes my hair and looks at me in a way that reaches my soul and makes me feel so safe, seen and held. And that is why my pain and heartache is so strong when things don’t feel connected. Together. When I feel lonely within our relationship.

I feel his pain. He feels mine. And while we don’t intentionally want to hurt each other, sometimes it feels easier to turn away from the pain than towards it.

Doing the work knowing it will create a rocky path ahead for a while and committing to that path is the true essence of facing it. Walking into it. Holding its hand and letting it know it is time to stop with the taunting. It too is safe. We are all safe.

He is my person.

I found myself wishing I was more like they are.

They show spirit, grace, and determination and they spread this and inspire in ways we’ve not seen so publicly in a long time.

Reflecting on these feelings, I found myself so drawn to them. The way they talk, how humble and level they are, and how much they appreciate their experience and journey to that stage.

Watching them fumble over their words, so clearly moved and visibly changed from what they had experienced was raw, emotional and human.

It felt like they were my home. The home I miss with no extended family and so few friendships that go deep enough. They felt safe, comforting, inspiring and they gave me the connection I was yearning for over the 9 days they were away.

The connection to humanity that we all feel is slipping away.

It isn’t.

In the last 9 days… I felt inspired. I felt connected. I cried. I felt hope for humanity. I felt safe.

I’m humbled.

There is laughter, pain, joy, the fast flurrying of time, regret, deep emotion, connection and loss.

But guess what?

I hear you have the same going on inside your world.

Let’s pause and share. Let me explore the world through your eyes and yours through mine.

This is connection and life. We are here for such a short time and our focus is on speed, velocity, more, more and more.

We train ourselves to be independent, and we have a list of shoulds, longer than we care to admit, driving us to try desperately to tick every box.

But what if we sat down and just existed and appreciated all there is to offer in the here and now.

Come and join me in my world.

This is me.

Take me as I am.

I wouldn’t have to wait until everyone was out, or I was alone in the car, before belting out my favourite tunes and singing at the top of my voice. And I really wouldn’t care if my jokes didn’t land because I’d be laughing too hard already. I chose them because I think they are funny.

Isn’t it amazing when we reflect like this that we realise just how much of our living is not for ourselves?

When did it become about everyone else? Even those so grounded and strong will often make unconscious choices based on judgement they may receive. Judgement from the people watching on, almost like we’re figures in a zoo. We’re all such curious humans, yet it’s so easy for that curiosity to tip into being critical. Into jealousy. Into wanting.

All this wanting and comparing, when we could be celebrating, respecting, or admiring.

When I think about how little we need to make us happy... and how if you strip away the judging eyes of others, it is hard to think of what we love because we have trained ourselves to be watched. Watched walking by. Watched on screens. Watched while having coffee with a friend as people pass by.

But what if, at the end of it, we just gently turned away from the watchers, looked at ourselves, and dared to ask the quiet question:

What is it we truly need?

Neglect.

Aggression.

Guilt.

Silence.

I wanted to speak up.

I wanted to run.

Inside, I think I always knew that life shouldn’t be like this. I never felt safe. I was convinced I was adopted and that perhaps the postman was my father. They all thought it was a phase. I was looking for ways out.

I wanted to go to boarding school. I moved away to university as soon as I could, then I moved overseas.

The distance helped.

Now as a mother I have the experience, the distance, and the reflection. I am doing the work to discover that no, I never had to be quiet and it was never my fault.

Did you feel like you had to be quiet?

You have a voice here.

I will always listen.

Openly.

A story that hopes to be told.

A story for myself, for my loved ones, for those out there that have also trodden a path like this, or that are teetering on the edge of one.

I’ve done lots of “work” by myself and I finally feel a sense of relief, change, fresh air, and hope.

I can think.

I can dream.

I can see the future, where before I felt so stuck and lonely. Inside my head and my past.

I have been exploring my patterns, and understandably, procrastination, hesitation, and fear are at the forefront of the blockage.

They hold strong, having held on to them for so long, they want to stay.

They think they have a home here, and they do, but it is not where they think it is.

Instead of running from the habits, I have decided to take action.

I can’t keep myself in this stuck state any longer because at the end of the day, it is only me and my thoughts that are keeping me there.

How can I yearn for more and yet sit and stew in my thoughts?

So I ate lunch and I lay on the floor relaxing, allowing myself a moment just to be after the chaos of feeding 6 people.

I was listening to an audiobook and getting distracted by my to do list.

I wanted to jump up and tick things off the list. That’s where the dopamine comes from, but it is too short lived, and my time so scattered I either seek more or I am frustrated because I didn’t get the “hit”.

I toyed with the idea I could spend 10 minutes writing.

Just 10.

It has to start, and I feel the pull more and more.

I can run from the imposter feelings, or I can face them and unfold even more.

I can sit in the uncomfortable and let the next petal unfold in the warm sun.

Or I can keep myself in the shadows.

I can hear the voices calling.....

Don’t go

Do this instead

Ooh, look at that tab I left open

Add xyz to your to do list

It won’t work

You’ll never get there

You won’t finish - you never do,

You’ve always run away, so why now?

Where before I would run into the arms of those voices and think I was feeling safety, now I am running from them, seeking more.

Seeking a life of choice and a path that I have forged. Not my thoughts or uncomfortableness, or previous mistakes.

I seek me.

I explain to my boys it is my job to raise them to be wonderful men, then the world gets a turn to experience their offerings while I watch long with pride.

I didn’t receive those messages growing up and have had to create it all myself.

This growth, this new beginning, has always been in there, it just needed a bit of nurturing to start its journey through the next season.

What season are you stepping into?