Panic to an outsider

I do often wonder what it looks like to an outsider.

If anybody were to glance in my direction, or, god forbid speak to me, it's possible I could spontaneously combust. I will burst into flames and disintegrate on the spot.

In my realm of existence there is swirl of dangerously charged energy channeling in and around my heart my, my lungs, my legs.

Dangerous and terrifying energy. It burns my skin, it heats me up like a fireball - emitting sparks through the sweat on my skin.

The energy is, effectively suspending me in time. All in an effort to ensure I am ready to take action. This would have to be the most debilitating and frightening aspect of it all. At the point of suspension, you quite literally don't know which direction your body will or wants to take.

The conundrum that is never knowing whether you need to flee like the wind or sink within yourself and become so tiny so that no one can see you or hear you breath. Whether you need to strike a combat pose ready to face the imminent danger that is within your touchable and seeable reality or to ensure you disappear into a vacuum of emptiness where no one can physically, emotionally or spiritually get to you. Ever.

And all of this happens within seconds, milliseconds even. It happens so quick that you haven't even had a chance to translate any of this into a concious thought. It is quite succinctly happening, subconciously. 

Hence the ability to 'rationalise and be logical' is thrown out the proverbial window. It is lost. You cannot respond to anything cognitive at this point, it's primal, it's in the body. In my body and it has taken me over.

Subsequently what I have learnt is that the only way through to my subconcious is back through my body. There is no direct path. If ....and I mean if I am able to calm my physical body, through whatever means neccessary it becomes possible to start using the positive and rational thoughts to facilitate the rest of the way out. 

The challenge is that this takes time, something that becomes very scarce when it takes a hold. Time, almost, doesn't exist. At least not within the laws we know to be 'true'. Between buying time and inducing calm, there is a way out. As one of the wisest people once said, it's simple but it's not easy.



This piece was inspired by a treasured poem I came across by David Whyte called 'Everything is waiting for you" as well as another poem called "Lost" by David Wagoner, from Collected Poems 1956-1976

David Whyte recited 'Everything is waiting for you' in his talk with Krista Tippet for her series called on being.

When he began reciting by repeating the title twice, the sound of his voice never left me.

It called to mind the concept of the other poem 'Lost' and I have referred to both of them in times of great distress and heartache to help gain perspective and comfort.

Stand still and you will be found 
If lost in the wood 
be still for the forrest will find you
You think you are lost
but the world knows exactly where you are
Are you lost because you did not know where you set out to go?
Then you are not lost because you had no destination
Are you lost because you thought you would find 'your path', your place in the world
What's wrong with where you are?, 
with where you have been?
Why do you care where you will end up
Step out of the wood, 
onto the mountain
Observe and the let perspective hold you in the knowingness of it's context
Through this, gain love, appreciation and admiration for the myriad of connectedness and for your place amidst it all 
Lose yourself 
Your sense of self
Your ego 
You are not one 
You are all 
Everything you see, hear and breath is life
Is you 
Is home 
You are home, found, kept
Loving and LOVED



A house.

A home.

A yard.

A garden.

A dog.

Some chickens.

A veggie patch.

Some goats?.



A boat.

A tinny.

But with a motor.

Making our own cheese.

Making our own butter.

Making our own bread.

Generating our own power.

Generating power for others.

Being waste free.

Being with someone.

Having a bigger family.

Up-cycling our own furniture.

A fire place.

Sun streaming through every window.

A study.

A telescope for staring into the wonder of the universe.

An outside fire pit.

An outside pizza oven.

Some comfy blankets.

A comfy arm chair.

A comfy outdoor sun seat.

A big family dinner on Sunday's.

One day?

One day soon........


All these things that I've done...

The morning I woke, after the last day.

The day after, the noise.

The day after, the last time I saw him.

The day after, the last day, of being well in the knowledge of my ability.

There was silence.

Deafening silence.

Although when I cast a glance over to the glass jar of the last 6 months, all the chaos, all the joy, all the pain, there was a slight muffle from everyone who was still trapped in there. In that glass jar. Or so it felt.

It was after the initial silence that the tidal waves began to sweep over and over, seemingly relentless. The relief came first. The relief of not having to move. Not having to force myself out of bed. To scramble to get Mali to daycare, having to swim upstream against the peak hour of the city, reminding myself to breath. And that was on a good day.

Then there was the numbness and the associated plea to stay within the dull ache of nothing as I knew what would come next. The re-living of it all. The highs, just as painful as the lows, because they were no longer there. Just a thing of the past now, an 'accident' almost. Taken just as quickly as they had arrived. Some would say easy come, easy go. But nothing about the ferociousness of navigating the last 6 months had been easy.

The shame and embarrassment of being let down and of feeling as though I had let everyone down in turn. I had jumped ship like never before, the deck was on fire and I hurled myself into the depths of the murky water.

I'm currently adrift at sea and, while peaceful, it's mostly concerning, as I am unable to see land in sight.

A letter to Panic

Dear Anxiety,

I know you think you're 'helping' me. I understand that you are an essential, primitive force that we owe our very evolution and existence to. You have been able to keep us safe by telling our bodies 'something is wrong' for approximately 200,000 years.

Perhaps, I guess, you're still right about that. Something is wrong. I just didn't realise and I tried to ignore it. But you didn't let me.

Instead I am now subject to your infamous daily bouts of dizziness, light handedness, disorientation, mood swings, nausea and hypochondria to name a few. My job is at risk, subsequently my livelihood because for some reason you don't think it's a good idea' to leave the house and, when we do, you make it such an ordeal that really, I wish i hadn't.

I also have the sole responsibility of raising my 3 year old daughter which you make almost unbearable with my inability to focus on being with her in the moment, as I try and distract myself from the physical and physiological warfare you have created for me.

I also now understand that it's not your fault. I actually asked you to come into my life. It's crazy isn't it? with every negative thought I entertained. Negative thoughts mostly about myself and less than ideal life circumstances that I felt were a direct reflection on me as a human being and subsequently my self worth.

In the end I just switched off from it all. It became too hard....too difficult to bare and instead, I focused on the sick feeling in my stomach that never went away. I focused on the tiredness in my bones, in my head and in my heart. Complete exhaustion at the prospect of being so alone with so much to battle.

Having a baby as a single mother wasn't the only reason I was alone,  it was also because I had shut myself off from the rest of the world. I had shut myself off from my feelings and so I no longer existed as an active participant in the world around me. The rabbit hole began to get bigger and deeper.

I get it. How could you not have thought something was wrong?

You're now lending me the physical chemistry to battle my enemy but I can't find them. I am literally unable to locate what I should be fighting or running from.

Every day I'm suffocating. I can't breath. I hurry to take another breath to ensure that it comes to me just as the last but by doing so I then begin to hyperventilate.  I am on edge, my nerves as as electrified as a lightening bolt and with the hint of anything stimulating, my senses interpret it as 'harmful'. Noise, commotion, bustling streets, bright lights have all become fear inducing and are to be avoided at all costs.



imagine this

....Having to spend Mothers Day with the man that broke your heart and left you while pregnant with his child.

That's what i am doing today.

Hope everyone has a better day than me



i found this post in my trash bin. I decided i liked it so i am publishing it about 6 months after it was written.

My how things have changed since then. but that's another post all together.

I have been itching to write. In fact I take that back. I have needed to write. I just didn't know it.

There is nothing worse than undeniably knowing that you have something to say but can't even begin to articulate what that something is. You encapsulate the true meaning of Uselessness. When you do manage to finally nail the catch phrase that sums up the point you ache to get across, hopefully you can drive it home and allow reconciliation of ideas, thoughts, conflict of emotions that have the ability to render you sleepless and mame your consciousness into a zombie like state.

or maybe thats just me.

I guess ....what i am trying to say...is that....this shit is therapeutic. There is a reason people have written things down and maintained diaries since inventing hieroglyphics. The process of exporting information from our brains brings us clarity and affirmation of logical thoughts that, up until that point, you were physically unable to summarise. It makes the intangible, tangible.

I'm currently in uncharted territory, personally and professionally. By no means Robinson Curosoe, however;

  • I'm about to turn 27.
  • I'm single....1 year in denial and roughly 24 hours confirmed.
  • I'm starting to carve out an actual career (and i use the term loosely) in that i can somewhat see that i might take a step above the menial 9 to 5 role at some point in the next few years
  • I recently moved into my a place on my own and i can verify that ...walking around naked lives up to the hype. It's awesome.
  • I have no idea what the next 5 years will bring and am most certain it will end up with me still living on my own, pondering life, except that i may be the proud owner of 2 kittens called Tabitha and Molly. *sigh*
  • I'm female

Now clearly the last point is nothing new, however, what that means for me in terms of my life right now is something i don't believe i was prepared for but most importantly something i have struggled to embrace.

Let me explain.

I have a soft spot for a blogger who writes a post named All Men are Liars. Over the years he has written sympathetic topics in relation to females, however my judgement was that these posts were more akin to some kind of personal martyrdom than any actual concern about the issue highlighted. Considering that they were coming from the same man who had historically used his blog for enticing 'females of personal interest'.

Over time, even if at points it seemed forced, Sam presented himself as a genuine advocate for big questions he was pitching to the readers of Fairfax digital. His recent post on You're such a girl put the finger on a pulse of dread i've not been able to shake for quite some time. The qualities that make us feminine are also the qualities that are, for want of a a better term, frowned upon in any other environment than that of the domestic. What defines us physically, mentally and emotionally is, in my opinion still working against us in too many ways. Natasha Walter's second book, Living Dolls, looks at the way we have conjured such a narrow view of female functionality and sexuality in society. We still have the wrong role models or lack of aspiration to look past the 'glamour' factor when it comes to success. The glass ceiling exists but now it's the women putting it there and not only that, we are getting out the bloody spray and wipe while we are at it, checking our lipstick in the reflection.

This notion that we can be glamour models, strippers, prostitutes because now it's OUR choice just screams of denial and lack of imagination about what we could truly become. It's a false positive. We've been tricked into thinking it's what we chose to be, what we considered to be sexual and female. What scared me most of all is that this started to lead to resentment. I started to resent the women who bought into the hype that it was a choice we made to prance around naked for money and further more that paying for sex was actually sexy.

Resenting yourself for being female is not a good thing. I have since learned that it's not being female that i hate. It's the perception of what it means to be female that i struggle with. With such a narrow view of what we are good for it limits what we believe it is possible to achieve.

So i've decided its time for a change.