And just like that, it is as though 7 months have gone by in 7 seconds.  And here we are drinking rosé in the evening sunshine, putting the world to rights again, but rather than in South Africa, we are in North Yorkshire.

 

When we parted in Cape Town, I had no idea what the future held; at the end of a desperately needed escape from my life in to theirs, I was in the depths of grief, despair and confusion.  But I look back and remember the how I found happiness in the darkest of times and found hope from a family who had lived through the worst of times and were living the best of lives.

 

As I close my eyes to the sounds of the Sunday night film, I hear Stephen Hawking responding to the question on his philosophy for life,

 

“However bad life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at.  While there’s life, there’s hope.”

 

There is always hope.  And I now truly believe in the belief that hope is the conduit for miracles. For when I touched down in the UK 7 months ago, I would have said it would take a miracle in order for my current reality be true.

 

But I never lost hope, that everything would be ok, in the end.

 

After today, I am going to nominate that all Super Sundays start with lazy mornings in bed reading, with a cup of tea delivered at double digits to entice you out from under the covers.

I am also going to suggest that they end with good friends roasting marshmallows on sticks in a fire pit and watching the sun go down.

And the middle? I can’t even remember the middle, but the end of the middle meant bloody Mary’s leaning over the 5 bar gate, in the sunshine.

I flit in and out of wondering about and wanting to do it.  But each time I step out on to that skinny branch to take the leap and say that I do, it feels like a great big hook on the end of a great long fishing line pulls me back.

 

Many people say that you can just ‘decide’ or ‘choose’ or ‘don’t wait’ to do something.  And I believe that in most cases that can be true.  However, when it comes to forgiving, for me anyway, it definitely doesn’t feel that easy.  And while it is beginning to feel easier as I build up confidence and courage to put myself out to that vulnerable place, I am not there yet.

 

In between the humming and popping of the lawnmower and while I untangled weeds and revealed hidden roses, I continued to listen to Brene Brown and she once again made sense of my quandary and current ‘rumble’ of a story.

 

“In order for forgiveness to happen, something has to die.”  And just as Brene gasped when she heard those words for the first time, so did I.

 

When someone or something we love is lost forever, we feel pain, we lose energy, we question what is going on, we release anger, frustration, curl up with guilt…all of this, I know, is the intricate recipe of grief.

 

I took to my bed for a day or two each time I saw my Mumbo in the mental hospital, feeling all the daggers of grief. I took to my bed for a whole week when she was finally released from this world, hiding from the world and from myself and the guilt I felt for the relief that entered my mind, and the pain of the big hole she left in my heart.

 

I took to my bed for weeks, and many days in a month after my heart, family and belief in love was shattered in to small pieces after the death of my first marriage.  I lived under the ocean of shame that collected anger, frustration, deep excruciating pain, hatred, loneliness, loss and heartache as the days melted into sleepless nights.

 

When something dies, we grieve and as Brene made so clear, as I broke the back of the gardening, grief is the biggest barrier to forgiveness.

 

Neither grief, nor forgiveness can be rushed.  As Desmond Tutu has said, forgiveness is often more to do with self care, detaching oneself from the perpetrator of hurt.  In that space, you can grieve selfishly, until you are ready to move on and recreate what has died or what has been lost.

 

I have grieved hard.  I have grieved selfishly.  I have grieved in order to give my boys what they deserve – a loving, peaceful, compassionate family life.

 

As we continue to recreate the trust that has been obliterated and refashion the love that was once young, innocent and naïve into a more mature, understanding, appreciative, grateful love and so that the grief softens we can create a space for me to be able to forgive.

“Forgiveness is about death and rebirth.“

 

Yesterday, I sat with a friend who came in to my life just at the right time.  And who I feel is a kind of kindred spirit, with similar professional backgrounds but who have stepped out of one arena and into another, similar, more curious, spiritual, enlightened one.  In both those arenas we have played fast, worked fast and learnt fast…

 

Until recently.  Over cups of peppermint tea and scrambled eggs we both shared that we had moved our lives into the slow lane.  Taking our foot(s!) off the gas doesn’t come easily to me, nor for her but we have both realised the benefits.

 

I look back now and I recognise that my ‘superwoman’, ‘I can do it all’ attitude gave me no time to look inwards and see how confused and lost I was.  And even perhaps allowed me to avoid looking deeper in to the clear signs and obvious clues and open mistakes to realise what was really going on in my marriage.

 

Having put my consulting, my mentoring and my business to one side, I not only realise that I actually have time to enjoy doing what I love doing the most, because I am in the present moment, rather than thinking of what I need to do in the next but I have had to look at myself;  I have had to look at my feelings and rather than discount them as just happy, mad or sad… mainly mad and sad buckets… but understand the root of the mad and sad as frustrated, unfulfilled, confused, guilty, ashamed, hurt, betrayed, lost.  And then more importantly, rather than just saying happy, actually being happy by working out what really does make my heart leap, my mind sing and my soul soar.

 

By having so much in my life, I was stifling and strangling my authentic self.  But out of this catastrophe, and from letting go and slowing down,  she is emerging.  And she is rising strong.

 

Talking of rising strong, I have been guffawing with laughter with ‘Rising Strong as a Spiritual Practice’ by Brene Brown and her stories to explain her research.

 

I often question, how on earth I have been able to move through this experience, these experiences even!  Yet more so, how I have been able to do so with relative speed; especially in comparison with others who have experienced a similar revelationary trauma.  Each morning as I open the curtains of my light, bright room looking over our beautiful gardens, and feel the sense of peace and love in my heart, I physically have to pinch myself to know it is reality.

 

But today, Brene helped me to see that people who rise strong after trauma have a few things in common.  The two I picked out as being wholly relevant to my story were the ‘integration’ part of rising and the writing.

 

I missed the name of the professor, but James Someone, Somewhere in the USA has spent 40 years studying trauma and those that write down their experience, and write it with all the honesty of a 5 year old, with no redrafting, and as a daily practice for between 10-15 minutes each day have moved on to acceptance, forgiveness, compassion and peace far quicker than those who don’t.  So while I still get questioned and I still question myself on my blog and the publication of it, I am clearly in its debt.  Making it public made and continues to make me accountable to really look at what is going on in my head and my heart, daily.

 

The second part that she spoke of comes after the ‘rumble’, the rumble being the review of what is going on with you.  And that is the revolution phase, when you move into integration:  integration from the Latin integrare – to make whole.   When you look at your story, when you see what is missing, and rather than making it into a conspiracy theory by filling the gaps with fear and false belief, you take the learning, do the work to fill the hole and by doing so force a revolution; you become whole again.

 

I have looked, we have looked, long and hard at ourselves, and each other and worked out and continue to work out what is missing as unique individuals, and as a unique couple and fill with truth.

 

And love, always.

 

It has been a fast ride and at times, I have needed my crash helmet and I have no doubt, I will need it again!

 

 

 

 

Today, somehow, I stumbled on her Instagram account.  Which I thought I had blocked so I couldn’t see her, and she couldn’t see me.

 

As my intention earlier this week, to mirror the actions of my boys, and to promote confidence and self love of my reflection I have started a new Instagram account on the quiet, complimenting my look or even making fun of it.  It’s a tough old world out there, and in my head, being a Mum, wanting to keep up with the immaculate school mum’s or the seriously yoga honed forty-somethings.  So an Instagram account to remind myself, I am doing ok, I am dressing appropriately and even if I am not, that’s ok too.

 

Why Instagram thought I might like to follow her I don’t know. Was it cruel?  Or just for kicks? But curiosity killed the cat.

 

I only had 2 thoughts as I flicked through the images.

 

The first in response to all the beautiful beach photos – whose poor husband have you conned now into paying for your yoga retreats and travel addiction?

 

The second in response to a quote that read ‘Take a selfie, fake a life’ – but I have the countless selfies you took of yourself, in my house proving to yourself that you weren’t living a fake life…??

 

I did not like my bitchy brain.  But I did like the fact that it doesn’t look like she is anywhere in this hemisphere.

 

It was a tangle of thoughts, just like the weeds and unwanted, unsuspecting plants I pulled out and threw on the bonfire today.  They are gone.  They are no longer in my beds.

 

And neither is she.

 

And so I moved on.  I got on with my real life, the one I have created from the depths of despair, and created it from true spirituality, the ability to connect with love and belonging, despite everything.

 

 

Today I went back to basics.  I revisited the book that first opened my mind and had me hooked on a lifetime of learning, the beginning of an understanding of spirituality, inner peace and the law of attraction.

 

The Secret.

 

Chapter one.

 

A refresher. A welcome one. But also, a reminder that this early teaching was probably one of the key lessons and practises that has helped me through losing my Mumbo and losing faith in marriage, monogamy and true love.

 

Everything starts in your mind; with your thoughts.  Your thoughts are your magnet and how you attract circumstances, people and things to you based on the frequency that those thoughts emit.  Simply, good thoughts, high vibrational frequency attracting positivity;  bad thoughts, low vibrational frequency attracting all things negative.

 

“Thoughts become things!”

 

One of the quotes in the book I struggled to quantify in the early days- how can that be? How can thoughts attract anything?  It’s just a thought.

 

But I rolled with it.

 

And I began to understand that the barometer of my magnet, the level of my ‘vibrational forcefield’ is my feelings.   And then I can understand the law of attraction a little easier. Who wants to be around, spend time with, do business with, love and cherish someone constantly or even consistently in a bad mood, in a bad place?  Without even thinking power of the universe, frequency or attraction, it just makes logical sense, based on my experience.

 

I know that historically, my negativity has often be born from a sense of lack, unfulfilment, fear often from a comparison of myself, circumstances, belongings to others or of loss of what I did have…my thoughts of wanting more, things to be different, finding myself frustrated.

 

“Think more of what you want, not what you don’t want.”

 

The quote was my light bulb moment.  My arrow destined for the sky.  It is those words that I call on, when my barometer nose dives and I check in with my thoughts.  And I turn it around.  If that is what I don’t want, what do I want?

 

Right now, I struggle with my specific vision of the future. The story of my life that I wrote merely a year ago, no longer sitting comfortably in my soul.  With the exception of the first line…

 

“I see myself waking up in a light, airy, white room with big open windows.  I am calm and relaxed, loved and in love.  I wake up smiling.”

I have read that line for every morning since July last year and visualized it.  And now it feels real.  And true.

 

And when I was at the bottom of the ocean, or floating, or climbing, or hanging, my emotional barometer rang loudly, I meditated to clear my thoughts so that the only one I could see and feel, was the thought of living abundantly, with an abundance of wealth, health, joy and above all, love.

 

If my friend had never handed me the gift of personal development, which I scoffed at,at first and left on a shelf, I don’t believe I would be in that light airy, white room right now.

 

 

Today I bought roses called, ‘smiles’, ‘prosperity’, ‘abundance’ and ‘easy does it’.  I will plant them tomorrow, but I bought them today because that is how I felt!

 

Today, I spent the most part of the day alone.  Which in previous weeks has left me unsmiling.  But today, the peace in the house and gardens was welcomed after wonderful guests and fun times and I continued smiling, even at the silence.

 

Today, I had a glimpse of how life will be when the boys return to their new school, and I am left to my own devices.  Which in previous weeks had me fearful of alone, lacking in all departments. But today, I realised how much there is to do and not to do, in abundance.

 

And today, I found the time to learn and listen. Oh, how I have missed that.  Over the summer, I took a break from personal development books and podcasts and lost myself in fiction. Oh, how I have missed that.  And now I am ready to benefit from the healthy balance between the two.  The podcast I listened to today, as I set about my homemaking and tax-ing, was with Dr Shefali and ‘conscious parenting’ – when the student is ready, the lesson appears.  After a raging battle to clean teeth this morning, this is exactly what I needed to hear and feel armed with the tools to get through the rest of the summer.  Tool number 1…. ‘slooooooow down’ and ‘easy does it’.

 

Today, I did the things that have seemed to have dropped to the bottom of the priority pile – I meditated for only the third time in August.  I was surprised…  alarmed… and also delighted.  Meditation became my ‘crutch’, my go to place when emotions, past events and ugliness overwhelmed me, took me under the crashing waves and it returned me to the present moment.  Perhaps I no longer need the crutch and I am now prospering in it’s true sense – growing strong and flourishing!

 

 

 

(anyone needing parenting tools: https://lewishowes.com/podcast/h-dr-shefali/)

 

From 8 to 80..  everyone loves a day at a theme park.

 

The only difference, the octogenarians knew the first ride was the best and left it there, happy to watch the young ones work out exactly the same for themselves; happy to enjoy the sunshine, the coffee and the smiles of others as they raced from one to the next, throwing their hands in the air, screaming with delight!

 

Sick was the word of the day.  I felt it from being the ‘accompanying adult’ on whatever rides the boys desired, even being the forerunner to ‘test it out’.  They said it on each swirl, spin, loop, drop and splash. The new word for ‘cool’ or ‘awesome’ or in my day ‘RAD’.

 

But the ‘sickest’ was the simplest and probably the oldest ride.  The swinging chairs.  It took them 5 hours to work out what Grandad and Edna knew right from the start.

 

Sick.  OAP's rule.

There have been and always been super Sundays. Super super Sundays even.

And on the days you least expect it, there are super smashing Sundays.

The mornings you wake with the sunlight streaming through the windows as you lie in the arms of love.

The days when you take to your bikes en masse with friends who help you explore the hidden and secret jewels of the countryside tracks surrounding you; the beauty of the earth and the feel of the wind racing; the pit stops for wild brambles and breath.

The moment you open your door to your legendary Dad, beaming with his Edna and welcome them in. Just to have them here. That is all.

The lazy afternoons on the terraces and balcony, watching and whiling the moments with tea, cake, turning to wine as the sun set.

The evenings of sumptuous, virtuous meals made of home grown produce.

Then nights of cozying together, still not quite believing this, this life, this love, this gratitude is at all possible.

My sister and I both walked down the aisle to Pachelbel canon in d minor. There must have been something in our childhood that stirred some memory to make us both tearful with emotion when we hear those first soft few strums of the strings as it leads in to the tune that recognisable throughout.

It took me quite by surprise this morning as i hung my head low and breathed deeply through the remains of a hangover and the sweaty aftermath of a Saturday morning spin class.

As I listened, the pattern and the pace of the music followed the pattern of my love for the Big Man, our relationship and our marriage.

The start is slow and curious, just as as we were, being friends through his sister.

But it soon picks up pace as the key notes form, just as we knew very early on we were destined to dance on together through life, stepping in line to our own music.

As I listened, i recognised the tinkling higher notes arrive, perhaps reminiscent of the pitter patter of tiny feet, followed shortly after by a more serious, darker melodic undertone, sinister, enticing to the ear and a tempting distraction. Yet another parallel as we have both questioned our status quo…my career, his freedom… where we lost our way, our harmonious tune threatened.

And yet, the same tune, always present, eventually powers through and cuts off the dark, deeper notes and embraces a new key.
And this is where I appreciate we are. Powering through, in a new key: same harmonies, different pitch. A clearer one.

If I look to Pachelbel to anticipate my future, I can see it will continue in mature, slower version of the same.

I remember those moments just as we approached the church, laughing with my bridesmaids, only to have my breath taken away with overwhelming emotion that left me breathless as those first notes of the organ played. My legendary Dad instinctively holding me straight, speaking calm words with each step, with each beat of the tune.

If I were to go back in time and take my other arm, I would speak the words of Pachelbel's Canon, and whisper in my other ear to sing your own tune, dance the right dance, dance so fast and hard you spin past the temptations, staying true to yourself; embrace each passage, each chapter and let them mature you with experience so you dance together, to your own unique tune, your own beautiful waltz of life.