Uncertain Times

Here I am sat at the computer and the world feels like someone has hit pause, whilst simultaneously hitting hyper speed in my brain.

Thoughts are whirling around my head, news stories flash in and out, images clatter against the side of my skull, and my breath feels hard and stuck.

Stuck, stuck in a strange alternative universe, stuck in a weird movie, stuck in an unknown time, stuck, just the biggest almighty amount of stuckness.

This is my reality, but what is the reality for others?

My Whatsapp is lit up with voice and video messages as I connect with friends all across the globe. Old voices I haven’t heard in a long time, faces that shift with every second as the reality presents itself.  The sound of tears and heartbreak, businesses fold, and livelihoods shift beyond control.

The words I type feel weighted, like they are being dragged down, pulled down to depths that I can no longer reach. Somewhere I am not in control of, until they all slip out of sight.

As I look down into the depths, I am struck that in the dark waters I can see my reflection, I can see the water moving, I can see bubbles rising. Light reflecting off the surface, ripples appear and words float below the surface.

The words are not clear, but they are there, the water shifts and changes with every glance.

My reflection moves in flow with the water and the light changes the way I see and the way I feel.

The darkness is full of glorious blues, greens and glossy black, iridescent, dancing around with each other, delighting in each other’s company.

The voices I hear, the faces I see through Whatsapp all change.

I see them, I see the true them, I feel them and I hear them.

I am connected more than I have been in a long time.

My reality is this, its what I choose to see and what I choose to feel. The waters may seem dark, but with darkness there lays inherent beauty.

Mother earth has pressed pause, she has pressed the reset, we are being invited to connect, but to really connect with one another.

To share our true feelings, let the tears roll, let the fears have space, let the anxieties rise, and for them to be truly heard.

Honour each other, be still, be there, listen, hear and acknowledge together that this is hard. Together we can find, see and create the beauty.

Do what’s right for you, honour yourself, your body, and be gentle with your self and gentle with others.

 

Take care

Laura

 

 

 

 

One Wild & Precious Life

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” – From the poem ‘The Summer Day,’ by Mary Oliver

This beautiful Mary Oliver quote gets a lot of airtime on the Insta poetry meme circuit. And it should, it’s a big, brilliant, beautiful quandary summed up into 15 little words. 

But it overwhelms me. 

I’ve had many lives, so far, and I’m still not sure what I did with any of them. 

The Single Life – Filled with long nights, and restless days. A life brimming with self doubt and insecurity, but also a freedom that could not be ignored. Anything possible at any moment, although many moments wasted – or rather, spent – in youthful ennui. 

The Early Menopause Life –This one involved A LOT more reading. I learned about all the weirdness that happens inside of a young body when it decides that it’s time to shut down the whole baby-making apparatus. I tried hormone replacements, and experienced insane side effects. I tried no hormones and worried myself to death that I maybe I should be on hormones. This life involved a lot of body examination, and really coming to terms with all the quirks. Not for the faint of heart. 

And finally, The Living-With-It Life – And what is there to say, really? That’s just what you do. Live with it. I watch my friends and family tick the time away by crushing life’s milestones. 

Married: CHECK! 

House: CHECK! 

Babies: CHEK! 

First steps, first birthdays. 

School and summer vacations. 

Every moment of the year, season, future, accounted for. Although, I know that their lives are unpredictable, there is a  framework for them – the familied, the parentals. It’s a frame that doesn’t fit around my amorphous childless/free life. 

There’s no roadmap for un-married, childless/free women. Just a long stretch of highway. 

I’ve wasted a lot of energy fretting over my poor usage of all the free time. Afraid that I’m letting the moments slip away, unnoticed. Lots of TV watched. So much social media scrolled. Long, aimless walks. Naps. (A lot of naps.)

But at the end of all of it, there is a relentless freedom. One that pulls me toward my passions, and creates space for my loved ones. I can be counted on to be present. Because where else am I gonna be? 

So what do I want to do with my ONE wild and precious life? I dunno.

There’s another quote from that beautiful poem that resonates so much deeper for me:

“I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

 

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Xx

Kadi 

Illustration by: Lizzie – www.lizzyartworkshop.com

 

I am woman hear me ROAR

Femininity, I can’t say the word let alone spell it, the m’s n’s get me in a muddle and so often I avoid using the word altogether. My dyslexia makes it hard to say and to spell but there are other reasons I have in the past not felt an affinity to the word.

I have felt removed, detached like it was not a word that described anything I could recognise or feel.

I rejected the word because I felt like it rejected me.

Me my femininity and I have not always seen eye-to-eye.

In fact we have been devoid of each other a lack of connection, a split and inherent misunderstanding of the role that we played in each other’s life.

As a child I was not into girly things, yes I liked Beatrix Potter, but I mainly liked climbing trees, being outside and riding my bike.

Fast forward to this very day not much has changed, aside from the fact my body has shifted through teens to adult hood and now I am in my late 30’s with a body that feels like its bears a few scars as markers of the years gone by.

I feel like I have never conformed to the archetypal female. I chopped my hair short after years of it being really long and dressed in men’s clothes; I struggled to be comfortable in my own skin. I bought sports bras that fitted so tight reducing the size of my breasts; I worked out so much to shift any curves.  I focused on growing muscle so I would look lean and be strong.

I calorie counted until I was so skinny and I thought I would be happy but I was miserable, I couldn’t get my body to fit what I wanted or who I felt like I was in my head.

Then enter Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, a return of Alopecia who brought along its friend Vitiligo and Fibromyalgia.

My body internally and externally was stripping back of all I knew. My body stopped being able to move, I was consumed by overwhelming fatigue, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t eat without my body having reactions to food.

I couldn’t think, a low fog engulfing every space in my brain, my hair started to fall out in patches and my Vitiligo graced me with its presence on my face for the world to see.

Days and months became a sea of tests, sleeping, hurting, thinking and the regeneration of all that is feminine within me.

The shifting point was the day I decided to shave my head, the day I decided I wasn’t going to let my hair fall out, I would celebrate it and join it on its journey.  That was liberating, I was stripped back, my face was there for all to see, the tiredness, the Vitiligo, the puffiness, but I didn’t care because it was me.

 

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Infertility, autoimmune disorders, loss and grief create who I am today, it has gifted me the understanding of what it is to be feminine.

It is not having long hair, to have perfect skin an unrealistic body and it certainly is not being a Mother.

What makes me feminine? The way I feel, the way I think, and the way I allow myself to be guided by my intuition.

My strength and determination, my ability to sit and feel the challenging emotions, to let them rise and fall, to acknowledge them and celebrate them in all their glory.

To stand tall, to own my Alopecia, my Vitiligo, my CFS, my PCOS and my Infertility. Together they have a created a cocktail of experiences, layered, complex and churned together in my body, but that body is me.

CFS was a pause, a time to stop a time of reflection, and a time to tune into my body, my soul and feel what I really wanted.

I delved into my creativeness, swam in my thoughts and ideas, had wild imaginings and let my soul dance and sing.

I let my body dance the dance of the feminine. I let my soul sing a haunting melody of what has brought me to where I am today.

I reconnected with my inner child and now together we play and delight in our womanly abundance.  I feel a strength within, I feel it rise and grow as I acknowledge it, listen to it and know that I am all-feminine.

I am me, I am strong, I am feminine, I am a wild woman, with fire in her belly and strength in her soul.

I am female hear me Roar!

 

Illustration by Rachel Sego

Rachel is the deisgner of Anotherhoods logo, check out her work on her website Rachel Sego Illustration or insat @rachelsegoillustration

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is it possible to grieve something you can never have?

I am sitting at the table with rice and veg in front of me, the dog is asleep, the radio is humming away in the background and the light is shifting from day to dusk.

As I sit and eat, the hum of the radio starts to filter in. I start to listen to a beautiful and heart-breaking narrative. The segment shares songs that have been a part of a significant moment in someone’s life, tonight’s story spoke of a mother who gave birth to a little girl and she said she couldn’t believe how lucky she was. As the story unravelled I found I was struggling to eat, a lump was rising in my throat, my chest felt tight and my eyes were brimming with tears. The song brought about comfort to the Mum who sadly lost her baby at 7 months old. The mother’s story spoke to her courage by embracing every moment with her little girl, as she knew that she would not be with her for long.

As I sat and felt the sadness rise through me, I wondered can I ever relate to the loss of a child, to something I can never have.  Is the sadness I feel the same, is it different, is it another part of me that will be separated from motherhood, or is there a shared emotion?

This I can not answer as I will never birth a child, so I will never feel the loss of a child, it is only one that I can imagine is inexplicable pain, and sadness that must engulf every sense of a mothers being.

How can I sit here and type a comparison, simply I can not, but I can wonder if it’s possible to grieve for something I can never have.

Grief to me, is a darkness, an unknown that holds a sense of beauty deep within. I have experienced many losses in my life and those losses travel with me. Through the losses I have experienced beauty in memories, noting the small things that matter, having things around me that bring me joy and remind me of those I have lost.  These bring me comfort and a light that fills up the darkness shifting it to a state of beauty.

I experience these as known losses, but what about the unknown losses, the indescribable, unfathomable and intangible side to the grief I feel, as I do feel it.

The loss I feel comes in waves, and sits deep within me, it is not a grief that has a big voice, it has low shallow whisper, but its there and its real and runs through my body and soul, making me ache through my very being.

How do I write this, how do I put words to something that feels invisible.

I can’t touch it, see it, or name it but its real.  Does this grief speak of not being able to give birth, to carry a child, or is it speaking to the feeling of displacement as I witness friends experience the birth of their families.

I feel it is a culmination of both and more that I cannot name.

It feels empty in the pit of my stomach, the lump is rising through my chest as I type, the sense of subtle shift of muscles from relaxed to taught, my fists lifting of the keyboard to clench, before returning to hit the keys with more ferocity, jaw aching as my teeth push down on each other and as I close my eyes to see if I can breath through the feelings surging through my body. Then it passes, and there is stillness, another wave has passed, but like the sea there will be another. Some days are calm, others the waters are choppy, turbulent and the waves come in full force, crashing and colliding with my thoughts and body, a halt in motion as I stop and listen to that quiet whisper aching to scream from the pit of my stomach, to let it out and speak to the truth of not being able to have children. The truth in the darkness, the light and the hidden depths of beauty found within. I am not grieving for what may have been, for the child I can not bear I am grieving for the loss of placement I feel, the sense of aloneness, the loss of voice, the loss of my feeling of femininity and the loss of celebrating a life that is full without having a child.

I wish to embrace this feeling as it rises through me, give it a voice, speak my truth, share my truth and bring light and shine it on the beauty of the women who cannot or choose not to have a child.

I am grieving for what I can not have, but I am celebrating the loss, shining a light on the darkness and bringing light to the beauty of my life as a woman who can not have children.

Written by Laura Cave-Magowan

Illustration: Laura Cave-Magowan