I am at the bottom of the bowl

I have created an incredible bond with and not surprisingly so, the aptly named porcelain pony. My instant love of the porcelain pony has been undeniably the only thing I have looked forward to when jumping with lightning speed from the bed.

I have been laid up for a few days with what can only be described as the devils incarnate force from the depths of hell, food poisoning.

This form of unusual abuse is not anyones friend, well that’s not entirely true, I have created an incredible bond with and not surprisingly so, the aptly named porcelain pony. My instant love of the porcelain pony has been undeniably the only thing I have looked forward to when jumping with lightning speed from the bed. It’s glorious white surface, it’s calming coolness and it’s never ending welcoming of anything I have had to offer it.

For everyone else in my home, Peppa the Pussy, Mac the Dog and my Medic Marine, well they have looked on sympathetically albiet from a great distance. Lingering kisses have instantly stopped and been replaced with quick pecks on my forward and the dog, well he was just thoroughly disgusted and it has only been today that he could look me in the face. This by the way is the same dog who scrounges thru trash bins eating cardboard pizza boxes!

I have always thought and held that I had a strong constitution, after all I have survived dengue twice, two emergency caesareans and of course the dalliances with the occasional hangover from hell. This has outdone, hands down, all of these combined. In my delirium between bed and pony, I found I went thru all forms of emotions. The,’ Whoa is me!’, to,’ Whoa look out, where’s my pony?’, and finally,‘Where is my life heading and What does it all mean?’

Here’s the thing though, I think I accidentally entered myself into the scenario of, ‘careful what you wish for’. There is a line in the movie,’ The Devil Wears Prada’, where the main character has come down with a cold. Her associate tells her she should get some rest and her response, with wide eyes is,’I am one pneumonia away from a size 0!.’ This was a scenario I could relate to, as I had just used this line on my Marine. Only it was in the form of saying out loud , ‘Babe, I am ready to start my detox.’

Thinking back now I wish I had said, ‘Babe, I am ready to make that million dollars!’ Note to self, think bigger.

So in my whoa is me thoughts it brought me back to all the things I have fought thru and continue to fight thru each day. It should have made me feel stronger, but instead it just made me slip back to where I was 7 years ago. And then I realized I have been asleep for a while, well not asleep, more like the walking dead. The feeling I have had over these 3 days has summed up how I have been poisoned utterly slowly with grief and loss and loneliness. I started having nightmares again, nightmares of children running, of abuse and choices, hard choices that I have made to make that have kept me in a state of sadness for years.

As each day passed the pain was all encompassing, it was all based within my womb, aching and ripping me apart. It twisted me and had me on edge. The exhaustion has been withering and the agony heartbreaking.

There is a silver lining in all of this, I have discovered that within being weak during this sickness I have also rediscovered my strength. Each day I am slowly getting stronger, not only in body, but also finally in spirit. Once the cloud of delirium started to lift, so too did the poison of the past. I saw it for what it was, something to feel and finally to let go of.

I am just only now learning to forgive myself, the loss of my children has been overwhelming, not at times, but at all times. I have had enormous setbacks, mixed in with incredible highs. You need to be aware that when someone tells you that something bad happened to them and they changed, it doesn’t actually mean that other bad things didn’t follow. That was their reference to their worst experience while cuppled with many winding twists along the way that caused their awakening. I should know, my own road has been twisted, turned, hijacked and blood has been spilt on my highway to me.

For the record this is actually a letter to my husband, who has watched this internal pain for so long, standing by me and looking at me from the outside hoping I get better and gently pecking my forehead in a beautiful gesture of, I am here. You are not alone.

To my Medic Marine, my handsome husband, thank you for recognizing the downfall, thank you for not giving up. I am grateful for your strength and unwaivering support and love. I am sorry I have dark days. I am always in awe of your ability to laugh in the face of adversity and your beautiful and patient way of being able to coax out the frog in my throat, that is sometimes too strangled with pain and rage to release. You my love are a true gentleman, bless you for loving me when I couldn’t find the love for myself anymore at the bottom of the bowl.

68441_446155846433_4432290_n.jpgWith regards to the detox, I am 3kg lighter, the porcelain pony will always have a place in my heart and I am ready for a lingering kiss.

And to you my old friend, F.P. (food posioning) what can I say, it’s been emotional.

#iamthiswoman #foodpoisoning #porcelainpony #blessyou #truegentleman #patience #love #darkdays #missyoueveryday #forgive #detox #dreambigger #stronger

 

 

 

 

I am letting go

 

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I am letting go. I am not giving up.

Years ago I was invited to go cliff jumping in Thailand. There are 3 tiered levels on the Island of Koh Tao. A 3 metre, an 8 and the final one the 12. I had just started dating my now husband, for those that don’t know, he is a Royal Marine Commando, had served in Iraq for 5 years and was also head of the security for the Iraqui governement when they were changing their Prime Ministers over a 9 month period.

To say he is fearless is an understatement, in fact he wrote a book about it called Fighting Your Demons. In it he talks a lot about his fears and how he was scared everyday, but had to change his attitude to cope with his surroundings. He had witnessed my struggles and my very real fears and felt it was time to do something compelely out of my comfort zone.

A big part of coming here to this tropical paradise was an opportunity for me to let go of my past and fight thru my fears. He had told me about the jumps as he had done them on his previous trips. To say I was scared shitless is an understament, in fact I have been called shit girl on this Island, but I will leave that for another story.

So in my heart I knew I had to jump off the 12. It was a test of sorts and I was determined to passout. The day arrived and I was so focused on my fear of the 12 metre, that I didn’t take stock of the fact that I had just jumped off a 3 and an 8 metre cliff into the ocean below.

My fear had me so consumed with the 12 metre that I also hadn’t noticed that the party of 8 that I had started out with had barely managed to jump off the 3,metre and only half of the original party managed the 8 metre, it was only when I looked back to my group that I realized it was only me heading for the 12.

To say I jumped off right away would be a bold faced lie. In order to take the jump, you actually have to run at it and let yourself go, trust yourself that your body won’t scrape along the cliff edges to the bottom, trust yourself that you won’t belly flop or hit your back hard.

As I went to take the run I screeched to a full stop right at the cliffs edge. Probably one of the most life threatening things I could have done. And then, then I just stood there and stared, mesmerised by how high up I was, how small I was…how insignificant I was. My Royal saw me freeze and headed up to try to either talk me down or talk me into it. After what seemed like 20 minutes of me just staring down and him going over all the things I had accompolished, and how I had to do it for me. I got angry. I was consumed with fear, of death, of letting go. I

didn’t want him there, telling me all the horrible things I had had to endure to make this jump. Iwas embarassed for so many reasons. His mate, another officer, came up to help. He asked if I was ok, then he to went into all the things that I was to be proud of, and the fact I had jumped all those other ones, but that this was just a little barrier, a barrier that I needed to get thru. My husband, now clearly frustrated, ran and did a double backflip in the air and smiled as he went down. He was met by the remaining jumping crew who were by this time getting water logged to see if I would go. And then, it happened, all there talk, all their positive affirmations came together and I slightly jogged to the edge and leapt!!

Can I tell you I had enough air time to open my eyes and realize I still hadn’t touched the water yet, I also realized when I splashed in that everyone went under the water for what I thought was to make sure I was ok. Apparanteley it was to see if my top had come off!! Yes, it did…

So I am letting go, I am not giving up.

There is a difference between these two statements. The first would seem at first glance to be defeat. But that isn’t the case as the latter would be that I have finally accepted defeat, and that my friends is called growth.

For now I can move on with that knowledge and let room in for those positive things that sadness has taken up room in for so long.

To let go has got to be one of the hardest things I personally have ever had to do…for one it’s admitting failure. It’s my final acceptance that know matter what I did, it just wasn’t enough.

It is a choice in life that I wish for everyone that none of you have to make, but life’s not all roses and sunshine…or is it? At some point you may have to come to…that moment when you have to look at that steep mountain you have been climbing for years and stop, take stock and firmly plant your feet in the earth and calmly whisper to yourself…I am enough!

….and then jump.

And to be enough for yourself means that those things you were holding onto, those belief systems, family values, relationship dreams…sometimes to get those things you had valued so much…sometimes you have to let go of all of them.

Holding on hard to something that as the days, months and years go with the same repetitive thought,’Is this the day? ‘Is this the day when I am enough for all that I had wished would find it’s way to me?

But on reflection that is insanity and the very definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over again in the hope of a different outcome. So I wait no more, instead I let go. But I will never give up.

Am I enough? Is that knock at my door going to happen, will a long, lost, loved one, a little more aged and a little wiser, come knocking.…Will they finally say, ‘You are enough, you always have been’.

So, I had to take a big deep breathe and show myself some tough love and make that hard decision, that one where your eyes sting and your throat clinches tightly at the very thought that I had to get to this point in my life. I have had to make that final call. To let go of all of it, of them, of they, of who, and yes …you, even you.

But I have to be clear, I am not giving up on it, or them, they, or who and especially not you. I am however letting go for me.

My understanding in this journey so far for me has meant that to be strong I have had to accept the most horrible sides of my weaknesses.I have had to face my fears, head on. Yet it is has been my weaknesses and fears that have made me who I am. They have been my teachers, my university, my life doctorate, my MBE in the role of my life. Sometimes I have been at the head of my class and learned quickly, even skipped a grade, other times I have had to repeat that year, as the lesson wasn’t heard and maybe I just needed to be reassured that this was not what I wanted for my life. And here is where I have inevitably had to grow.

By letting go I learned this about myself…

I am enough for me and I am enough for you. I am strong, I am also weak, I carry fears but I conquer them more confidently. I am not giving up on me or you!

And just one more thing, I ran back up those cliffs and jumped, this time for me….I jumped for me xxx

 

I Am Grateful for him-Part 3

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I Am Grateful for him-Part 3

I would like to share with you a message my husband posted on his time line.

He has always been the most generous, giving man I have ever met.  He is world class to say the least, but has inspired me on so many levels to be who I AM today.  No one is built alone, we are built from our experiences with engaging in people.  And as I write you will notice all my experiences good and bad have shaped me into who I am based on those interactions with these individuals.

Yet, there is one person who rises to the occasion time and time again, and to be honest I don’t know why or how he is here.  How did I, a divorced mother of three with a history of hell have heaven enter my door?

I thank you Mr.Denny from every fibre of my being for being you, consistently and persistently.  It’s beautiful to read you feel the same, thank you again My King x

An excerpt from Denny Denholm: a Royal Marine, a War Veteran, a Father, a writer, a boxer, a Coach….My love

We all have pasts and we all have demons…that can never be denied.

Some of us have to fight our way through youth and adult life, and others sort of sail through, unaware of the pain and violence around them. We all suffer. I am witness to that, especially Veterans, like me. 

This is why we are doing 22 Push Ups for 22 days in support of Vets who still live and need to be inspired by community and FB does that well. 

BUT…REMEMBER…OR WAKE UP TO…DOMESTIC VIOLENCE KILLS!!

When I returned from war, it horrified me that I had been genuinely sacrificing my life for my country and the good of mankind. Willingly taking my body and mind into the end of times to become strong enough to withstand war as a Commando. Then living through a career of it, for my country, family and kin.

I was horrified because while I was gone there were rapists and child molesters running a muck in every community. The more I looked the more I was broken in my soul. Any fucker tells me war broke me I will punch them right on the nose. Finding out this shit after my career in war totally broke me. No fucking question.

While i was trying to sort out how the fuck I can change this shit I met my wife Lisa Denholm. We were both going through horrific divorces and child custody nonsense and decided to fight back to back together, preserving love at all costs. We fight on and my wife has the courage to tell these stories so bloody eloquently. Watch this space…this woman has talent.

Listen to Lisa Denholm‘s story in her blogs. She has lived through the most horrific of abuses and still remains strong, faithful and able to teach others how to be strong, confident and loyal. God knows, meeting a loyal person is a challenge in these days. When I met this woman I learned about loyalty, hope and compassion, everything she tries to teach everyone every day. 

A true warrior and a true Love Legend!

Strength to your courage and I pray you that you can touch millions of people’s hearts. Together, we unite to STOP DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!

STOP SUICIDE

Lxo

I AM Married to a Royal Marine

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I AM married to a Royal Marine

I hadn’t really taken in the whole impact that I was married to a Royal Marine until the shit really hit the fan. A Royal Marine has 3 Rules they live by:

1)Buddy first, self last

2)Laugh in the face of adversity

3) To walk where others fear to tread

September 2012 was an interesting time. Actually that was the year that we married in Chaing Mai in Thailand. We had been on a sabitical in a Bhuddist Monastery for our honeymoon, as you do, and over those days were kept in separate dormitories as well as eating areas. We were not allowed to make eye contact or pass messages to each other.

Every morning at 4am a gong was rung and all those staying in the monastery would make their way, bleary eyed to the community hall and begin the day with a yoga stretch, then a vegetarian breakfast followed by a structure of working meditation.

To not speak for a whole day was difficult, by day two I was completely batty yet by day 3 the monkey chatter in my head had calmed down. I am far from a yogi and getting into sitting meditation I did find quite hard, however I really enjoyed the walking meditation.

It was during the walking meditation that I started to feel that something wasn’t right. The day had been overcast and humid, yet whenever I closed my eyes all I could see was yellow. Bright yellow, as if I had been staring into the sun and there was that burnt impression behind my eyelids, but when I opened my eyes to check again, there was nothing but dark clouds.

That evening we finished up our basic meal, washed and then headed back to the hall. My thoughts were still with that intense color and why it was still physically upsetting me, but I wasn’t able to talk with anyone let alone My Royal. As we took our places within the hall I could sense Denny now staring at me, which is completely against all rules. I broke protocol for a few seconds and looked at him, his eyes were urgent and he put up his hand, 5 minutes he mouthed. I knew what he meant, I had felt it too, and yet we hadn’t spoken…something was not right.

6 months earlier

Our honeymoon had started with the intention that we would go offline for a month. It had been a hard year, leaving the kids, divorce and the horrible daily emails and hate mail that was a constant barrage. 6 months before our wedding I had been in court trying to gain access to my children. The judge that day had said the case was too complicated and that I would not be back on the family courts roster until another 6-8 months. That nearly killed me, full stop.

I laid in my bed for days, I even looked at our 11th floor apartment and thought what the hell just jump!! Denny knew it was bad, but he is also a Royal and that means you do not sit around and wait for shit to keep happening, you make shit happen. By Boxing day of 2011 we were on our way to Dubai, he wasn’t going to have me lying around, depressed and miserable over a situation I now could not even comprehend fixing.

As a trainer I have always been fit, but as the loss of my children and financial dramas unfolded so to did my fitness. I was training, all the time actually, I was breaking and didn’t care. We arrived into Dubai late that evening and Denny was to start work the next morning. There was no time for him to show me around, I was left to my own devices to explore.   We lived in a hotel suite, just a few blocks from his office, on the top floor was a gym. Instead of exploring the city, I went right back into my training head. After a week or so, my injuries were still piling up and yet that was the only thing I wanted to hold onto. As week one turned to week two, Denny took action. ‘I want you to get fat, I want you to heal your body and learn to be who you are in this new skin’.

First of all, who says that? And second of all, how do I let go?

And so it began, dinners out, big Iraqui lunches and a complete ban from the top floor!! He indulged me in any thing foodie, he was on a mission. 8kg later I had a fuller face, my injuries were lessening and I was starting to find my smile.   He took me skiing again, yes Dubai has an indoor ski resort!! If you ever get the chance to visit this place it is a Disneyland for adults, dubachery and anything you can think of you can get. After 6 months we headed to Thailand and with my now fully formed booty, regretfully realizing I am now in the land of smiles and string bikinis, we started our life.

Monastery

After my five minute warning, instead of sitting down I excused myself and headed to my dorm. It took me less than 5 minutes to pack my meager bag and head to the main office, there he was My Royal, already waiting. If you haven’t spoken for a few days let alone a week you will find that you have lost your voice. It actually is a bit of a strain to speak and form words.We walked out of the monastery, silent, both looking into each others eyes, the emotions were raw and not tangible to put words to.

‘Somethings not right’, I finally voiced. ‘I know, I felt something strange when we were walking, and I know we have to get back to our island. We booked into a hotel for the evening and the next morning were on a boat back.

As we made our way to our villa I dropped off our months worth of laundry, picked up some supplies and headed home. As we hadn’t been online, and wanted to share our recent marriage to our family and friends, we picked up our computers with the intention of seeing what had been going on in a month.

The first Fb message was from my sister in Canada, the message was ominous. It read, “Lisa, I don’t know what is going on, and it’s either a sick joke or it’s real, but your daughter has just posted, ‘Dad, rest in peace’. She went on to say that the post was then removed and her page was taken down. That feeling from the monastery came back again. My heart sunk, My Royal took action. He called our good friend in Australia, who immediately said let me go to the family and check things out.

Two hours later a message had come thru, my ex-husband was dead, the family was accusing me of his death and they had taken my children to the police to confess to disavow me as there mother. Like I said, when the shit hits the fan.

We were on the next boat out, actually it’s a boat, a plane and another plane to get off the island. Too be honest I don’t remember much of the journey back, only that the Royal beside me was stoic, strong and calm.

As we arrived into Brisbane we were both very aware that I had been threatened with being arrested by the police. My in-laws had sent a message thru our friend that they were accusing me of being a drug mule and a murderer…..yeah, let that set in, oh and the kids were now to be with my sister in-law, she will be a better mother they had said.

It took me a week to locate my youngest, and when I did, I made a decision that I wasn’t giving him back. They had taken my children, tried to hide their father’s death and now were blaming me of murder. Well to the rap sheet I was going to add kidnapping!!

In the days after it was a flurry of passports, screams from my older children and threats. To this day I can not even imagine what they had to go thru, the loss of their Dad and then the annihilation of there Mother. The older two had chosen but my youngest wasn’t having any of it.

We arrived at the airport late a few days later, enroute back to Thailand. My 11yr old was so desperately just wanting to get on that plane. My Royal, thru the whole thing was still there standing strong, taking in all of our pain and trying to shield us from whatever came at us.

Denny went thru customs first, he was wearing a long sleeve button down white shirt and pair of jeans. My son and I were next in line to go thru, as I approached and the officer looked to our passports, he asked me kindly to stand to the side. My heart sank, Denny and I had had this conversation the night before, if I didn’t make it thru then we weren’t in a financial position for him to fly back in again. I watched him pause outside of passport control and out of the corner of my eye I could see 3 officers heading towards me and my son.

They grabbed me, and I grabbed my son…we were both crying, scared of what was to happen to us next.

But what happened next no one saw coming, for the officers as quickly as they had grabbed me were now running towards the passport control line.

All I could make out was a white long sleeved shirt, with a passport in his hand and the other over his heart.

‘I come in peace ‘,he said, and I am not leaving without my family’.

That my friends, is a Royal Marine.

I AM Married to a Royal Marine

 

 

 

 

I AM just waiting on a train

An excerpt from the book I am this woman…..

 

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Just a few weeks ago I discovered a hidden SMS message on FaceBook that had been sent to me over a year ago.

I can tell you now, looking back on the discovery(hindsight is golden) that it was one of those ‘movie moments’. You know, when the train doors slide open, and you have a choice, to get on or not. The choice of getting on from the audiences point of view is obvious, but instead we seem to choose to stay on the cold lonely platform. I am guilty of  choosing the latter too many times, this time I was getting on that train.

I was in the middle of checking emails and not being the most-savviest person on the planet with my iPhone skills, I had overlooked a whole section of SMS’s. There were about 15 in the bank, but only one caught my interest. The message was written with a shy tone, cautious, but yet direct.

It was from my first husbands, first girlfriend and fiancé.

They had been high school sweethearts over 25 years ago. I had never met her before in all of my time in Australia, nor being married for 19 years, and to be honest, never really heard much about her. Like all high school romances, I had thought it was left in the pages of their yearbook.

I don’t know why I didn’t see  her message before, maybe the timing wasn’t meant for me to see it then but a few things were at play that day. Let’s just say the stars were all aligning, but not in a glorious Milky Way moment, more like a catastrophic parade of meteorites heading for Planet Blonde.

I recognized her name from the past, and then realized that maybe she hadn’t known ‘our ex’ was no longer living. I felt obliged to contact her, and of course a little curious as this was literally a blast from his past, and from all accounts, nothing to do with me.

However, the second reason was because her words were chillingly close to the bone, as to how accurate her description of what had happened to me over 19 years of marriage, reflected in what she had claimed to be her experience.

Her name was A, she typed thru messenger. She hoped I was all right, that my daughter was ok, and that she had been concerned all these years for my safety. She had hoped he had turned into a good man; and the last line, ‘she had been plagued all her life worrying for me and what she hoped I had not gone thru’.

The surreal part is I received this in late 2015, yet he had died 3 years previous and secondly a lot of work has gone into my growth and moving on.So why now, why after all these years did it have to come back.  I had managed to put all of the past behind me. But here is the rub, the past can’t be put to rest until you deal with it…all of it.

So, with a heavy heart, I have to bring back the past in order for me to succeed in my present.

Please note, I AM not a victim, I AM a survivor, I AM that daughter, I AM that divorcee, I AM that widower, I AM this strong, I AM a body of those experiences.

If this is not spoken about and I AM not able to share my experiences,as dark as they may be then how can I help someone out there who is going thru the exact circumstances and is overwhelmed in their isolation and can’t see their way out?

Maybe that SMS was a sign to say hey, you have had plenty of time to let others know, to help those when others doubt them.  For I have been doubted, called a liar, blamed and yet still had to grovel for those peoples affections.  Yes, it is hurtful to read but not as painful as receiving it.  And without my truth, that this happened to me, then how are we going to stand up for ourselves and say, enough is enough?

I to have had all this pain and not to be able to show others that pain just equals more pain.  Hurt people hurt people, sad people share sadness all the time.  I am here to share knowledge, personal experience and how to grow from it without the guilt or societies branding.

So please, bare witness, but don’t bare sadness, or despair, read for hope, truth and knowing that we are not alone.

My Living Hell

I was groomed from an early age. Trust has never been my strong suit.

Groomed from an early age by my uncle Herbie, from what I can recall 8yrs old to finally having the strength to stop him at the age of 16.

My mother knew, I told her over many years; her response was to get drunk and chase me with an axe thru my bedroom door, beat me or burn me. I have all scars to prove it, outwardly and inwardly.

Thankfully my stepfather had put locks on my door only a few weeks before the big finale, or it could have gotten really ugly. I left that day and didn’t look back for nearly 25 years!

To say my childhood environment reflected what was going on behind the scenes was the sinister part, for the house was always clean, there was food and I was clothed. My mother’s attention to detail, her fantastic taste in design and her immaculate presentation of her many houses did not reflect the pain.

There was pain, a lot of it. From beatings after school, to burns on my body, my mother’s drunken ranting’s were always followed with beatings, pulling hair, being punched or kicked. Accusing me of sleeping with her second husband, let’s just say the list does get bigger but you get the general idea. And the end result was always the same; she couldn’t remember that she had done it. Here is where the ‘blame game’ starts. I felt responsible for every punch, every bruise and every grooming experience. I blamed myself for the treatment my ‘family’ gave me. After all it was me who made them do what they did, right?

I know, I don’t look like anything could have happened to me. But it did, they did it and then  I blamed myself for it happening…every single day. But I left that behind; I put it in my past and just walked away. Dusted myself off, and made way for my future, a bright one. I wanted my life to be so bright like a glowing ball of sunshine, that anyone who came near me would feel my radiant glow of love and not want to hurt me. I wanted that so much.

The problem was though; that my past was still there and my first hand knowledge of ‘love’ was that it came from either a fist or a fuck.

The lady at the other end of that SMS was not to know that she had opened my Pandora’s box. Please note, it wasn’t her fault, she has had her own battles all her life, and I hope she can be at ease now, and know that I am thankful for her strength in reaching out.

I was 21 when I married. Looking back a child bride. He was from the other side of the world, a world away from rejection, ignorance and plain hate. Or so I thought.

My next 19 years were to be a repeat performance of my childhood. Physical and emotional abuse. The thing is bruises heal but words; words stay forever in your mind. And he was great with his words.

But one day those words didn’t hurt anymore, the sting in them was still there, but the indifference to them had set in. I was realizing my self-worth in the phrases of a childhood nursery rhyme, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me’.

And so I left, again. I AM that mother who left her children with that hu-MAN, this will always be my guilt and sadness. At the time all I could think about was my survival and once that was established, then I was in a place that I could save us all. Sadly it hasn’t been that way.

Since this woman contacted me, I have had to regroup and look at all of my actions that led me into these situations.

I AM not accountable to those steps that were laid down for me by those who failed me in my past. I take great responsibility in creating new steps, with big giant leaps.

I chased those demons down and fought thru it, but not without help. Help came in strange ways and also in undeniable, downright spiritual ways too. As soon as I had decided that enough was enough, those train doors started to slide open and the boogeyman wasn’t there anymore.

I AM now well informed about what I will stand for in my life. Who I let be near me, and how I want to be treated. Simply. With Love

The night before I left my yet again abusive situation, I sat down outside on the steps and wrote down on a tiny piece of paper what I wanted out of my life. Not what I owe someone, not what I can do for them to make them happy but what I needed for me to fulfil my journey.  I realised that if you are truly loved, then the above doesn’t happen to you, if it is happening then get the hell out.  Find a way.  It’s all scary, but the scariest part is that you could still be there.

Dear Lxo

I AM in LOVE, I AM strong, I AM happy, I AM a rebel, I AM a traveller, I AM empowered, I AM a cougar, I AM raw, I AM an Artist,  I AM that Mother and my door is always open.

I AM this WOMAN, and the past is now just that…

My 11 Affirmations to Warrior Heaven – Forever Strong in Love †

 

**If you are a victim of #childabuse, #sexualassault, #parentalalienation, #domesticviolence #incest #mentalabuse #physicalabuse please reach out, to someone, anyone, me….

The more we  can bring awareness and stop the taboo of talking about these subjects the more the ‘System of Silence Stops.

LXO

 

I am that Woman with the Flu

Woman-Flu vs. Man-Flu. Which one is you?

Woman flu is a dreadful disease, which causes seriously ill women to pretend to be well and relentlessly come to work.

The opposite of man flu

Man 1: Gosh, her nose is streaming dreadfully… why doesn’t she take a day off?

Man 2: Must be a case of woman flu

I googled Woman-Flu and to be honest felt the Urban dictionary hit the nail on the head, and I didn’t realize how much of that above statement was true, until I proceeded to do the following:

After said Husband finally realized I was quite ill and demanded complete bed rest, I proceeded to clean the house as I can’t possibly do sick well if surrounded in clutter. WTF

Clear cut and dry case of Woman-Flu symptoms

Urban Dictionary goes on to say this about Man-Flu

 A rare strain of flu so powerful and so deadly it can only be matched by the Bubonic Plague and Aids.

An incurable virus which has adapted to only effect the “XY” gene found in men.

The virus attacks the immune system 10,000 times harder than the average flu virus, causing excruciating pain for the victim. Man Flu has no cure and prayers can save the forsaken life of the infected. The often deadly virus is mostly laughed at by women who sadly cannot contract “Man Flu”

Woman: Is he ok?

Doctor: I’m afraid not, I’m sad to say he has Man Flu

I took a leaflet out of the Man-Flu pamphlet today and in my exhaustion copy pasted all of these rhetoric’s word for word.

This Man-Flu thing could really catch on.

Woman:

Did she just copy the Urban Dictionary.

Other Woman:

Yes, I’m afraid she has Man-Flu.

I am that Woman with the Flu and I have decided to be a man about it. I would like to thank Urban Dictionary for clearing the debate up for me and allowing me to justify why I am sleeping under my Doona all day…Guilt free(after all the house is now clutter free)

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I am that Wife

I am that Wife…

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2012 Thailand

The jungle trek was proving to be a bit frustrating for Sam.

Sam being the elephant who was taking them deep into the jungle’s of Chaing Mai. His master had already told them that Sam was upset with them. As he went onto explain why, Sam’s trunk again extended over his head in desperate search for the banana treats that most rides provide. Fleur and Saul’s hands were unfortunately empty.

They had forgotten or rather hadn’t realised they should have bought those 40bht bananas as they mounted their safari cage. Fleur’s mind was racing, this was their wedding day, here in the jungle, on an elephant dressed in a white embroidered cotton caftan and matching white fisherman’s pants, Saul was in matching gear, minus the embroidery. How did they get here?

2010 Australia

‘If I was to ask you to marry me what would you say?” said Saul over his shoulder as he was packing the final bags into their new home. Fleur looked at him, wriggled her nose, this was the 6th time he had spoken like this, and she knew better than to fall for his set-ups. The first time he asked Fleur was outside a Domino’s pizza joint waiting for their Tuesday cheap date deals. ‘So, what would you say if I asked you to marry me’? She recalled her reaction, wide opened eyes, a light blush; she was in no way ready for that. Before she could answer he laughed it off, ‘Just kidding, wow you should have seen your face! By the 6th time, she wasn’t falling for it.

2012 Thailand

And yet here they were, in Thailand, on an elephant, 1000’s of miles away from Australia, family and friends. As the trek continued along and Sam’s trunk eagerly awaited the possibility of a miracle from their cage Fleur looked out to the mountains. Something bright was shining and then it disappeared. ‘No way’, she whispered under her breath…she glanced again. ‘Saul, do you see that’, she touched his wedding whites and pointed to the hills. There thru the trees was a cross. Saul tapped the Masters shoulder and asked for their ride to steady them closer to that mark.

The trek thru was easy; a tribe was set at the foot of the cross-called the Aka’s tribe, the long necks. The tribe lived in huts with dirt floors and hammocks, bare in it’s form but with all the needed necessities. As they walked thru they saw a church at the end of the town. Saint Nicholas was the chapel and Fleur and Saul were still a bit in shock as they entered the Catholic Church.

A pastor was passed out at the base of the altar, ‘Perfect’, said Saul, ‘We have our witness.’

They were both so bewildered by the day’s events; this was not at all what they had been expecting. They set about setting up the camera to take self-shots, when a German family walked in. A young son with his parents, the boy looked to Fleur and Saul and asked if his family was interrupting a wedding. Fleur and Saul just looked at each other and said, ‘Well yes and no, a wedding yes but you are not interrupting. The young boy offered to take the photos and with that in agreeance the couple went about composing them selves for their hand written vows.

2010 Australia

She had just finished her morning shift of clients and was packing for their first weekend away as a couple. Both sets of children were with their respective ex’s and Saul had organized for a weekend away. He wasn’t giving anything away, all he said to Fleur was ‘just pack for anything’.

He had also handed her his book, the very book he had started writing 2 years ago and was now on the market. ‘I need you to read this, it’s about me and maybe if you think I am too much for you hopefully by after this weekend we should know where we stand with each other.

That was last night and after her packing she had a few hours before he was to come pick her up. Fleur opened the first page and set about getting to know the man behind the writer.

2012 Australia

Excuse me miss can I get you to stand to the side. It was midnight; Fleur, Saul and Cupid were standing at the border patrol waiting to go thru. Saul had gone first and they had spoken of this the night before. Once he goes thru passport he can’t come back thru. As frightening as that possibility was Fleur knew there was no other way around it.

The past week had been a blur. From the moment she had seen the Fb message from her sister to the nightmare that had unfolded in front of her. She couldn’t get a hold of any of her children, she was being accused of murder and drug smuggling. The arrival into Brisbane had been with much fear, She had been threatened with jail upon her arrival back into the country. Threatened with her children never having contact with her and all this on top of a horrible suicide. In the days leading up to finding Cupid she had only been able to see him under watch at his school. The whole school she was to find out later had been put on lockdown just at the sheer mention of Fleur and Saul arriving into the country.

From there she was able to organise a visit with Cupid her youngest. And from there everything just went faster. Cupid was in shock, he had just lost his Dad and was now telling his Mother that he was sent to the police station to write a statement to not have anything to do with her.

‘Enough, enough!, Fleur closed her eyes and started to breathe slowly and calm herself. Action was required. Fear was not an option. How this all happened was irrelevant what was needed was reasoning and distance.

So she did what every Mother would do to protect her young, she kept her son. He agreed. The days that followed were nothing short of a nightmare, screams of threats from family, cries from her daughter pleading with her not to break the children up. Heart wrenching, as that was Fleur knew her In-laws were wrong. And they had intimidated her long enough.

She called Saul, told her her plan and he quietly said, ‘I got your back baby.’ Thank you she whispered as she put down the phone and looked at Cupid, ‘Are you sure about this’…Yes Mom, I want to do this.

2010 Australia

She could hear him pull up in the driveway. ‘You ready baby’

Fleur looked up over his book and smiled. ‘Well’, she said, this could be a very interesting weekend’. She had just finished the last page of his first book, Fighting Your Demons, Denny Denholm.

2012 Australia

As the situation was unfolding to Fleur and police officers were now heading towards her and Cupid, she started to crumble. Cupid was crying in her shoulder and tears were running down her face. Saul had already gone thru, she was on her own.

As another police officer was walking towards her and Cupid, he stopped suddenly and headed to the direction that Saul had just been thru. Actually now she realized all the officers were leaving her side as a seen was starting to unfold. All she could see was a man’s arm with a passport coming back thru, it was Saul.

‘I won’t leave you Fleur, I am your family’.

I am married to a hero, I am that wife, I am that rebel who took action, I am that survivor who said no to fear, I am that Pirate who used the broken rules in her favour, I am that victim who stood up and said NO. I am that Mother who would do anything for her kids…. even letting them go. I am Fighting my Demons…and I have been given the strength to do so.

I am that Raw

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They had arrived on the island from Dubai, all fresh and worldly, corporate and clean shaven. The island that they were to make their home was world’s away from that, it was in fact the exact opposite, motorbikes and bikinis, sun downers every afternoon, earthly and free of all societal traps.

It took awhile for Fleur to settle in, she had been a white picket wife for years and this new freedom was intimidating. As an artist she could see potential, but how to incorporate art onto an island of hardened divers and DJ followers. Saul needed to write, he needed his space, as did she. Both were trying to decompress from the whirlwind of the oil business, Middle Eastern politics and of course family they had left behind.

Fleur was having trouble fitting in, her guilt and loss of her past were getting in the way of her relaxing and trying to understand the freedom of the islands minds and their blatant lack of wanting to know anything from the other world.

Saul asked her to go back to her roots, her art, and find some peace in that. He was agreeing with anything her mind would race to, to fill the empty spaces of her turmoil and so the day she told him of this great space she had found for her art studio, he gladly welcomed the distraction for their peace.

The space was above an already established bar, well known for it’s individuality and DJ presence, however it was a misfit for the island, in the fact it was an effort to get to. But for Fleur it was perfect, quiet, out of the way and perhaps peace of mind was waiting for her there. Her project firmly made on a handshake she set about trying to figure out how to build an art studio. Once the space had been cleared, a thought of setting a bar within the studio seemed like a good idea, and with the help of the local Burmese community, bottles were recycled, bamboo cut and cement was churned. A bar/ art studio was forming before their eyes.

But the other world was hurling towards them and their bliss of a new marriage, a start to a home and a new project was about to change course.

They had taken a month sabbatical to just get to know each other without the dramas of the past. A month travelling South East Asia, a marriage in the jungle and a Buddhist silent retreat meant their bubble had been preserved. Halfway during their retreat Fleur was feeling uneasy; she was instinctually feeling she needed to be back to base. They had been offline and not communicating with the world, for now what would be nearly one month. Saul felt the same unease and with that they packed their belongings and headed to the dock. The boat ride home was 45 minutes but to them both, it felt like an eternity. They arrived home to the island and their villa with trepid steps, each one with the feeling things are getting quite surreal.

Fleur was on the computer first, a message from overseas said it all…her sister wrote, “We don’t know if this is a joke or not, but your daughter has just written rest in peace Dad….”

 

Fleur looked to Saul, “Don’t unpack we need to get the children.

Within two days they were back in it, that world that they were so desperately not wanting to be apart of.

A month ensued and on the final day of court the judge layed down his gavel . He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes thoughtfully…he addressed Fleur ‘And what will you call this place you have created’, Fleur responded…Raw your honor, it is called The Raw…..

I am the creator of Raw

 

 

 

 

I am that home…

an excerpt from I am this Woman…I am that home.

They say home is where the heart is, but, to be honest, I have been struggling with that phrase all of my life…

I have had many dwellings, in many countries, each one has been unique and was the space necessary for that period.

I was born and raised in British Columbia, Canada. Brought into this world in a little town called Salmon Arm. Born to young parents who divorced by my first birthday, I then had required two spaces. My Mother’s and my Father’s….

I discovered that although these were where my parents lived, they hadn’t included me in their environments, not on any reliable level. Just as the little girl who went to her Dad’s for the summer or her Mother’s for the school year. I may not be to quick on the uptake sometimes, but it did eventually rock home to me that whenever I drove into my Father’s ranch, the names of all my brothers and stepmother were on a sign by the edge of the driveway. My name never made the list….even when my youngest brother (RIP) was born, his name was put on with additional chains and proudly presented. Lisa never made the cut.

Over the years I stacked up 13 schools, one of them was even for the mentally challenged and blind, to this day I can sign the alphabet…so all things considering I learnt from each experience. My Mother moved what seemed like every two years, for whatever her reasons were, I still to this day can’t say which place was my childhood home. But through that I became adaptable, needing to survive in any situation that came my way…I was always the new kid on the block.

My graduating year my Mother entered me in a beauty pageant… I won. Every weekend I was away, and I was cool with that, as that was exactly how my life was any way. Packed, in a bag, waiting to head out.

I moved to Australia by the age of 24 and started a family. This was a family home that had many lives in it. All of my children were brought up here, Christmas, Birthdays Primary school, and then the fire. A 13-year-old boy one night decided to randomly pick my kids’s home and light it a flame. …that burnt everything I had collected within those 15 years of calling it my ‘home’ to the ground in 7 minutes. Those pictures that I had collected of the kids, art, children’s toy’s and their pets…all gone .

So it got me to thinking as I roam the earth over the past four years as a person with No Fixed Abode. I have travelled 3 Continents, lived in 11 countries and seen more of airports than most do in a lifetime. This, by the way, is not a complaint in fact the very opposite.

‘My home has always been within me.’

I am that home….
On first foot into my home, you would enter into an environment quite sterile, clinical and verging on OCD cleanliness. Please don’t feel awkward that you are the first to see this, as once inside my home you might be shown more than just the front landing.

After a few more visits, my door will open a little wider and as I invite you in you will start to notice slight changes, some subtleties that on your first visit were not there. Maybe a hint of color catches your eye or the smell of my favorite fragrance or even something yummy cooking on the stovetop. Enter into my home and cast your eyes down my hallway, what once looked to you like a cold and long descent, slowly starts to fill with pictures and art that I made myself and proudly placed on my walls. As you entered into the first room you might have felt at a Doctor’s office but wait on a little longer and you will start to notice the collections of my travels and the knicknacks that meant enough to me to pack across the globe.

Oh, please don’t open that door. That room has been locked for awhile, in there is pain and it has been dealt with for now. My home has it all, a room for pain, for laughter, but especially for love. This is my home, and my home is my heart and so I decorate it accordingly. You might not like my layout; that’s ok you probably only got to the front door. For those that have seen the colour and embraced the atmosphere, I hope you enjoyed my hospitatlity because I wanted you to see my house.

I am that home where the hearts of the people I have loved and embraced along the way decorate my halls and fill the pantry with the song, wine and laughter…they are my home, and I am there’s…one needn’t always a roof or a hanging picture to prove that you are home when hearts touch hearts and eyes lock.

I am that home….

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Miss Chase, 1986