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Day of reckoning

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I realise I have been MIA for quite some time now (sorry) but life has really been too hectic to describe. But don’t fear I will update you on what’s been going on as soon as I have time to breathe.

For now here I sit, hours away from attending court! Talk about a mashup of mixed emotions. Highs that drive a level of gumption that I never knew I had – especially given how hard he has worked to wear me down over the past two years. Compared with lows so disabling that all I can do is sob and blubber in defeat. It’s exhausting!

But here we are, at least here I am… He apparently is not planning to attend, “it’s inconvenient” – god my heart bleeds, but seriously why would he attend? We all know he is above the law. The very man (term used  loosely!) who chooses to hide behind the law when it suits him, is now hiding from the very same institution simply because he knows it will bring him to his knees- as it should!

His cowardliness at facing me and his day in court is palpable, to the degree that he has risked more than was already on the line to make a written threat to me only two days ago to bully and scare me into doing as he wishes.

Sadly for him I have truth on my side. Integrity in abundance. And balls way bigger than his 6 foot frame would ever allow!

So to you hear this and hear it loud!-  I’m not scared of you. I won’t back down and I will see justice for my boys done!

Calling “Bull Shit” on New Year, New You!

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New year new you Many people across the world will be sitting on this, another New Year’s Eve, the metaphorical and literal brink of a new dawn, reflecting on what was and contemplating what may be.
Making promises to themselves that this is their year. New Year, New Me!

Not me… I’m calling Bull Shit on “New Year, New Me”!

Almost everyday for the past 15 months I’ve looked back. I’ve analysed every detail of my past life with fresh eyes, with the benefit of hindsight and with the new knowledge I’ve gained along the way.

And you know what…Nothing’s changed!

The past is still the past. Nothing, not one thing has changed, not one iota. (Not that I would actually want it to change! But there we are)!

Conversely, I look ahead. I plan for the future, I set goals and targets, everyday. Milestones no matter how small or insignificant they may seem, they help me feel like I’m moving forward in some guise or another. One vitally important thing has, through this exercise, engrained itself in my mind; No amount of planning, wishing, hoping or believing will change the course of destiny. What will be will be. It’s that simple!!

I’m not saying don’t have dreams, and I’m not encouraging that you lose faith, far from it in fact. I’m not even saying don’t change or make plans to change. But do it despite “New Year”. Do it today, NOW. Tomorrow. Next week. Whenever you feel the need to change something in your life just get on with it. Don’t wait for the next birthday or the next New Year. Just do it now!

As a society we punish ourselves so much, always feeling less than. Always wishing we were more, could do more, earn more, love more. And with that and the dawn of a New Year comes massive expectation to full fill those wishes.

For what?

To punish ourselves that our resolutions failed before work starts again on the 4th. To look back and agonise, full of regrets of opportunities missed in the year gone by.

So why bother?

Why do we Insist on jumping on this band wagon year after year?

We just never learn!

So I sit here choosing to ignore the hype and instead select to bring in the new year with my boys. The only people in this world who know what my heart sounds like from the inside. And that makes me happy. We let off a Chinese lantern to mark the occasion, a symbol of letting the past go and bringing in the new with love and light. But that’s it – it’s just a symbol. I’m not going to dwell, but just live in the moment.

I won’t spout any clichés about my blessing and losses, I’ve done that enough over the course of this divorce journey. Nor will I make promises or resolutions only to be disappointed if the universe has other plans for me. I’m just going to wake tomorrow and see what this crazy life has in store for me. Come what may, whatever is waiting to greet me I’ll deal with it!

I’ll learn my lessons, in the moment and I’ll course correct accordingly. Right there and then!

So I say Bull Shit to New Year, New You”! And instead I say “Happy New Year to the best you you can be today tomorrow and everyday!”

To constant evolution.

To being kind to ourselves.

…Because we all deserve it!

Gifts from “Daddy”

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Christmas gifts

Another Christmas Day, come and gone.

A full year of moments, dates, special occasions passed as a single mother. It’s been 15 months now. I’ve gone through the full cycle, and I feel like I’ve finally hit my stride. Of course there are still some fleeting thoughts of what if’s, why me, how did this happen but they are few and far between. For the most part I’m either too busy with the necessitates of life or creating memories with my boys. Memories like yesterday. My first Christmas dinner as the hostess with the mostest again.

11 of my family descended upon me to devour a feast prepared by my own fair hands. These are the moments that matter. That said, the festive day did have a dark cloud of his size and shape looming over it. I tried my best to blow it away and to a large degree I did, but this morning it’s back, darker and gloomier than before.

The day before Christmas Eve my mum gave me a box, the front decorated with his child like scrawl, addressed to my boys. Some might say this is progress. He’s sending gifts (he didn’t even bother with a text last year) but I see it differently. I see her. His new cover story.

Albert received a big toy; dancing animals, flashing lights and songs sung in German. Oliver a book. The diary of a wimpy kid. And that right there is the point. He would have noticed the toy sung in German, her being German wouldn’t. He would have known that yes, Oliver liked (focus on past tense) the wimpy kid series… When he was 9!!! She again would not.

It makes me so angry. Sick in fact. It also makes me very curious as to what exactly he has told her about why he isn’t seeing the boys. My guess is I’m the bad guy, I’m unreasonable, I cut contact, I won’t let him see them…either way she is oblivious to the truth. In addition how can I keep gifts in my home that have been touched by her filthy home wrecking hands?

So what to do?

I could give them to his mum when I see her after Christmas (yes we’ve been in touch, but that’s a story for another post), I could send them back to him with a spiteful bitter note telling him if he wants to show he cares he should get off his hustler ass and buy them himself or not bother at all. Or I could send them to her, with a gift in return… A gift of the truth. Not my truth HER truth.

You see she thinks she’s the cat that got the cream; the handsome Man, the successful provider, the hero who showers her with praise, gifts and compliments all the while playing away like the filthy sewer rat he is. And she, the poor cow, has no clue. She sits smugly picking out gifts for my kids like she’s fucking Mother Teresa. Her pathetic attempts to help him smooth the way over what ever lie he’s fed her. If it wasn’t so pitiful it would be hysterical.

He is here in the UK. I don’t know, nor care if she’s here. But I know he is. He flashed up on my tinder profile on the 23rd only 29km away. Even at Christmas he can’t just enjoy friends and family, he just has to find a local squeeze. Even funnier he is using old photos, pictures taken whilst with me. On one he actually cut me out of the pictures… Cheeky so and so. It’s truly very sad.

Back to the question in hand… What should I do?

I really have no idea what the best option is, but I do know we will not be keeping these gifts sitting here with them in our home turns my stomach. So I simply cannot sit and watch my beautiful boys with these items when all I see is her…does that make me a terrible person? Putting my own bitterness ahead of my children’s enjoyment of a couple of stupid toys?!

What would you do, I’d love to hear?!

 

Sunday Mornings

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Our churchToday I’m in a funk. Actually I’ve been in this funk for a few days now. Maybe it’s just the time of year, dark gloomy weather combined with the memories of the past Christmas, my first alone in oh, such a long time. My first with Albert. Or possibly it’s just sheer exhaustion gained from a gregarious baby who is simply refusing to sleep! Either way I’m feeling low.

I shouldn’t really be sad, I mean I sit here today cosy in my warm home, the wind blowing a gale outside my window. Albert’s snuggled in under my chin watching Christmas movies both of us in our pj’s and Oliver still in bed… He is a teenager after all. What could be better?

Well it’s Sunday morning. Which for as long as I can remember was my time. Prior to our moved to DE “he” would take Oli out for an adventure and give me an extra hour or two in bed. Bliss! We playfully called it “daddily duddly” time! The “adventure” itself may have only been going for a hair cut or a trip to the supermarket but let’s face it, time alone with daddy to a little boy is always exciting.

Oli loved their mornings together. On their return he would babble away about the games they played whilst driving; who won at eye spy and that daddy cheated, as always! Him beaming at his happy boy and the fun they had. A proud daddy for sure! Me happy with the love in my home. Life was good!

Then we moved to DE and the ritual of me time continued. The only difference being without the sleep. I would potter on in to town to meet my ladies. Two amazing ladies might I add!

Sunday morning breakfast became our church. We complained about the kids, the husbands, the other mum’s, chevron stripes, work etc but we always laughed. God we laughed! Especially when it came to ordering (in our broken German) which often went something like this…
“drei Omelettes mit Schinken und Käse bitte”
“drei?”
“Ja.”
“mit Schinken und Käse?”
“Ja!!!”
“Omelettes?”
“JA!”

Her-Huffs gets stress, cannot understand three women ordering three breakfasts.

Us- roll eyes, giggle- why doesn’t she get this? Every week it’s the same ritual?? Seriously even our German isn’t that bad!

During the summer we would sit outside basking in the sun for way too long; batting off calls from the kids fighting back home, or texts from the hubby asking where we put whatever unimportant object he couldn’t find, because it’s not right under his nose.
We would plan our next outing – generally a beer festival of some kind, or just a good old drinking session! During the winter we moved inside drowning in layer upon layer of German winter protection!

We would reminisce of times past, friends absent – still missed, but we always laughed. Regardless of the seriousness of the topic of the day these ladies knew just how to take any situation and take the piss. Even surviving cancer didn’t escape our gentle teasing!

On the occasions my ladies and I didn’t meet, “he”, Oli and I would do something together. Go to a flomarkt, visit a new town, go for a bike ride or simply go for breakfast together in one of the hundreds of cafes on our doorstep. It was great family time. Once again I felt so blessed for the joy and love in my home. Life in my eyes couldn’t have been better. Clearly he and I were not on the same page…he took advantage of my “me time” to get some “him” time  and the second I left the house he dashed off to shag his slutty mistress of the day!

After “D day” breakfast with my bitches continued but now we had a new team member in Albert!
Loved and pamper by my girls the poor kid was swapped between them a million times during those few hours together.
The laughing had slowed as they listened sympathetically to whatever new piece of information I had to share on the state of my once happy life and marriage. Even after weeks and months of story’s of his disgraceful behaviour they still sat and listened to my endless whining. Always offering support, words of love, of strength.
Often shocked at the new revelation but yet not surprised. Even back then, with the little we knew of exactly what he had been doing, we wouldn’t have put anything past him. He was capable of anything! And has proven as such a million times over.

Those breakfasts were my sanctuary, my safety, my sanity! And today they are still so precious to me, so much so, as I sit here today I miss it so much it hurts.

God bless you ladies and the memories you’ve given me. I hope and pray that this Devine universe will one day give us all Sunday morning breakfast together once again!

xxx

It still hurts

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On this exact day 12 months ago I visited my estranged husband in his new flat. At this point he had been gone just over two months and we hadn’t spoken a word in over a month.

He just went AWOL in typical narc style he just shut me out, totally and completely. Like I never existed, we – he and I, our children and I never existed.

He was shocked to see me there, understandably so, as he never expected that I would find out where he live. Find out I did. And so there we were. Dead of night, snow on the ground and over an hours drive from where I lived, we lived. Standing face to face.

On the drive over I was terrified what I would find there, how I would react actually seeing him. What he may say. Would she be there? But when the moment came it was clear he was more petrified than I.

Calmly I told him I only wanted a few moments of his time, that I had a few things to say and then I’d go.    He stepped aside and let me in. Observant as always I couldn’t help but notice his pitiful existence, our old garden furniture as his dining room table (actually there wasn’t a dining room just a kitchen and living room, no bigger than out old family bathroom). No niceties, no photos. Just his books and DVDs adorning the nasty ikea shelving.

Big shot Director hey?!

Sitting in the corner I spy a pair of Dr Martin boots. The rebel in him, of course he knew I hated them; we used to joke about him “not being allowed” them, so it’s not a shock to me that the second he is “free” he goes right out and buys a pair… #midlifecrisis!

Anyway I make my way in and start my well rehearsed speech. Me perched on the window sill, him on the edge of the old sofa bed from Oliver’s bedroom, his  eyes firmly set on the floor. I tell him that I forgive him. That he is a good man. I don’t care who he is with or what he is doing but I can’t allow him to make the mistakes he is making without at least trying to make him see sense. That the only people who really matter in all this mess are the boys. Our boys. All we need to do is to pull together; communicate and we can make it work without hostility or conflict. We didn’t have to be “one of those couples”

Albert is in the car seat in the floor. He hasn’t even looked at him. I remove him gently from his harness and place him smiles beaming on his knee. I tell him that he loves to sing “if your happy and you know it”. To my surprise he starts singing it, clapping Albert’s hands with the rhythm. Albert of course giggles and charms in his special little way. My heart melts.

For a moment, he is smiling, engaging, I see the old him. The him I fell in love with, not this shadow of a man who is now no more than a stranger to me. But it’s over as quickly as it began, as he takes to his feet and hands Albert back to me. And he’s gone.. Retreated back in to his new cold hard emotionless shell. Never to be seen again!

And so we are done.  I leave but not before I see him hide his tears. The mother in me wants to make it better, I’m compelled to. I place Albert down and I hold him. At first it’s awkward. He just stands there, then slowly he let’s go and holds me back as he cries. I tell him everything will be ok, to let it go.

Ops..I hit a nerve. He pushes me away and paces up and down the room, animatedly telling me I don’t understand; he’s done so many terrible things, he had so much to deal with. I offer to help. I’m refused.

I leave to take the long, cold and frankly dangerous drive home but I feel calm. Hopeful. There’s a part of me that feels like I’ve reached him. Now I’ll give him space and when he is ready we can then move forward.

A couple of weeks later. My optimism is shattered. Divorce papers. Filed on Nov 2nd. He had already filed when I saw him and yet he never even mentioned it, and his reasoning…such lies. I mean not slight exaggerations just out and out lies.
Here’s a snippet! ” he was trapped in our marriage due to me being totally and utterly dependant on him for everything” “I treated him like a Slave” “I never took any responsibility for the home or the raising of my son from a previous relationship!”

No mention of his affairs, his illegitimate child – 6 weeks older than Albert, or the fact that I was the higher earner and supported him out of work on three occasions, that he moved in with me in to my home, I did all the running around with Oliver, we had a cleaner in the home and I did all the cooking and shopping, paying bills etc

So I ask, define slave please? define dependant! No let’s go with an easy one-define trapped!

Little did I know at that point exactly how much of a liar he really was, a real fantasist. But it wouldn’t take long for that story to be told..and sadly it’s not done yet!

Day after day more information comes to me. Most of which I ignore. But I can’t help but wonder where did he go wrong. Where did we go wrong? What could I have done to help.. I mean I know this isn’t my fault but maybe if I had seen the signs earlier it might not have got this far.

Then today, 12 months on I receive yet another surprise package of delightfulness. Videos (of the xxx nature), messages between him and maybe another 6-7 women, lots of photos of more women, new ones, some have children. More innocent lives in the process of being ruined.

My stomach turns. My hands shake and I light a cigarette.

It still hurts!

For Fuck’s sake! It still hurts!

I hate that it gets to me and I’m choking on my own words even saying it, but it’s true. I don’t love him that I know, and I’ll never ever have him in my life again but it hurts to see this.

The sweet photos quotes he used to send me now go elsewhere – in multiples! He plays with someone else’s child yet ignores ours… Where’s the logic in that?  He clearly likes being a dad or maybe it’s just easier to get a single mum for a fat, overly hairy yet balding middle-aged man wearing Dr Martins, the kids just part of the deal.

That aside and back to me; Degraded, stupid, embarrassed and sad. That’s what this does to me, still 12 months on. Will it ever stop?!

People watching

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People watching

I love people watching. Strange hobby some might say, but seriously I just love it!! I could whittle away hours nursing a venti decaf black Americano whilst the world passes by under my watchful eye. I don’t get to do it as often as I used to, I mean, let’s face it as a single mother of two it’s a bit of a luxury to even contemplate giving myself the time to sit and just be, let alone to enjoy this “me time” outside of the home with a steaming hot cup of deliciousness as my only companion. Now bubba’s in nursery part-time, I feel like I’m finally getting my house in order, so I will, without regret or hesitation allow myself this luxury (and so should you!)…I’m getting my people watching mojo back! And as with every little step I take, each milestone I hit on this crazy journey of mine it feels good. Different but good different.

At one point in time… (Pre D day) I have to admit, my people watching had, well, a judging tone to it. Ok let’s be honest here, I was a complete bitch!!! I just couldn’t help myself, sneering and commenting on the unsuspecting beings going about their daily routines just outside the dirty Starbucks window… what is she wearing? what’s he doing with her? Worst of all “oh my god that kid is ugly”… ( I know as a mother that’s a terrible thing to say, but let’s face it some kids just are  aesthetically challenged.. Fact!!). Now on reflection maybe that harsh critiquing of people whom I know absolutely nothing about, (and I mean literally nada) was my own unconscious unhappiness untamed and unleashed on the unsuspecting, undeserving general public! I guess hindsight is really a wonderful thing in teaching us about ourselves.

Anyway I’m pleased to report that these days not so much criticising happens during my fav past time (once again, maybe this is a reflection of my own new peaceful, positive state of mind?)
So with my (large) mug of joy in hand I claim my spot on a soft and soggy velvet armchair, get comfortable, and watch. I ponder the individual stories of those who catch my attention.

To set the scene of today’s vigil, It’s a couple of weeks to Christmas. Lights sparkle with festive gloriousness casting a warm, hug like glow on the marble floors of the usually stark Trafford Center. The shops won’t open for another hour yet but already there’s a soft buzz of activity as the more organised of us “get in early to beat the crowds” hustling to stock up on the perfect gift for that special person. The shop workers rushing around setting up for another day greeting and serving the foot soldiers of consumerism who undoubtedly won’t  take the time to say thank you!

I sit, now slightly cooler decaf in hand and watch. The man on the mobility scooter, the pretty (overly made up) young lady talking animatedly on her on her phone.

The man with his son. He’s kept occupied watching him play mischievously up and down the walkways. He’s tall and dark, handsome in a rugged unkempt way, the little boy white blonde, a toddler with an infectious smile and giggle that would melt the coldest of hearts stumbling as he perfects his new skill of walking. He is so, so happy playing with daddy. From my corner I feel their love. It makes me smile but inside a pain threatens to claw through my chest. I look away and my gaze is caught again. Yellow and blue polyester. Necktie and waistcoat, smart and clean. In fact perfectly turned out. She gently passes me by pushing her massive utility trolley adorned with cleaning paraphernalia; brushes, mops, sprays, bottles, bin bags you name it she has it. She sees me looking and we catch eyes. Almost immediately she looks away, looks down.

No!!! she thinks I’m judging her. I’m not! Guilt flashes though me. I’ve made her feel bad!
Only a moment passes until she looks at me again, I smile at her in a vain attempt to tell her I’m not casting judgement on her. This time she holds my gaze a moment longer, her eyes are tired, sad. She breaks away again and buries herself in her work.

Then it hits me. She doesn’t think I’m judging her at all, It’s all in her eyes. It’s shame! She’s ashamed to be seen. She’d rather be part of the fixtures, behind the scenes. Invisible.

I begin to wonder why. who is she, what’s her story is and what journey led her here, to this place of sadness and regret.  Was she a high flyer, who for whatever reason fell off the corporate ladder and is now doing what she can to pay the bills, whilst being thankful she’s at least working. If so,  I know she often wonders why this happened to her. Where did her life go?
Or maybe she is a single mum who has always struggled to make ends meet and although she is grateful for the wages she works so hard for she can’t help but feel there’s just no point, what’s it all for? Life never gets any easier.  Maybe she has lost and love one and with it her own joy.

Whatever her story, whatever her reasons, to that lovely graceful lady cleaning the Trafford Center; you have no reason to be ashamed (if that was indeed what I saw in your eyes) or to be sad. You take pride in yourself and in your work, that much I can see. You work hard and I’m sure you are kind and honest, all things to be proud of. So you maybe down on your luck – (according to your own standard), or maybe life has just changed for you, who knows – I definitely don’t but what I do know is this. Whatever your battle, you are still standing and that says a lot. You picked yourself up and got on with it, you’re still getting on with it. Your doing your best and that’s enough, so take a moment to be kind to yourself, forgive yourself… you deserve it. X

Friends are the best!

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I talk a lot about the women who helped me through my dark, desperate hours. Women, ladies – friends who have often call me inspirational without realising the irony in that small statement.

Irony?

Yes indeed, you see, those women; no friends, were my strength, my inspiration!! Despite the miles between us, to this day they pop up from time to time with words of comfort, joy and silliness all of which mean so much to me that words simply fail me!

Case in point…

This morning I woke, logged on to Facebook and found a message from one of those ladies that literally bought me to tears… Happy tears!
A darling lady, an ex colleague and an amazing friend from Germany- someone who just appeared by my side and has not left it- albeit in spirit now we have a sea between us, posted a song to my timeline with the comment;   “this is your anthem”!

It’s a beautiful song about strength and power. Continuing to fight on despite the size of the battle. It’s just lovely and I have to say I did get a kick of empowerment to continue on – not just for myself but for all the other women out there still grafting to survive yet another day.

So today my darling friend, this post is for you. Little do you know that YOU are my inspiration! You are a tower of sheer steel wrapped in a perfect package of giggles, sarcasm and gossip (all my best features reflected in you!) a truly selfless person who has done more for me than I could ever repay. You took time away from your children, your work? your life just to hold me up. It didn’t go unnoticed!

So to you beautiful lady – thank you… You know who you are!

And.. To pass the baton…To every other woman out there needing a spot of inspiration for your weekend… Listen, enjoy, embrace x

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=e8qDOGLCSFo&feature=youtu.be

 

 

Praying for Paris

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Praying for parisI woke this morning to the terrible devastating news of what a tragic place our world has become.

Paris, the city of love has yet again become the target of some very small minded and evil souls.

Mass murder – nothing less than slaughter of innocent people… And all for what??
Religion?
Greed?
Politics?

Children will wake to the news their parents won’t be home for dinner, mothers and fathers will rise from slumber only to bury their children. So so sad.

Today I will smile at my babas giggles. I will squeeze Oli that bit tighter and I will thank god for all I have and hold dear whilst sending prayers to Paris x

Missed call

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February 25th 2015 was the last time I spoke to my narc ex. I’d like to say the conversation was a good one but that would be a lie. Having said that, given the context it went as well as could be expected. It was calm, no shouting or name calling, no anger, which in all honesty is what I was prepared for. You see this was the day I sat with him holding in my hands his deepest darkest secrets. Exposing all he has worked so hard to hide for an entire life time.  I stood with him pitifully crying right in front of me as I told him of my discoveries; the tens of affairs, the prostitutes, the children, the grandmothers, the married women, the escorting, the gambling… All of which I had factual information on-names, dates, emails, photos you name it I had it all. Evidence so strong even he couldn’t deny it. He didn’t even try.  I had uncovered the real person in him.  Of course I had every right to be angry. To be upset. After all our marriage was a joke. Nothing more than sheer fantasy, a cover story for his depravity. Yet as I listened to his “I’m sorries” and “I’m going to make it right’s” all I could feel was compassion. I actually felt sorry for him. I mean who lives like that?  He is clearly Ill. He needs help. I wanted to help him. Maybe it was the maternal instinct in me but I wanted to hold him in my arms, rock him gently to a peaceful sleep, the kind of sleep that had escaped him for years under the weight of his dual life. He seemed almost relived that it was out. He was shocked, shocked that he had underestimated me and my ability to see the truth, of that I’m sure. Mortified that he had been de-masked, but relived none the less.

We parted ways. He left with my words of promise that I would never reveal the real him to a single soul. That I would help him through this. After all he was my best friend for 11 years and that’s what friends do. Right?

A few text messages passed between us over the following week. All nice, supportive messages, me telling him not be overwhelmed, for him to forgive himself, for him to remember that he is a good man. Just a man who made mistakes! Nothing out of the ordinary and certainly nothing that would suggest the plot he had hatched to silence me. that was heading my way. I had no idea the lengths he would go to in order to keep his front in tact. I had in fact underestimated him… Massively.

Then the messages stopped. Just like that. Then came the police.

Blackmail?

5 months of terror followed. Stress so sever that I lost my hair…along with almost half my body weight and my entire bank balance (and some) to lawyers! All to defend myself against his lies.

But not one more word from him.

Until now.

A missed call. It came almost two weeks ago now. And it’s played on my mind every day since. What could he possibly want now, after all this time, after all he had done?

Nothing im guessing. Nothing but to mess with my head. His narcissism will be craving the attention, he’s looking to feed the beast within.

I ignored the call. I had no intentions of responding in any way shape or form. But then the dreams started. Well nightmares actually. Night after night the same scenario played out during the dark wee hours…I’m in a flat, I don’t recognise it but I know it’s his. I discover recording devices in every room I enter. I’ve been set up. I start to run for the door, remembering to wipe my finger prints as I go. Then there he is. He is running from me. Scrambling in his dressing gown up the grassy verge outside the kitchen window. His face flushed with panic. Then I’m alone. Outside. It’s dark. I have no idea where I am and the Barron landscape is cruel not allowing me any signs of familiarity. I wake. Dazed upset confused.

For the past two weeks I’ve tried to figure this out. Until yesterday when I remembered something my therapist said to me when all this started. He told me that before I react to any situation – or make any decisions to step back and think of my future self. To see her stood in front of a mirror thinking of this moment. Will that lady be regretful or happy about the choice she made? He always told me that I have a surprisingly strong moral compass, and that despite the bs that has been thrown my way I have stayed true to my values and beliefs.

As I sit and think about that, let it resonate within, I ponder my choices and one keeps coming back as my real only choice. I have to respond. Not for him but for me, for the future me. Even if it is a game and all he wants is to see if he can get a reaction I don’t care. His motives are of no importance to me, my promises and values are. I always said that I would be there if he wanted to contact me, and I told myself that I would do whatever it took to bring this nonsense to an end. Promises men nothing to him but they do to me, so in the spirit of holding my end of the bargain I replied. Simply saying ” I’m assuming this was a mistake? But wanted to extend you the courtesy of double checking”

No emotion. No fluff.

He read it immediately but still hasn’t replied. I didn’t expect him to, deep down I know he wanted to see if I would reply, and I did. I have fed his ego. But that’s fine, I have silenced my mind. And slept well. that’s what matters. My future self would be proud..

Baby steps

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Before you tut and roll your eyes, No this isn’t a metaphorical post about taking baby steps in moving on, but rather a post about actual baby steps.

Yesterday my little bubba took his first few independent steps!!!

Just like that out of the blue he just up and walked across the kitchen floor! Wow what a milestone in his little life, and I couldn’t have been more proud and more happy for him.

Mum and I screamed and clapped and yelped with pure joy at his accomplishment,  his little toothy face literally beaming  with sheer happiness. With no fear whatsoever he just let go of his anchor and took a leap of faith that I was there ready to catch him if he fell; and off he went.  Watching his confident smiling strides that wasn’t necessary  all I had to do once he arrived at his destination was to squeeze him tight!

Once again I’m left blessed and humbled at my life. All the other stuff, the drama, the pain, the nightmares are washed away, I mean how could they not be when I have moments, unforgettable, once in a lifetime – precious moments like this in my life! ?

#proudofmyboys!