Finding joy.

This weekend I sincerely fell apart, my tears fell and my heart broke a little more.

But this is ok.

Because falling apart allows you to put yourself back together.

In the brokeness you can find your truth.

Grief is a shit there is no doubt about that but this weekend in the midst of my grief I felt joy.

How crazy is that?

Loving is scary, there is always the thought that your heart could get broken

But not loving is really not living.

So in the my midst of pain I will hold on to the joy.

The amazing incredible joy I feel when I think of my beautiful girl.

The joy of knowing how blessed I was to love this child.

The blessing I have being a mom to four amazing girls and two incredible boys.

So right now whatever pain you are facing or whatever fear is tearing at your heart, hold on to your joy.

For it is said ….

‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Seven years too long.

I rose from my sleep to the sound of my youngest crying, large pain filled sobs filled the air. I went to her bedside and she just held me close. The tears didn’t stop, each one choking her voice. I didn’t want then to ask what was a matter, I just waited for the sorrow to allow her to speak.

“ I’m forgetting her mom”

These four words struck me hard in the pit of my stomach, “ I was trying to remember her favourite song, the one we had to listen to so many times, but I cannot remember it”.

“I don’t want to forget her, I need to remember everything to keep her alive in my heart.”

Alive, it has been seven long years since my precious girl was alive.


Seven grief drowned years since the blue of her eyes sparkled with mischievousness.

Since those sweet dimpled red rosy cheeks smiled up at me.

I’m scared too, I’m so frighted that each day that passes without her is another step in the gulf between us.

My mind trembles over the memories, reaching out into the depths for the moments.

I want to reach out and hold her hands in mine, those soft silky hands with her long twisty fingers.

I want to hold her close and smell the fruity fragrance of her favourite shampoo.

I want to close my eyes and hear her sweet giggle as it washes over me.

I’m scared too.


I’m so desperately scared that I will forget one precious moment I shared with her.

Forget how it felt to hold her.

Forget how it felt to love her.

Seven years is simply seven years too long.

7 years too long

I was only wondering the other day about memories and how many the brain can actually hold.

I was fearful that my mind would save those that didn’t matter and lose those that do.

I don’t want to remember song lyrics or days at work, I want to remember my beautiful daughter, my Livvy.

I only have nine and a half years to hold onto to, please let me keep them all.

I want to remember everything and anything, from snotty noses to belly laughs I want them all.

Like Brodie I want to know the words to her favourite songs to see her dancing along to her favourite tune.

Please don’t let me forget.

Seven years

How in the world has it been seven years?

Time seems to have made no impact on my broken heart.

Still it calls out for her,

The calendar says seven years has passed

But my arms still ache to hold her.

My lap yearns to feel her upon it.

I hold her sister in my arms and we just allow our tears to fall, then Brodie turns to me and says “parachute girl, flies over the world and jumps up out of the airplane

We haven’t forgotten, we wont forget.

How can we,

How could we?

Every moment of those nine and a half years we had together is a gift that we will cherish forever.

Every second spend with our beautiful girl blessed our hearts.

Seven years may have passed but Livvy is and always will be

Their niece

Their granddaughter

Their sister

Our beautiful girl,

Our precious daughter.

how i miss this girl

Who am I now?

What is the term for a parent who loses a child? 

If you lose your partner you become known a widow or widower.

If a child loses their parents they become a orphan.

But what do you call a women who had lost her child.

I often find myself struggling when asked how many children I have, do I say four and then when asked more about them explain that one will be forever 9 and then wait through that uncomfortable silence that tears at my heart. Or do I just say three and not acknowledge my beautiful Livvy.

What about those parents who children didn’t stay. Is a woman who faced a still birth still a mom? 

It’s a hard and the worlds terminology needs to catch up and allow us to honour our children. 

I do always say I have four children in fact I am a mom of 6, two may be in heaven but they are still hold pieces my heart.

To the parents whose child never got to stay you are still mom and dad and nothing can take that from you and if someone tries send them my way.

I mean if your brother or sister died do you stop being their sibling. If your parents die do you stop being someone’s son and daughter. Of course not.

So I want a name I want something to honour my loss and cherish the part my child still holds in my life.

I asked my friends how they would describe themselves now they have faced the ultimate loss. Broken parents, heartbroken, missing, all truly valuable words but for me it’s not enough. 

Then I came across this 

The word we are looking for, she says, “must be a quiet word, like our grief, but clear in its claim.” The word “widow,” which means “empty” in Sanskrit, is such a word, and that same language, she suggests, provides another for us to borrow: “vilomah.” This means “against a natural order,” she writes. “As in, the gray-haired should not bury those with black hair. As in our children should not precede us in death.”
K F C Holloway 

Vilomah, this word sits right with me. 
Against the natural order. 
I should have never had to bury my child. To walk away from a hospital room never to hold them again. No parent should have to plan their child’s funeral.

It’s against the natural order.

So maybe I am a Vilomah a word that may never be understood but is held as truth in my heart.

Be true to your dreams.

Have you ever made a wish or written down a list of dreams only to look back years later and feel grateful that they didn’t come true?

Sometimes what we wish for isn’t really what we need, or even what we want.

Maybe it’s a case of not really having the courage to ask for what your heart truly desires.

I often think back to my teenage lists, my journal pages filled with dreams.

I wanted to join the army, to see the world, be a career focused woman. I didn’t want children and as for being married seriously two weeks in a relationship seemed scary. No commitments, no ties, no emotion.

It’s hard looking back and knowing how untrue I was to myself. That even in the pages of my journal I couldn’t find the courage to be honest, to be true.

You see I didn’t believe in happy endings and I certainly didn’t believe in true love. Yet here I am about to celebrate my 19th year of marriage. I met a man who is far from Prince Charming which is lucky as I’m no Cinderella . Yet he is a man who loves me to my very bones. Who brings me tea in bed every morning. Who empties the rubbish without whining and who encourages and believes in me and all that I do.

I believed that I didn’t want to be a mom, the fear of being completely responsible for a child freaked me out. It was never a case of what will I mess up, it was more a case of when. Now as a mom to four incredible daughters and a Foster mom I’m still scared of messing up but when I look at my girls I know that somehow I did something right .That underneath the chaos and the arguments my kids know how very loved they are.

I can’t even imagine myself in the army now, yet back then at 14 it was my life’s plan. I think it was the order that attracted me to it. Having someone control my life was appealing, not having to make decisions for myself. Yet I would have been a lousy solider. Besides the fitness stuff which I used to love I am incredibly messy and often get lost in my own thoughts, not good when you are supposed to be alert and on guard.

I understand people change and grow and I don’t dispute that I have but if I am perfectly honest I think then I was simply afraid.

Afraid to voice my real hopes and dreams.

Afraid to be true to my heart.

I remember vividly sitting at my grandparents kitchen table writing out my lists. My first list was so very different to the second but as I read the words back I ripped the page out of my journal and tore it into tiny pieces. I remember asking myself what I was thinking, mocking myself, mocking my dreams.

You see I so wanted to be in love, to have someone smile at me in that way, you know the one. Where their smile reaches deep into your soul. Where your heart begins to race and your body just tingles.

I wanted the perfect wedding with fresh flowers and hippy hair. I wanted to promise forever in front of those I loved.

I wanted to write but more than that I wanted to share my words. To have them read in places I have never visited, by people I would never meet. I so wanted to speak through my words to others hearts.

And I really wanted to be a mom, to hold that precious child in my arms. To watch them grow, to catch them when they stumbled, to teach,to encourage and to love. I didn’t just want to give birth to children I wanted to love on those in need. Whatever the reason I just wanted to open my arms and welcome them home.

It’s crazy how life works out, I still have a few more wants to achieve but somehow I was lucky. My dreams that I was scared to write down, well some of them certainly came true.

Did my subconscious play a part, who knows?

Yet I so wish I could go back to that scared 14 year old girl and to tell her to own her dreams. To not care what others may believe to be unrealistic, to know that her hopes were within her reach.

I teach my girls now that nothing is beyond their desire to achieve. That to get something you first have to believe in it.

I wish I had known this, maybe I wouldn’t have messed up so many times. Maybe I wouldn’t have set myself up to fail. Maybe I wouldn’t have hurt myself so many times.

Self sabotage may be my favourite two words (NOT)

So if you are reading this, pick up a journal, a notebook or a scrap piece of paper.

Now write on it your one true dream.

Not whats practical or what other tell you to aim for.

Write your hearts desire.

Now believe in it.

Take steps toward it.

Own it.

Because seriously if I can get there, you all can.

Start the journey towards them now.

It’s never too late.

Avoid the self destruction and start with self construction.

I believe in you.


This post and a few others can be also found over on the Huffington post 

Self acceptance 

I’ve been thinking a lot the last few days about acceptance. How’s it’s something we give yet also something we crave.

I’ve know since i first became aware of my feelings that I have desperately needed to feel accepted. 

That I will bend myself backwards, inside and out just feel part of a group. Only then to find myself not truly being me and still feeling lonely in a crowd.

I look for others approval in all I do.

My self worth is handed over to others only measured by what they feedback to me.

I find myself looking in the mirror feeling rather gorgeous only to start self hating if my husband or friends don’t compliment me.

It’s not about my ego it’s my lack of self belief, self worth.

The other day I was on a high due to the publishing of my post over on Huff post. But slowly it ebbed away as the one person I wanted to be proud of me said nothing.

It’s a rollercoaster of expectation drowning in acceptance.

Yet what I have started to realise is that acceptance starts with me. That I hold the power of self acceptance and that it’s not fair to give it away.

It’s not fair to expect others to realise what I need. It’s not fair to myself to allow others opinions of me form my identity. 

Easy said than done though isn’t it.

With a society telling us what size to be, what food to eat, what roles we should play, it isn’t easy to find your soft small voice in the rapturous noise.

But it’s something I really need to aim for. 

Self acceptance.

I want to hear my heart tell me well done, congratulations and you go girl. 

I want to hear this first.

I want to learn how to accept compliments when given or learning to not give a shit when they aren’t.

Self value 

Self worth 

Self acceptance 

Maybe it’s something to do with getting older, about realising that you cannot please all people at the same time. 

I’m not sure but what I do know is that I am proud of myself at times. I’ve worked hard for all that I have achieved and will continue to do so in the future.