On being ignored…

When I was a girl, the only time I got noticed was when I stuck my hand up in class to answer a question. But this was, ultimately, the wrong kind of attention. It showed people that I was clever and that I could do the work easily, so then i would get picked on. I never got asked – or ordered for that matter – to do anyone’s homework for them. But there were those who thought I was just a teacher’s pet, that I was sucking up, kissing ass.
So then I would get all the comments. If this is you, you know the ones I mean. From those people who aren’t stupid, but who aren’t mega clever either. Who are jealous of your intellect and can find no other way to express this other than taking the piss. It’s really pretty bad. And when you’re a struggling teenager who hates the way they look, well, that just makes it all the worse.
Because you know that they are only jealous. But because the comments about your smarts go unheard, they start to pick holes in the rest of you – your hair, your face, your non-existent breasts. They call you a dyke, a boy. they notice you don’t have fancy trainers, or new clothes every 6 weeks.
So they make these things the subject of their ridicule. And you can’t help but react, because that shit is personal. So you unconsciously make faces of pain when they say these things. These bullies notice your discomfort, so they just do it more.

And so continues a cycle of hurt and pain, and hiding for a vast number of years.

You want so much to be noticed for who you are, your strengths, your beauty. You learn that everything HAS beauty, but you are desperate for someone to acknowledge this.
When someone actually does, you want them to say it all the time, to tell you over and over, to reinforce it for you. You want to be showered in affection and kisses and you want to be touched. Because then you know that more beauty will spring from those acts.

But, because you crave it so deeply, you seek it out at the cost of all else. You want that connection, for someone to idolise you, adore you, to call you names that should only be repeated in private, in intimate moments. It’s like a drug, you just HAVE to have it. It becomes all consuming – the thing you think about last thing at night, the thought you wake up to every morning.

So you seek it, and you push people to give you that fix. And because they don’t want to tell you today, because they don’t want to hurt your feelings, they are silent. They don’t want to be a part of your addiction right now so, having acknowledged your request, they remain tightlipped. The words don’t come, the eyes you want so much to look upon you don’t turn in your direction.

You feel that awful rejection again.

The pain returns, the hopelessness, the futility of your quest. You hide in solitude once more. You pull a blanket over your hurt and cry yourself to sleep.


Life is one long lesson

Well, this is something of a shock. I have learned stuff. Here’s a quick list of the ‘stuff’:

1 – Someone remembers me who I thought never would

2 – My ex is a dad

3 – I need a new job

4 – My daughter has issues


Number 2 on this list is kind of irrelevant as I was fairly sure he was a dad already, it just happened that it was confirmed last week. This is not a surprise, but the kid has got a stupid dumb ass name. The poor thing. However, it is very much inkeeping with the father’s inflated sense of importance and general pomposity.

Let’s move along.

I need a new job. My current one, don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty cool. I work somewhere I like. The work is easy. My colleagues are lovely. The hours are good and fit in with my life and my kids’ school life. The pay isn’t great, but then, it is retail – I do not expect a miracle. However, next week we’re meant to be starting a new rota as our delivery schedule has changed. Well, they’ve already postponed it once, so it might not happen at all. This is just one of the many variables that are making it hard to cope with. So they want me to work different hours, OK. But they’ve actually changed my hours so it’s more difficult for me to work now than it was before. So I’m working half my contracted hours and they’re not paying me for the other half as I can’t work the new hours consistently. You ken? They’re not changing my contract, but if I don’t work the second half of my hours for 13 weeks it will become my contract anyway. Following? My boss is leaving at the end of this week and therefore doesn’t give a flying fuck about this. He is an asshole anyway and is basically leaving it for the new manager to sort out, coz he’s nice like that. NOT! What a cunt. So, we come to the rub – I need another job really. I applied for one last week with a company I’ve worked for in the past, doing the exact same job that I did before. Do I get an interview? Do I fuck! Because everything is done online now, not even a former employee can get past the algorithm to sit face to face with someone. And I was fucking good at that job too, they’re missing out. Twats. I’ve got a couple other things I’m looking at, so we’ll have to wait and see. I’d love to work for myself, from home, but that may be a pipe dream. For now I will have to keep all my fingers crossed that they let me be a falconer at the local airfield and shoot guns. Or I’m going to retrain as a counsellor.


My baby girl. My sweet, gorgeous, smarter-than-the-average-bear baby girl. She has issues. In the process of looking for jobs and stuff to do with counselling I came upon some articles about children and their reaction to traumatic events. We already think she might have some sort of ‘ism’ and I think she suffers Attachment Disorder as well. It’s not really bad, but she does show a lot of the symptoms. Just after her 2nd birthday, in the space of 3 months, her father died, I had a baby and we moved house. That is just TOO much shit for a 2 year old to deal with. I was a total wreck and, in hindsight, emotionally unavailable to her for a long time, when she needed me most. I carry a huge amount of guilt with me about this. I feel I should have done better by her. She deserved more than what she got. But the past is the past, and it’s all water. I can’t take it back – the way I was, the things I did, or didn’t do. It tears my heart up to think that this happened to her. I often used to think I was the one who suffered because of what happened, but I forget about her. She was only tiny and she had to cope with all that. She must have felt so alone, scared, abandoned even. No wonder she does strange things now. I let her down. I know a lot of it was out of my control, but I still feel I let her down then. She is now 7 and still suffers the consequences of those months. My precious, beautiful, brave girl – I will make it up to you.

Let’s end on a positive note shall we?

There is a guy I first knew over 15 years ago. I fancied him like crazy. I didn’t think he felt the same so nothing ever came of it. We went our separate ways. I got married not long after that and he was in a band and toured for several years. I lived in the same town for all that time, whilst he travelled the world. Shit happened in my life, and shit happened in his life. Between us we’ve seen pretty much every awful thing you can imagine, been through hell – bones and hearts broken, drug addiction, abuse, death. We never spoke in all those years. Then, 5 years ago, we got back in touch. I forget why, some random reason, probably Facebook related. I was widowed by this time, he was living back in the UK. We talked a lot and discovered that we had felt the same when we were teenagers. I’d wanted him, he’d wanted me too. Why had we never taken the next logical step and been a couple? It obviously wasn’t the right time then, maybe it was now. We were both damaged by life, battered, been brought to our knees by circumstance. Now that all of that was over, maybe we could….. We met up. Once. It was great. We chatted, the sun shone. We walked through a park, messed about on the swings and shit, smoked cigarettes. That feeling was still there, we both knew. As it grew time for me to leave him, I felt I might not get another shot so I ran, jumped and wrapped my legs around him, kissed him. (Yes, dear reader, I really did do this). Briefly, one fleeting kiss. And then he was gone. We parted and then lost touch again. SHIT! He started seeing a girl I vaguely knew, I started seeing someone. Life got in the way – again.images

Fast forward to this past week. In a weird Facebook way, we found each other again. Hurrah! He’s with someone else now, who makes him happy, I’m glad. And you know what, reader? He remembers that one kiss. His memory is shot to shit, and mine is pretty bad too, but he remembers me, he remembers he wanted me and he remembers that single, momentary kiss. I’ll be honest, I did almost make eye water. This has got to be the most amazing thing anyone has ever said to me. My track record with men is pretty horrendous – I have been called most derogatory terms you can think of and am generally labelled a freak or psycho – and they don’t ever remember me, not even the ones who I’ve slept with would remember me. But this guy, this schoolgirl crush, can remember this one thing despite having only seen me once in 15 years. I felt so special, that I was one of the things his head chose to store in its memory box.

He will always hold a special place in my heart. He will also forever be the one that got away.





Last night I had a really good idea of what to write, now I am a bit stuck.
I can’t remember what it was…..
Maybe I should continue on the subject from yesterday and it may come back to me. Well, possibly. My memory isn’t exactly what it used to be…..
Jeeez, this is HARD. Come on creativity, get some juice flowing!
‘In personal terms, the Judgment cards points to freedom from inner conflicts, and so clear a channel, that the buried talents and gifts of past incarnations can come through an individual in this lifetime. This card counsels you to trust the process of opening yourself, because what emerges is of consistently high quality. You can effortlessly manifest as a multi-dimensional being, and assist in evoking that response from others.’ (courtesy of http://www.tarot.com )
  Ahhh, there we go. This card ties in nicely with a reading I had a week ago – the result of that reading was ‘Truth’. Basically I’ve spent my whole life shying away from the truth that is me and I need to find a way to let it out. The gist was that I’ve already started the work of revealing this truth and I need to keep digging, uncovering the layers of my soul, to find my true self.
I suppose this is what I’m wanting to achieve here. This blog is serving as part diary, part heart riffing medicine, part creative outlet. Several people over the years have told me I have such a gift and I could be so much more than what I currently am. Well, I think deep down I’ve known this for a very long time, but I’ve buried it so far under layer upon layer of self-loathing and pain that I’m finding it hard to rediscover it.
I’m acutely aware that this sounds horribly conceited. It does to me, anyway. I think this, too, goes way back to my childhood, possibly even to a past life. I can’t shake the feeling that to show my true colours and REALLY be the person I’m meant to be is somehow showing off (????) because I know that I am hugely intelligent. Even just writing that makes me feel ashamed. Why should I feel ashamed that I am self-aware enough to recognise the depth of my intellect. I’ll try to really big myself up here, as I think I need to release some of this.
I am REALLY fucking clever – I don’t mean I’m a genius, but I am pretty fucking awesome. Academically I can do pretty much most things. I got mostly A grades for my GCSEs. I’m pretty smug about this compared to my sisters. Maybe the word smug is wrong, but that’s how I’ve been made to feel about it. That they didn’t get as good grades as I did, I think my parents encouraged me not to rub this in their faces. But still, the fact remains I AM cleverer than them. And I could’ve done far better in school than this, but after I was 16 my mental health kinda dived so I didn’t go further – dropped out of A-Levels etc. I think I’m cleverer than my folks too, actually. That last sentence really makes me cringe. Should a person ever be more intelligent than their forebears? Of course they bloody should, otherwise we would never advance as a species. So yes, I am PROUD to say I am bloody cleverer than my parents.
Things that I can do and that I should be proud of:
I put MYSELF through Open University so now I have a Foundation Degree in Natural Sciences – yes, I did this. I didn’t get brilliant marks, I was still not very well mentally, but I still did it and I still passed.
I made my own wedding dress without a pattern to follow – yep, people are still impressed by this 10 years later, I did the whole thing by eye, GO ME!!!
I can speak 4 languages – not fluently but it’s 3 more than everyone else I know.
I can sing – I’m not professionally trained but I’ve played to an audience more than once and been complimented for it.
That is bloody hard for me to write, as my brain box is telling me that these things aren’t so impressive. But this is what makes me ME. I can do anything I set my mind to. I could learn calculus if I wanted to – and that shit is complicated.
The things I should be most proud of though are these:
I am by far the strongest person I know, male or female (dammit, even that is hard to admit). I have given birth to 2 beautiful children and raised them alone for a time. I’ve been through hell (I won’t go into details). I’ve almost died – physically, emotionally, spiritually. And my kids are AWESOME. That is MY DOING. I can look at them and say ‘I did that.’ They are strong because I am strong. I have never acknowledged that, I’ve never written it down or spoken it out loud.
This is my truth. And I now have a strong man who loves me with all his heart. I can only surmise that he chose me because he could see this part of me when I could not. He isn’t the kind of man to choose a weak companion for his life. He’s not the kids’ biological father, but who cares? He’s better than that. I tell the children that he is the best daddy they could have because he CHOSE to be with us. He actively CHOSE to love us. And I love him all the more for that.
He is the best thing that ever happened to me. I can state that as fact. The kids are up there too, but this man truly changed my life. Many women don’t want to admit that a man can have this effect on them, or won’t allow a man to be this important. But mine deserves ALL the credit. I was alone and in a pit of deep despair and he rescued me (and the kids) from it.
As a family WE ARE AWESOME.

So, here we go…..

A Very Small Witch

I really should have done this some time ago now, but then you always say that, don’t you? ‘Oooh, let’s write a blog! It’ll be awesome! I’ll do it every day and then the whole world can know what’s going on in my life, coz I’m so FUCKING interesting!’
Yeah, OK. EGO!!!
Already I’m finding this hard, I mean, what do I write? Seriously. I’m trying to get myself into the habit of writing every day. This needs to happen for me. I can’t keep all the words inside me any longer. I have wanted to write for at least 15 years now, maybe even longer. I’ve always loved words. Reading has always been one of my fave things to do and it’s now a bit of a shame that I don’t get to do much of it any more. Kids will do that you know. Steal your time away, slowly but surely. They also take your brain.
Anyway, yes, reading and WORDS. I don’t know why I’ve always loved them, seems a bit of a weird thing to love. Why should a series of lines on a page hold such sway over my life. If you think about it, they don’t really amount to much. Who was it that decided a certain formation of lines made a certain letter. Who decided what that letter should sound like? Who decided it should go with some other letters and make up this thing called a ‘word’?
But there’s something about them, isn’t there. So many of us are drawn to the beauty of these lines and marks on the page in front of us. You’re reading my words now and I’m just making shit up!
What shall I talk about today?
I get angry –  A LOT. This might need to be a place where I vent. I hope you don’t mind. Need somewhere to deposit all the shit that builds up in my head. And I want to write a book, if I’m honest. So if I start rambling on about some make-believe idiots in medieval Poland you’ll know why that is.
You don’t need to know all the details of my life. But basically a lot of shit has happened to me, as it has to so many of us. As Brendan Benson says: ‘My life in the D is a tragicomedy or poetic verse’. Alright, i don’t live in the D (Detroit, by the way), but you get the picture. I think probably everyone’s life is a tragicomedy, not always poetic though. After all the crap I’ve endured I’ve finally found happiness.
Might get a bit vomit inducingly soppy now, soz…
Today I am thankful for the following:
My gorgeous babies who are my world
My amazing partner who puts up with all my emotional freak-ness
For my being a freak, because being ‘normal’ is boring
For true friends, of whom I only have 2, but that’s enough
For a home, food, warmth and clothes, safety – because so many people in the world don’t have that luxury
Let’s face it, that last one is a luxury. Please, Universe, redress this balance. ‘Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now.’ That’s Shannon Hoon of Blind Melon (RIP).
This year I really need to get myself together. Over the past 12 months I’ve done a LOT of soul searching and found some things about myself. Like I have been a slave to so much utter shit in my life. It’s time to let it all go. Only yesterday I had a convo with my man about this, I can’t live life in the past any more. I think and dither and weigh up possibilities in my head until all joy is sucked from my soul. There are people who have contributed to this. Some of them think they are helping me when all they’re really doing is stifling me and not allowing me to listen to my intuition, my very soul. Well, frankly, I kind of let them do this. I ask for people’s approval quite a bit when I really don’t need to. I’m in my 30s now, why the hell do I need anyone’s permission to be myself!?
Uh Oh! There it is, that’s my main topic today!
I am NOT anybody’s bitch! I am a woman, dammit, who has her own life and her own mind. I have kids who love me and need to respect me. Right now, I don’t respect myself, this has to change. I need to learn to trust myself. Lisa Lister, you would so love this http://www.sassyology.com
This is a big part of my problem, I think. I don’t trust myself. Recently I’ve been thinking about this a great deal. I don’t trust myself. I need to learn this skill. As a child, growing up in a very traditional Christian household, I was taught to trust God in all things. No matter what happened to you, God was the one to trust. Something went tits up and you didn’t understand why – trust God. Someone was mean to you, hurt you – turn the other cheek and trust God. etc etc. ‘Intuition’ is not a word used in churchy circles. You are taught to listen to God, not yourself. Emotion and self-awareness like this is seen as (can’t think of the right word so I’ll just put) bad thing. If your gut tells you to do one thing, but it goes against the teaching of the Bible, you should not do it. And trust God. WTF?
I don’t even know why I’m using a capital G when I write the word god. As he’s no longer the real deal for me. He gave me jack shit (if I look at it from as spiritual point of view). Or rather, he gave me stuff, then took it away again. And I’m still meant to trust that fucker?!
No thanks.
I’ve learned, at least, to see that this doesn’t have to be my belief system. My parents’ views are not my views. Church views are not my views.
Revelation! Eureka! etc. I am not a slave to this any more. I release myself. And breathe…..
As I said, I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently and have found that Paganism is WAY more my thing. It truly is like coming home. This is where I should have been all along. I know this because, when I was 14 or 15 I remember wanting it. I don’t know how (given my upbringing) but I found out about Tarot cards. Instantly I was fascinated and I tried to find out more. There was no way my parents would let me have any, so I secretly made my own deck. They were black. Or rather, I coloured them in black. Yes, I really did take it that far – I drew them all, I coloured them all, the whole works. Again, I don’t remember exactly, but they were taken from me, or I ‘lost’ them, basically they were gone and I don’t know how that happened. But you see, this is so many years ago and I knew then that this was something I could trust. Same with astrology.
Now, at 31, after all the crap I’ve endured, either in the name of my (then) faith, or just life generally, I have the thing I wanted most of all. Since I was a little girl I dreamed of finding the perfect man – I now have him. I dreamed of children – I have a boy and a girl, both perfect. I dreamed of a spirituality that I could trust and would let me be myself (Christianity is so stifling, how did I put up with it for 20 odd years) – I have found that.
So it is time for me to follow my heart. Finally, I can follow it. Finally, I can begin to leave all that past hurt behind. (Well, technically continue to leave it, but you get the gist). Finally, I can be the woman I was born to be.
What a fucking relief!