Wonderland Wanderess

No parent signs up for children with behavioural or emotional disabilities. Heck, if it worked that way, none of us would. But oh, what a gift would be lost to this world. Difficult children grow into strong willed adults, champions of the causes they believe in; dream chasers, peacemakers, and driven entrepreneurs.  They are worth all the tears, sleepless nights, judgemental stares, and specialist appointments.   I was a difficult child; now I am raising one. I know you are exhausted, Mumma, but to your little boy, you are Wonder Woman , battling his demons and bringing calm to the chaos of his overwhelmed mind. Breathe—you've got this.   Dad, I see you struggling with the weight of working hard, only to come home to World War III in your living room, when all you want is peace and quiet.   To the single parent weeping in your car, after your daughter threw the mother of all tantrums in the supermarket, I think you are a rock star. ~  ...

People say, " you don't know what you've got until it's gone" but the truth is, with Brad, I always knew.  The statement,  "True friends are like diamonds, precious but rare..." is so, so very true and it was never lost on me, that Brad was one of my diamonds.    2012 was, undoubtedly, the worst year of my life and the final kick in the guts, just one day before it ended, was a phone call during which I learned my best friend had left this world.  I will never forget the crashing in my ears, the sinking pit in my stomach, my knees hitting the floor as my legs gave way, the unshakeable belief that every person I loved seemed cursed to die.  Life seemed hell bent on slamming me back to the floor again, every time I found my feet. ~ To go back to where it all began, Brad was originally close mates with Dean, the biological father of my eldest son.  Early on in my pregnancy, when Dean and I were still together, Brad often looked out for me, ensuri...

My dark passenger.  That ever present voice, quiet and gentle as a whisper at first, 'til it spins dread and fear like spider webs throughout every happy moment.  Then it crouches in the shadows, in the wake of its deception, waiting to pounce and sink its claws in for the kill.  My heart rate increases, my breath falters, my body shakes and sweat pours from my palms.  I'm now in fight or flight mode, in response to whatever situation, place or environment I've found myself in.  My body wants to run and my brain is preparing it for just that, pumping adrenaline through my veins.   I've lost count of the amount of times people have made ignorant comments, all to more or less the same effect- anxiety can be conquered with something as simple as mind over matter ..... but when half of me wants only to run and hide, while the other half  is gearing up to stay and fight the generally non-existent threat, to battle for rational calm amidst ...

Trigger Warning: This post contains graphic detail and mature content that some may find distressing. They say, write the thing you are most afraid to write ...... well, here I go- this is the story I never wanted to tell, the story I still have such vivid nightmares about. You would think with all I have already told, how could my heart hold still darker truths untold.  The reality is, very few people know the worst of my life story.  It doesn't even end with this heartbreaking tale.    I dare say there'll be a lot who will ask why, why now, after all these years, dredge up so much pain but me, I live with this affliction shackled to my very being, every day of my life. This one night has haunted me for over 11 years but I rarely speak of it.  The shame is suffocating, though try as I might, I can never understand why I feel it.  I did nothing to deserve what they did to me.   Other than my mother, brother and the doctors who treate...

From such a young age, girls are conditioned by society to believe that their menstrual cycle will be painful.  They tell us  dysmenorrhea (painful menstruation), menorrhagia (heavy bleeding) and metrorrhagia  (irregular cycles) can be perfectly normal, that it's different for each one of us and some are just luckier than others.   It's seen as a taboo subject and should we dare to voice our pain or concerns to doctors, we're all too often viewed as exaggerating hypochondriacs with low pain thresholds. Well, on that note, here's a little story about my so called "low pain tolerance".  I broke several ribs in 2014 when I was heavily pregnant with my daughter after losing my balance and falling into our marble bench top.  I heard a loud crack and dropped to the floor, winded, in crippling pain.  My then fiance (now husband), Pete took me to the hospital and when the ER doctor probed my rib cage as she examined me, she informed me I could not p...