Survived ©



I am a Survivor; that I am. I am also a Victim-that sense of brokenness lies at the centre of the Survivor within me: the two are intimately related, though somehow estranged. I am also neither Survivor nor Victim; I am Me, the Me I was before either of these.

I have found , out of all these selves, the world prefers my Survivor self, and I came to prefer it myself. The Victim oftentimes doesn’t get a real look in; people find her hard to deal with, denying her instead-victimising her again and again.

Having been in survivor mode some 40 plus years, the past two and a half years specifically, the Victim within has taken up certain residency and it has been a great big challenge letting her in and letting her be, as she seemed to go against the Survivor in me.

And as for Me, Me doesn’t know who she is, and would like to be. And because Me wasn’t around very long before disaster stroke, she doesn’t quite know she deserves good things. When it comes to allowing herself what she truly wants and needs, the Victim within makes Me feel ‘worthless,’ like I am asking way too much, and the good things others get to have is not for the likes of Me. Things like a more relaxed existence, a good marriage, meaningful work, a good income, great supportive networks; to be allowed to follow my bliss.

The Survivor in Me oftentimes overlook Victim’s and Me fears and vulnerabilities, wanting to affirm every weakness out, and continue forever forward and on, unaware of the toll-the toll of shouldering it all and soldiering on: carrying the world on my shoulders as if I am God and Great Mother.

So next time you meet a Survivor of any sort, be compassionate and understand, that beneath robustness oftentimes lives the Victim, and that well-being and recovery can be lifelong work-as can, very simply, being one’s own self.

And don’t be quick to tell the Survivor to ‘move on,’ ‘forgive’ and don’t ‘dwell on the past,’ because that will most definitely be like rubbing salt in the wounds and telling the Survivor it’s their fault, however well-intentioned.

Just listen, compassionately, however difficult that may be, because your doing so helps Survivors to see that they are not to blame; they are not alone; that they deserves good things and all the time they need to heal and feel at home in this world. This Survivors needs to hear and know much more than anything else .

Peace & Love,


Finding Voice ©


Quiet, that’s what they called me whilst coming up. Quiet and shy with an ever ready plastered on smile-from the outside. Inside, I was quietly terrified; terrified of being laughed at and/or assaulted by ever ready crashing words; by violating hands..

Quiet I was and quiet I got, until in the end I almost became invisible-one less problem to be dealt with…

I got praises for that: for being the ‘Good’ ‘Quiet’ one.

I got so good at being quiet, that even when I needed to tell, I couldn’t; I couldn’t find the words. They were nowhere to be found.

I suffered in silence…

A godsend to my abusers, who I thought at first were being nice to me; giving me much needed attention, realising I had needs to be taken care of..

EVERYTHING became so mixed up; so inside out.

And I grew up, left childhood, feeling I was never raised, but drowned instead; feeling tricked and cheated, yet expected to get on with it-with the business of being adult, when all I felt inside was little, pretending to be big and unaffected by all that had passed. I guess sooner or later the shit was going to hit the fan.

It blows my mind that people don’t get this, aren’t able, willing, to do the simple mathematics. It’s either I’m going to take the unfinished business of childhood out on me, and/or somebody else, either way recreating and repeating the history of pain.

But the buck stopped with me-and not accidentally, but by choice. By a choice I made when I became a mother, therefore automatically a teacher. Back then I promised myself to make a difference..

A promise that continues to date, as well as to be lifelong work, as the damage done was deeply set and undoing it initially felt like I was hurting myself.

But it has been words that have saved me; searching for them and sharing them in therapy, through journaling, poems, and writing my life story, hoping one day it will be published.

I love words, they help me to have a say-to have MY say. To not be quiet about the things that like cancer untreated kills; kills individuals, families, communities, societies and nations.

We are all affected by injustice, wherever it is taking place. It blows my mind that people don’t get this also, and feign shock, horror, surprise when we read about another mindless killing of innocent victims in the papers..

But there is a relationship between past and present; between cause and effect; there is no denying this. A seed is sown to avenge, and/or revenge when someone has been done wrong: it has to be worked out somehow and try to be undone.

So as long as I am here, I will have my say, in the hope that somewhere those once silenced words, that quiet storm that I was, will make a difference, like a pebble thrown into a pond makes ripples..

It is also my hope that the little difference I can make will go a very long way, for the greater good.   That’s how I choose to work my unfinished business out, and in so doing sing the particular truth song that I believe my soul came to this Earthplane to share, sing, and have heard.

Peace & Love,