A long time ago, in a small market town, there lived a woman who thought she knew what it was to be loved and that if she didn’t feel loved the problem was with her. She spent a lot of time adjusting her attitude, practising gratitude, and learning all she could about how to keep her husband and children happy. Because that was a her role, her aim in life, and her happiness. She knew this. She also knew that she would die someday and her gravestone would read ‘could have done better’. When she met a man who seemed to offer everything she needed, Who understood her need to…
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When next we meet – I will wear purple
It’s been 119 days since we met. Since I breathed in your scent at the delicious point where your shoulder meets your neck. Under the crisp collar, a tender spot that lures me everytime we meet to breathe deeply and sigh, and smile. Home I think. Home I feel. This is home, I hear myself saying.
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Hey, it’s been a while
How are we all doing? Things are good here. I thought I’d let you know how good and in what ways I counted it as such. What happiness feels like for me. It’s new, it’s startlingly easy, it’s bizarrely OK. He asks what did I expect, He always knew we were good together, and I feel sad sometimes, that my anxiety will knock that certainty in myself at times. But one of the things that is new is the injunction not to try to fix myself because of my perceived failings but to accept, love and honour my thoughts and feelings in all their glorious colours and shades. It’s the…
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A tale of two courgettes
I loved that gap, that guilty, illegal, stolen, seductive gap. and as it widened between my husband and me, between my persona as a good wife and mother, into it stepped someone I hadn't seen for a very long time. Me.
