On the eve of 2024

On a clear night, my view of the east of London stretches for miles, with lights twinkling like a sea of jewels, adding a sparkle to the horizon. As 2023 draws to a close I look back over the year, and I realise that my year has been filled with moments that have reminded me time and again that I am a survivor. My life is a sea of ups and downs, and each time, I’ve survived. 

Surviving unending heartbreak (the heart never recovers), divorce ptsd (the soul never forgets), chronic health issues (the body never heals), worrying insanely about my kids, selling my home, buying a home, moving house three times, moving across continents, starting uni, managing uni, living on my own for the first time in decades… it seems like 2023 has flown by in a complete daze. And somehow, I’ve survived it. I’m frankly rather exhausted on many levels, but I really do think surviving is what I do best. 

I’ve often wanted to shift gears and get to “thriving” instead, as if it was a level up from merely “surviving”. I’m going to stop wanting more and simply be grateful for what I have done, and what I am. I think I am content with surviving. I’m bloody good at it, and I’d like a medal but hey, I’ll settle for patting myself on the back. No matter what life throws at me, I always bounce back, I never give up, I keep soldiering on. I am a survivor. 

My life, a sea of shining moments that remind me of where I’ve been, what I’ve endured, and what I do best. I survive. And that is truly enough. 

Well done, my dear family and friends for getting through 2023 and all that it brought you, with your own sea of ups and downs. May you look back and see the moments when you shone best, especially in the darkest of hours. May you know how far you have come, and all that you have accomplished as you kept moving forward. 

Here’s wishing us all the continual strength, tenacity and determination to get through 2024. Happiest of New Year greetings to all, and all good things always for you and yours. 

With much love and affection, 

Pav

31/12/23

Truly Human, and Unafraid to Feel

One of the reasons we all love watching movies or plays is because actors and actresses get to portray the fullest possible range of human emotions. All the emotions we are too frightened to give in to, to feel, to display, to experience. All the emotions that if others saw in us, we’d be afraid they wouldn’t love us or they’d leave us, or despise us. 

So we weep alongside these portrayals of sorrow, loss, grief, anger, hopelessness, and rage. We are moved to tears by displays of joy, love, hope and faith, all the good that is battling to take the upper hand in us. Sometimes we are moved by the total numbness of not feeling a single thing, a luxury often not afforded to us because we have to function for others who need a smile, our loving and mindful presence, and our shoulder to lean on whilst we remain propped up on thin air, it might seem. 

Watching others vent what we cannot articulate is cathartic. Sometimes it helps us understand our own pain better, and give a name to what we thought we felt, even if we never truly recognised its magnitude, submerged as it may have been somewhere deeply within our subconscious mind, pushed away by a lurking fear of the unknown, and the potential enormity of what we have experienced. It is an enormity we do not dare to face. 

And so we live vicariously through the generosity of talented individuals who take on our limitations and help us release ourselves from them, setting us free to be truly human, and unafraid to feel whatever it is that we must, while knowing that perhaps we never truly can. Fully human, and unafraid to feel, that would be wonderful. 

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

What Letting Go Might Look Like (July, 2022)

Today is the 5th anniversary of my divorce, and as I woke up this morning I remembered what is was like to tearfully read the Decree Nisi Absolute that would replace my marriage certificate, and to try and comprehend those inexplicable words about my marriage having been “dissolved”. Dissolved? Like a spoonful of salt crystals in water? Isn’t that just salt in another form? What a silly word to use. One doesn’t simply dissolve anything immediately, nor cut ties cleanly, in fact, it takes tonnes of trauma, and loads of healing time to get to a place where you no longer care. 

Today, I realised that I no longer care. I did, once, very deeply love someone, and it was truly beautiful while it lasted, and truly frightening when it ended. But it did end, and while I struggled to accept its end, to let go, and to set myself free, I slowly saw that when love dies in someone indifference takes its place. 

An indifference to the sufferings of the chronically ill, an indifference to the struggles of single motherhood, an indifference to the emotional and psychological anguish of having one’s heart ripped out, and navigating the horrors of heartbreak alone, an indifference to just about anything in my life… and I realised that love cannot always win over indifference. If anything, one should stop loving the indifferent and cut loose from the one sided farce of being told by others that love, grace and mercy will win over hearts. I think love has a better chance against pure hatred than it does against indifference. Some hearts do not want to be won over, and one should close the door so firmly upon them lest they crush us with the weight of their uncaring indifference. I felt it crushing my soul because I cared so much, but I knew I had to shut the door and stop caring altogether. 

And so I did. Slowly but surely, I cut myself loose. Then one day, I let myself feel the anger, grief and hurt that I had suppressed, and I shut the door so hard that I knew there was no going back. I let go, telling myself that I deserve better, I deserve to be loved for who I am with all my imperfections, and that I cannot and must never depend on those who had abandoned me in my hour of need. I’ve always struggled to be firm with shutting doors that way, but now it’s much easier. Perhaps I am older, and just tired of playing nice, or trying to please, or being some kind of half baked paragon of grace, constantly battling with and suppressing my true feelings so God can work through me. I think God doesn’t need me to do His work in indifferent hearts. God wants me to preserve my own. 

I let go, and I feel free. Free in all of my relationships. So very free not to care about those who don’t care for me. So very free not to cross an ocean for those who wouldn’t cross a puddle for me. So very free to truly be myself, unvarnished and yet clearly beautiful. Even saying that is so hard for me, but I do want to say it. I’m a gem of a person, and anybody who doesn’t see that or value me doesn’t deserve my care, affection or love. 

So today I no longer care. I don’t live in a space of hurt and rejection any more, I refuse to do so. I’m not some sad victim, I’m a victor who has triumphed over a fair bit of difficulty in life, while creating opportunities for myself and raising four children. I remind myself every day to live my life fully, to love those who love me, and to pursue my own happiness. All of life’s relationships, no matter how much we love unconditionally, require reciprocity. When reciprocity is absent it’s best to reserve energy for others, to focus elsewhere, to pursue those who choose us. I’m excited to see where my life takes me, learning to love myself for who I am, looking forward to whoever steps in and out of my world, and I’m busy creating adventures for my own life. 

I no longer care, and I’m in a good place.

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

(Wrote this elsewhere on July 19th, 2022. A useful reminder to self.)

On the Eve of my Departure to London

Happily I have practically sorted out a myriad of things over several weeks and am now ready to fly to London tomorrow. So many things to think about as I moved house, set up a new home temporarily, and saw to all kinds of things with various deadlines. Relocating is a big job! I’m planning a year away, but who knows really. It’s my adventure, and even I don’t quite know where it’s headed. 

The plan is to renovate my new apartment in Singapore. Discussed early reno ideas with ID guy, and am trying not to have a forest theme in my new apartment (resist!). I’m feeling the slightly kooky bohemian nature lover side of me kicking in. Lots of interesting ideas, I just need to decide on what I like. That seems to be harder than I thought. I like many different things! 

Had to prep the new apartment for reno by making sure nothing I wanted remained here. Stuffed a bunch of important recyclables into storage, and have nothing left that I want to keep in my apartment pre-reno. Well, almost, but it’s really about learning to let go. Easier said than done, but ever so necessary at times. 

Said goodbye to very few people because I’m not going away forever, I think. Even if I were to, I’d still be in touch. Forever isn’t as long or as far as it sounds. It’s a year in London with options to remain, or return, or basically do whatever I feel like… the world is my oyster! And we’re in touch online so much as it is, that it might just feel the same, only harder to meet up for masala tea with friends!

Made an appointment with a gastro specialist in London to jump start my monthly jabs in September, and am looking forward to meeting the esteemed Prof Peter Irving, who looks like a movie star. Hehe :)  Gastro doctors are always so encouraging, and gutsy, I’m happy to meet more good ones. 

Transferred dear helper Ina to Grandma Dadiji who wanted a new helper, and both are overjoyed at the arrangements. Ina said, “This way I will have a chance to see you and the kids again”. We hugged and cried. She has been an invaluable help to me in many ways, especially with the house move, and the dogs. She cried when the dogs left for London. Her babies! 

The dogs landed safely in London, and were greeted with much joy by eldest son, his housemate, and dear daughter, who washed them and took them for walkies to the park and to the pub. Lucky doggies! I do hope they’ll enjoy their lives in the UK. I rather think they will. 

I’ve been tearful, saying and hugging goodbye. I don’t know why, really, but I think I should explore my feelings a bit more. It’s my great adventure… why am I sad? Even my doctor asked me to cheer up! I think I’m just exhausted from planning and executing a massive move while trying to stay well. It’s taken a toll. Plus, it’s the closing of a chapter, in the book of my life, such as it is. A huge chapter, hung in limbo, waiting for closure, and now that closure is seemingly here, I’m reminded that I’m a slow processor of everything that happens to me, and that really, there is no closure for some things in life. We simply learn to live with the wounds in our lives, and allow suffering to transform us, as we move on with grace and dignity. I’m trying, and some days it’s just hard. 

Here’s to restful days over celebrations for eldest son’s grad, a short holiday with dear daughter in Cornwall, a quick farewell to second and youngest sons off to uni, and a happy settling into classes of my own over the next few weeks. Plenty to celebrate in all our lives. 

I’ve enrolled into my course successfully, signed up for extra Intro to Anthropology refresher courses, started reading ahead and am asking myself how I can bring all my knowledge (such as it is), years of varied experience, and a multiplicity of interests together to create something new and meaningful for me. That’s exciting! 

The nitty gritty of temporary accommodations and then moving into my rental flat and setting up home, and grocery shopping and cooking for one… that sounds vaguely exciting too. I dont know how to cook for one! Haha! No mutton curry for just me! Here’s to a simpler life of less fuss, do what I like when I like, and nobody else to worry about unless they message me and need me. Otherwise, I’m busy living my life, adjusting to doing everything myself in a smaller space, and happily enjoying peace and quiet… until it gets too quiet. Haha! 

Standby museums and musicals, theatre and travels, parks and pubs, classes and classmates, lectures and lecturers, assignments and academics… here I come! I’m excited!!!

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

Pix of Ina and me in the kitchen today. I shall miss her sweet soul. ❤️

When You Are Silent, And I Am Quiet

(A poem from July 2020) 

WHEN YOU ARE SILENT, AND I AM QUIET. 

When you are silent, and I am quiet, 

Does that mean that we agree? 

Or are we simply waiting for one of us to do the deed, 

And for the axe to fall? 

When you are silent, and I am quiet,

Does that mean that we are dishonest? 

Or are we simply unable to find the words to express our truth,

Hiding behind veils of secrecy?

When you are silent, and I am quiet,

Does that mean that we are cowardly? 

Or are we simply saving energy,

Knowing this isn't worth fighting for? 

When you are silent, and I am quiet,

Does that mean that we are hopeful?

Or are we simply waiting for events to unfold, 

That hasten the end of all things? 

When you are silent, and I am quiet,

That means that we are grieving, 

Knowing well that thoughts unspoken and words unsaid

Mark the death knell of anything good between us. 

When you are silent, and I am quiet, 

Then it's truly over before it ever began.

Silently and Quietly,

Pav 

23rd July 2020

Thanks for reading. 

The Second Chance

(A poem I wrote in April 2019)

THE SECOND CHANCE

When the sun set and darkness fell, I knew.

The day's deeds were done.

No going back, no fixing wrongs or making right, in your book.

What's done is done. 

"They are no more second chances for you", you said.  

For years I tormented myself with grieving despair. 

"Why am I not good enough to deserve a second chance?"

One New Year's morning the sun rises and I catch it as the day blooms. 

The truth dawns on me. 

"I am good enough". 

And yet every new day is a second chance to be a better version of myself.

You said once, "It is too late". 

The sunrise tells me it is never "too late" with God.

God's grace and mercy are unending, every single new day.

HE is my second chance.

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

9th April 2019

Pix of sunrise taken by me from my roof garden, New Year's Day, 2019

X-Ray Vision

(Wrote this poem in June, 2021. Came across it again today. Sharing it here. )

X-RAY VISION

What if I saw you when I looked at you, 

Really, truly saw you,

Naked and bare before me

Despite being fully dressed? 

What if I glimpsed a flash of something real,

When our eyes met,

And I wanted more than a peep at the real you? 

What if I sought you out, 

The true you, lurking amongst the shadows, 

Playing hide and seek, 

Running away just when I get too close?

What if I saw right through you, 

And every game you played,

Knowing how much it costs you to step into the light, 

And to be truly seen?

What if I had x-ray vision that sliced through all the murky grey, 

And brought you out into the open, 

Standing, trembling, pale and afraid,

On the brink of meaningful connection with another soul,

Afraid of being found unworthy? 

What if I held you and told you how beautiful you were,

Without the cover of games and shadows, 

But simply seen for who you are, 

Flaws and failings, warts and weaknesses, alongside strengths,

Imperfectly perfect? 

What if I said I loved you,

And you were worthy of love, 

No matter where your past had led you, 

No matter what you'd said and done, 

Would you believe me? 

What if I saw right beneath your skin and into your bones, 

Discerning the essence of you as a person, 

And looking into your eyes, 

More than just a glimpse but a deep gaze, 

Revealed myself, reflected in you?

What if I had x-ray vision, 

And every time I looked at you, 

I saw you, wondrously broken yet complete, 

Exactly as you are?

With my humanity revealed in yours, 

I finally see myself. 

Thanks for reading,

Pav 

(10th June 2021)

In Emptiness, a Bare Boned Beauty

                                                      (Aerial drone shot of Sejarah)

I moved house last weekend, with August 11th being my last night in our lovely home built in 2011, and now destined to be demolished by new owners. What a massive task it was to pack and to clear out the house after almost 12 years of living in it with children, and all that that involves. Packing and clearing for the move took many days, and my helper and I, assisted by my two sons worked hard to get as much done before movers came in. 

Anxious to recycle what I could, I managed to sell some items of furniture, and give away plenty more to workers next door, and to donate several boxes of books. Still, I was overwhelmed by the quantity of items that needed a decision... even a simple glass, a spoon, a piece of paper, an item of clothing... every little thing required a decision. Keep it, put in storage, or take with me? Dispose, give away, or trash it? By the time I'd looked through most of the stuff I was so deeply exhausted from the sheer magnitude of the task that I gave up on old store rooms and decided that things I hadn't seen or used or needed in a few years could safely go.

Physical, mental and emotional exhaustion set in. My left foot, in which I broke 5 bones last year, swelled and got bruised as I walked up and down multiple flights of stairs, for several hours everyday. My guts struggled to stay on an even keel with the stress and anxiety as I woke up at 4-5 am everyday in a panic, knowing that departure day drew closer, and there was just so much to be done. I was concerned that the Crohn's might flare up, and grateful that I was able to eat and keep going. Some days I simply broke down, feeling so utterly alone and facing a hugely daunting task. 

Emotionally and psychologically I knew I was leaving a huge part of my past behind, and all that that entailed. Many happy memories, but also many sad ones. It was here that my marriage ended, and that I found myself alone with my four lovely children, struggling to manage, trying not to cry myself to sleep every night, trying to rebuild myself and my life back up, and holding up the fort for my kids. Their own happiness and healing depended on mine, and so it was imperative that I find my way forward quickly. I stumbled along, determined to keep moving forward despite setbacks with my health, and struggling with my emotions, PTSD, and grief.

The house, affectionately known as Sejarah after the road it's on, became a blessing as it kept the kids and me together, and we were especially grateful to have her through Covid. Sadly though, it was always a reminder to me of my own personal loss no matter how hard I tried to view being there as a blessing. For me, the sorrow and grief of broken promises, crushed dreams, and utter heartbreak hung like a pall over the house as time went on, leaving me feeling trapped there. When would I move on in life, and leave the past, so reflected in the house, behind? When would my role as caretaker of the huge house and the kids allow me to really care for myself without the weight of worry I daily found upon my shoulders? 

With the move, that time had finally come, and yet I was taken aback by the emotions I felt, and the tears I shed as I did the final inspection of the empty house for handover to the new owners. I was glad, though, that I felt these emotions of sorrow, and shed tears of grief, because to me it meant that I had lived authentically, that I did have dreams, promises and hopes at one point in my life, that I had loved deeply once, and lived through difficulty and heartbreak, emerging successfully on the other side. I was grateful to have the time to authentically grieve and say goodbye, and to let go of the past in the beautiful house that had never really felt like my own home because of my grief. As I said goodbye, I realised that she had been my home, despite all the pain and hurt that I had endured.

Sejarah was a house and a home that opened her doors and heart to welcome many, and it is the memory of many happy meals, gatherings, parties, and get togethers with family and friends that I shall always cherish. She was beautiful, open, spacious, airy, brightly lit, surrounded by greenery and a haven for animals like birds, squirrels, snakes, spiders, and an occasional civet cat. We kept fish in the pond, and ended up feeding the predatory birds who picked them off from time to time. Our love for water meant we had a pool that was especially handy when the kids' friends came by, and the inviting water was an integral part of the landscaped surrounds. Everyone who came to the house felt a sense of peace when they entered, and it was indeed a serene spot, an oasis of sorts in a busy city.

My favourite part of the house ended up being the kids' "entertainment" room on the 3rd floor that I converted into my office once the kids no longer used it. Here, I sat for hours, enjoying the roof top garden, feeding and observing animals, and working online and in person with clients whilst enjoying the greenery and the flowers in bloom. It was a calm and safe space, perfect for counselling work, and a place where some of my most meaningful breakthroughs occurred with grieving clients. It was a very special and healing place, and I had many lovely tea sessions there with friends too, nibbling tim sum and sipping masala tea while opening our hearts to each other. 

In my last 30 minutes at the house on the 14th, I tried to capture the house in the best lighting on an overcast evening, and with the most artistic of shots. As I walked about, I was struck by the emptiness all around me. Where once there had been people, things, furniture, noise, clutter, clothing, beds, and all sorts of signs of occupancy and life, there was now nothing. Simply nothing but an empty shell and total silence. I was struck by the beauty of the house, in all her bare boned state. I have thought about that beauty, and it has taught me a thing or two.

We are afraid to have our masks stripped away, fearful of being authentic and genuine, worried we might be unloved and rejected if people saw us as we truly are... bare and empty. That's what we are, at the very core of ourselves, we're bare and empty. We spend years trying to be accepted and loved while we pile on the layers so as to appear to be something more than we are, covering up our nakedness, and unable to recognise the same state in others. One associates "bare" and "empty" with possibly negative connotations, and yet as I stood in the house and looked around me, I was taken in by the simplicity and beauty of what remained. 

This was who she really was, at her heart, at the core of herself. How we might remember her, filled with our things, belongings, noise and selves was what we chose to make of her, how we used her, how we lived in, and through her. Beneath and beyond all that superimposed liveliness and lived-ness was her solid, dignified, bare boned beautiful structure, and in those last moments when I glimpsed her, and admired her, took photos for the kids, and bid her farewell, I realised that I did truly love her, and I was grateful for everything she had been, every blessing she had given, and how much we had all enjoyed her in our own way. I was sad to leave her, my home. 

Farewell, Sejarah, and thank you for the years we spent under your roof, and the shelter you gave us, and for looking over us. I said goodbye to the tembusu tree, planted by my late father in law when we began construction of the house in 2010 and bid him farewell too, while acknowledging that he would always live on in our hearts wherever we went. A house is a house, but for us Sejarah was a home, not only because we made her ours, but I think in some strange way, we were hers also. She, too, will endure in our hearts wherever we go. I am glad I will not have to see her demolished, but perhaps it's for the best that she goes, knowing that she was perfect as she was, and truly only ever ours. 💗

Thanks for reading,

Pav

A News Free Day

Today, I am declaring a news free day for myself. Once in a long time I like to stay away from news, and the added multitude of comments by netizens. I despair, reading the harshness of remarks and the unkindness with which people are responding to current events, at home, and across the world. So much anger and unhappiness, every single day, so much angst and grief on display. A lot of which is warranted, much of which is keyboard warrior on the loose, shooting from the hip (or fingertips?!) and trying to bring down walls because this space called the "internet" is the only war zone they know, or the only space where they feel heard. In their minds they are fighting battles of justice on a large scale, in my mind the war is on the individual, personal level.

Are there hurting people suffering from injustice and inequality in the world who need our help? Yes, everywhere we look, people are hurting and in need. Am I helping these people in a some practical way? Are we, at every moment of every day, living our lives in such a way that were we to be made accountable for our thoughts and actions, we could say that we were genuinely pleased and deeply satisfied with how we conduct ourselves? Most of us are not even aware of our feelings at any given point, and if we are self aware we may be struggling with enacting change in our lives. We are likely struggling to be practically useful to those in need right in front of us... our families, friends, colleagues etc. and yet the mind wanders to broader arenas where the ego might be more easily and speedily rewarded.

We want to change the world, but can't make our beds in the morning. We want to save the nation, but can't help the weakest in need in our families. We want to be part of a movement that topples down corrupt governments, but fail to see the hypocrisy in our own lives. We are looking at the splinter in the other's eye, while ignoring the log in our own. Who we are to the world at large, and who we are in the quiet moments of our private lives are two different people who may not even be well acquainted with each other.

We're all in the same boat of being at some stage of self awareness, but those who think about it, and work at it, and act on it, they're always a little bit different. They're never worried with the "optics" of things, or the "perceptions" of others. They're thinking of the authenticity and reality of their own true selves. Who are they, what do they stand for, and how will they live their lives based on those personal core values and beliefs? What instructs them in the quiet moments of the day or night, when external noise, praise and accolades are muted, and one is left alone with their own thoughts? What do they see when they look in the mirror, and do they even like that person? When called to be accountable for the lives they've lived will they be ready?

I wish we lived in a world where the ego wasn't rewarded as a measure of success. The more you do, the better you do, the more you make, the more you are recognised, and then the more you do, the more your ego is fed, on and on, in a vicious cycle. Wouldn't it be lovely to be rewarded for who you are, on the inside? To be recognised purely for the inner work you do to change and transform, to have been seen as someone who made a difference, first in their own lives, and also in the lives of others? Is recognition even necessary or is it pandering to the ego? What is our measure of success, as individuals interacting with others in society? Is it reflected in how we can score points debating each other, or in the civility of our responses to each other? One feeds the ego, the latter reflects the self awareness that prioritises the other in social interactions.

Instead of even thinking of the impact of what we say and do, there's endless distasteful attacking and counter attacking, accusations and responses, a stirring up of emotions that doesn't lead to anywhere but despair, cynicism, and resentment. It seems like many are feeding off these interactions as if their lives depended on it. They don't. Step away, and breathe, and let it all go. You are not the sum total of your internet interactions.

I'm so very tired, mentally, and finding myself stirred up and upset, and neglecting my own inner voice that says to work on myself and what I can actually do, little as that might be. It's enough even if it's small. That's my unique contribution to self and the world in my own plausible, palpable, and practical way. It happens best in one to one interactions with real people, offline, and face to face. No barriers of buffered layers to communication, no time lag, loss of network, or delay in responses, and it's laden with non verbal cues that are part of a rich tapestry of what it means to speak to another person, and to truly know them, and to authentically connect with all that is good in them.

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, being wrought in the world at large. I see no need to contribute to it, on either side of any fence. I see the need to work on myself, and to tend the garden I have been given which is always on the verge of falling into disrepair from neglect. My limited energies are best spent there. A quiet time of contemplation and a peaceful return to self and community where it is hardest to work, and nearly impossible for the ego to shine, and yet all the more necessary for these reasons alone. Help me to count my days, dear Lord, and grant me your wisdom.

Thanks for reading,

Pav

All reacti

Musings of a Melancholic

 

Some days you wake up and you just know that today is a full on battle against your natural self. I suspect I'm melancholic by nature, though not necessarily pessimistic, and very much given to feelings of thoughtful sadness or sorrowful thoughtfulness. Something like that. Added to the mix is the deep physical exhaustion of the immunosuppressed and you tend to feel the weight of the world on your shoulders when there really isn't any need to worry. Add in a wonky gut which is a second brain, and the challenge is to not get depressed. This is exhausting.

What to do except to recognise this as part of who you are, to love yourself as is, to tell yourself that you must rise above it because you have people in your life relying on you turning up at your best and being there for them when all you want to do is be left alone, curl up and cry, or just swim in a pool of your own deep thoughts, speaking to no one, and emerging from time to time to ask why it's so quiet and if solitude is necessarily lonely. But none of these are the best of activities to indulge in for long. And so I ration my giving in to my truest self, and am sad, weepy, and pensive for short moments, willing myself to smile, to be present, to be there for others so that they are not drawn down by my melancholy. This, too, is exhausting.

Some day it will just be me, sifting through my feelings, one by one, watching myself react to thoughts as they flutter across my mind playing on a screen like a B grade movie on a loop, and I'm hoping I'll like myself then, when I can give in to being me on a full time regular basis! Aiyoh, that sounds potentially exhausting!

Musings of a melancholic... there's a title for a sad book! Just so glad not to be surrounded by any perennial optimist types who perpetually see the glass as half full despite their gulping away even as it's being filled. Such anathema to my soul! I think I look at the glass as half empty and ask where it's all evaporated away to, and why does it have to be a glass, in the first place, and what was ever really in it?

Oh look, a butterfly. A happy distraction on a cool morning waiting for the sun to warm everything up in its gaze, and hoping my sorrow will thaw too.

Thanks for reading,

Pav

“Co-parenting”: An Illusion with Noble Intentions

The idea of “co-parenting” has become popular these days when discussing divorce and children. In the course of my work with women undergoing divorce, volunteering with women facing “co-parenting” struggles, and in my own personal experience of divorce, “co-parenting” is an illusion. 

It’s a handy term for an ideal notion, but sadly, that ideal is rooted in problems that may very well be at the heart of marital discord in the first place. How can two individuals who may disagree on many important, fundamental issues involving value systems, parenting styles, personal childhood experiences with unresolved trauma, and a myriad of other potentially messy problems like infidelity or betrayal, be expected to “co-parent” through separation, divorce, and post divorce? When trust is broken can “co-parenting” even occur, and is it fair to prioritise the wellbeing of the children but ignore the wellbeing of the aggrieved spouses? 

The so called division of “parenting” within a family is already never a 50-50 balance. One parent is always going to work so much harder in the trenches, and in divorce that’s often the mother who was given care and control in joint custody, or who has sole custody. One parent is there 24/7, worn out, emotionally stretched, physically exhausted, and mentally burdened by the load. No idea what the other less burdened parent might be doing, but think of most “midlife crisis” situations and you get the picture. It’s an incredibly common, recurring, tragic picture. 

It sounds nice, this “co-parenting” business, but if it wasn’t going well pre separation/divorce, it isn’t going to magically happen once the marriage is over. Parents need to resolve some of those issues that caused trouble in the first place, especially the ones that led to one party shutting down, running away, giving up on the other, etc. If those issues remain there is very little hope of proper “co-parenting”. It’s an illusion, really, fuelled by noble intentions for the wellbeing of children, and supposedly aided by typically inadequate court mandated counselling sessions. 

Parents need to dig deep, and do the work on themselves, and learn to work together and communicate better even if they no longer wish to be married to each other. Their marital partnership might be dissolved, but the parenting partnership is supposed to continue. If they don’t do the personal work, there will always be an imbalance in the “co-parenting”, and there will be some measure of unfairness and ongoing resentment that could potentially affect the children as well. Court mandated counselling sessions simply aren’t enough. Parents and children need to want to work through their issues, children need to be onboard with “co-parenting”, and efforts need to be made to make sure that the overburdened parent has recourse when the balance is tipped against them. 

I’m exhausted from my stint of “co-parenting”, and saddened by what I hear other women struggling with, knowing that while women are the natural nurturing caregivers, men also have a responsibility that involves providing support beyond the financial. 

What is “co-parenting”, really, and how can we make it work better, in a context where the “co-“ has broken down, there’s acrimony, and it’s every person for themselves in largely adversarial divorces made worse by lawyers who see dollar signs instead of broken hearts and families? How do we prioritise the wellbeing of children while not ignoring the needs of the parents, especially the one who’ll be in the trenches 24/7? 

Age long issues with no clear answers. Our noblest of intentions will not be enough. Sigh.

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

Morning Coffee, Seasoned With Tears

“Morning Coffee, Seasoned With Tears”

She kneeled, praying, her fingers caressing the beads, 

Despair wrestled amongst hope’s delicate seeds.

To live through grief was her only choice,

“Draw close to me”, said God’s voice. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace”,

And tears rolled down her sorrowful face. 

“Save my marriage, God, it’s sacred and holy.”

She begged, head bowed, while “they” met for morning coffee.

What did those stolen moments taste like, bitter or sweet?

Coffee sipped, laced with lies and deceit.

Her knees grew weary as she finished her prayer, 

She drank in the liturgy, gasping for air. 

Here is my body, broken for you.

“Lord, heal my heart, it’s broken, too.”

Here is my blood, poured out for you.

“Lord, just tell me, what more can I do?”

Her morning coffee, seasoned with tears,

An aftertaste of despair mixed with silent fears.

Unable to speak, denied any expression,

She wandered alone through her depression.  

“It’s over. God didn’t hear your prayers”.

God, were you listening to theirs?

Thanks for reading,

Pav

An Open Heart on a Morning Walk

(A reminder of a reflection from 2018 that beauty surrounds us, as does grace, forgiveness, resilience, dignity, and the love of God. We need to keep our eyes and hearts open.)

So glad I made it for my morning walk today. Such a beautiful morning, with familiar faces and places, and there was a spring in my step because finally I was back in the neighbourhood!

I saw the little boy off to Kinder with his helper, the same one I always see, only this time he wasn't shouting out his numbers like he usually does. He was unusually quiet. Must have been a long week. Poor chap. Still, he was doggedly walking ahead to school, and I wanted to tell him to stay resolute because Kinder is one of the most carefree times of your life, young man!

I saw the little old lady who always looks ahead or down when she walks past, as if she was afraid that if we made contact with our eyes her world might fall apart. There's a story there. I wonder what it is. I see dignity, a touch of pride, an aloofness and boundaries. All very useful, and necessary. Her dignity impressed me the most. It isn't prideful, it's self respecting. I like that, and the distinction.

I saw the couple that lives on my fav street, walking together for the first time. Usually their young kids vanish in a bus and then Dad walks to the train station, presumably. Today Mum walked along too. They caught me taking photos of trees and myself, and so we laughed and chatted about how beautiful the trees were on their street, and how there was an "other worldly" feeling with the way the sunlight slanted through. They agreed, I wished them a lovely day, and off they trumped, a British couple on their morning commute.

I felt like I might have been in England. What, no flask of tea and no scone all clotty with cream, jammed into a pocket for a mid walk snack at the playground? Ah well, turn round and go home then.

And what awaited me when I got home? I saw the old lady next door with whom I have had a couple of altercations over my plants shedding leaves onto her cement floor. Somehow, she had heard that I had been in hospital, and she expressed her concern, wished me well, apologised for the past, and made amends. I had never encountered this version of her before, and she swept me off my feet by her kindness. Any ill will I had ever harboured against her melted away. I knew what it cost her to apologise. I reciprocated in kind, apologised too, hugged her, found tears welling up in my eyes, and thanked her for her concern. It was a moment of grace that melted my heart.

All I did was leave home for 30 mins and already I have found resilience, dignity, beauty, and grace. Surely the love of God Himself surrounds us with many miraculous things that we will see and feel and know, if we are open to them. So blessed. Have an awesome weekend, dear friends, God is close.

Thanks for reading,

Pav

Why Won’t It Go Away?

Anyone who has been depressed may recognise themselves in this, a poem I began that typically expanded into something broader. 

WHY WON’T IT GO AWAY? 

Every morning I empty my cup of sorrow and grief, and by evening it fills up again. An unending source of sadness replenishes me relentlessly. Why won’t it go away? 

Tears overflow, the cup cannot hold, and grief is ever present, unwelcomed and unwanted. Why won’t it go away? 

At night the wounds of my heart reopen and bleed afresh. Tears flow, alongside the begging for sleep to come, for peace to descend, for memory to forget, for pain to stop. Why won’t it go away? 

Sleep finally comes but the mind grinds on, ruminating quietly, churning over, like a silent machine that will not stop, fed by grief unspoken, and pain unrelenting. Why won’t it go away? 

The leeches have sucked me dry again. Each one a recalled thought, a word, a deed that preyed upon my collective memory of grievances. Why won’t it go away? 

Waking seems an exercise in futility, an attempt to resurrect a ghost that will not die but cannot live. The day ahead looms large with its needs and demands. Why won’t it go away? 

I pour out my cup of tears, griefs and sorrows, wanting my heart and day to start anew. The cracks are there, the ones that let the light in but also the dark. Why won’t it go away? 

The day wears on, minutes to hours, and I fight the good fight, imagining myself a knight in shining armour, rescuing myself. Until I see myself in the mirror and wonder who that sadly grotesque person is, and ask, “Why won’t it go away?”

Why won’t it go away? Because grief and sorrow, pain and hurt, they live with you, are part of you, are simply You. They won’t go away until you go away, and your time has not come. 

Pavitar

14th Jan 2023

On an overcast morning with a tinge of sadness, side effects of antibiotics, and a sense that today my melancholy side needs an airing.