Introduction

Hello.

I am an artist, a daydreamer, a creator.

I have had mental health challenges since the teens. I ignored this with the saturation of emo theme music and art, and the trope of a moody teenager. My parents did not have the tools to guide me as they were having their own challenges. Close people probably suspected, though not close enough to intervene at the time.

The 'neglect' - though that is a strong word and perhaps not entirely accurate in the terms of child-rearing - put me on the path to discover my own way, asking for help, reading a lot, attempts to find my tribe. Deconstructing and reconstructing my support network. Many did not suit me, or I grew out of most. The high school I attended had a chaplain, and he was the first person I went to for feelings help when I was not coping during a class session. Prior to that I was going to the sick bay to sleep off feelings of uneasiness. Not fitting in the 'trouble' category, my absence went unnoticed, and I did not report to my parents of my hiding. I hid my hiding it was well hidden even from me.

As an unemployed adult I went to a lot of free and cheap events; things as broad as "personal development", or specific things like business and investment, health, spirituality. When I was employed and could save up, I went to the not-cheap retreats. I spent many hours and dollars and socialising energy on learning me.

I met two people that introduced me to women. One was a highly-critical feminist that studied a lot of social and global issues, and implemented a gentle attachment family structure for her home. The other had many qualifications in alternative modes of healing and well-versed in the psychic realm, They both introduced me to fierce, compassionate, humourous, competent, and many many more adjectives, kinds of women, that have continued to care and guide me.

When my mother died, I got into writing my autobiography. What I discovered was even though she was no longer here to say things, they echoed in my head, and heard it in others (even when it wasn't what was said at all.) I heard the regurgitated criticism from my fiance the most (even when it wasn't what was said at all.) I found myself arguing with him a lot. It took a few of these episodes to realise what I wanted, actually, was to have mum's company, that I could listen to her opinions and complain about them. Whenever this surfaces, I learned to ask. "I want a stupid argument with you." He usually replies "No," and makes both of us laugh. Some people offered to read but not much came out of it, and currently remains unfinished.

As intentions go, I decided to use the 2 months honeymoon holiday leave as an interval to leave my Day Job at a wholesale nursery. I intended to start facilitating workshops combining all my self-care expertise, as a business. I had been to a few Party Plan parties where consultants sell products, and I wanted to do this with skills, visualisation, and coaching programs of various lengths. I put my leave form in the required two weeks prior my last day. A week later I peed on the stick and there were two lines. A week later was the last day at this company. On Monday we flew out to Germany.

I was early days pregnant on our honeymoon. The first half was a blur of blergh. I joke that I remember landmarks by places I puked at. The queasiness settled in the second half. I held a lot of anger and resentment towards my husband for not understanding, or not able to, cater for my needs of support and comfort. The theme of 'uncared for' continued after we returned, broke and unemployed. It was an adjustment on his part too. The theme continued well after the birth, where my expectations of his involvement constantly fell short of what he was willing or able to provide. Both of us had episodes and a little baby to care for.

One day I changed my reply to 'how was your day' from "nothing to report" to, "I'm alive, she's alive."

Kept me alive long enough to respond to her needs.

This blog is my daily reminder to do self-care. Applying what I've learned over the years. Different things to try out as new information comes in. Some days I have nothing to report, because my love tank had been filled to the rim from previous day's efforts. Some days episodes become too much, in which case the typing itself becomes the self-care for the day. All my entries are tagged, from which I'm already starting to see a recurring theme.

This is me, loving myself.