I wonder sometimes, in the moments when I bully myself, if I am the only one in this world built the way I am.

In the darkness – yes I am.

But in the light – I know I am not. I am sure the world is full of souls like mine.

People who are just a little outside the box.

People who find it easier to be cruel to themselves than it is to be kind to themselves.

People that, for whatever reason, never quite fit in growing up. So they grew up on the outskirts and in the shadows. In the places where you learn to be a loner and alone.

People who at 40 years of age, still feel like they are only just starting to get things right.

People who still find the dreams they dream, just that little bit out of reach.

I have written before about my bucket list. Those are the things I want to do, given the time and the money.

But for my soul. For my hope. For me, there are things I need to do. Things for my future. Things to make me happy. Things that will heal.

I just don’t know how.

I make these great strides forward, huge leaps and bounds in the right direction. Until I sabotage myself in some way. And fall a bit behind again.

I need a manual. Which is what got me here, to this blog.

Reaching out to all the other souls like mine. The seekers. The dreamers. The side-lined. The flawed and hopeful.

Perhaps they will find me. Perhaps they will share their stories with me. Or perhaps they will find my story. And the moments when you feel the most isolated, will not be so lonely anymore.

Ponder me this

I have been trawling through some of the blogs on word press and to say I feel intimidated is to be kind.

I have always loved writing. I remember writing the most convoluted stories when I was child growing up on the farm. Having the basic story down on paper, I would then dress myself up in my mothers favorite flat sheet (princess dress once appropriately draped and pinned) and off I would go to rehearse the words, nuances, pauses of every moment of every character.

Not that I had any idea what a nuance was. In my child mind, I just knew that certain things needed to be said a certain way.

To say I was a child is also putting it kindly. While I may have started my play act rehearsing as a child, I clearly remember being about 15 when I finally stopped the enactments.

However, for the longest time, even now when I am deeply stressed or upset, I still rehearse the lines of the story that has run in my head forever.

A story of bravery and courage and the girl triumphant and love. Or unicorns and dragons and swords and heroes.

I keep thinking I should turn it into a book, but it is so deeply part of my childhood, my consciousness, my subconsciousness that I fear I wouldn’t do it justice. Growing up, my television favorite and hero was MacGuyver. To this day, I won’t watch the reruns because I don’t want to ruin the memory of it. The pure joy of the adventure. 

To put my never ending story to paper, may just end it. 

I don’t think I could bear the loss. 



It has taken me a good long while to decide to write again. Life happened and writing fell away. Time changed all sorts of circumstances and the world kept turning.

Sometimes it felt like it didn’t. But it did.

My walk along the ‘gastric bypass’ highway has been freaking hard. Portion control becomes the be all and the end all of everything. The entirety of my being revolved around what I could or couldn’t eat, would I would or wouldn’t tolerate. Lets not even mention the pressure to lose. Because if you don’t? Well that is just a whole new level of failure.

However, much like any diet, it is neigh on impossible to eat like that for eternity. Human nature kicks in. A chip here, a biscuit there and voila – plateau.

I have managed to lose almost 70 kg. Almost. The ‘almost’ part of things makes me feel better. It is not the truth though. Almost is not where I wanted to be. It is not thin.  And all my waffling about accepting who I am and thin not being the be all and end all?

Was true. But was not the only truth. The entirety of it is that I want to be smaller. I want to fit into regular clothing. I want to  run and not have bits jiggle more than they should in places that they shouldn’t.

So I have dreamed a new dream. I started jogging. Oh so ever slowly. 5 minute warm up, 60 seconds run, 90 seconds walk, repeat for 20 minutes, 5 minute cool down. It probably doesn’t sound like much. But for a reformed ‘fatty’ this is huge.

It is also not the only exercise I do. Having recently adopted 2 bundles of furry fluffiness, walking puppies at least 40 minutes a day has become commonplace. But I don’t know that I can consider that as just exercise. The therapy? The joy? The love? The laughter?


I hope to write more often. I hope to find the same peace I have always  found in the written word. There is a joy and a calm in formulating sentences, phrases, paragraphs. It forces me into the calm places in my head.

It is my great, true love. And I have found it again.