Being with a kid doesn’t make me want one, fact. I know, I’m told that when it’s your own it’s different but it’s not and seriously, i can’t hold a child for longer than a few minutes without wanting to give them back. So, I often wonder, do I want to take the gamble?

Yes, motherhood is incredible. Its magic and mind-blowing and all things beyond my comprehension, it’s also worth a freak out when you think about the growth of another being inside… you cant see it or hear it or touch it, it’s a sci-fi movie, another realm from another universe! Ah the womb, that part of me that bleeds and cramps each month, the part my body that ached so much that in the past, I’ve cursed and damned being a woman, oh and the padded sanitary towels and the tampons (even thought I’ve never been able to wear one longer than 3 hours, I was probably putting them in wrong or something but their invasion inside my vagina was always of discomfort). Yep, it’s because of our magical womb, the cause of the pains each month that us women can host such a miraculous event, growth through pain, ah just like life! By the way, I fucking love being a women, I’d take it over being a man any day.

So, motherhood, it’s a treasured thing but right now, I don’t want a child and if you’ve never wanted one and you’re now 34, will the urge ever hit? I feel this is a genuine confession but it does leave me feeling a little cold. If I see a baby picture on instagram I genuinely think they’re adorable and will most probably double tap the photo but that’s it, I scroll on and forget about the previously seen child (until another pops up in the feed, at this age, babies are a popular thing to take photos of). It’s photos of trees and herb collecting in magical landscapes and tarot card readings and women promoting our inner goddess and impossible looking yoga poses that seems to get my blood pumping, not babies.

‘Never say never’… that’s right, we can never know what’s going to happen down the line but I do wonder that maybe some women are cut out to be mothers and others, well they just aren’t. Women are supposed to have babies’ right? That’s pretty much the opinion I held as I was growing up, like I never wanted one in the moment when I’d think about having one but I always thought the day might come when I would. I was never under any pressure from my folks to have my own ‘family’, I was just under the impression that I’d want a child once I’d grown up and met the handsome man that my 14 year old self had imagined my future self to marry (that’s the kind of future dreams you have when The Little Mermaid was your favourite film, that and singing underwater)

Well here I am… I’m not married, I don’t want to get married and I don’t feel any need to get married. I love having the freedom to wake up early, do yoga and drink my coffee in peace as the cat sleeps next to me and the dog teases the cat, begging her to play with him even though she never has in the 4 years they’ve lived together. I mean, that’s entertainment right there. I like to be able to shut myself away from the world, hence being a writer. I’ve never liked crowds or being crowded, I’m not a fan of social demands… aren’t kids always going to want my attention, I’d imagine they’re pretty demanding? I don’t want sore breasts or toys scattered all over the room and I’m so tired from feeding every three hours that I can’t be arsed to pick them up. Then there’s the school situation. School was absolute hell for me and I would hate for my child to go through the same thing so I ‘d want to home-school but I doubt I’m qualified enough to do this. Or I could have a kid who loves school and then we’d have to live in the same place for 6 years. I wouldn’t want to screw my kid up by having to make them change schools every time I felt I needed a change of scenery. I don’t like to stay in the same place for too long, or at least I like the option to move, guilt free, if I wanted to. Maybe I’m too selfish to have kids? That could be it.

I do think of baby names sometimes but I also have two wedding dresses (a whole other journal entry for that one) and may never use them. Sometimes we can get a little obsessed about the things we think we should be wanting in life but if we’re true to our core beliefs, we don’t.

I’m a single woman having these ‘don’t-want-baby’ thoughts, I’m sure I’m not the only single woman who’s thought this and then BAM, they meet someone and two years later their married with two kids. I seem to thrive when I’m single, that’s not to say I don’t adore being in love because I do, it’s incredible. I’m just happy being able to be me and I know that in previous relationships I’ve allowed my partners needs to shadow mine. I think being out of a relationship gives you so much time to learn about yourself, to know yourself and to love yourself, really love who you are without having to hear someone else say the words ‘I love you’. I can say these words and really mean it, with no expectations ‘Emily, I love you!’. Only God knows when my next relationship will be but until then, I’m cool with how things are for now.

Life is fucking crazy, the more I slow down, the more I realise how everything moves way too fast and some days I get really caught up in the speed that I’m trying to slow down from. Some days I think there are not enough hours in the day (now, if I’m thinking that without kids… holy moly, with kids??!) or I’ll think about how I’m getting older and I haven’t achieved enough. These are all bullshit thoughts as what’s enough anyway and how many more hours do I actually need to do something that can always be done tomorrow.

Maybe that’s where I’m at, I only have enough space in my life for myself, I can only focus on me or maybe I do need someone else to focus on, takes the pressure off, maybe all those thoughts directed at me won’t feel so intense. I guess there are no right or wrong answers, as one thing we can be sure of, change is inevitable. That’s the beauty of life, nothing is ever gonna stick, not permanently anyway. Whatever I’m feeling, it could be sadness or panic or worry or absolute bliss, whatever the feeling, it’ll most probably morph into a different state within a few minutes (I try not to dwell). As beings of this ever-changing universe the life/death/life cycles are perpetual. We cannot stop time. One moment leads to another and another and another like a rock flowing downstream in the river, no moment is ever the same, that rock is rocking new adventures every second. The evolution of life = born, grows (flows down the river), die. It’s pretty simple when you look at it that way. Nature is teaching me so much this spring, we have an abundance of trees in our neighbourhood, the cherry blossom is beautiful beyond words. I’ve never felt such an intimate connection with nature as I have been over the past few months. I see the life pumping through the veins of every flower, every leaf, every branch, and every insect that crosses my path. Nature, it’s incredible and beautiful and overwhelming, it brings me closer to god, to myself, to everyone and everything. Right now, I feel surrounded by life, by the magic and miracles within nature and maybe for this reason, I don’t feel a need to create a life inside of me. I have plenty to love and nurture and tend to within my surroundings and for now, that satisfies me completely. Well, for now anyway… today I am the rock floating down the river, let’s see what adventures await.

In My Head

in my head

This is how you exist in my head…

Your brain’s made of rubber and body of lead.

You steal all the dogs and the cats and the mice

To fry them all up and then dish out with rice.

You never say sorry or thank you or please

You squash all the spiders, the wasps and the bees.

Your face is all sour, you’re grumpy all day

You once had a friend but you gave him away.

If you do something wrong, you never feel bad

You make the men cry and all women feel sad.

But that’s all made up as the truth is this…

Each thought of you I feel nothing but bliss.

Your smile, your laugh, from my life they have gone

I hear that you’re happy, your life has moved on.

So I’ve made it all up that you’re evil and cruel

How could I love such a beast, such a ghoul?

I’m one on my own, not part of a two

To break free from love, it’s the hardest to do.



Breathe in

Breathe out

Breathe in

Breathe out

This act is so simple and anchoring the hell outta me since I woke this morning.

Our free life force, we’re bathing in this magic always, no fee for this force of power. We feel no pain to retrieve it, regardless of what’s happening in our lives, we always have access, no matter what. Yet, most breathe with caution, unconsciously limiting our supply. I’ve been suppressing my body with rationed breath; only NOW do I see it’s the remedy, settling the anxiety roaming around the lands of my daily existence. The breath is that key we need within moments of contraction, to open those doors we slam shut. We close up, boarding up our windows and deafen the hum of the outside world as we re-run scenes of our life that shouldn’t have made the final cut. Or maybe that’s just me?!

To breathe is a gift, a free one – not priced like gold, there’s no need to invest blood, sweat or tears into each breath in motion. It’s pain-free, no tit for tat, free like the blossom that brightens our gardens or the bird song that lifts our spirits.

Why have I been craving for more, more success, more of having more lately? Inadequate feelings have taken the whip and shit, they’re lashing out like a desperately hungry wild cat.

Stop, listen, and watch the breath, that’s been my mantra today. I’m putting my hand on my belly to witness how much I’m allowing in. Why so little? There’s so much more to inhale yet why so shallow? So much attention is placed on the external world, so much ‘stuff’ to buy and so many ways we believe to be making our mark, stamping our signature on the world. We buy and then we buy more. We buy to grow, to show, to prove; yet the breath is shallow. We eat more, we work out more, and we panic more yet the breath is still shallow.

The deeper I breath, the deeper I crave it. The deeper I crave it, the deeper I breathe. The deeper I breathe the more I want to shed all that surrounds me. The more I want to strip away those layers that I built up, fuelled by the shallow breath. I feel like I’m allowing myself more space, each breath brings a greater expansion within me. As the belly rises and the diaphragm expands, so does my place in this world, so does the space I feel like I deserve to exist within. I’m no longer feeling like the deer in the headlights, no longer restricting the beautiful life force that flows so freely into our lives, each and every moment. Did I once feel like I wasn’t deserving of this fruitful life force, that my body didn’t deserve this nourishment? Why on earth do we restrict something so vital to our existence?

Like many things, breath is a subconscious action through life, it just ‘is’. So, when growing up it’s a given, like the beating of your heart or your mouth moving as you talk. You’re growing into the life you’re being shown. Sometimes that doesn’t feel so great, you’re in situations that feel uncomfortable or you wonder why you’re being told to do something that doesn’t ignite any spark or raise the passions that you’ve felt doing something you discovered on your own, when you followed your own compass. We form questions about the world as we grow and the more we question the more we begin to understand ourselves within the world around us. So actually, we need the juxtaposition to move forward, to know what we don’t want and strive towards our true being. The more you question, the more information comes, like it’s followed you, seeking you out this whole time. It’s been knocking at that locked door and banging on the boarded windows, you just didn’t want to open the door for fear of what danger might invade your space, the dark space you’ve become so familiar with. I’m beginning to understand that the dark feelings I’ve held so closely, they’re my ‘safe’ and familiar setting, default setting if you like. Each setting is like a finger pressing the tender spot on my already bruised body. Each uncomfortable moment becomes an uncomfortable memory, freezing within this dark space, as this process continues the pressure builds and creates another bruise. Over and over again this happens until bruises cover me completely, even the simplest of activities brings discomfort. Moving out of the familiar releases that pressure, it doesn’t move to another part of my body, it leaves me alone, like I’ve moved out of the firing line altogether. Each new experience brings more curiosity and to be curious about life is what keeps us alive, right?

I’m at that spot right now, where pressure is so heavy on the tender skin it’s proving hard to breath through the pain yet I know it’s deep, expansive breath that my body is craving. If I breath deeper, the pressure seems to worsen before the release, like an expanding sponge in a small glass tumbler, the more I absorb, the smaller the tumbler becomes. I need to shift out of this small tumbler I’ve dived into head first, believing every limiting stories about myself. The shallow breath only echo’s this claustrophobic hole I’ve buried myself into.

Each day as I feel the panic, the frustration, the heat of the flame rise from the root, burning uncontrollably, I breathe that little bit deeper, sometimes more than feels comfortable. As I bring more air to the fire something happens, a taming, a calming of the ash that once burnt through the positive thoughts and soothing intentions. Balance happens, even if it’s just for a few moments, that’s enough to see a change, stillness allows the I’m-ok-but-not-really-ok-smile become a genuine sensation of peace. My body surrenders and all the limiting thoughts about myself don’t spear so violently anymore.

The breath is medicine. It’s the simplest answer, the easiest solution that we have infinite access to, yet I still seem to be denying my body the best and most delicious medication that money can’t buy.




Today the sun has been bright, a treasured occurrence in London at this time of year. Excitement always flutters through me on days like these, the masculine force of nature seeps into my pours, energising my dampened core. I vibrate and recharge in the sun, basking in the power of those healing and empowering rays. There’s something incredible about the sparks of action, the inspiration the sun ignites inside. The moon has captured my attention the past few months, exploring the Yin and the relationship between my cycles and those of the moon. Nights have been long during the winter months, my focus has been introverted, an inner exploration of the universe within. Now daylight encroaches evening hours and drawn out sunsets illuminate the winding down of the natural world. The flush of pastel colours decorates our concrete streets with cherry blossom and magnolia trees as the petals bloom, leaving behind the safe haven of the bud. Inner explorations are rotating outward.

It’s incredible, the relationship we re-establish with nature once we become present and notice the continuous entanglement with all life. Mother earth welcomes us as beauty shows up everywhere, a gift that we have returned. She offers infinite splendour within each moment and all she expects of us is to wake up and notice.

True love, a healthy love nourishes and allows growth. Love embraces the changes, the shedding of old skins, the cycles of each life, showing no discrimination. There is no need to smother or demonstrate. The delicate flower grows defiantly with the light, the water and the minerals in the soil. No instruction booklet is required, just trusting the unlimited source of nourishment, trusting she’ll blossom in her own way. The simplicity lives in trusting her natural cycle.

How can I nourish myself more? How can I nourish others? These questions seem important right now. Sometimes love can make you feel the need to fix, or change the damaging perceptions people around us may have about themselves. It’s not our job to fix; it’s our job to nourish each other, whenever and however we can.

Nourishing ourselves is the biggest step. Stepping our whole being into the abundant pool of love, not just dipping our toe in every now and again.

I know this is no easy task yet nature engages so effortlessly in this natural flow of existence. No questions, no disputes, the oak tree makes no apologies for growing taller than the rose bush and the rose bush never doubts her beauty or represses her delicious scent. Perfection lives in the differences.

I’m sat in my garden as I write this in my notebook; the white page reflects the beaming sun causing my eyes to strain. It’s not such an easy task writing on white paper under the midday sun, my squinting eyes attempting to focus. It’s too bright. The shadow of the blossom tree offers much needed shade and so I perch myself under the lush branches. I can see again. As I sit in the shade, the bees hum, dancing between the lavender and bluebells. The birds sing as they glide from one rooftop to another. Truly, in this moment, I have everything I need – heaven surrounds me as I watch beneath the shadows in the garden.

Darkness is everywhere. Above us, below us, outside and within. Within those pockets of painful scars you’ve been hiding, hoping they would disappear of their own accord, to bleed through the stitches and fall someplace irretrievably distant. On those dark days when old scars flare, I dream of days like today. Of blinding sunlight, when the light is so bright it pierces through the glass window and lightens the darkened furniture. Yet during those sun-powered days, it’s the shadow that beckons, offering a place to recoup, to open our eyes in a space that won’t blind us. To reflect on our surroundings, watching the rhythm of life, knowing that the beat of our heart syncs with all. Our blood can boil in the heat of the sun; our skin can burn without protection. We need the shadow in order to cool off; the shadow brings us back to equilibrium.

Nature always has a way to lead us back into the arms of love, if we allow it. It’s ok to feel the pain, to cry through the dark clouds of discomfort, the land needs our tears, that’s when growth happens. Really, there is no ‘bad’ or ‘good’, there’s just what is, what we’re feeling in that moment. It could be the sunlight, the strong and defiant yang energy that fuels our movements, or it could be a search for the shade, to contract and let the shadow rise above us, sheltering us to recuperate. How we find balance in our daily lives is mainly out of our control. Nature has that shit down to a fine art so best not to fight it, let the great mother work her magic. Once we feel what we truly need to feel, that’s when our body gets all the nourishment it needs, enough to see again and head back out into the light.


In All

God lives in the stars,

In the sun and the moon

God lives in the woman, her bleeding, her womb


God lives during battle

The convictions of ‘right’

God lives in the couple as they shout and they fight


God lives in the high

And god-forsaken low.

God lives in the far and the so-la-tidoh


God lives in the temples

In the churches and home.

God lives on the land where cows and chickens roam.


God lives on the shores

And under the sea

God lives in the birds and the pollen lovin’ bee


God lives in the rain

And the morning sunshine

God lives in the yours and the hers and the mine


God lives in the blossom

In all creatures great and small

God lives within you, within me, within All.

The Wild Inside

The Moon was full and her beauty shone brightly over London town.

A young girl slept with her bedroom window open to let in the summer breeze.

Her clothes were sprawled all over the floor, mirroring the mess throughout the small flat she lived in with her Mum and Dad.

Her dad was drinking in the front room and her mum had fallen asleep on her bed. Most nights her mum would forget to pull the duvet over her body so felt a chill through the night.

The girl slept peacefully in her room.

She dreamt of dancing trees and pink candy water and a Red Serpent who lay motionless on the grass banks.

The girl was weary about the Red Serpents intentions.

“Red Serpent, I’ve never seen such a creature as you before as you’re not from around these parts, what are you doing in my dream?”

The Red Serpent looked directly at her

“Girl, I’m here to teach you”

This excited the girl; she’d never had a Red Serpent teach her anything before.

“Are you going to teach me how to slither through the grass like you?”

“No. You are a human and move upright, you will never be able to slither through the grass like me”

This baffled the girl.

“Well then, why are you here and what you going to teach me?”

The Serpent coiled her tail and sat up.

“You’ll see”


The girl woke from her dream on to a warm summers morning.

She could hear the television from the front room as her dad had fallen asleep in his chair.

Once her eyes were wide and the morning haze had lifted she noticed a Jaguar sat at the end of her bed.

Although she was a little scared, who wouldn’t be with such a large cat at the end of their bed, she addressed the Jaguar.

“Jaguar, I’ve never seen your magnificence before as you’re not from around these parts. What you doing at the end of my bed?”

The Jaguar licked her right paw, taking her time to answer.

“Girl, I’m here to teach”

This excited the girl; she’d never had a Jaguar teach her anything before.

“Are you going to teach me how to run as fast as you?”

“No. You have only two legs and I have four, you will never be able to run as fast as me.”

This baffled the girl.

“Well then, why are you here and what are you going to teach me?”

The Jaguar licked her left paw, taking her time to answer.

“You’ll see”.


The morning ritual of her mum shouting at her dad began and the girl knew it was time to get out of bed.

As the girl got ready for school, the Jaguar sat at the end of her bed casually cleaning herself.

The kitchen window was open and the girl enjoyed the warm air as she sat and ate her dry toast.

A Green Hummingbird flew through the window and landed on the kitchen table.

“Green Hummingbird, I’ve never seen your beauty before as you’re not from around these parts, what are you doing on my kitchen table?”

“Girl, I’m here to teach you”

The girl was dubious, as she’d had little luck deciphering the teachings of the Red Serpent and the Jaguar but nonetheless she was excited; she’d never had a Hummingbird teach her anything before.

“Are you going to teach me how to hover in mid-air like you?”

“No. You don’t have wings, only legs to walk with so you will never be able to hover in mid-air like me”.

The girl’s confusion grew.

“Well then, why are you here and what are you going to teach me?”

And before the Green Hummingbird could answer, the girl continued.

“I know, I know, I’ll see”.


A very bemused girl left the flat and made her way to school.

She took the path that leads along the canal; it’s only a short walk along the water until she reaches school.

As she walked past a canal boat she noticed a Brown Eagle perched on the roof.

How strange her sightings were this morning.

“Brown Eagle, I’ve never seen a bird as big as you as you’re not from around these parts. What are you doing on this canal boat?”

The Brown Eagle spread her majestic wings but did not speak a word.

“Eagle, your silent teachings are wasted on me as I am human. I can’t sliver like a Serpent as I move upright. I can’t run as fast as a Jaguar as I only have two legs and I can’t hover in mid-air like the Hummingbird as I don’t have wings.

The Eagle remained silent.

All the girl could think to do at this point was wave goodbye to the Eagle and carry on her walk to school.


As the girl daydreamed out of the window during morning registration, the teacher shouted her name. The girl didn’t respond and the angry teacher cursed her distant behaviour.

The whole class started to laugh, as this was not unusual behaviour for the girl to daydream during class. She did it almost everyday.

The teacher laughed with the rest of the class and as the girl’s eyes began to well up with tears, the teacher screamed abruptly.

“There’s a Red Serpent coming out of my draw!”

The girl watched as the Red Serpent slivered across the desk and wrapped her tail around the teachers arm. The pen moved in the teacher’s hand and marked a tick next to the girls name in the register.

The class were mesmerised by these actions and it didn’t stop there.

A flick of the Red Serpents tail sent the teacher flying into the air, landing on her bum, shaking the classroom as she crashed into the floor.

The girl laughed, her tears disappeared and she thought about how afraid everyone must be to see such a wild and frightening sight.

But the girl was not afraid; she knew this Red Serpent. Her bravery shone as she stood confidently, defining her presence and inviting the Serpent to follow her outside to the overgrown bushes by the football pitch.

As the girl led the Red Serpent out of the classroom she could hear the boys clapping and the girls praising her actions.

“Thank you Red Serpent, you made my mean teacher cry”

“That was not my teaching today,” said the Serpent as she slivered away into the overgrown bushes, never to be seen again.


It was lunchtime and sounds of cutlery and chatter filled the canteen.

The girl was thinking that all must have heard of her bravery by now and there’ll be a queue of girls wanting to sit with her.

She sat alone and ate her lukewarm macaroni and cheese.

A carton of orange juice was thrown at the girl’s head by one of the boys sat on the table next to her.

As the canteen laughed at the girl, the school alarm went off.

There was no time to evacuate as the fierce Jaguar ran furiously down the corridor. All in her way were screaming and jumping to safety.

The boy who threw the juice carton froze in fear as the Jaguar headed his way.

It was too late for escape, the Jaguar wrestled him to the ground and as he pleaded for his life he accidently wet his trousers.

The girl was not afraid; she knew this Jaguar. Her bravery shone as she stood confidently in the surrounding chaos.

The girl demanded the boy should never throw a juice carton at her again and if he apologised she would release him from the grips of the jaguar.

The boy apologised and the girl led the Jaguar outside to the overgrown bushes by the football pitch.

As the girl left the canteen she heard rounds of clapping and teachers singing her praise.

“Thank you Jaguar, you made that horrible bully cry and wet his trousers!”

“That was not my teaching today,” said the Jaguar as she strutted into the overgrown bushes, never to be seen again.


The girl stood with her knees shivering in the cold, waiting in line during P.E to be chosen by team A or B for the netball game.

She thought to herself that after her heroic actions at lunchtime she would be picked first by the team captain.

She wasn’t. As usual no-one was picking her for their team.

The wings of the Green Hummingbird fluttered inside her stomach and the girl uttered, “Green Hummingbird, come out from there and frighten the girls who didn’t pick me!”

There was no sign of the Green Hummingbird but the girl could feel herself getting bigger.

Energy rippled through the girl, a strength building inside as she felt her body grow. It kept growing and growing, the ground seemed to move further and further away.

The girl felt 10 feet tall.

Now I’m so tall, both teams will want me. I can reach the netball post with ease and score the most goals!

Still, no one was picking her.

The girl was not afraid; she knew the strength of the Green Hummingbird.

She felt that it did not matter about being picked last as being as tall as she was she’d most certainly help her team win the game.

“Thank you Green Hummingbird, you made me tall enough to show off and score more goals than the other girls”.

“That was not my teaching today”, said the Green Hummingbird and at that moment, the girls stomach felt empty again.


It had been a long day and one she would never forget.

She felt confident and held her head high as she walked home from school.

The girl heard her mum screaming in the kitchen as she opened the front door.

Her dad had his hands wrapped around her mother’s neck. He was drunk as usual.

Today the girl had tamed a snake, she had calmed a fierce Jaguar, she had saved a boys life and she had grown ten feet tall with a Green Hummingbird inside of her stomach.

Her Dad was only a human, how could he possibly harm her more than a wild animal?

The girl was not afraid; she was confident the Eagle would turn up soon.

She intervened, pulling her dad off her mum, yelling at him to go. The girl had never felt such strength, such determination in her spirit.

The shock in her dad caused him to freeze. He let go of her mum, turned to the girl and hit her hard across the cheek, causing a bruise to appear the next day.

Her dad cried.

Her mum cried.

There was no sign of the Eagle.

“Thank you” said her mum as she hugged the girl so tightly the girl couldn’t catch her breath.

The girl said nothing as she watched her dad leave the flat. He was never to be seen again.


When evening came, the clouds hid the moon and the girl snuggled into bed.

She imagined the Serpent, the Jaguar and the hummingbird.

“Eagle where were you when I needed you the most?” uttered the girl to the sky in the hope of some response.

Her eyes closed and she quickly fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

The Eagle perched herself on the girls window seal and watched her sleep.

The girl did not dream of the Serpent, the jaguar, the hummingbird or the Eagle. Instead she dreamt of visiting the park and enjoying a lavish picnic lunch with her smiling, happy Mum.

It was perfect.




I think a lot about thinking

I think about ships sinking but not as much as thinking

I think about how I should think

How one thought to another to another might link

I think ofthe ups and how they come down

How a smile can often be hiding a frown.

I think about the moon

And how, in the Winter it gets dark so soon

I think why do I think what I think when I think

Why I love green yet my bed spread is pink

Thinking is hard but how can this be?

Mostly my thoughts are just focused on me

I’m done with thinking, it’s too much hard work

I can honestly say I’ve found not one perk

I’ll shut my eyes and I’ll count to ten

Demanding myself to not think again

I got to four

There’s a knock at the door

I think it’s the man from the grocery store

I’ll have to postpone my not thinking

The End.


I have about ten journals under my bed, hidden away in a suitcase that’s seen more of my bedroom carpet than it has of the world. Two suitcases and a travel bag live under my bed. Note to self: See more of the world! Let those suitcases be covered in destination stamps and enjoy baggage collection conveyer belts. Point is, I have ten journals under my bed and not one of the ten journals is full. Most are five to ten pages in, some dating back to 2009! A pattern emerges here, beginning without completion. The headlines I’ve given most stories in my life ‘I shall start this but knowing me, it won’t get completed without a panic, a fight, the building of a wall to distract from the task in hand’. The life of a journal needs to be fed, so that is what I’m doing. I’m feeding those lonely journals with undiluted juice, the unfiltered flow of thought that bumbles around my mind.

Journal, I can’t promise it’ll fun but it’ll be better than the flat-line you’re currently experience during the in-between adventures of the suitcase and me. In the inspiration words of Nancy Slonim Aronie “Getting the story of your life out of your body means you don’t have to carry the weight of it around anymore”.

Reading diary entries from many years ago feels like a privilege. The pouring of my heart onto the page was a rarity in those days when all was muddled and my behaviour was circumstantial, a reaction to the external. I was playing the blame game, blaming myself mainly… so when I did journal, it seemed like it was a last resort and I was pleading for help. Negotiations within were constantly in action, insisting those inner peacemakers should speak up and quiet the destructive chatter of the outspoken, angry voices. It was a constant suppression of every human emotion. The dark, the hurt, the anger was expressed in short stories about someone else. I was now the narrator. I was giving half of me away; that story wasn’t mine, it belonged to a different character. I was detached; separation seemed natural as when you don’t want something you give it away, right? I recently noticed that my comforting self-talk also involved the narrative of a third person.

“You are absolutely fine Emily, chin up and do better”.

Talking to myself like a frustrated mother addressing her child who’s tugging ferociously at her skirt for reassurance. I think at that point in my life, it wasn’t my truth I was searching, more of a validation that I wasn’t a complete fuck up, even though I felt like I was 99% of the time. So of course, each character in my story was in deep turmoil, creating havoc at any given opportunity. In hindsight, it was a sense of unworthiness; I didn’t feel worthy to fully acknowledge my truth. I didn’t have an alternative path, yet I knew I didn’t want to feel the sadness that down poured heavily, each day. I was the antibiotic killing the germ but never understanding the root cause of disease.

I didn’t see things like others. Or maybe I did but I lacked the confidence to express for reasons I still can’t understand. I guess it doesn’t matter. Now is now and what happened then, happened. Going over each and every event in my past, trying to fix or probe or understand is feeling less important each day as understanding comes when our soul is ready for the lesson. For many years I believed I was the unworthy, depressed, fictional character in the many stories I wrote. I was trying to live the life of someone I now know is so far removed from my divine truth, my soul, from my heart.

Question is how do you live a life from the heart? How do you know when it’s your heart or your head driving operations? As humans, we like to know how everything works. Science lessons have much to answer for… where’s the proof? What are you trying to say in your conclusion? If there’s no evidence, it’s not true!

I like to bring it all back to nature, this seems to calm my need for immediate results and offer some always needed grounding. So many leaves from many different branches fall from the abundance of trees I see each day, some I notice, some I don’t. Some days it’s a yellow flower that calls my attention while other days it might be the bark on the cherry tree that fascinates my curious mind. I guess that’s where I’m at right now, learning to halt the questions about why and how and is this right? Enjoying the objects of my attention and not distracting myself with contradictory thought or allowing past sadness to cloud the beauty of the present moment.

Over two years ago I was planning my spiritual path like a student working towards an A*. Of course that planning all went to shit but in the best way imaginable. Happenings beyond comprehension have occurred over the past few years. People, places, magic bigger than my imagination have entered my world… or maybe my imagination is expanding or maybe I’m growing into the magnificence of my imagination? Who knows? Nobody. That’s the point.

I’ve got ten (almost empty) journals under my bed, waiting for the pen to connect and my truth to flood the page. Just keep swimming through the algae as clear, turquoise water beckons… bring it on!

Salad Sandwiches

I’ve been attending my new school for one month now. It was my 14th birthday two weeks ago and no one in my class knew, so the day was just like any other although I did have salad sandwiches for lunch, my favourite. When one has a dad who has a breakdown after his wife dies and then buys a riverboat to live the life of a hermit, one has absolutely no say in the matter other than what the authorities tell one. That one is I, one and I are one and one is a pretty lonely number when you’re 14 and hitting puberty. I’m not allowed to have a breakdown because I legally have to go to school and I’m always being told that kids are resilient creatures. I didn’t know I was a creature but then I didn’t know a tomato was a fruit so it seems I have a lot to learn.

If I were to view my life through a practical lens, it would be more convenient if my mum had died after my 18th birthday. Then I wouldn’t have to live with Aunt G. I could have moved to France or married a vegan farmer who lives in Cumbria, just like my mum would have liked. If vegan farmers don’t exist then I could plant potatoes and sell home-made jam. The landscapes of London would be projector slides in my memory. I’d never have to walk through concrete fields again. Actually, it would have been convenient if my mum hadn’t died at all and we’d made home-made jam together but I can’t think about that because I’m a resilient creature.

Dear mum,

I often look at the Eucalyptus tree in the communal garden at the back of the house. It’s really magnificent… you would have loved it. I look at the bark and try to guess what colour it would stain the silk dress you wore to my birthday last year (you remember, the white one I wasn’t allowed to touch as I had sugar coated fingers after eating too many cola bottles). I remember the colour of the wildflowers boiling in the large pot that was too hot to put on the front of the stove. The home made tie-dye trousers you made me wear when you’re friends came over for coffee just to show off your new creative hobby, even though I couldn’t do up the zip. The discussions you had with dad about cutting down on his meat consumption, to which he’d just nod and say, “I hear you”. He’d still buy the reduced chicken curry on a Monday night and beef cutlets on a Friday but you didn’t say anything because you loved him. I didn’t realise how much you loved us all. Now that you’re gone, I feel it was endless. You made loving dad look so easy but I see now how difficult that must have been as the more I need him, the further away he seems to travel. The day you died your top was bright yellow to show off the turquoise necklace you’d found at a jumble sale, it was your favourite. You died wearing your best clothes, like you knew that day was your last. Maybe you did know and you were dressing up for God. I think I’d rather be there with you. I’m wondering why God took you and kept me here because it’s shit but then he knows how shit it is because he’s God.

I have a long list of questions.

Love Me.

P.S. Dad always looked like a rusty pipe but mum, you shone like a ruby.

Dad and I clash; I guess that’s why he chose France over me. I can’t fathom the impulsive decision he made, his moving to France. He’s never even been to France! They do eat lots of meat so maybe that’s why. Mama J told me, “sometimes life throws ya the queen of spades and ya gotta take the hit until the next hand of cards is dealt”. That’s rather nonsensical to me. Mama J loves to play cards and tells me that in the game of Hearts, you’re screwed if you get the queen of spades. She creates gems of wisdom, snippets of advice each day that must float to her mind as she engages in conversations with herself. The best conversations are the ones she has with herself, apparently. There are no limits to the randomness that comes out of her mouth but mum was exactly the same. Every girl needs a hippie in her life. The only card game I can play is rummy, Mama J taught me three days after I moved in with Aunt G. It was a good distraction although I never win. Mama J is a card shark! I don’t mind losing because I like the homemade rosehip tea she brews, she tells me its good for concentration so we drink it each time she gets the pack of cards out. I love her rosehip tea, losing tastes so much better when you wash it down with pink petals and dried lavender.

I have a Jon Bon Jovi poster on my wall next to my bed. I didn’t bring much from my old house, my old life. We didn’t have much anyway and what we did have didn’t match. The sofa was taken from a skip when a neighbour was having their downstairs renovated. The kitchen table was bought at a car boot sale and it took dad two months to find four odd chairs that comfortably fit around it. The table was more of a coat collector than a place to sit. Dad never hung up his jacket in rightful place of the closet under the stairs. Mum got fed up with the role of husband-tidier-upper so the table housed unused placemats, dad’s worn jackets and lots of woodworm. I kiss my Bon Jovi picture before I go to bed, thanking him for protection as I sleep. He seems like a good bet. He’s got muscles and he writes songs about heartbreak. Who doesn’t trust a man who expresses their vulnerability and wears cowboy boots! I reckon if I could call on any living spirit, his would be most suited and he’d fly to my aid like a bee to a blossom tree.

So thinking about my birthday, there was this one kid at school who sat next to me during lunch break. He was enquiring as to why I didn’t have any cheese in my salad sandwich. Salad sandwiches are my favourite so Aunt G said I could buy an extra packet of mixed leaf salad as a birthday present. That was the only present I got. She never stops giving.

“What’s the good of a salad sandwich with no cheese?”

His trousers were too short and he had a spot at the end of his nose. Now, I usually refrain from making judgements but this looked particularly painful, like his skin was sheltering an army of bacteria. I stared for longer than was comfortable, I knew he was staring back; maybe my pores were inviting an examination also. I had washed my face this morning but grease seems to ooze like molten lava these days. An uncontrollable eruption can occur at any moment, my pores have become incredibly uncooperative recently. My mum used to say I’m as stubborn as an ox so I wasn’t about to be the first to avert my gaze. He caved and grabbed my bag.

“What else you got for lunch?”

There was nothing else to eat in my bag.

“Are you an anorexic?”


“I watched a programme about anorexic girls who think the leaf of a lettuce is too fattening and they won’t look good in their boob tubes”.

This boy is weird.

“I’m not anorexic and I don’t have a boob tube”

“Then why do you only have salad in your sandwich?”

“Because it’s my birthday and salad and margarine in a sandwich tastes like heaven on earth.”

I could see this confused the hell out of him. He scrunched up his nose, causing his top lip to rise, showing off his discoloured braces.

“Margarine? I only have butter in my sandwiches.”

I could see this kid was going to be hard work.

He was waiting for me at the bus stop after school.

Before I could recognise his face amongst the herd of uniformed kids, he bellowed at me, “What year are you in?”

Everyone at the bus stop stared at me.

Fact: I don’t wear the most fashionable shoes, I don’t even know what store they’re from as the insole was worn down by whoever owned them before me. Mum got all my shoes from the charity shop. Waste not, want not and all that malarkey.

Needless to say, when you wear old, worn shoes to school and some weird kid shouts at you and then nearly everyone in your school stares at you and some girls laugh at you because you wear old shoes and no one knows who you are, those are the moments you want to die. I ignored the boy and walked straight past the bus stop. It was a nice evening so I decided the 30-minute walk home would do me good.

“I’ll walk with you!”

I went from wanting to die to wanting to kill.

“You can tell me more about salad sandwiches”.

“I don’t live near you”

“Yes I do, I’ve seen you walk into the corner shop at the end of my road”

God must hate me.

Even though I picked up my pace and made every effort to ignore his company, he skipped beside me and talked non-stop about genetically modified farming the whole 30-minute walk home.