Empowerment Archives | A Million Beautiful Pieces

Disability Advocacy September 27, 2019

The Pen Is Mightier Than the Sword, but Kindness transcends them both

I wrote the first part of this piece eight years ago and shared it a few times since then on other platforms. This is the second part to that piece.

As a writer who shares my own experiences about my struggles with childhood trauma, sexual abuse, being a teenage parent and parenting a child with a disability; it’s special when people write to me to express their gratitude. I don’t take for granted that it is a God-given talent to put words to some unspeakable hurts and experiences. It is Grace that keeps filling my life with Faith, Hope and Love.

Then there are those who are embarrassed that now they know what they would rather not know, and try to make me feel bad for writing it. I can’t help you besides suggesting that you stop reading my work.

I am almost forty-four years old. Of that time I’ve been a mother for twenty-five years to a child with a disability, and two more children while painstakingly trying to piece back what was destroyed in my childhood and in my early adulthood.

That’s twenty-five years of facing social systems where it has been inconvenient to include our daughter with a disability. Twenty-five years of reading cues in social gatherings of whether we are wanted or not. Or how long before they push us aside when they realise that Savannah is a 24/7/365 commitment for us?

Twenty-five years of giving people the benefit of the doubt, only to have Savannah made fun of dismissed by those who were entrusted to care for her. Twenty-five years of having to deal with mothers who let me know how grateful they are that their children aren’t like Savannah. There’s that pat to Savannah’s head and pronouncement that ‘They are such a blessing.’ I keep thinking to reply ‘I hope God blesses you as much as He has blessed me.’ But my fear of extending the unwanted encounter holds me back.

Twenty-five years of still having days when I go to bed weeping, frustrated or lying awake at night wondering what will happen when Michael and I are no longer here.

So why do I keep writing about the hard stuff?

Simply because I am still inspired by my children to leave behind encouragement and evidence for them to know how hard we tried. I write so that my children will know I tried to change hearts and minds, and that being kind is still worth it. In my first edition of this post, I wrote that gaining acceptance within society was the reason I wrote. Now, in the aftermath of the Esidimeni tragedy, and the continued lack of services and support our community faces, I also write to remind other families that we are not alone.

While we bear up against it all, we can be united and be a source of comfort, hope and information.

Like the way, my children comfort each other when they are made uncomfortable because their sister is different. It’s a sad day or a glorious one (whichever way you choose to look at it) when your children can explain the love of God in spite of the callousness of other people.

Sometimes callousness takes the form of being given unsolicited advice. Other times it’s to point out to us, in Savannah’s presence, that God can do amazing things and He will make Savannah whole. I cry every time we hear that because of the severe lack of insight that statement contains. The testimony of God’s sufficiency to my family does not need to be proven by Savannah being made into anything other. His sufficiency is proven in our diligent commitment to her care and well being, even on days when we are overwrought by her complex and beautiful mind, and that we do it again and again. His sufficiency is when Savannah comforts us, and when she laughs and loves freely and without restraint. That’s a testimony of faith and sufficiency.

After twenty-five years of this, I’ve learnt that many people need Savannah to be fit into their limited understanding of God’s goodness for THEIR faith to be affirmed. It feels like they see Savannah as broken and someone who should be “fixed” to match their idea of a whole person so that they can feel affirmed that God is good.

From left to right: Talisa, Eli and Savannah

But in our home, we know a secret. Savannah is a remarkable beauty; fearfully and wonderfully made like her siblings. While the world is designed to forsake us, judge us, dismiss us, persecute us, and remind us how we can’t fit in with their carefully organised systems; we know a God who understands that in our fatigue, it’s hard to grasp theology but easy to hold onto Kindness. A God to whom my children speak to like this:

‘Thank you, God, for the patience you give us. Now please can you give the same to the parents who are racing in school traffic when we are all going to the same place at the same time.’

Or‘Lord, thank you for Savannah. I realised today that she does an amazing thing. She can still choose people who won’t choose her’.

Or Savannah’s prayer, ‘Lord, Thank you my life. Please help lady with walker at church. I feel sorry for her. My dad is sick. I am stressed about him. Look after my sister, my brother. Help my mum. Amen.’

When ignorance pierces my armour; I hold the broken pieces of my heart before God with my favourite poem about loving a child who is different:

I DO NOT CRY FOR WHO YOU ARE(Author Unknown)

Tears have stopped falling
On the fragments of my dreams,
I no longer mourn illusions
Of yesterday’s reality.

Tears that fell so often,
Almost every day,
But that was when the rain poured down
And the sky was always grey.

Now I feel the sunshine,
And the sky is blue again,
I’m living on a rainbow,
But I still cry now and then.

I do not cry for who you are
Nor what will never be
My pain’s in the confusion
And the vulnerability

My frustration’s with a society,
That cannot see you’re mine,
My anger’s to the ignorance,
That will never try.

My fear is from uncertainty
That increases over time.
My guilt is deep inside my soul,
Each time they make me cry.

I do not cry for who you are
Nor what can never be
I cry because they look at you
But never really see

They don’t see how the differences,
Could make the world complete,
They can’t all live on rainbows,
It’s just not meant to be.

You are not responsible,
For all that we’ve been through,
I would not change you for the world,
I would change the world for you.

Father, forgive them for they do not know what they do. Luke 23:34

With all the Love that I’ve found in the Million Beautiful Pieces that make my story, Desirae

A Million Beautiful Pieces August 14, 2019

Women’s Month: I was a Teenage Mother to a Child with a Disability – I’m So Over Being Shamed for Both

First published August 2019. Updated August 2022

I was a teenager who had a baby. My life was challenging but it was not over. For anyone who has heard me speak I’ve stated: “that becoming Savannah’s mother at eighteen years old forced me to find my strength to live”. I know that this is not true for every teenage mother or for a mother of a child with a disability, but it was true for me.

There are women who started their adult lives in the right career, married their perfect partner at the right time, they moved into their picket fence house. Their children were born without a disability to which both parents thanked God when they counted ten fingers and ten toes. And yet today as parents of teenagers we all face similar challenges in parenting our children. I am really so over this comparison of whose life is better by virtue of being a teenage parent or not, or having a child with a disability or not. Or any other comparison for that matter.

Last Sunday we returned from a trip to Kwa-Zulu Natal where we celebrated Savannah’s birthday. Savannah loves to celebrate her birthday which means she was already on an adrenaline high on the drive to Durban; and when we arrived at our family, she went into overdrive. For those who do not know, Savannah is my twenty-three-year-old daughter who is autistic and has cerebral palsy. It is always wonderful to see her excited. But I was not as enthused. I had already been going through the build-up of her birthday with her for a few weeks. I was mentally tired before the actual celebration started.

I was in rough shape when I arrived in Kwa-Zulu Natal battling food poisoning on the trip down which triggered a migraine. I also worked in the car and met my deadlines for my respective clients; while Michael drove, Savannah talked and Eli regularly passed food and drinks to each of us. My mind felt numb and tired.

In Durban, Savannah could not stop herself from talking and often her conversations followed the same pattern but with different people. While they were hearing it for the first time, Michael and I were hearing it for the umpteenth time. She holds to certain points in her conversation as moments for either Michael or me to validate or expound on something she said. We comply because as much as I want to tear my hair out or yell “Just stop”, I know how unhelpful that is to her when she is already in an over-anxious and over-excited state. So I answer calmly whatever it is I need to say to help her in the space she is in.

During the three days we were in Durban, Savannah did not sleep much. I did not sleep much. But she enjoyed a very special birthday celebration with a braai, special gifts and a dance session. Our extended family loved celebrating with her and she lifted their spirits about their own challenges.

Somewhere in the midst of this, we encountered someone who made the point of saying to me that she warns her children not to be in relationships because girls fall pregnant and their lives are ruined forever. During the brief encounter, she avoided looking at or talking to Savannah and kept her own children engaged away from Savannah.

I was hurt about this. More than I wanted to be. And I was cross with myself for letting it affect me. It was so unexpected because no one I know now thinks like that. Or at least they don’t voice it in my presence.

Since returning home I am struggling to get over deep fatigue. There is always too much to be done. Savannah is struggling to adjust to life without a birthday to look forward to and is now fixating on every detail of the fundraiser that will take place in October. I make no secret that in most areas of my life it takes all of my willpower to hold onto my sanity. And sometimes my life works just three hours short of clockwork. For that reason, I can’t take in and hold onto words that have hooks. What I can do is remember that I have nothing to prove to anyone.

I was a teen mother who had a child with a disability and that is only one part of my story.

So here is what I want to make a point about:

Becoming a mother when we are in our twenties or thirties or later all poses different challenges. Think about that for a second – the challenges you might have faced. Becoming a mother as a teenager is so much more challenging. Life is not easy today, not for anyone. Teen mothers do not need to be vilified as they try to find themselves while raising a child. There is no point in stating the obvious when they are already living the challenges of being a mother as a young person. The deed is done. Can we please address our own prejudices (which I too have to do on different issues from time to time) and move on and help women to be the best they can be?
Parenting a child with a disability is not the worst thing to happen. Yes, there are challenges like limitations on my energy, my time and my finances but my life is not made up of only these aspects. It is also made up of deep love and humanity and care and tenderness and kindness. I will be mothering Savannah until the end of my life or hers. That part makes families like mine different not worse off. I shared more about this in my interview with Your Story Global, The Desirae Pillay Story. (New link added August 2022)
Yes, I carry worries that other parents may not have to know. I am not alone in that. Many parents carry fears and worries that keep them awake at night or fuel them to move forward. That is parenting. We don’t get to decide what worries we will have for our children. We can decide on how we will deal with that.

‘Life happens while we are busy making plans. Instead of causing harm as women, can we just take a deep breath and show up for each other? We won’t always agree and we won’t always get along, but we do not need to be the ones who throw the first stones when that happens.

I choose to view my life as a divine plan. I showed up and God showed up for me. Yes, sometimes I wish I had attained that university degree to give my family a better life. But what does better look like exactly? And who has it the best? I have hurt myself for many years and made decisions I regret, all because I tried to make up for being a teenage parent and tried to make my child with a disability fit into a mould that would make us acceptable to society.

I’m over the comparison of what my life should have been or is in relation to other people. I know for sure that I not only love my life, I like it too. And I am madly in love with the people in it. I can’t let anyone diminish my story because it does not meet their standards. That is my investment this month in my mental and emotional health as a mother and a woman. I was a teen mother who had a child with a disability and yet I live.

If you are concerned about your child becoming a teen parent here is what you can do:

Cultivate trust within your home. Home is where children should never be afraid to speak their minds and to ask any question. When you shut a child down because you are uncomfortable with the topic, they learn instantly that you cannot be trusted with all of who they are.
Acknowledge your own prejudices and fears. Speak to other mothers and fathers and do not be afraid to have your ideas challenged. Our children are facing that every day. If you know what you believe, and you and your family understand the validity of your belief; then you are in a better position to help your child navigate the teen years.
Please “let’s talk about sex” to our children. Support local non-profit organisations that are helping women understand their rights and responsibilities. I support Life Choices Pregnancy Centre. They have centres in Benoni and Rosettenville.
Equip yourself with knowledge. Many people lean into religious and/or cultural beliefs when the discussion about sex and reproduction occurs and fail to equip children with the right information that is relevant for the time they are living in and for the belief system they follow. If you are going to tell someone NOT to do something, you best have the knowledge and vocabulary to tell them what they can do instead. So again ‘ talk about sex with your teen children. If you don’t, someone else will.
Please allow your teenage children to speak to a professional. It speaks volumes to them when we show them that we value their emotional and mental well-being and that we respect their right to privacy.

Then let’s just get over ourselves and be the best mothers we can be – no matter what age we are. No shame.

A Million Beautiful Pieces April 15, 2019

I Am Every Woman

A couple of weeks ago, I shared with you that I was one of the speakers at a workshop “Investment In Self”. The event was hosted by Nadia Marillier of Tranquil and Tenacious Minds.

I prepared this piece titled “I Am Every Woman” in forty-five minutes on the morning of the event. Though I had been mulling over it in my mind for about a month, the inspiration of how to write it, only came to me ten hours before I was scheduled to speak.

I am proud of this piece. It is a condensed version of my life story and the events that shaped me told with honesty. I read somewhere that “When you can tell your story without crying, then you know you have healed”.

Here is a written excerpt: “I am the woman who despite the odds, managed to not just survive my life. I managed to thrive in it. I understand today that the star-dust that my life was sprinkled with when I was born, did not turn into ash after a raging fire. Oh no, no, that would not be right. That star-dust was only the embers of the fire that was being kindled within me.”

As many of you know I work from home while being a caregiver to my adult daughter who is a person with special needs. I am not a professional at using a camera or adjusting sound so I hope you will be forgiving of this when you watch the video. I have a new camera that was gifted to me and I am still learning how to use that so hopefully I will produce better quality videos in the future.

I am however a lover of words and I believe God has gifted me to share the “hard stuff” to touch someone else’s life and in my small way to change the world to be a little kinder and forgiving of each other. So I feel I can’t wait to make perfect videos before I share some of my material with you. As I mentioned I make a living from speaking and writing. By sharing this video you increase my opportunities to work and to take care of my family. For that I will be very appreciative.

If you would like me to hear about specific topics please let me know in the comments. For now, here is “I Am Every Woman”.

A Million Beautiful Pieces February 27, 2019

To Fall: To Protect From or To Teach How To?

Ten years ago Savannah underwent a scoliosis operation. Three months after the operation we began working with a physical therapist to help Savannah to maintain her ability to walk. In the very first session, the therapist told me that she was going to teach Savannah how to fall. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I wanted to wrap Savannah in cotton wool and never ever let another bad thing happen to her. Here was someone telling me that we were going to teach Savannah how to fall. Why ever would we do that?

Savannah is careful that her wheelchair is behind her when she stands to prevent her from falling.

The therapist explained to me that Savannah was likely to fall at some point. She was still walking at that stage but was relatively unstable on her feet. She attended a school with children who were mobile. It was likely that she might be bumped. In the event of her falling she would have experienced serious damage to her already compromised frame. And so with my heart in my hands, I agreed to work with the therapist to help Savannah to develop the motor abilities to protect herself if she ever fell.

To my dismay, my vigilance and efforts in making sure that just about everyone who had Savannah in their care, knew to ensure that she did not fall was not enough. She fell. Yet, she did not sustain any terrible injury because she knew how to use her hands to minimise the impact of her fall. Of the many lessons I have learned in my life; this is one that stays with me.

We are living in a time when we have more information than we have ever had before. With the click on a link on our computer screens we find information that transforms us into micro versions of doctors, lawyers, psychologists, therapists, chefs, artists; educators, almost anything. We know how to put barriers in place to protect ourselves and our children before we even have a hint of any potential problem. We spend weeks researching before we choose a dance class or a cookery class. We can diagnose and treat health problems without seeing a physician. (Let me say here that all medical issues cannot be answered by Google. Please do consult a medical professional when your health is at stake).

Talisa completing an activity for Scouts a few years ago.

All to make sure that we circumvent any possibility of a “fall” in our lives.

I have spent most of my life trying to prevent another “fall” in many areas of my life. I’ve learnt as much as I can about the issues that define my life: violence, trauma, loss, teenage pregnancy, families of divorce, faith, autism, cerebral palsy, siblings of children with special needs, health, education, motherhood, and so much more. Every item on that list has numerous sub items. All of which have occupied my mind in different ways over the years.

In many ways I’ve understood the need for all my children to have experiences that help them to learn who they are without my constant vigilance and protection. Talisa and Eli were raised within the Scouts movement. There is nothing like being a Sea Scout and having one’s mental and physical strength nurtured and tested through a series of tasks. My children learnt what it felt like to have to work harder and longer at tasks to accomplish it. Scouting encourages autonomy, hard work, endurance and persistence. For any parent who is struggling to build self reliance and self resilience in their children, I would strongly recommend enrolling your child with a Scouting Troop.

Talisa finished gig adventure twice with the local Sea Scout Troop.

Yet even after all this, I too have been caught by the unspoken movement to pre-empt and protect my children from LIFE. Families these days are wired to make extraordinary efforts to ensure the physical and mental well-being of our children. The pressures that this generation faces are second to none. It’s so shocking in the time of so many advances in all arenas of life, this generation struggles so much with their self-worth. The drive to have a good story to present on social media leaves no room for “learning curves”. For those people who actually experience learning curves or “falls”, we are somewhat struck by their lack of foresight to avoid it. In this day and age, it seems shocking to most that people “allow” their lives to be interrupted by well…..er life.

When Eli had his sudden issue with appendicitis last week, my initial thought was could I have done anything to prevent this? When I spoke to a few of my friends, they were acutely interested in the same question as well as knowing what the signs were and what to do if one suspects this unwanted medical “fall”. No, I could not have done anything to prevent Eli from going through this. In this upheaval I had to do something that I usually don’t want to do. I had to relinquish control and teach Eli to trust the process. I heard myself saying to him that I did not know what to expect after the operation. I was honest with him and with myself that it would be painful and that we would find ways to get through it.

While Eli waited for his operation, we discussed what he could do to help make his recovery less unpleasant.

He had to try in small increments to push himself. He was surprised when he realised what he had to do was never as difficult as he initially thought it would be. He is fast developing an understanding of the power and miracle that is the human body. Savannah learnt this many years ago. She learnt what to be aware off as a person who was unstable on her feet. She learnt what supports to request so that she did not fall again. She accepted the wheelchair far more easily into our lives than I did. She has never once misguided herself into walls or people or down steps. She developed an awareness of her surroundings which is very good for someone with her challenges.

We all want to be wrapped in cotton wool and never hurt. We want to do that for those we love. I know first hand that the things that will cause us to “stumble” and to “fall” are not always physical in nature. The heartaches and damage that are caused in relationships can keep a person down for a long time. By overprotecting ourselves and those we love, we sometimes do not allow our instincts for self preservation and self respect to develop. We become accustomed to someone else protecting us and when they are not around, it becomes easy to fall into relationships that hurt us. With no idea of what our own standards are, we struggle to develop the character traits to withstand life. Without those experiences that allow us room to grow and to trust our decisions, we “fall” never to get up.

In different areas in my life, in different relationships I realise the benefit of knowing how to “fall”. I learnt where the bottom was for myself. It made me determined to never allow anyone to take me there again. Character is not developed by life following the exact trajectory that we plan. Character is developed by how we respond when life happens. I can only hope that as we all move forward with hope in our hearts for life to be better; we are wise enough to learn how to fall and brave enough to teach those we love the same skills.

In truth, when life does not get better it is us who have to get better at knowing how to “fall” so that we may rise again. Then by God’s grace we build again, a better life.

To fall is an opportunity to rise. Only better and wiser than if you never did.

A Million Beautiful Pieces January 22, 2019

My Greatest Gift This Year: Journey To You (Part Two)

Today’s post is about a new idea I used to develop a positive mindset for Talisa and Eli as they began the new school year. It seems that my participation in Journey To You is a gift that keeps on giving as the idea was one which I learned at the course. I posted part one of this journey a few weeks ago: “My Greatest Gift This Year: Journey To You”.

When I participated in the life coaching course Journey To You, we learnt a valuable exercise about self-awareness and self-love. There were many coaches taking small groups throughout the three-day course. My coach was Maligay Govender and this was one of the processes which she guided me through. I had to list positive attributes about myself on an A4 length of page. It could be what I thought of myself and what others have said about me. It was incredibly difficult to do because I saw myself in a negative light. With encouragement and friendly firmness Maligay encouraged me to get that list of positives done.

When I thought I was done, she challenged me to draw another column and to add more positive words about myself. It took a very long time for me to do that. Imagine that. I who believe in seeing life with possibility and beauty, could not find many positives attributes about myself . When I had filled out as much as I could, Maligay encouraged me to read it out loud with the words “I am” before each descriptive. There I was, feeling a bit silly but at the same time knowing I was standing on the edge of a big change. So I began:

“I am resilient.”

“I am loving.”

“I am wise.”

“I am resourceful.”

“I have nice eyes.”

“I am the best mum ever.” (Savannah frequently tells me this).

“I am soft.” (Eli’s description of me).

“I am a role model.” (That is how Talisa describes me),

and on and on I went listing off 43 positive aspects.

Maligay added her own descriptions about me which were very touching and it took me by surprise. She encouraged me to speak slowly and to think about each attribute. I can best describe the experience as a computer that had crashed and during this exercise was finally rebooting. Then I was back online. (I know it is strange that I compare this experience to a computer but I worked as an assistive technology advisor so it is still the lens with which I see some aspects of life.)

Last week I wrote about the importance of being mentally and emotionally prepared for back-to-school in the post Back-To-School:How you start is how you finish. I found great value in the exercise that I learnt at the course and introduced a simplified version of it to my children in our back-to-school preparation.

Talisa and Eli struggled to write down positive attributes about themselves. They both said it was easier to write down all the negative beliefs they held. I wonder where they got that from? Unfortunately they got that from me. It was a good lesson in the importance of mirroring self-care and self-love for children. What was even more meaningful is that Savannah was also part of making a list of her positive attributes. I verbally listed many positive words and she chose which attributes best described her. Then I wrote it down for her.

An example of positive personal attributes or character traits for children from http://www.teachingmaddeness.com/

When Talisa and Eli finished their list, they read it aloud with the words “I am” before each description. It was so moving to watch how their faces came to light and their posture changed as they went through the list. Like Maligay taught me to slow down and to be thoughtful about each description, I encouraged Talisa and Eli to do the same. It was a singularly empowering exercise and one that both children found enormous value in.

I realised that no one actively pursues holding onto negative beliefs about themselves. Yet life has a way of subtly bringing those negative beliefs to us as if it would be arrogance to think good of ourselves. Yet imagine going through life facing all those negative beliefs with a repository of positive personal truths to combat it with? It would simply be a Journey With Ourselves.

“As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.” Proverbs 23v7

The pursuit of academics and all it entails must also be a journey of self. Not one that destroys our children or costs them their emotional and mental well-being. Children are children for such a short time in the story of their life. Being self-aware and loving oneself is surely the route to loving others and to creating a fulfilling life.

Some of the coaches who guided the participants.

If you are feeling stuck in your journey, why not book a course with Journey To You. Not only will it free you to be yourself. It will empower you to be the best version of yourself and to mirror that for your family. For more information about the next course, click here.

And finally, I dare you to make a list of all your positive attributes and to say it out aloud. Let me know if you do. Believe me when I say that there is no journey worth taking like a Journey To You.

Thank you again to all the coaches, the participants and Deon Greonewald for this wonderful journey.

A Million Beautiful Pieces December 27, 2018

My Greatest Gift This Year: Journey To You (part one)

Have you ever felt that you needed the world to stop spinning for five minutes so that you can get off, catch your breath and then jump back on again? I felt that way for a major chunk of my life. Life just kept happening and the resources that I depended on began to wear thin.

Those resources were all the voices that took up space in my head and it was the reason behind my drive. It did not replenish already depleted resources nor did it nourish me so that I could keep going. It just drained me to the point that I had no will to pursue my own dreams and aspirations. Yet I did not know how to replace those resources or even if it could be replaced.

I just knew that it was not serving me.

Myself with Deon Groenewald NLP Coach and CEO of Journey To You

These were my resources:
“You are the eldest, you must hold it together”.
“You are responsible for this. You must fix it.”
“You must look after your parents.”
“You must be responsible for your parents marriage.”
“Your mother needs you. Your daughter needs you. Your husband needs you. Your children need you. Your friend needs you. Your job needs you. This organisation needs you. Your church needs you. You must take care of all this.”
“You are responsible for your marriage.”
“You know that when there is a child with a disability, the marriage is under enormous stress. You must make your marriage work.”
“Your other children will be deprived because they have a sibling with special needs. You must make sure that you don’t neglect them.”
“You are the woman. It’s on you to make it work.” (‘It’ referring to anything and everything about life in general).
“You did this. You must fix it.”
“You must hold the family together.”
It’s exhausting just writing that.

Then fast forward to a few weeks ago when my brother Darren called me after he completed a life coach course at his place of employment. The life coach who conducted his training was hosting one final course from the 19th to the 21st December and Darren was very keen for me to participate in this.

Now I’ve heard of a few people who are really good at teaching about self-care or self-help but nothing ever resonated enough with me to attend any course. I also need the guarantee that when I spend money on myself that could be used towards my daughter Savannah’s care, the value must be spectacular.

Past experiences also taught me to stay away from people who need to ‘give me a word’ or promise to ‘heal my life’ or ‘know a lot about how people think’. The most well-meaning intentions by the most passionate people can cause more damage than good. When a pastor, coach or counsellor does not have the skills, understanding and compassion to help a person through an issue that could potentially cause that person to break, they actually have no business engaging an individual on such a personal level.

What was interesting to me is that my husband shares these same reservations as I do, yet it was him who finally convinced me to register for the course, knowing full well that I would be away from home from 9am to 9pm every day for three days.

On the 19th December as I drove to the course, I was ready to be open to the experience and not to show up for anyone else but myself. I have a reputation of ‘mothering’ people wherever I go and I’m known to be an extrovert. This time I just wanted to be true to what I was feeling during the process. Yes, that it’s..I told myself ‘Trust the process’.

The process I was to trust was ‘Journey To You’ headed by renowned NLP Coach Deon Groenewald. NLP is an acronym for Neuro-Linguistic Programming and Deon has earned himself a reputation as a Master of his field. ‘Journey To You’ is a three-day intensive journey of transformation developed by Deon over a ten-year period. It is designed to help people to effect change from a deep place inside themselves that results in an amazing personal journey.

I knew none of this when I arrived at the course. I did not read the course details because I did not want to go into my self-defence mode. As an over thinker and someone who prepares for every possible outcome, I wanted to let the process guide me instead of the other way round.

As I write this I’m incredibly overwhelmed by what took place over the three days. I learnt so much about the science of how the brain deals with information and how that affects our decision-making process. The pivotal points for me was in understanding my conscious mind and my sub conscious mind, aligning my first reaction and my second reaction, learning how to plan for my goals and in learning to plan a celebration for myself when I achieved a goal.

More than learning these pivotal points in the context of the large group, I was also assigned to a life coach Maligay Govender. Each participant was part of a smaller group led by a qualified coach. It was in my small group that I was taught how to apply what I learnt in the larger group. Maligay made the principles and techniques real for me by guiding me on how to integrate it into my life plan which I had begun to fill out from the morning of Day One.

As I write this and recount the timeline exercise that she did with me, I am filled with emotion. Timeline was the most vulnerable I’ve ever been until then and it was the first time I allowed myself to remember who I was as a child. I actually was able to visualise myself at four years old and to reconnect that person to myself today.

Years ago, my then pastors wife asked me to describe myself. Who was I? It took longer than a month for me to give her an answer that did not include daughter, mother, wife, sister, friend and all the roles I fulfil. When I eventually did give her an answer, I gave her a scripture but it did not describe me. It described someone I wanted to be. As Maligay finished the timeline exercise with me, I realised that I could finally answer that question without all the roles that form part of who I am.

I knew who I was without all the events that shaped me. I liked that person. And I wanted to live with her innocence and her passion again. It was so powerful that I cry even now as I understand what a gift Maligay helped me to find within myself.

Maligay and Bharat Trikam, a fellow change maker

On Day three of ‘Journey to You’, I knew that the moment had come for me to commit myself to a process of understanding how to listen to my own authentic internal voice. With the entire larger group of participants in the room, I courageously volunteered to allow Deon to take me through this process.

I am not going to give the details away of how that was done because I fear I may reduce it’s impact and beauty here. I will share this:

There wasn’t any music to influence what happened.
There wasn’t wild applause or coercion from the other participants.
There were many people in the room including a film crew as this was being recorded for television viewing. Yet the room felt that it was filled to every corner and every space with nothing but goodwill and love.

Deon was respectful of me, never asking me to share more than I was comfortable to share. The key though was that his process did not need for me to bare my soul so that he could rescue me. He only needed me to trust the exercise and to trust myself. I walked off the stage without the anger, resentment, fear and oppressiveness that I carried with me for a long time about my childhood. I walked off that stage with the door to a part of my soul thrown wide open and a feeling of self acceptance, contentment and peace.

Myself and Nadia Marillier, a fellow change maker

At the beginning of this year, I wrote that I entered a Women Empowerment Programme as a gift to myself http://amillionbeautifulpieces.co.za/2018/03/09/entering-competition-title/ . I wanted to give myself one year to experience life on my terms. I resigned from that competition because I realised early on that it was not what I was looking for. As I write this, I feel humbled by how God works. Just before the curtain dropped on 2018, God remembered me and He gave me my ‘Journey To You’.

My heartfelt thank you to Deon Groenwald, to Maligay Govender, to all the coaches; and most especially to my fellow course participants with whom I now share another beautiful piece of life with.

I am blessed I am.

I am grateful I am.

I am Desirae I am.

There is so much more I want to share, so look out for part two of My Greatest Gift This Year.

Empowerment December 10, 2018

Christmas Blues Creeping Up On You? I Hope You Know You Can Live a Good Life

My family and I are slightly obsessed with Christmas. We usually can’t wait to set up our tree which is a celebration that is infused with a few of our own traditions. The most important being that we have a special dinner afterwards to kick off the countdown to Christmas Day. But before we tuck into a sumptuous meal (which I never spend more than an hour making, because simple, easy dishes are fundamental to my sanity); we complete a few other traditions. One segment being the specific part that each of our children play in ushering in the Christmas season when we decorate the tree.

Eli places the star at the top of the tree, which has always been the job of the youngest child.

When we only had the girls, it was then Talisa’s job to crown the tree with the star. Now she has the job of switching on the tree lights.

The Christmas baubles with photographs that are on the tree were made by my sister-in-law as a gift to us in 2015.

Savannah being the eldest gets to place the wreath on the front gate with help from Michael. Each person places their own Christmas ornament on the tree and we capture the moment in a photo to mark the occasion. I keep photographs of this moment for each child for almost all their lives.

We have ornaments for extended family too and they get to decorate our tree with it when they visit us. Then we have ornaments from friends and family who live far away and we think of them as we find a bare branch for their ornament.

As I watch my children taking more of a lead in decorating the tree and I listen to their banter about continuing these traditions in their own homes one day, I’m struck by the contrast in what makes up their childhood memories and in what makes up my childhood memories. This time of year can be a wonderful experience for many children when their families look forward to coming together to recreate moments from an ocean of memories filled with traditions, warmth and love.

The festivities were of no interest to our black labrador Blue.

For adults with traumatic childhoods, this time of year can be a sad reminder of what we missed out on as children. The magic of Christmas are only drops in our ocean of memories. I remember so many Christmases as a child feeling an ache inside of me as I ‘made-believe’ that I was happy. I wrote about this earlier this year in the post The Past And the Present Met and in a post last year You Cannot Be Depressed Then There Was Me

I remembered so badly wanting the make-belief to be real. With that childhood as my backdrop, I became a parent to a child with a disability at eighteen years old. I had to parent within a family and a social circle with loose morals and a tight grasp on maintaining the look of success at all costs.

For many Christmases as a parent I wrestled with depression and suicide. Not having developed skills to recognise and to deal with trauma, meant that I felt more overwhelmed at this time of year as my life became defined by my daughter’s special needs. It was a very long process to becoming mentally and emotionally strong.

What kept me from completely going over the edge was the determination to raise my children in a life that was without fear, without self-doubt, without question of my love for them, without insecurity and without violence. I wanted my children to know what it felt like to look forward to weekends and school holidays and to enjoy being with their parents in peace. I wanted them to have the freedom to express themselves freely and honestly without restraint or fear of disappointing anyone.

I wanted them to want to live each day to its fullest.

I wanted to ‘want to live’.

I wish someone told me that it was okay to be depressed and that I could still live a good life. Now I’m telling you. You can still live a good life.

I wanted to get better from having lived with sadness for so long. It felt like it was in my bones. It was so much a part of me that it took a long time for me to recognize it. But eventually I did. I did whatever it took to get better. For me it meant learning to believe that my life had value. I found that value in understanding who I was as a child of God. I am so eternally grateful for that simple truth and all that it has given me.

Becoming more of who I was meant to be was a process of understanding my faith and understanding myself. I could not always get professional help and it was incredibly tough to have to deal with my demons very much on my own at times. There were relationships that I could lean on at different points, in big ways and in small ways. There were also very dark days when no one understood what I was going through. I wish I had known about the South African Depression and Anxiety Groups website which would have been incredibly helpful in finding resources.

Someone told me they felt I write to ‘poke the world’. I guess that is one way to look at it. Though I have never intended to do that. I simply write because I’m grateful. To have lived with depression and to have overcome suicidal feelings while being responsible for what seemed like everything and everyone, is a story worth telling. It is worth telling from all its perspectives and all its shades.

It is especially worth telling at Christmas time, when I am snuggled in my home with my Christmas tree twinkling away and the memory of all my loved ones beaming with delight keeping me company. December is a time when many people from all different walks of life are more likely to be depressed and suicidal. If this season makes you hurt like hell and you can’t find something good to hold onto then please remember this:

The past is made up of memories. You are a seed of hope. Starting today you can make new and beautiful memories.

You are as capable as anyone of having a good life. Believe Me.

We love our Christmas ornaments. Each tell a story of a life of abundant love.

For helpful and practical advice about how to deal with the Christmas Blues, you will find this article Understanding and Coping With The Christmas Blues by @DarleneLancer worth a read:

I particularly like the helpful online videos from the South African Depression and Anxiety Group.

A Million Beautiful Pieces November 26, 2018

Fictional Short Story: The Women In The Bathroom by Desirae Pillay

(Please note the content and language may be explicit for some readers)

The Women In The Bathroom

Shardha squeezed the Colgate toothpaste on the toothbrush, and hoped that Nandha wouldn’t moan that it wasn’t Aquafresh like they used at home. In her haste to pack their school uniforms and books, she didn’t think about packing toothpaste.

“Nandha, we are going to be late. Hurry up.” She tried to whisper across the passage from the bathroom to the bedroom where her brother and her had slept last night. He was always dragging his feet but she knew after what happened last night, it would be harder for him to get going today.

She could hear her aunty Raksha in the kitchen. Her aunty was newly married to their maternal uncle Mitchell but Shardha and Nandha felt as if they knew her forever. Shardha was grateful that aunty Raksha had the sense to suggest that Nandha and her stay at their home last night.

The night before seemed in one part like a distant memory yet in another part she could remember every word yelled between her parents; when every punch and kick happened and she could still see the madness in her fathers’ eyes as he pounded her mother.

Nandha and her were also yelling and crying; begging him to stop but he just hit their mother harder. Their screams were heard by their neighbours who like so many times before, knew to phone their uncle Mitchell.

Shardha was a pro at calming down her brother enough so that atleast he didn’t make a noise when he cried. Her mother staggered to the bathroom, ignoring the whimpers of her children. Or maybe she was deaf after all the yelling? Shardha found that easier to believe. When uncle Mitchell and aunty Raksha arrived, their father was gone. Shardha opened the door and then the big gate. Her mother was still in the bathroom.

Every time he did this, her father left for a while. Sometimes it was just a few hours. Other times it was weeks before he returned. Then when he came back, it was like nothing happened. Mum and dad would be happy again until the next time she spoke out of turn or forgot to ask his permission before she bought something or who knows what silly things she did to make him angry.

Shardha’s thoughts were interrupted by Nandha. He came into the bathroom, his eyes puffy from crying himself to sleep; and the same terrified look he had the night before. Shardha, handed him his toothbrush and whispered to him to please try to hurry up. Then, quite unexpectedly the bathroom door flung open causing both children to jump with fright. Aunty Raksha stumbled in. She looked away from the children while she leaned over the bath tub and opened the tap.

Shardha thought she saw red on her aunty’s hand but her mind resisted the allusion to what it might be and she tried to dismiss it. But she couldn’t unsee the deep red stream flowing from her aunty’s face, mingling with the water as it cascaded down the drain. She knew, she knew that her aunty was silently crying and a scary idea entered her mind.

Did her father come here and do this to her aunty ? Was he cross that she had taken them with her? Was he in the flat right now? Shardha’s mind was racing as she tried to understand why her aunty was also a woman in the bathroom like her mother.

Just as her confusion was becoming panic, her aunty stood up with a towel over her mouth and nose and said “Shardha go get your lunches from the kitchen. I’ll take Nandha down to the car. Go get your bag, Nandha.” Shardha knew better to ask her aunty anything now. She went to the door, opened it and listened. She couldn’t hear her fathers’ voice. She could only hear her uncle getting ready in his bedroom.

She slipped out of the bathroom and walked slowly down the passage to the kitchen. There were the lunches. She grabbed them and turned back hoping to catch aunty Raksha and Nandha and to walk down with them. As she turned back into the passage, she could hear her uncle talking to his friend from next door. They were on the balcony off the lounge.

Uncle Mitchell sounded so angry. “Bloody bitch. She thinks she is too smart.”

Uncle Mervin asked him “What? Raksha? What happened bru? She wasn’t looking right when I saw her on the stairway now. She having a problem with your sissies kids being here?”

“No f&*%! Not problem with the kids. No, no she likes them. She wanted to bring them last night. My sister and my swaer got into it again. So we brought the children here while they cool off. But this bitch, thinks because we took the children, she can talk about my sissie. This morning she was chuning me that my sissie must think about the children. She said my sissie can’t keep letting the children see this. What the f&*%? She thinks she knows better than my sissie?

Shardha drew a deep breath. Her eyes widened in horror. She knew why aunty Raksha had a bloody nose and mouth. The tears filled her eyes and her throat felt dry and painful.

“I clouted her a solid one. Bloody sh**.”

Uncle Mervin “ Hey bru, sometimes you have to show these things their place. Your wife, you know with her education and all, she needs to be brought down a bit. Good you showed her quickly how to shut the f&*% up. “

“She finally managed to fully open her eyes.”

Shardha tip toed down the passage, not wanting to see her uncle and not wanting to hear anymore. She was just six years old when she understood that nowhere was safe if you were a woman.

Twelve years later, that memory came back to her as clear as day. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a baby crying. It took her a few seconds to realize that it was her baby that was crying.

Her eyelids felt so heavy as she tried to open it. She became aware of the cold tiles against her cheeks. Then she remembered. He was angry because she left the hotel room to buy food for the baby. She didn’t wait for him to come back.

How could she? The baby was hungry and he was already an hour later than he said he would be. So she raced like a mad woman to buy mash and gravy from Kentucky Fried Chicken. But she was wrong to leave. She knew, she knew it as soon as she opened the hotel room door and saw him glaring at her.

As it all came back to her, she also felt the stabbing ache in her jaw and the burning sensation running through her arms as if it was on fire.

“You bitch. Who did you go to meet?” He fisted her jaw. She went down, landing on the beautiful Italian tiled floor.
“You want other men to look at you? F&*%*#@* whore! Just like your father. You want to sleep around.” Kick to her face but her arms were up trying to block him. She blacked out.

As Shardha remembered what just happened to her, and her baby’s cries became more frantic; she lifted herself onto her elbows, then onto her haunches. She stood up and steadied herself on the wash basin as her head spun.She finally managed to fully open her eyes. She saw herself in the mirror; bloodied and wretched.

Her heart ripped itself in two as it called out to her “When did you become the woman in the bathroom?”

Shock turned to focus. Her baby’s cry sobered her fully as the realisation of the weight of her life came crashing down on her. Her daughter was not going to be like her. Not ever.

She went to her baby. She knew what she had to do. Run.

THE END

Glossary: South African Indian slang particular to Indians who moved from Durban to Johannesburg in the 1970’s and 1980’s.

Bru: Close mate or friend

Swaer: Brother-in-law

Sissie: Sister

Chuning/Chun: Telling/Told

A Million Beautiful Pieces November 7, 2018

I Am Weighing In On The Weight Issue

It’s the most wonderful time of year. Or is it?

Are you dreading the holiday season? Seeing family or friends who you would rather not see? Having to attend or host dinner parties you would rather not be part off? Trying to accommodate your spouses’ family while your own family have their expectations of you?

Maybe you already know that financially this is going to be a tight Christmas, and you can’t say that out loud without feeling like Scrooge? Or maybe you have gained a few pounds this year and the thought of going home for Christmas when you know that aunty “I must comment on your weight” will be visiting; is petrifying you.

And that is where I will start off this series of blog posts as together we wind down this year. For today I want to share some thoughts and ideas about how to deal with unsolicited comments about physical appearance. Over the next few weeks we will get to the other stuff like depression, isolation, and how to look after yourself when your life doesn’t look like the Hallmark Christmas Movies.
But for now let’s just weigh this important issue.

Firstly, why oh why is this even a topic of conversation? I’ve never understood why I’ve had to hear comments like “Oh my word, you are so fat” or “That dress is lovely but sleeveless is not right for you. Your arms are too big.” Or the other way “My word, you’ve lost so much weight. Is everything okay?” Or “I was telling ______________ that you look so much better now that you lost weight. You were looking terrible last Christmas.”

I entered Mrs South Africa after loosing some weight but I was still not exactly a “small” lady.

Why would anyone ever begin a conversation like this? Or for that matter even bring this up in conversation. Its mind-boggling that these interactions are still part of our social contexts when we are living in an age when both men and women have emotional issues that stem from having a poor body image of themselves.

We are taught from a young age to make excuses for family and friends who taunt with their crude comments. We tell ourselves that it is only cultural or that is just the way they are. I will also include here that even negative comments about skin colour, choice of clothing or hair style, comments about how a persons’ body has changed due to pregnancy or after medical issues or actually anything to do with physical appearance of any sort; are simply not topics of conversation at any time of the year, let alone during the holiday season.

Of course genuine, positive comments like ”You look lovely” or “I’m so glad to see you and I love your dress” or simply “It’s so good to see you” are perfectly fine and it makes spending time with our family and friends so much sweeter. When comments are unflattering, one cannot imagine the unnecessary hurt that it causes.

I’ve been in this situation a few times, and one incident is still so clear in my mind. I was collecting Talisa from school when I noticed an old family friend. He was an older gentleman, who I hadn’t seen in years. I was entering the school gate with many other parents when I saw him and I greeted him. He boomed out, “Oh Desirae it’s you. Oh my word. I didn’t even recognize you. You’ve put on so much weight.”

I was stunned to say the least. I had no idea how to respond to this in front of the other parents and particularly as I was feeling really depressed during this time. Savannah was recovering from an operation to her back and there were complications that we were coming to terms with. We were living in an upstairs unit in a townhouse complex. Eli was just over a year old and could not walk up or down the flight of stairs by himself. Everyday sometimes three times a day, I was carrying both Savannah and Eli up and down those stairs.

Savannah and I dancing at her 21st birthday party.

In the afternoons if I had five minutes to myself, I would dish up a large bowl of vanilla ice cream, squeeze a mountain of maple syrup onto it; down it and then continue with taking care of my three children. Hands up mums and dads if you have scoffed an entire box of chocolates or polished a bag of chips while your children needed your care! You know well enough what those days are like.

That time in our lives was so emotionally confusing as we delighted in Eli’s milestone of walking and were equally shattered as we realised that Savannah was losing her fight to keep walking. So yes, I ate the ice-cream and the cake and anything else that offered any sort of comfort. It didn’t matter that everything tasted like ash to me anyway. It was just the way I was coping.

That old mans’ comment felt so cruel and so shocking to my very soul. I felt like a failure: unable to stop the regression that was claiming Savannah’s walking, and unable to keep my weight down. Those words just made me hate myself for not being able to be thin and for not being able to keep Savannah walking. I am generally a practical and logical person but this brief meeting shattered me. And it gives you an idea of how a seemingly innocent quip, can be havoc for another person.

How did I free myself from allowing these shallow comments to hold me hostage in my misery?

*Do you know that you are a child of God and that it’s wrong to disrespect Gods creation?
First, I asked myself are these “weight commentators” that important ? Would they cope with a small percent of the challenges I have lived through? Even if they had their own challenges to survive, clearly if they are making hurtful comments, then their life challenges did not change them for the better. No. You can’t take anyone seriously when they have no depth of character. For myself when I meet people, I see more than a physical form. I see them as a child of God.

*Do you love yourself?
Then I asked myself what did I want? Really, did I want to be supermodel thin and have my body poked and peeled and worked at while Savannahs’ disability changed her body in a drastic painful way? No I didn’t want to look like a supermodel. I wanted to help Savannah to love herself even as her body started to work against her. For my own well-being and for my children, I learnt to love myself irrespective of what size dress I fit into.

*Do you know what a “good looking” body means for yourself?
I also asked myself to define what a good-looking body meant for me? My answer was that I wanted to wear clothing that flattered what I liked about my body without feeling ashamed. Fat arms and all. I also wanted to be able to run down the soccer field with Eli, wear high heels to impress Talisa and still lift Savannah when she needed it. I wanted to feel pretty good with myself whether I was a size fourteen or a size ten as long as I could do those things with my children. Now that would be a body to cherish.

This was the day Eli was selected to play football for the local district.

*Do you have a plan of how you will protect yourself from “weight commentators” this holiday season?
Lastly I asked myself how am I going to deal with shallow, misplaced comments about my physical appearance? The answer was I won’t. If a person is so base as to have the gall to say anything derogatory with the intent to cause shame, then they are not worth my time, my words, my respect or my love. It takes a mammoth task to encourage oneself when caring for a child with a disability. So I will not ever again allow anyone to set my soul off-balance into self-loathing. I do too much in a day to waste time picking myself up off the floor.

If you don’t have a plan to protect yourself, then grab a pen and page, and take some time to answer the *questions above and you will start working out your own plan on how to guard your personal space. That is what your body is. Your personal space. And no one may physically, verbally or emotionally violate your body. Got that?

Once you learn to respond to hurtful comments without feeling ashamed and angry, you will realise that your response will simply be a matter of stating facts. I taught my children how to do this after I worked out how to do it for myself. They know that if anyone dares to cross that line with them by making inappropriate comments about their physical appearance, then they have my permission to shut them down with statements like:
“Wow, that’s not nice to say.”
“You think like that? I’m glad you aren’t my mum or dad”.
“I like myself the way I am. If you don’t like me that’s your problem.”
“You be you and I’ll be me”, or Talisa’s own line said with a huge smile
“I’m fearfully and wonderfully made. I’m okay”.

Oh my friends, this Christmas the best gift you can give is to find your strength, keep your balance and maintain your peace.

Now, I’m off to indulge in a vegetarian hot dog on a buttered white roll with homemade potato chips and caramelised onions. And later while I watch today’s episode of Masterchef Australia, I will devour my Carb Clever Chocolate Bar.

Yum. Yum.

A Million Beautiful Pieces October 24, 2018

What’s Food Got To Do With It?

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post “I feel you Maleficent“. This post was about my challenges in being organized as a primary caregiver while working-from-home.

It somewhat described the hills and valleys of my weeks. Last week being both a hill and a valley. It was one of those weeks when managing my commitments and time was tested. I was looking forward to a visit from friends from overseas as well as Talisa’s sixteenth birthday celebrations. We also had a fiftieth birthday party to attend that same Saturday before our friends were expected to arrive. There was shopping to be done and sleeping arrangements to be made, and a pending decision on how to celebrate Talisa’s birthday.

When I was younger, I couldn’t quite figure out how to be both a mother to a child with high needs as well as to fulfill the expectations on me because I was an Indian woman. Everyone took for granted that I must be able to cook up a storm and somehow that was a mark of accomplishment for a woman. While other people have been precious about ingredients and the way food must be served, I have only ever been precious about time.

How much time did it take to cook? How much time do I have to get Savannah ready? How much time do I have to race through the shops before I need to collect a child from school? How much time before Savannah has a meltdown? Eventually I would cancel the arrangements at the last moment because I just couldn’t cope. Then I lived with regret that I cancelled and the guilt that I was not living up to some imagined standard.

I was anxious because I thought that I had to impress people with my culinary skills. While no one said they expected that, it was hard not to feel this way. Socializing around food was something my extended family and friends enjoyed, and I did not have that in common with them.

Food is a sensitive subject in many families, and I suppose in a few other cultures too. When I was growing up, I remember the fabulous dishes my mother cooked. She is an outstanding caterer both in cooking and baking. But I also remember how tired she was afterwards and how she rarely ever sat with her guests and enjoyed them. So much of entertaining was about presenting the food and eating it at exactly the right temperature. She would leave the dinner table often to refill serving dishes and then afterwards she would be busy clearing it all away.

I knew I couldn’t do all of that she did and still be true to myself, yet I did like to entertain and I wanted some sort of organisation on how to do that so that it worked for my lifestyle. Over the years, as I’ve learnt to accept that I am not Wonder Woman nor do I have to be, I have also learnt to be confident in being true to my own abilities as an hostess. I had to juggle being a caregiver and a person who loved to entertain, and I had to figure out what that looked like for myself.

I made a choice to take every opportunity to live in the moment when possible. I will cook delicious meals with heart, when I have the time and energy: that could mean Breyani for my household on a weekday when Savannah sleeps until two in the afternoon, or samoosas and a packets of chips and biltong for guests when she is awake from four in the morning. But mostly whatever I was going to do, I would do with heart and with much respect and kindness to the cook (myself) and the guests.

So that being the background; when my friends visited we had an amazing twenty four hours of food, laughter and friendship. My mum prepared all the main dishes and Michael and I prepared the side dishes and snacks. We had returned from Kwa-Zulu Natal that morning after attending a funeral, and had not slept much in three days.

A few years ago, I would have dreaded having people over when everything wasn’t as perfect as I wanted it to be. But I now know very well that people are always more important than things and a moment passed never returns.

I miss out on many events and pass up many invitations because of my unusual work commitments and being Savannah’s primary caregiver. Therefore when the opportunity is within my scope to entertain and be around people I love it and I grab it with both hands and all my heart.

I was energized by my friends and by the time they left, I was inspired enough to turn my attention to Talisa’s birthday celebrations. She did not want a party and eventually I made a few easy platters for our families who visited Talisa.

It is my tradition that I never buy their cupcakes for school celebrations, and always make them myself. This year was no exception and I made Chocolate Fudge Cupcakes for Talisa to take to school.

With that was done, the children off to school and Savannah still asleep; I made breakfast for myself with a large mug of white cappuccino, sat in my favourite spot and watched the movie “The Light Between Oceans”.

I loved that I regretted nothing!

I hope that you feel free to cook up a storm or …not.
More so I hope that you give yourself and the women around you the freedom to do the same.