The Perfect Birthday present

My Birthday arrives on wednesday and it brings with it mixed thoughts. For many reasons I have, in the past, found it difficult to celebrate my birthday - however on the birth of my first son, I reclaimed my right to rejoice on the 2nd September.

Birthdays make me think of so many things, my birth, my mother, my father, my childrens births, what I've achieved, what I yet yearn to achieve - Tis no wonder I have awoken this morning with a headache !

Last year, I asked my mother to write my birth story. (it was a huge risk to take as it has only been in the last 3 years that my somewhat complicated relationship with my mother, has begun to take on a different light.) It was an agonizing wait - would she write anything, would what she wrote be good enough, would it say what I wanted it to - And I thought labour was excuricating, you try waiting for your birth story to arrive. Anyhow, finally my card arrived in the post - on the right day.

The envelope bulged with the papers that were contained within, and my eyes ran with tears as i read the words my mother had chosen to write. Memories of me nestled in her tummy kicking the cat away !, memories of a speedy rushed labour and dragging my father away from football - and then, there at the bottom of the story, were the words I had longed to hear - "Im so proud of you my baby daughter".

I have yearned for those words for so many years but never thought to ask for them, there is a certain pride in not asking ! And theres a voice within that says I shouldn't.

My mothers gift to me is precious for so many reasons, for all the difficulties in our journey together, that letter healed me, for any awful and soul destroying memories around my birthday that meant I could celebrate "that day", my mothers letter healed me, for the sake of my children, my mothers letter healed me - What an important letter !

And so I ask you, when will you ask for your birth story ?

Friendship

The more that I grow as a woman, the more I learn to appreciate and hold dearly my true friendships with women.

At school, I prefered the company of boys - I didnt understand the games that girls played amongst each other and I was often the brunt of girly mocking and teasing. With a flat chest, terrible acne and braces, I wasn't "cool enough" to be in with the girls - nor fanciable to the boys, yes I had a certain feistyness about me that meant I could "get down" with the male members of the school.

In adult life I was still wary of female folk until I joined my womens group - a wonderful cluster of full breasted energy, and slowly I have learned to not only tolerate but also embrace the truly amazing feeling that comes from being amongst women.

Yesterday I found myself in a friends kitchen baking a well deserved chocolate cake with her daughter, Im so grateful to my womens group and the healing they have given me, as without them I would never have been able to allow myself that female frienship let alone be in her kitchen baking with her daughter !

My Sister has a much different experience of women, she healthily engaged with girls at school and as many tussles as she had with them, they still all fought for their friendship, 13 years younger than me, I have been able to watch on with facination, envy and now pride as they still, 4 years on meet and huddle together over half cooked pizzas and cheap wine ! How I yearn and wish that I had had that experience as a young woman, how many times in my life would I have benefitted from having those arms to cradle me ! And how lucky I am that it hasnt completely passed me by. 

And yet, I am left yearning for the feminie in my own household. I am so grateful to the golden kingdom that after 7 years of grueling fertility treatment, I have 2 beautiful boys to raise who fill my soul and heart with every second they are here. Yet I have no daughters to cradle, to watch grow, to bear my grandchildren, to bring clusters of girly friends to sit around my table. There is a loss there, I know.

I don't ignore my yearning, I dont bury it under the carpet, hide it, squash it - instead I allow it to be - sometimes I cry for the daughter I wont have, for the feminie that will not emerge from me. I do this because I know that in being truthful about all this means I can really truly breathe in and respect the times I am with young women and female children, and that when Im in my friends kitchen baking a cake with her daughter, I can treasure that moment and hold it close to my heart.

Home Baked Love.

What is it about the divine smell and look of a homemade, nut encrusted crumble that can sway me from any diet and assist me in gaining those hard lost pounds !
I pour my nuturing and loving energy into my children but also into my food just like my Nanny did, and though I agree that my cuddly exterior is a nice comfort to any tear filled child - it doesnt fit into the sort of clothes I yearn to wear Grrrrrrr
All of my childhood's nurturing came from my dear Nanny, a round, full boobed, curlers in hair, singing person who would spend vitually all day in her kitchen. Meat wrapped in home loved, butter filled pastry would emerge each lunch time followed by slowly stewed strawberry Jam which would fill tart cases into which I would stick my finger and pull out all the sricky contents and then bring them back to my patient Nanny who would fill the empty case time and time again.
Through any pain or lack of love given by my own parents, my nanny would refill me, with her podgy scrumtious arms and her delicious fridge full of nice treats.  When we werent at her house eating, we would travel to her local market where she would buy me chocolate mouses which we would sit and eat in the park with our fingers.

My Nanny's death during my very turbulent teens left me empty and lost. Wandering up to her flat to try to breathe in some of her scent, I opened the door to find a horrific scene. My mother and her family scouring the flat for each item of importance that they could store. I instead found myself in her kitchen and straight to the fridge.. Inside lay various little plates on which tiny morsels of Roast Beef, dripping, last nights chicken, sat awaiting the next blitz - a fear all of my Nans generation shared.  Opening the freezer door and the top drawer, I breathed in grief, relief, sadness, joy and anticipation as I saw a little bag full of home made pasties with my name on them.
Later on, whilst my relatives sat and perveyed their treasures, I sat and slowly nibbled away my pasty, sobbing and remembering the warm hugs, and soft breasts that would never hold me again. As painful as that was then, I know now that whenever I am low, I make myself something delicious - home made, love encrusted and devour it with a tea spoon filling myself with joy.

Sometimes destruction breeds beauty ! A lesson from my son

So, I had a little lesson in life from my son today. I was sitting quietly as he drew matilculous little milticoloured circles again and again all over a piece of paper.
Kayden actually drawing anywhere near me is a new thing as he has spent the better part of a year refusing to do anything arty with me - hmmm something to do with my own yearning that he would Im sure !
Anyhow, these litle circles began to cover the page and complete a beautiful pattern - then all of a sudden he picked up the dark green crayon and scribbled furiously all over the page.
"Oh, what happened", said I, saddened at the sudden loss of his picture.
"No, Mummy, its a picture of lots of people hiding behind a tree "
I can't tell you how much I chuckled inside !
Yet later on in bed as I recalled the story to my husband, I wondered how much in life we percieve things to be destruction - and sometimes they are, yet often, it is the creation of something new that we miss. I will make sure I keep my inner eyes open from now on !

New Beginnings

So Finally I have some time and some space and the enthusiasm to create a blog !

Im clamping my claim on this whole space for women, for mothers, for daughters, for sisters, for strangers and for friends - to take time to write and scribble about life as a woman.

My lifes journey has recently taken me to places where I have discovered and reclaimed many senses, feelings and urges as a woman. Im 33, have 2 wonderful children conceived through gruelling and very defeminsing fertility treatment. I have a wonderful husband who (when Im being nice to him) is the perfect masculine to my feminie.
I work as a psychotherapist and as part of my job get to meet lifes hero's and heroines - what a privaledge.

I have huge interests in sharing womens stories, and so I ask you to tap into this blog and share something of your journey with me, and with any others who land upon my witterings.

I paint, felt, knit, sew, and generally allow my physical being to play at every given opportunity. Ive just discovered gardening and apart from having worms shown to me every 5 seconds by my eldest - am beginning to love it. And I guess that brings me back to the beginning - my new beginnings, Im reaching out to explore the feminine world and in that way heal many aspects of myself. In away Im tending to my own inner garden, Ive weeded, plowed and seeded and now I yearn to sit back and watch something amazing grow.

I look forward to sharing my journey with you and you sharing with me
Love and Light
Jolene