241. I got to hang out with the mokos 🙂
And then I got sick … just the flu I thought … Until …
241. I got to hang out with the mokos 🙂
And then I got sick … just the flu I thought … Until …
206. I woke up yesterday and it was … spooky quiet … LOL … I missed ‘miss nearly 3’ and ‘miss just turned 7’ … 🙂 They’re such beautiful midgets xxoo
201. What makes everything in the world seem worth while? Makes you smile? Makes you awesomely tired?
MOKOS times 2 ❤ ❤ 🙂 🙂
Not on purpose, but we’ve watched a couple of movies over the weekend that were about the transgender movement. One was ‘dressed as a girl’; the other was, ‘the Danish girl’. Interesting watching these with the partner, as he’s a bit of an old school homophobe, but I think that’s more to do with being ‘uncomfortable’ with the thought some guy may want his butt hole…lol…I have said to him…’dear, your hot, sure…but don’t flatter yourself’.
Now he’s had to sort of deal with some of his ideas recently…and I’ve been challenged myself. That’s because my youngest daughter and our moko share a house with a friend of hers from school…who is, by the ‘traditional’ understanding of the word, transgender…well our description of transgender anyway. Whats interesting about hanging out with her, is that she has no confusion about who she is. When the mokos asked her whether she was a girl or a boy…she replied…’I’m human’. I like that…and the mokos liked that too…they completely understood that explanation. The partner had a little more trouble…but I think the mokos will probably teach him :).
Now that whole conversation says something for the ‘new’ climate that our kids are being raised in…if we let them. My girl is a breath of fresh air when it comes to embracing all that someone is…she has absolutely no issue with who someone is, gender wise. And I think I’d be pretty much be the same. As far as I’m concerned, its none of my god damn business what or who someone wants to be; or who they sleep with for that matter. Unless they’re assholes of course; then they can go fuck themselves…no matter who they are! And on that note…when my girl has issues with her transgender flat mate…she becomes a ‘he’…and when they are on good terms, she remains a ‘she’…funny. Such flexibility lol.
But anyway, I’m no expert on the subject, as in, I have never walked half a mile in these shoes, so can not talk about a first hand experience with the subject matter. I’m also no expert on gay issues or the hermaphrodite ‘condition’. However, I do know I don’t like any of these terms…just saying. But that has more to do with my aversion to labelling things and people and having categories which we can neatly place ‘types’ into.
What I do know though, is my own mind.
I can understand not being able to be who I am; being stuck; being suppressed and held down. I understand wanting to be free to be what I am and not having the tools or the understanding to be able to accomplish that. I understand struggling with perceptions and mis-perceptions that would have me be something other than all that I am. I understand having my gender and sexuality attacked because it is perceived to either be a commodity or something ‘less’ than the rest. I do understand what it is to be physically trapped in a being that is the opposite to what I feel I am.
And for these reasons, the dudes in the Danish girl movie…have made it onto my very short list of peeps that I admire ;). Trail blazers, both of them. For the wife, who ‘lost’ her husband as he transitioned…and who ultimately lost her best friend because he wanted to become all that he/she was supposed to be. I found that enormously sad. But the husband; the artist; who chose to follow his heart, his insides and ended up losing his/her life…but was entirely at peace in the knowledge and physicality of being ‘whole’…that takes some extra ordinary courage…big balls, so to speak 😉
I really hope there comes a day, when we will all see the shades of every color, as a whole piece of art. You can’t have one without the other…that’s what makes it beautiful.
Well, that’s what I taught my babies…and I hope they teach their babies the same thing.
20. Sandwiches with Moko 2 and 3, while they wait for their movie to finish “buffelling” 😂😃😄
Feels like I haven’t been here for weeks, but its only been a few days…
It’s been busy (well busy for me), blurry, painful, glorious and enlightening. Like I said the other day, learning what I have recently about the pedo cunt hasn’t been a bad thing…slightly disturbing, but not a bad thing overall.
I finally got to say it all out loud…to the shrink. Did well to hold onto it for that long without it taking up to much space in my head…thanks to blogging and breathing 😉
My appointment in town with the shrink yesterday, is the third I’ve attended. And I’m finding it’s slowly getting easier…still uncomfortable, but I’m learning to pace it all so it’s not so detrimental I end up in bed recovering for days…just a few hours now lol.
Anyways, this time I did the front seat of the car for 20 minutes and made sure I moved myself to the back before I felt too drained. Little lesson learnt from the previous trip where I thought I was super awesome and did the entire 40 minute trip and then freaked out when we got into town. (Traffic lights are one of my ‘I hate waiting’ places). But I did this one…and actually enjoyed what I did…and that’s where I’m trying to leave these ‘experiences’…on a pleasant note!
So back to the shrink. We did a recap and 15-20 minutes of that bio feedback breathing thing…and that’s seems to be improving too. I can get out of the red a bit quicker, and stay in the blue/green a bit longer…Yuss! So during all this, I recounted the fucked up shit I’d found out. She was disturbed which made my disturbance not seem so bad. She’s feeling the sadist theory but of course is more focussed on how it all affects me and how I’ll process it. So next week it’s back to the EMDR for another round of finger waving.
So my achievements…which is what I’m trying to focus on here…are that I did the front seat of the car…and enjoyed what I did…I made it to the shrink appointment, in better condition than the other sessions…I got to see my daughters and my mokos; I got cuddles and kisses and read stories and loved every little minute of that…recovery time was about 8 hours instead of 48 hours…I didn’t freak out too much when the partner got side tracked with other stuff and interrupted my schedule…I remembered to breath…
Love and light to me
The last of the recent family gatherings was coupled with a trip to the doctors. I’ve avoided the doctors for the past few months and really, I haven’t particularly needed to go. But I got a routine check up and repeats and got him to refer me back to the ENT to check the Vertigo (BPPV) situation. The shrink is trying to eliminate ’causes’…good on her.
Anyway…big ups to me for getting there with minimal fuss…still in the back seat, but some days you just have to know which battles to tackle. Being in the front seat wasn’t high on the priority list. So I breathed and distracted myself and I did good.
The highlight of this day was going to see my older daughter and the mokos!
My big girl is stunning. She amazes me all of the time! She has such a beautiful, tender way about her…and she’s continuously learning about herself and growing as a woman and a mother. That makes me very proud to be her mama.
We hung out…we talked…we laughed…and talked some more. Lots of food and more talking. I got cuddles with the little moko…she’s nearly two. She’s just got a decent grasp on the English language and likes to mimic everything that’s being said around her. She’s just beautiful.
There’s something quite lovely about being able to chill with the family. They’re all my pride and joy. I’m loving being able to relax with them instead of crawling the walls and looking for the nearest exit.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Anxiety is a cruel thing. And ptsd is shit.
But to feel like its starting to be resolved, is pretty cool.
I love my girls…I love my mokos. And I look forward to plenty more moments of chilling with them…anxiety free 🙂
We…me and the partner…had a quick conversation yesterday, about what people say at home, not being the same as what they would say when they are in the company of ‘outsiders’. Me and my girls have had similar, more in-depth conversations over the years, about the same topic.
When I was raising them, I suggested that what they say at home should be just the same as what they say when they leave the house. And if you wouldn’t say it at home, then you have no business saying it else where.
Interestingly enough, to varying degrees, these little women do just that.
One has the mouth of a toilet, that being the youngest one…and she completely forgets where she is most of the time and lets the f bomb, c bomb, s bomb…you name it…fly with plenty of lubrication. That in itself doesn’t worry any of us…we are all pretty similar in that respect. But her use, and my use of it around the mokos…well that’s sparked some debate.
The eldest moko, now 7, is a rather intelligent little man. My girl and me both threw the f bomb in various directions yesterday…little man says ‘that kind of language isn’t appropriate around us little people’. Hmmm.
Now I’m not saying he’s wrong. And his mama and daddy have spent the last few months cleaning up their own language repertoire so they can ‘do’ what they say, not just throw orders around. This came after the two big mokos called their parents fucking cunts…yes that’s right…all 6 and 7 years of them. They were duly reprimanded of course…but it got the parents of, to thinking…if we require them to speak right…shouldn’t we? Good point parents!
However, when it comes to Nan and Aunty…and Koro too…do the same rules apply?
The second moko has pointed out that my art is filled with the word ‘fuck’. So is it alright to write the word but not say it, she asks? My reply to another intelligent little offspring of mine…’no, it’s the same word. It’s the intent that’s behind the use of the word that is to be questioned…in my opinion’.
After discussing what ‘intent’ and ‘questioned’ meant with this miniature 6-year-old, I went on to discuss with her that if I called her a fucken cunt like she called mama and daddy…how would she feel? Insightfully, she said she’d feel bad because she was angry with mama and daddy when she called them that. And how do you feel when you read my art…is what I asked madam next. And again, insightfully, she replied, she wondered who I was angry at. So I told her…in 6 year old, need to know, language of course. Strangely enough, she understood.
But to get back to the original point…I generally say ‘outside’ what I do ‘inside’. How I speak in blog land, is how I speak with my partner, is how I speak with my children, is how I speak with my friends, is how I speak with the lady at the shop. I don’t do airs and graces well…well actually, they don’t suit me…and they’re too hard!
But what you will get from me is my version of, truth. My truth. I might not be right (but I usually am ;))…but that’s ok.
I’m not rude for the sake of being rude; or hurtful for the sake of being hurtful. But in this area…I am congruent…and I like that about me 🙂
I had taken a Personal Assistant slash Business Analyst/Deconstructionist position within a Maori Organisation, at the end of the previous year. My friend was the newly appointed CEO, and the idea, for me, was to see what my organisational skills and deconstructionist ideas could bring to the job. I took it on, partially because I could blend it to my needs…work from home…and because my friend knew what was going on for me, my hours and days could be as flexible as I needed them to be.
Within the first week, I had saved the org $45k, just through a bit of reorganising of the structure and doing away with what I deemed, needless and pointless conventional ‘have toos’. By the second week, we had saved around $75k total. I was enjoying the challenge, and found out I was damn good at what I was doing. I had/have a head for restructuring 🙂 I loved doing this type of thing…until I had to mix with people…then, not so much.
Because I was still as shaky and nervous as fuck, and had a full on panic attack every time I left the house, my mobility and interaction with the world outside was pretty limited. If I travelled in the car, IF – I was bunkered up in the back seat with dark sunglasses, my head between my knees, head and ears covered, trying to breathe steadily. I couldn’t handle the movement and the noise and at this time I couldn’t even handle light music in the background. Just hands over the ears was the only way to get any type of peace.
We were trying to look for houses by the beach and it was proving more difficult than I thought. They were either shit…as in you wouldn’t put your dog in any of them…or they were descent and cost an arm and a leg!. We spread our search a little wider, so we were about 40 minutes away from the city; still within travelling distance to doctors, specialists and more importantly, the mokos. We looked for our haven for over a year.
The previous year, I had made contact with an older Maori woman who knew all the old traditional methods of healing…pre-European contact styles. That was/is a rare thing. When the Treaty of Waitangi was signed in 1840 and the colonialist eventually took over, one of their first acts of parliament was to out law or make illegal the practice of traditional healing methods. So a lot, actually most of what we knew instinctually was wiped out brutally and then slowly disassembled completely over the following 150 plus years. So to find this woman, practising what was our traditional healing methods, was not only fascinating but something that I was extremely drawn too.
I’ve been to two of her open classes, or wananga…she practices and teaches Romiromi. It’s like a deep, deep tissue massage…but more…its spiritual as well as physical. Very hard to explain. Maori are instinctually holistic. We didn’t use to treat in segments of ourselves. As in…physical, a doctor…emotional, a shrink…spiritual, a religious thing. We did the whole person as a whole being. And that is what Romiromi is about. Treating the whole person.
I hadn’t been at all open to being touched, but because I was sick and tired of being cooped up and unable to do what I wanted to, I was pretty ready to try anything. I was nearly off all medication…and the repercussions of that, was ‘feeling’. Not something I was used to…without some kind of something in or around me…substances, distractions, work, kids etc.
The upshot was, it moved something deep within me…and I knew that all the stuff I was dealing with, had somehow stuck, not only in my memory, but in my body…they call it cellular memory I think…well the pakehas do. She, this lady…and old Maori…they had a different, ancient kind of name for it.
I initially came away feeling shattered but good. I was still waiting for the wheels of the ministry of health to start turning in my favour and a shrink to be assigned. And I knew I needed to move to the beach. Now, if not, yesterday.
The thing with salt water…salt air…the sound of the waves…for Maori, its cleansing…and healing. And I knew with every little fibre of my fucked up body and mind, that that’s where I needed to be. I needed that and about 3 years of sleep 😉
As my situation started to feel more desperate I had started taking my sleeping meds during the day as well. At the peak of this indulgence I was taking up to 2 during the day and another 3-4 at night to go to sleep. And I’d still only sleep for 4 hours at a time, take another half and then get maybe another hour sometimes two. Manic way to live…absolute hell. Although it was advised that I not take those pills during the day, I wasn’t really to sure what else to do. I was sick of trying the concoctions they had been giving me, and I knew how to control my little blue pills. Highly addictive little fuckers though.
We finally found our little house and we moved to our beautiful beach. I remember packing up the house in like, 2 minutes…booking the truck and maxing out my credit card to pay for the deposit on it. I was desperate to leave the city…and desperate to get to the beach. I remember clearly, our first night here. I felt like 20kgs fell off my shoulders immediately. I cleaned and organised and slept and ate and smiled and sat in the sunshine and listened to the waves…for days…weeks. We have been here nearly 17 months now. And even though I still get angry and stressed sometimes…I am nothing like I was two years ago…or even a year ago. I still have trouble leaving the house…or if things get particularly hectic…but I love being here…I love chopping wood…blogging…taking photographs…waving at the neighbours…having the mokos come out. The whole environment is massively, massively healing.
We’ve had our issues with our landlord…they’re assholes really…and I won’t miss them one little bit. But this whole year, even with its ups and downs, was what I knew I needed.
Our fourth moko was born at the latter part of this year. And she was just as beautiful as the other 3. She’s been extremely healing for me…for us both actually. As she’s grown I’ve been able to see what a healthy, loved, protected and nurtured little bundle of joy actually looks like.
I finally got to see a psychiatrist after we had moved out to the beach. She came to me. She diagnosed PTSD, and confirmed what I had suspected. She advised urgent regular sessions with a Psychologist to do ‘active’ therapy. I waited another 6 months to see the one I see now.
I enrolled in ‘creative’ study. I figured if I could do something that was an outlet and not stressful, then I might kill two birds with one stone. I decided to do Whakairo (Maori carving) first. It was a year-long course and gave me something to focus my mind and hands on. Whakairo was traditionally a male art but is slowly becoming an art for both genders as there are less and less old schoolers to teach the new, and there are fewer people actually interested in learning the art form itself.
It did give me perspective and kept me busy. Most of the time I had to lean against a stationary object to stay upright, but I mananged…sort of. I was trying to lessen the meds as they were just making me feel hazy and nauseous, and not actually fixing the vertigo. The undiagnosed anxiety was worsening though, and I was noticeably more nervous. The things that I had been normally able to do, like walking, or going to the supermarket, or talking and socializing, were becoming increasingly harder.
The other thing I did over this year, was a Baristary course. I’ve always loved coffee…the smell…the taste. Not shit coffee…but fresh roasted beans, freshly ground and freshly brewed coffee. Yummm.
Part way through the year my eldest daughter came back to live with me and my youngest due to domestic issues. She was hitting the bottle hard again…and after a stint in rehab and not quite finishing it, she tried to top herself with a mixture of alcohol and the medication that some uniformed doctor had given her. She didn’t succeed…but the enabling stopped. She left again. And took the mokos with her. I called the police numerous times and by the grace of her tipuna, neither her nor the mokos suffered irreparable damage.
Me and the partner…well, ex partner at that stage…were talking about reconciling. In the mean time though, he’d got himself into a shitload of shit and ended up on Home Detention for 9 months. In hindsight, it was a good thing for us both. I couldn’t make any rash decisions and when he made me nervous or pissed me off, I could leave…and he couldn’t follow! 🙂
Medication wise, it had been changed again and I was managing on a low-level anti-depressant. That was until they decided to increase the dosage! The shakes started again…the dizziness worsened…the benzos increased and an anti anxiety concoction was added for good measure…even though, they reassured me, I wasn’t anxious at all!
My youngest was finishing college around this time. She had done so well, and really had managed herself…and me sometimes…for the past couple of years. Her and I had fallen out slightly when there were domestic violence issues buzzing in the house…she said I hadn’t stood up for her…I said I had. But later, when we re-hashed it, she was meaning that I wasn’t the same as I had been years before hand…that somewhere along the ways, something in me had faded, and when it came to standing up for myself and for her…I was lacking now.
That hurt. But she was right.
On the up side…I passed both my courses…yah me.