The Day I Walked Out on Myself

My therapist said, ‘Anorexia is a form of self flagellation.’ I knew what she meant. I didn’t want to own it then. I’d been working really hard peeling back the layers of inter-generational trauma. I understood why I befriended the shadow: anorexia. And I went to Africa. My brain was fried.

I’d physically recovered by 23 and didn’t give anorexia much thought. By 30, I was pregnant with my first child and by 35, a mother of three. I returned to work four years later, weekend ICU, an intense world which kept me enthralled for 18 years. I needed a break and moved into community health. Writing called. I answered.

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Cliffs by the Sea

Opportunities abound when people watching, new things to try or reruns with barbs. What happens when the alarm bells ring and although we should be excited? Why are these experiences with us? Done bashing my head against a brick wall, I sit back, retreating into the comfort of silence.

I watch.

Thousands of stories, characters and plots that unfold. One lumpy afternoon ample fodder for a book or two. Weird stuff happens some of it almost unbelievable but conflict makes writing memorable.  This poem came from recent seaside reflections.

cliffs by the sea

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The Morning Walk

I walk. It keeps me sane. Lately, dare I say it, I’ve tried mindfulness. It’s then when the words come. Poems, ideas, edits and of course I’m not carrying a pen.

Spring Wisteria

delicate blooms

drape downwards

in the shaded garden

on naked limbs

On the path something black wriggled, clearly alive, clearly lost. My mind searches for a name. Rummaging …

Wisteria-in-Rome

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The Moreton Bay Fig

Nature inspires me. I thought of my daughter and her determination to see the Fig Trees yesterday. I love her for that, her spontaneity and love of nature’s gifts. A Queenslander to the core, I wrote about these iconic trees: a metaphor.

The Moreton Bay Fig

before we are conceived

there is potential

leaves an infinite array on a great tree

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On the Road

We recently travelled north from Melbourne to Brisbane, a journey that unearthed memories from over thirty years ago. My parents, long gone, undertook this journey to visit us. This piece is a collage of my impressions on the road.

Up the Newell

Up early after a scrappy sleep,

Our bags are packed, Christmas gifts safely stored.

New Years Day:

Eerily-empty roads stretch out in front of us.

The Newell Highway, the inland route.

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Synchronicity

The decision loomed, change and move forward or … Books in cupboards = books not in the hands of readers. Inspired by a new idea, I had dropped copies of Schicksal within regional Victoria. A trip up the Newell Highway to Brisbane, my place of birth, gave me further scope to share my book.

The journey took me down memory lane to a time when my parents had made the same journey visiting me in Melbourne. Synchronous moments began commanding my attention. I tried to ignore them, immersing myself in the beauty of the Australian landscape.

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