The Confrontation.

I should be breathing a sigh of relief; for years I’ve lived under this torment. This is very weird because torment is all I’ve received. The fact that it hurt me is proof that it was wrong but here I am feeling torn and how much feeling guilty for cutting this cord of control they’ve had over me. I guess this is why they are upset. I never gave them the heads up about what was about to come; that I was working on being loose for good.

I am writing this piece solely for those who are interested in knowing what goes on into the mind of the abused, how they become brainwashed into being servants to their abusers, twisted isn’t it?

Well it is, especially for someone who’s been abused their whole life by someone who was meant to protect them usually in the form of a parent. This makes it hard for society to fully support the abused because in retrospect, this shouldn’t be the case.

In my case I was strategic about how I was going to set myself loose. I have on numerous occasions addressed how I felt but each time I was met with excuses and even blame. So I had to accept that they aren’t willing for take responsibility for their actions. Taking responsibility isn’t just about accepting that one was at fault but it helps one to acknowledge that there is an issue, in this case a bad habit that needs to be worked on. You can’t ever fix what you don’t acknowledge. Unfortunately for them, not accepting their wrongs and the fact that they continued to abuse me, I was left with no choice but to choose me over them. It was either I sit and allow the abuse to continue digging me deep into the hole of emotional despair and risk psychiatric control or start working on my way out of this brainwash hole.

I have to mention brainwash because that’s what it is. There’s no way you can successfully abuse someone without brainwashing them, and that’s why it takes absolute bravery to stand up against oppression. It’s a war on not just winning your mind back, but going against the stereotypes and finally paving a new way of living without oppression of which it’s a process on its own because you’re going to question everything, you’ll be amazingly poor at making decisions because you’ve never had to before. You’ll downplay your worth, because anything with great value attached to your name is foreign to you, you’ll almost feel guilty of it.

Although this will feel as though your skin is being ripped off, just remember that this could be your entire life if you don’t challenge it.

Alignment...

In my talks with young women, I often speak about how important it is to unlearn toxic behaviours when creating a new you.

In my early twenties, I became tired of being a victim of my past and how it was still dictating my life. Yes, I gave no consent for the abuse and torment in my childhood, but now I was a young adult. I had already spent my entire childhood in torment and of which during that time, I had hopes that things will be different once I became an adult; but only to find that it’s not an automatic transition – you work at it.

It was like emotional detox. I was very much filled with emotional toxins that at one point were my very coping traits, but I didn’t need them anymore. Anger, bitterness, self-loathing etc. were my coping skills for a very long time, if not my entire childhood; but they were getting heavier and heavier to bear and when I reached adulthood I felt their reasonable course has run out. Reasonable because I was a child when all this happened, so my excuse for not doing anything about it was valid.

So the decision was made to become a healed Fortunate. And things started to align. But there’s this misconception about alignment that made my healing journey challenging. I thought alignment meant things would voluntarily fall into place – I was oblivious to the fact that I should be willing to move; moving meant leaving these comforts that were my coping traits for all my life for new healthier traits that would support my decision to be healed.

Leaving these comforts meant unlearning them and replacing them with the new values. We tend to take for granted that we have limited mental capacity. So it’s important to constantly self-introspect and get rid of anything that’s holding you back from achieving your goals.

I’ll make a simple example. While I was going the trauma, things like gossip, laziness, blame etc. were the norm. I even hung around people who lived like this too; who just complained about everything and anything. Years went on and were still stagnant, using our troubled pasts as an excuse. So I had to stop hanging around these people because I didn’t want them to contaminate my new vision; sis that was me willing to move in order to allow alignment to happen.

Soon after I realised that I am now thinking less and less about the nonsense I used to spend time talking about with my old ‘friends’. I now had free space in my mind to use for the new Fortunate I was creating. Space for ambition. I was no longer limited to the pain, but my vision grew to new and greater possibilities. I was now meeting new friends who had ambitions similar to mine and I became exposed to new better worlds – alignment.

Thinking straight also became a trait. Before, I was almost always biased and had an excuse for keeping my pain – but now thinking straight made me call myself out whenever I slacked off my goals.

Phew, that’s a lot for one post, I hope this helps.

It Stops Here.

I don’t know if it’s being naïve or what, but it’s amazing how some adults are oblivious to the fact that a future exists. The decision and actions taken today, whether of good or evil, have a direct impact on this future, especially their future.

They often tend to cry foul when these decisions and actions catches up with them in the future.

Take abusers for instance. When they abuse you, they have it twisted somehow because in their minds they think you letting them abuse you means you’re giving consent, when in fact it’s just a matter of survival.

See, survival isn’t just about stopping the act but it’s doing anything and everything to ensure you live to tell the tale. A great example of this would be when one is being raped. There’s often a question of why didn’t they scream to alert others that they were being attacked etc. but screaming could have in actual fact led to them being killed by their rapist.

So exactly with any other kind of abuse. It’s not just limited to physical abuse but even emotional abuse too – we do whatever we need to in order to survive that particular unfortunate ordeal.

In my situation it meant not talking about the abuse, because talking about it drew more abuse. They were un-confrontable and that led to anxiety attacks, suicidal thoughts and attempts. This led to a war within me. A war between standing up for myself and being passive. So it’s been allowing the stronger one of these two to dictate and for years it’s been passive that has been the chosen dictator in the struggle to survive.

Which brings me to this point, today this has changed. Passive has run its course – successfully so too. Standing up for myself is the new dictator. She come with strength, that allows her to fulfill this role as well as passive did theirs.

So my abusers are having a hard time because for once I am resisting their torment. Their tantrums, manipulation aren’t as effective anymore and this causes them great frustration.

My intentions and conscience are pure and that allows me great sleep at night.

Gone Forever.

Amongst other things I am learning  to deal with in widowhood, is the sudden urges to cry. My soul is longing for comfort – the comfort that left when Mbu did. What I hate about this, is having to explain it to someone who doesn’t get it; that makes the anxiety even worse. So I sit and just try to hold it in until I get to be alone.

My grandmother insisted and stressed that I start therapy almost immediately when Mbu passed on. She had just lost the love of her life, my grandfather, two years earlier and I guess she knew the emotions that would come too well.

I used to wonder why when one spouse passes on, the other passes on too shortly after. They say the pain of grief is too intense for some to endure and having been there (and still here), I know the intensity too well.

A widowed friend says when her husband passed on, it was as if her heart was ripped out of her, stabbed multiple times and shoved right back into her.

I hate being in need, especially for something I don't want to substitute for. I want a hug. I want to be embraced. I want to cry. I want to belong. I want to be vulnerable.

Maybe this is what sets us apart. The strong ones. Despite how I feel, I won’t throw myself at any man. I’ll get home, cry, sing, take sleeping meds and tomorrow the pain would have subsided.

This is the time I also hate opinions. Just don’t say anything if you’ve never been through what I am going through. It makes me feel patronised.

Another thing I do besides wanting to be alone, is I mediate on my strengths. It’s weird I know. I suppose one of the biggest lessons and rewards that comes with these particular emotions, is the self-discipline that’s shining through and showing off like a good merits badge. Believe me, I want to cuss out. I want to throw myself at any man but then not any man is worthy of me, not even by mistake; so I don't.

It’s not that I am scared of being alone, as people say to singles – but it’s the fact that I am alone and unlike divorce, there’s not a single chance that I can hope for a reconciliation. Ours is gone forever.

The Process.

I was born resilient – but it took constant nurturing of this quality for it to yield positive results. There’s a misconception that those who make it against all odds are ‘lucky’ people. There’s no such thing. It’s deliberate effort that brings one through.

Honest self-introspection is one of the rules I follow to making it. I plan intensively; and most of the time these plans are just hopeful attempts, nothing guaranteed.

After losing my beloved husband, I was on the brink of a mental breakdown. And because of my past challenges I knew that I had to be careful about how I was going to do things.

I started prioritising goals according to what was urgent. My mental health was at the top of the list. Without full mental capacity I couldn’t be a mother to my children who had already lost two fathers in a space of 3 years. I also needed to be mentally fit in order to get and keep a job.

It’s needless to say I had to do things that weren’t considered ‘normal’ by society, but my survival depended on these things, they were part of the survival plan.

I started spending time alone. I needed utter silence. I often sat in my car in the garage to be away from everyone. A few days after burying Mbu, I booked myself into a hotel for about a week. I wanted absolute stillness. I wanted to hear nothing. I did this to try and calm the turmoil that had been brewing inside me ever since I learned of Mbu’s diagnosis, prognosis, the countless tests/scans and finally his death.

I followed by removing myself from any and every situation that threatened my peace. This included walking out of certain gathering and events – church included.

I was fragile and those around me often couldn’t get it, but I knew that I had to protect the little bit of sanity I had left.

I then went on to reaching out to friends, I’d call a friend in Soweto or Pretoria and ask if I could spend a few days at their house. I needed to be around people who encouraged me to be vulnerable without seeking explanations.

I deliberately avoided certain people who were threats to this process.

Being here today is a great achievement. Not only am I slowly regaining life and purpose but I am beginning to enjoy the things that I had lost interest in.

Had I chose to be ‘normal’ – I’d be dead; If not physical death, then it would have been the death of my dreams, purpose, relationships and self.

Souls Break.

Something's broken. There's pain in my heart that's unexplainable. It's not loud, but echoing from what was a loud bang.
It's as if my soul is throwing tantrums, because I can't quite figure out what it's saying but it's definitely moody, grumpy & just grumbling.

I'm tired of it. I wish it would all end now. If I'm not in total tears, then I'm left with an isibibithwane. I'm not sure what it's called in English; but it usually happens after one has been sobbing for an extended period, that they are left with a hiccup like sensation.

Loss through death is how they bend souls to never fully function again maybe; I'm wondering how did I feel before his departure. It seems there's nothing I think about more than it.

I held on to my lover as his soul left his body. It was as though angels were singing. There was so much peace in that moment.

I prayed that God wouldn't let go of him.

I prayed that He would hold on tight to me so the pain of loss wouldn't scatter me all around; all this as his heart beat it's last.

I kissed my lovers hand.

Then the dreadful question followed. "What do you want us to do with his body, have you arranged for a family mortuary to collect it...?" And suddenly my beloved husband was now a 'body'.

This question lingered in my mind. I wanted to do what he would be happy with. But we never discussed this particular point in our marriage.

We jokingly spoke of what should happen should the other pass on, but nothing in detail as though finalising details of an urgent event.
I did all I could do for my lover. Between God, him and myself; we know what went down and how much I fought the storm before and after!

There those who are very opinionated. I'm grateful I'm no longer the crushing Fortunate, I would have crushed them in one go, but now I've found this insanely peaceful humility. I pity them more than anything. They don't know how this feels like, if they did, I'd say let's compare notes; but again I'm not about that. I'm just pouring out my heart the best way I know how - writing.

Just Like A Puzzle!

Mbu taking off my weave, he wasn't thrilled.

It’s 3 A.M. and I am writing this piece because I am battling to go back to sleep. I had a dream about my awesome late husband. I am not going to dwell on the dream – I’ll leave that for another post.

What I want to share is this thought. I am a thinker and a dweller. That’s why I try to think positively because I hate anxiety attacks.

A puzzle box comes with a picture of what the puzzle pieces put together should look like.

Let’s take the picture on the puzzle box as my widowhood journey in its complete status/phase; so I know the point I’m supposed to get to.

It’s the putting the right piece at the right time that’s the challenge. Sometimes I put in a piece that seems like the next shape that’s meant to go in but after putting it in, it fits because of the shape but it isn’t consistent to the picture I’m building. So I have to take it out.

A very exhausted husband napping

This is frustrating because I feel as though I’m inadequate; but I have to console myself by reminding myself there’s still other pieces to try and if I keep trying, I’ll find the perfect fitting piece. And so I continue trying.

Each piece that falls into place is like reaching a milestone. I pause to allow myself to take in this success and to celebrate it. I celebrate it because it means a certain phase is done and I am able to move forward to figuring out the next one.

Mbu & I on the road in Pretoria.

Each delay in finding another piece that looks like what needs to go in next is heart breaking, but I have to keep at it.

This is a perfect analogy to my widowhood journey.

The ultimate goal is to heal, to be at peace with the fact that my husband is gone forever and to love again.

So I get frustrated when I am not making progress or met with delays. It becomes even more unfortunate when the spectators comment or nag me to finish this puzzle…it’s my puzzle – assigned to me!

I am hurting so much right now because of this dream, but I’ve moved on to the next piece which I’m still trying to figure out and try to find through the pile of other puzzle pieces.

I’ve never seen a manual on how to effectively and timeously put together a puzzle, or maybe I’m ignorant, I don’t know.

Mbu being discharged after his biopsy and numerous scans

So this applies to this widowhood journey I’m on too. I figure things out as I go. If it works I keep it, if it doesn’t; I take it out and try again with another piece.

I’m forced to be patient with myself, because I only hurt myself if I’m not. There’s no room for perfection on this journey. It’s a deliberate try and fail quest that requires a lot of surrender – it’s a try and fail until you get it process.

It takes a lot out of me than it does those who are supportive.

It forces me to love me unconditionally. To forgive myself for every wrong move and to celebrate every right one, because it brings me closer to the bigger picture.

No Pressure!

I don’t know where this is leading to and I don’t like it. I like having control, or at least an idea of what’s to happen. It helps with anxiety.

I guess this is the chapter of vulnerability. Letting go of control and trusting.

Mr Good morning is amazing. Not only because he’s charming, but he’s becoming more and more an ideal life partner; or maybe he’s always been but it’s only in the process of getting to know him that this I realised.

He is one of the people I send my blog posts to. He’s very encouraging. I like how I can share this part of me with him because it’s a huge part of who I am.

What I find amazing is that we’re not on the “…you’re so hot, oh my goodness” stage. 

We’re on an in depth vulnerability stage. Especially for me. So him still waking me up first thing in the morning after I off loaded something heavy on him the day before means a lot. Really it does. It’s like he’s choosing to choose me all over again, like “I got you” typa thing. Now tell me that’s not more appealing than being told you’re sexy.

At first I wanted him to say he loves me and just take off where Mbu left off. This was understandable for where I was; but unfair on him. He could have ran for the hills; but he kept it cool. He changed the tone from being heavy to let’s get to know each other first. This I so appreciate today because it kinda means he really likes me. First of, me and him have never been intimate sexually. If that isn’t victory sis, I don’t know what is. People are about “what’s in it for me?” they aren’t willing to dig a little deeper, go an extra mile to get to know a person.

Again, he’s not my boyfriend. Like I said, I don’t know where this is leading to, but I am learning so much about myself too in this process. So even if we don’t end up together, whichever way it goes; I’ll be a wiser woman.

No pressure please.

Trauma Happened!

Fixing the outside is usually easier than the inside. I was having a conversation with a certain young lady and landed on talking scars. As a big sis, I find it very important to take these conversations quite seriously because I have the opportunity to cultivate these young minds. That’s why I always hashtag my posts with #IBeg2Differ because growing up I so badly wanted someone to share these discussions with me. Someone I respected, someone whose life had proven their thinking, so to say.

I grew up around people who were accepting to what life threw at them. This bothered me. I wanted someone to say “hey, there’s better out there.” I wasn’t looking for someone perfect; I was looking for someone who’s fought against the odds.

Now all grown up, I am that someone to someone else.

The beauty of social media is that we get to reach people from literally all over the world. What a time to be alive!

Any who, back to my very important point.

There’s a certain comfort that comes with keeping pain, it’s not healthy, but its comfort. Kinda like junk food, it has some comfort but it’s good for you. So I had to make this very necessary analogy to this wonderful young woman, because we don’t think too deep about it.

Especially emotional and psychological pain. There’s this weird, unnecessary thing we do – we want to always seem strong. Like we have it together. Who has ever had it together all their lives? Why do we put ourselves under so much unnecessary load and expectations?

So I continue saying to her, working on healing isn’t easy. Working on a physical wound, especially one visible to others is almost always treated with urgency. Maybe it’s because we don’t want to look at it or maybe because we want to forget about it as quickly as possible, I’m not really sure. But here’s the interesting thing. This particular wound gets the necessary treatment it needs, because it won’t go way, heal or be forgotten if it isn’t attended too.

But the mental or psychological wounds often go untreated. One will say time heals, but not necessarily. It helps you forget, but not heal you. If this was the case then surely all wounds, including physical wounds would be left untreated and allow time heal them then?

So how does one work on these emotional and psychological wounds? You have to seek professional help from trained professionals. Just like treating every other wound, the process is often painful; but still very necessary.

People often say it hurts too much to forgive. Well, forgiving is often part of the process, especially when dealing with trauma caused by abuse.

Another analogy I’ll use is one I witnessed myself. I was at a hospital some years ago. I wasn’t there as a patient, but a family member was. There was a small room the nurses used as a bay for taking off metal stitches from their patients who had suffered some kind of leg fracture. This was a public hospital, and of course resources were limited, so for these patients unfortunately didn’t receive any anaesthetic to help manage the pain when these metal stitches were being taken off. These patients were screaming from the pain; yet they stayed and endured it, because they knew they needed this process to happen for them to heal properly and completely. Also because they were advised that should they not endure this process, they may lose the wounded limb.

Coming back to mental and emotional healing. It’s exactly like that. You have to endure the pain of the process. And what limb may you lose here if you don’t endure? Not a limb per se but your peace if not your mental capacity to live a completely full life.

Take those we see in mental institutions. We often wonder what happened that has led to them finding themselves there – trauma happened. And if unattended and treated professionally, it may lead one to these institutions.

I hope this helps someone…

Burdens Off!

Since it would have been my late husband’s birthday month – I thought I’d share my most sentimental thoughts about him, our love and our end.

Society tends to highlight the unusual and label it. They seldom choose a good label. So this piece too might be shared by those who carry the bad, angry bitter labels not in hopes of encouraging others, but to mock and ridicule whatever falls out of their ‘norm’ bounds.

It doesn’t matter though. This piece is for those that need the comfort. In an audio clip I shared a few months ago I mentioned that, it is because there was no point of reference for me when I lost my husband, I then decided to document and share my experiences.

I share the highs and the lows; as bare as they are. I don’t fictionalise anything, because how then can it help the next young widow?

There’s an unfortunate burden to this though. The carving the way burden. I say carving because, I am hoping that once done, I can look back and see a beautiful artistic outcome; where there was once uncertainty. I’m often indecisive on how to approach this journey. So I have opted for peace as a signal. If it brings me peace, then I do it or choose it. My conscience rests easily. I hate conflict, even within myself.

Another great emotional tool is intention. If my intentions are pure, no matter my actions; again my conscience rests easy.

After all I’m human. I have no manual on how to do this and I never guaranteed anyone perfection-living.

So even those taking pages from my life’s journey, please note that I am only human; take what works for you.

A Widow's Best Friend!

“I know it’s my life, but sometimes I feel as though it can’t possibly be my life. My husband was just here; he was sharing this very same bed with me” this is a constant conversation in my head almost every evening before bed.

This is why I need anxiety medication. For most challenges. I’ve managed to cope without any medical intervention, but this one was built different.It’s as if my enemy was carefully studying me. The blows he kept throwing at me years before were not just to kill me, but they were also to test my tolerance level.

We tend to forget that those who declare war on us are already prepared when they strike. While for us it’s usually the first strike that makes us aware there’s a war waged on us.

Also, those who choose to be our enemies are very patient, calculating and absolutely cunning; because how else would they overcome us?

This was proven to my great friend Nthabiseng. After a few years of marriage, her and her husband expected their first child. I was one of the first people to know about the news because my now husband and I were trying to conceive too.

But just after their precious baby boy was born, her husband was retrenched from work.

My Mbu and I were good friends with Nthabi and her husband. We often toasted the New Year together as couples and shared braai dates as often as possible – so when Calvin lost his job we were all sad. We were hopeful that it wouldn’t be long before another job became available for him. But this this wasn’t about to happen in our time frame.

The first year was tough, but they managed to stay afloat. Their savings came in quite handy. This was now 2015. When 2016 started, my husband and I relocated to Kuruman, a province hours away. I now became a house wife and had a small hair business to keep busy. All our friends and family were now far and we travelled often to visit them.

It was also in 2016 that things went from bad to worse for my friend and her husband. She’d often call for money and to off load. At first I didn’t mention the money to my husband. I would take the kids school fees money and give to her and once money came in from the hair business, I’d then pay the kids school fees. It wasn’t because my husband would have had issues about it, but because it wasn’t a lot of money. It was a few hundred rands that we could spare, but for our friends it meant food for their child. And also because there’s that confidentiality thing; I knew my friend and her husband were going through a tough time and probably her husband wanted to keep his pride. I mean Calvin could have reached out to Mbu – but he didn’t, so it was kept between the wives.

As the year progressed, one evening I received a text from Nthabi. She said they had been involved in a bad car accident. They were all in the car with the baby, by God’s grace they were not hurt, just minor scratches but the car was written off. Yet another huge blow for them.

A few weeks later my friend called me, it was another offloading call; but this time I battled to carry the load she was offloading. My husband walked in a few minutes later, I had tears in my eyes. He asked what had happened. I than sat him down and told him that for the past months I have been giving my friend money to help out and that she paid it back but only to borrow again. I told my husband that I can’t take it anymore and asked him if we could commit to helping them. He was shocked that I never mentioned it for all these months, but as a man he appreciated that we protected Calvin’s pride. Calvin and Mbu became friends through us; the wives. And we didn’t know if their own friendship would be able to handle this.

Nthabi and I have shared money for years. Before meeting Mbu, I went through a divorce and that introduced me to debt. So for me and Nthabi this was another challenge, but for Calvin and Mbu, it was the first test of their friendship.

Mbu then took me to the bank, withdraw from our savings and asked me to send the money to Nthabi. I sent it and then gave her a call. She cried, she felt relief too, it was now in the open and all four of us knew about the challenges our friends were going through.

Mbu is the one circled. I think they were watching soccer.

This sigh of relief was short lived because a few weeks later, Mbu became very ill. And in a month’s time he was gone.

So yesterday morning Nthabi sends me audio messages. She was telling me about a dream she had of me. I am usually the dreaming one in our relationship but I suppose for this to echo in my heart it had to come from her.

For the past month or so I have been in this transition of letting go of my late husband Mbu and last week was particularly hard because it would have been his 35^th birthday – so that on its own makes things not just confusing but very challenging and often hard to explain to those around me.

Which is why her dream left me in tears. It was a huge sigh of relief but narrated as a cry. I confessed to her that yes, everything you dreamed about was true. And maybe as my friend the dream was meant to help her better understand me and support me in this transition and journey of widowhood.

This particular blog post is about not just her, but many other people who have seen their friends lose their spouses and the unwritten rules of how to support them. So in her words, that's why I am using screenshots from her WhatsApp status. May you not only find courage to support others, but may your patience for them grow.

Like I said to her yesterday “…this (me losing a spouse to death) was new to us all as a friendship, our other friends included, but you guys stood by me even though I didn’t make sense to you and for that I thank you, because there is no manual for this journey. I had and still have no point of reference; I find things out as I go…”

Breaking bounds!

I am a classic bastard child – an unfortunate label bestowed upon me from birth. Growing up I had to fight for a different identity. Although it was seldom verbal, but their actions weren’t silent, I was treated as a bastard child.

I am a mother now and my daughter doesn’t quite get why I don’t want more kids. Growing up I feared I’d have sad children. I am grateful my daughter desires to be a mother because it means I have won in this war. The war of fighting my emotional struggles being passed on down to my children.

A sigh of relief.

Take a young beautiful woman. She meets and falls in love with a certain man. Together they conceive a precious child and then the war breaks out. The lovers quarrel and eventually go their separate ways, but not before their poor child becomes the battlefield for many different battles and wars.

One war between the parents, another battle for self-identity and maybe another war for a future free from war.

I am trying to paint a picture for those who think bastard children are just children. They are not. They are the most rejected in the family. They are torn from within before they can even understand that there’s a life besides being broken. They don’t perform too well in society because indirectly they are taught that their existence is a shame.

When they sit with their peers, they feel unworthy. No matter how capable they are, they look around for those who break them to give them the go ahead to be capable of achieving.

Even when they are praised in public by society for whatever greatness they possess, they smile, pretending to acknowledge this (pretending to be any other thing besides broken is their second nature) – then they present this praise they received from society to their masters. Their masters are those who break them, but only they and the masters know their true roles. Society just sees a child with a parent or guardian, but only they and God know what lurks behind, away from the society’s eyes.

This poor child grows up lost. Inside there’s a desire to live a life free from the brokenness they know. They’ve seen their peers genuinely happy; excited, thriving, doing it all with their own will.

They have seen their peers achieve greatness. Following their dreams. But this poor child isn’t even sure what their own dream is – they know their masters dreams for them.

They wake up one day and decide to go for their own will too and they quickly learn there’s so much to unlearn that the master has engraved in them. This brings excitement. For once they get to taste soul satisfaction, but they still have to face their fears, that tries to quench this joy of trying to find them and the purpose for their existence.

It’s as if their eyes are finally opened. Everything is beautiful, still blurred by fear but beautiful nonetheless because for once they are seeing beyond their masters cage.

Single's Route

One of the sore points of my life currently isn’t just that my husband is late; but also that my confidant is late. I don’t have him here to talk about life.

I am knee deep into projects that not only challenge me but excite me at the same time and I find myself scrawling down my phone's contact list looking for someone to share these intimate news with.

Don’t get me wrong; I have awesome amazingly supportive friends – but they are just that; friends. I can’t off load a whole truck full of emotions on then at any go. Usually I go in with a “Hey babe/good friend, how are you? How’s your day going?...” before I pounce on them the whole saga and I usually round off the conversation with “…tell me about you, you’ve heard enough about me…”.

It’s a respect thing I guess. They aren’t  mine, as my husband was. I feel guilty after speaking about just myself for almost forever in one conversation.

I guess maybe that’s why I find so much comfort in my writing and doing videos. I feel heard, attended to; and it’s therapeutic.

Those who’ve never been here (widowed/divorced or any other kind of separation) don’t quite get it.

I realised this when I was driving with a close friend and we came to a homeless couple living in a makeshift squatter near an intersection. He marvelled at their state of poverty, while I admired that they were ‘together’; that they were going through this tough season or life together.

That’s what life experiences bring; gratitude.

Before I lost my beloved husband to cancer, I honestly never thought much about the widowed. Not that I didn’t care. I did care. But my care was limited to my understanding of their lives. Today it’s different. it has become all I know.

Lagging Behind.

Today is one of those days that the world keeps going but you’re lagging behind; dragging your injured foot from the last attack – the so called strong ones, unattacked ones go on unbothered or slightly turn back to look at you with eyes filled with disgust for your weakness.

You ponder for second. Wondering if you should rest a bit to allow your wounds to heal, or force yourself to carry on with the rest.

Lest you forget your status has changed from the rest; you’re now the selected elite. Your life experiences have brought this status upon you – and it doesn’t mean much except a constant reminder that you’re a fighter, sometimes fighting wars you didn’t bring on yourself.

They say our destinies choose us. Mine certainly did. I’ve tried so many times to get away from it, but it stuck on me like a bad rash.

I’m in my mid 30s and nothing shouts louder than my purpose. It’s almost impossible to get away from it and after years of trying, I’ve surrendered. I document my life now; my thoughts, my fears, my joy and my struggles; all because there’s someone somewhere who needs to see, hear & believe life is for them too. Not just the inexperienced – but even for those who’ve gone through the most and in doubt of any better tomorrow. Nothing is more believable than a practical example. I'm that practical example.Those closest to me have always watched in phenomena God bringing me though from the ashes and the only difference now, is that I’m letting the world watch too!

Moment Of Reflection - 35!

On the 04^th June it would have been my late husband’s 35^th birthday. I have only known him for 4 years and 4 months. Yet it feels like I’ve known him all my life.

It’s hard to imagine a stranger coming in your life as a soulmate – as a girl I didn’t think much about marriage, let alone a life partner. I’ve always been an independent person, not relying on others much. And then came my second marriage – it was almost impossible to think of myself without this human being who was now my friend; if not soulmate.

We spent most our time laughing and gossiping of course – there’s no secretes between soulmates you know.

I remember one evening in our home in Kuruaman, I asked him if his patients knew how crazy and foolish he was. He responded “If you married a serious man you’d be so bored…”

And 2 years 5 months later after his passing I haven’t even managed to date a decent man.

As I said earlier, I didn’t imagine my life with him in it and now that he’s gone, I am still battling to imagine it without him.

My biggest fear I suppose is never seeing him age, growing old, wrinkled and fickle. In half a decade I’ll be in my 40s, something I looked to cherish with him. I remember saying to him “babe, when we get to 35 years without a baby, we’re going to stop trying. I’ll have my tubes tied…” I wanted to spend my 40s, our 40s just enjoying each other, without nursing any babies.

I am a planner. It helps with my anxiety. Another thing I learned after his passing, is that I can’t control everything. I can plan but at the end of the day it isn’t my call – but God’s.

It’s kind of weird you now. This holding on and letting go thing. In my head, it’s like some sort of dance. It’s all very precision – the holding on and letting go at just the right time, to create this beautiful movement of life. I think a lot don’t I? Well, I’m just trying to make sense of it all...

I am at the letting go phase at the moment and I am kind of looking around for something, if not someone to hold on to next. I think I actually prefer something rather than someone; or maybe that’s just my fear talking. I’ve done this holding on and letting go tango thing before, I am tired and not so eager anymore. I mean, you love and then with that same great love, you let go.

One thing for sure though, my late husband was the greatest love I’ve ever known. He wasn’t perfect, he annoyed me half the time, but because I annoyed him first probably, but we were great friends and even greater confidants. He taught me love in its practicality. He was very gentle. He was never pretentious. He was sincere – to everyone.

Looking at his life, it’s as if he knew he had 32 years only to live, because he lived them well. He was brave but with humility. Kind, but not foolish. Sweet, but also very stern.

Submitting to him as his wife wasn’t a burden, because his authority carried assurance. I was assured I was loved, that I’d be taken care of and that every decision he made was for our best as a couple and family.

The lessons have been taught to me through this marriage and this is why I am grateful; because going forward I’ll enrich a very lucky man’s life with these very lessons