The Relapse.

I’m not one for confrontations but yesterday I felt the need to address an issue right at its root. Firstly there was guilt, because somehow I’ve grown up being this girl who doesn’t question people in authority, no matter their actions.

It’s not a secret that I am dealing with a lot in my personal space and that I have decided to open up certain parts of my life to the public; but even so, I am still worth respect.

With this transition of overcoming the loss of my husband and everything else we’ve accumulated together, my behaviour and choice of doing things might seem questionable to others and maybe they are entitled to it.

So yesterday I had raised my hand to volunteer to be part of a women’s day panel. I would be representing the widowed. A very great phenomena in this circle I was in. and then a few minutes later they asked for two more volunteers. One of which would represent the divorced women.

Seeing that no one was raising their hand, I then decided to raise my hand for the second time. 

The response left me stunned. “You have already raised your hand, you can’t raise it twice…that’s it then, we don’t have any divorced ladies in the house”, this was followed by stares to see who was this greedy person. I felt so ashamed. I got up at the end of the meeting and left. On my way home all I could think about was the humiliation I had just received. Anxiety kinda does that, it will replay one hurtful thing over and over until to cut the cord and that’s exactly what I did.

I got home and sent this lady who rejected my contribution a voice message – just so she could hear my tone and not misinterpret it in a text. In the voice note I mentioned a few factors that I hope today they’ll be of value to her and of course that I was withdrawing y first seat as a panellist representing the widowed.

Being both a divorcee and a widow are my realities, harsh realities that have left me without a husband. Beyond that, I know there’s a woman who’s just found herself in such a circumstance as mine, surely her hearing me speak would have encouraged her, but unfortunately we have gate keepers.

Gate keepers who because of their full barns, keep watch at the gates that the starved are trying to get in to, in hopes of finding some bread crumbs to pick and eat just to stay alive long enough until their needs for food are fully met. Those of us who have the food can’t reach them because of the gate keepers who ridicule our attempt to do so while blocking us – because of course, their barns are full. The gate keepers barns are full, they have need for nothing.

Making cents!

On one Monday years ago, it was 2010 if I remember correctly. We had just finished our class and my friend and I were about to walk to the busy part of Johannesburg CBD to catch our different taxis; but on this particular Monday afternoon I told them to leave me behind, that I had something to do before going home.

I think maybe they found it weird because we almost always waited for each other.

I was going to the bank and try my luck on getting another loan and was both embarrassed about it and wasn’t in the mood for the advice they would give because I was tired of hearing the same things from five million different people.

It was the first year of my divorce and I was sinking in debt. On this particular day I needed money to see me through the month. I didn’t have any money left in my account after the debit orders had taken what was theirs.

I sat quietly, until they called out my number on the queue. The unfortunate news were delivered; I wasn’t getting another loan. I wept. Right there in the bank, I wept. All my attempts of surviving were used up. Not only did I not have money to see me through the rest of the month, but I didn’t have enough money to get home and my friends had already left the college building and were probably halfway home. One bank administrator came and comforted me. He told me things were going to get better.

I become reserved when I am overwhelmed. My mental strength is my greatest weapon. So I protect it by completely shutting down. Those who’ve seen me during any chaotic episode in my life, could attest to this.

I was tired of being told things will get better. There were certain things I didn’t want to hear, because they would have interfered with my strategy. As chaotic as things were – I still believed I could come up with another plan to get me out of this. I soon learned that it was now a game of survival. The things I used to think I’d never do – became the things that would give me just enough hope to stay afloat.

A few days later, I went to a mashonisa (loan shark) with a friend. Gosh, it was such a dark cloud. The aura about that lady and her house was just dark and almost choking. I told her how much I needed, she took my ID book, along with my bank card. It felt like I have surrendered and drawn into the sinkhole of poverty.

Almost a decade later, I can tell you I made it through. I can’t tell you how what changed, because I woke up one morning and it had become my history. It is important that I mention that my financial troubles ended long before my second marriage, I wouldn't want to come across as a gold digger. Today, with my widowhood status, my greatest achievement is living within my means. I skip nail appointments, no wait, make that no nail appointment since 2019 begun. My hair cut costs only R17.00. Yes, seventeen South African Rands. I wear wigs, that I only wash and condition regularly in order to maintain their quality. I buy clothes on sale, because that allows my money to go further.

Trust me, I  miss my late husband’s doctor’s salary, but having had no choice but to start all over again; the financial mess that was caused by my first marriage afforded me some really great financial education and that is why today I am financially anxiety free.

I hope this has been an encouragement to you.

Dosage!

I sometimes get an out of body experience because the amazingly talented anxiety-free woman I am was once a prayer and I very huge hope. Never stop believing in your dreams. Put in the work and sometimes the work is your own mental capacity and health.

Mental health is still a taboo, even though it is one of the most fundamental organs to a human being’s functionalism.

In late 2017 I went to see my GP because of my iron levels. Well, that’s what I thought it was until he diagnosed me with depression. Again here it was, this thing I’ve been trying so hard to run away from. It was almost a year after Mbu’s passing. In my mind I thought I was doing well. I had just found a job and there finally a light at the end of my grief stricken tunnel – but not without a normal drop of confusion just as about things got better.

I cried uncontrollably. I felt like a failure. Why wasn’t I getting my act together? Why was I falling to just keep it together? With no spouse to reassure me that things would get better, I cried until I felt I have had enough. A few months ago I had successfully managed to convince my psychologist not to refer me to a psychiatrist; so this diagnosis was my shadow. I couldn’t get away from it. I had to face it and live with it.

My GP put me on antidepressants that would help with the chemical imbalance in my brain due to the traumas that I’ve experienced. At first, I hated the thought of my life being monitored by medication; but that was because I was uneducated on the subject. Today I am enjoying healthy sleeping patterns. A healthy sleep ensures that I am able to fully function at all the roles I play. So in essence, thank God for the depo meds.

The Long Way Back.

My thoughts on marriage have changed so much that I doubt if I’ll ever marry again. This has nothing to do with my undying love for my late husband – but rather my undying love for my destiny and also because of the fear of there being no other man who will love, support, be honest with me beyond that I knew and had with Mbu; but then again. God is God, only He knows for sure.

I’ve been married twice, to two very different men. There was a time or phase I thought marriage was a must achieve status. I was young and not really clued up on who I was, where I was and where I wanted my life to go.

In February 2017, a month after Mbu’s passing, I drove to our house from my parents’ house. It was about +-700kms drive. I hadn’t been there since December 2016, when Mbu and I left our house for his parents’ house. Now here I was, unlocking the door and immediately I felt a sense of emptiness. Part of me was afraid of going back, because of the sudden reality that Mbu wasn’t around anymore. I went in. it was cold. It was sad. The furniture was exactly how we left it, but it gave a different feeling, a sad almost like puzzled feeling. It was as if the house was asking where Mbu was.

I told my aunt, my mom’s sister who had accompanied me on this very long drive to settle herself in. I don’t even remember much, but I just showed her the room she’ll be sleeping in. I called the landlord to organise someone who would cut the lawn. It was beginning to lose like the amazon forest.

I then took a few deep breathes and faced one of my biggest fears; walking and sleeping in our bedroom, in our bed alone. I felt my heart tore. Just two months ago I was in this very bed with my beloved. Although he was ill, I didn’t foresee this moment right here. I guess it was one of the steps to getting closure.

Laying my head on the bed, it felt the same. It was as comfortable as it always was. The blankets were as warm. They still had his scent. I don’t know how, but somehow I managed to fall asleep.

The next morning we were meant to drive back to Johannesburg with my aunt and she took one look at me and said “Sisi, you’re upset. Let’s relax today. We’ll leave for Johannesburg tomorrow morning." She was right. Although I dint realise my state was visible on my physical appearance, I was beside myself emotionally, yet I thought I was handling it well.

I went into the bedroom my aunt was sleeping to look for some documents. Documents suddenly held so much power. Power to determine my now new life.

I came across pictures of his graduation. The memories of that day suddenly flowed in my mind like a tranquil river. They were beautiful and the snap; I was brought back to reality as soon my mind got to the end of the mental video it was playing.

I sobbed. I sat on the bed and sobbed “…I’ll never love another man mam’ncame” I said to my aunt. She just allowed me to speak. I haven’t spoken on my feelings about losing him, even at his funeral. All I spoke about was the funeral, I never spoke about Mbu being dead. I couldn’t accept that. I feared what would come after my acceptance – I wasn’t ready for whatever it was, to this day.

Staycation.

The past weekend was a girl’s weekend for me. Saturday morning I was at an amazing event that was hosted in honour of women and then later that evening I was invited to share with the young women at camp hosted by my church and another church. Although I ended up not sharing with the young women, I however met someone who would soothe my heart over a very long conversation. I think we sat and spoke until 23:30, that’s how amazing the conversation was.

In our conversation we touched on how we women relate to one another, particularly when it comes to offering support to each other, especially with our ever busy lives, we tend to lose track of keeping in contact with our friends.

Personally, I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for the support from my friends, especially female friends. There were times they had to dig into the mud and pull me out. I love how they would just jump in, also sometimes their jumping in was translated as an offense because no matter how challenged we are, we want to have some pride, we want to have some control over our situations – even when were drowning. It is later when everything has calmed down that we realise how their love for us was selfless. They risked being rejected by us, in order to save us.

I am in my thirties and of course the women in my circle are around that age as well, so pride is a default habit. Which is what makes offering and receiving support a dread task. Also because the more we grew older, the more we value and practice privacy – so asking and receiving support on certain issues is a tough experience.

Which is why regular meet ups with the girls is important. This encourages a real bond between us and promotes trust.

A group of friends and I do this at least once a year, we call it a staycation; we spend a weekend with each other. It's not just fun, but it gives a sense of belonging, of reassurance and just good laughter. We’re not all best friends, there’s definitely territories within our group, but these rotate. It’s usually about how one relates to the other during that season. Like at our last meet up, I was closest to a friend who just got divorced and I had just been widowed, although we have our preferred friends, because of this particular season we were both in, we found ourselves drawn to each other because we instantly found ourselves husbandless.

It’s important that I mention this because sometimes anxiety can translate this to others, especially our best friends as a best friend heist. Therefore, it’s up to us to reassure our best friends that we’re still their best friend.

We have another meet up coming up. There’s tension in the group, not sure what’s causing it, it’s been almost a year since we’ve seen each other under one roof and life has been life, maybe our friends have been going through seasons of trails but because we’re busy and possibly proud, we’ve been less frequent in checking up on each other – but the meet up is what we need as a group of friends to reassure each other of the value we each bring to this beautiful friendship of ours.

I hope this piece inspires you and your friends to remind each other of the value of their presence in your life.

Begin With Self.

‘Get rid of toxic people and relationships’

My greatest concern with this line is how we choose to hear it. We often choose to hear ‘it’s not me, it’s them’. It’s how, if misinterpreted, can take away the role of accountability. Some of us have been stuck in depressing situations because we never ran short of excuse. My mom did that to me yes, my dad did that to me yes, but how’s my behaviour contributing to me being stuck?

One thing about brokenness and trauma is that it has a dual effect. Firstly it’s the pain it gives off on to you until it takes away your will to try for better. Secondly, it offers so much false comfort that it delays your progress in life.

Please notice though; although years have gone on after your ordeal, you’re still bound because you’re holding on to your very valid excuse. Surely this excuse should have an expiry date because if it doesn’t, then it means you’ll remain stuck for a very long time, if not your whole life.

So how do we get to the expiry date? Well, the expiry date is a date that you choose yourself. How do you choose this date? It’s very simple. You simply choose for how long you want to keep your excuse or when you are going to trade them in for a grueling honesty course.

Unfortunately, changing your thinking patterns takes a long time and results aren’t instant and you know why? It’s because for the first few weeks your biggest challenge will be your mind. Your belief systems have to be changed. You’ll have to replace those quick response excuse for a moment of pause – because these aren’t applicable to the person you’re becoming and the truth is you’ll have to go and find something to replace them with, something that is in line with your goal. So be prepared to invest in this process, because it will need that from you.

Probably one of the first things you’ll notice about yourself is patience. The more you work on yourself, you’ll realise how imperfect you are and how much others have been patient with you. Also comes forgiving, the things that were once excuses used against any confrontation start losing value and you see them for what they truly are – excuses. You’ll feel so proud when you reach this point.

With that being said, another very import thing is the habits that fed the excuses also become exposed; habits like gossiping, self-loathing, depression, anxiety and low sense of worth and you’ll be in need of new healthy ones. So maybe you’ll have to start reading and researching these.

Then comes the ultimate reward. Peace.

Your mind will become like a sanctuary of worth. Your mental capacity will increase in terms of worth because it’s no longer filled with excuses for being stagnant but a harbour of dreams turned into ideas with clear goals. Going for these goals will give you so much satisfaction, therefore inspiring you to go for even greater goals.

And before you know it, you’ll be one happy excuse free person.

Sometimes Blessings Come in Reverse - Losing To Gain.

Rebuilding my life all over again has to one of my greatest gifts from God. Not only do I get to do things all over again, but it’s the going for my dreams without the fear of losing – because there’s nothing to lose. I think if my approach on life was like this years back, I would have done a lot of things differently but then again, there are specific lessons that were embedded within the journeys I’ve travelled.

I have always known I was created for an audience. I used to think I’d be a singer. I am a better song writer then a singer though; but lately I find myself telling my life story to more and more audiences. The sincerity I get from them in the form of hugs, tears, yes they are mostly in tears and words of encouragement gives me a sense of purpose. I feel such gratitude that my life is being used to touch people to their core - touching and speaking on issues that have been declared as taboo from a point of experience; my experience. I am truly fulfilled.

On that winter midday in July 2017, I thought I wouldn’t make it this far. I battled to visualise my future, all I could see was darkness, but my faith remained, even though I understood nothing and felt only pain ripping through my heart like a volcano does to a mountain. I thought to my self "If this is

the end of me, I am determined and prepared to die holding on it to – my faith". I had just been hit by one last stroke of defeat. It seemed like defeat then, but it actually was a victory in reverse. Had it not happened, I would probably be still fearing the worst, but since the worst has happened, I am grateful and free to start again.

Another thing that is amazing is how value has been redefined and given a new meaning. It’s no longer just materialistic and tangible, but it has become the opposite. The memories of my late husband, my faith, my dreams and my relationship with my kids, family and friends have left me grounded – these are some of the things that stood the test of loss. The loss of my husband was connected to the loss of many other things, both tangible and intangible; my mind was almost lost too.

Having been both there and here, I can assure you that starting over again could be the greatest reward you could ever give yourself.

Bleed Again.

Today I revisited an old wound. I particularly chose to leave this one to be at the bottom of my healing list.

I am very strategic; even with how I deal with pain. I know and believe in the importance of healing and how it’s intertwined with closure – they go hand in hand. Which makes certain wounds an extreme torture to confront.

One of the reasons I chose to leave this wound for later was because, you can’t really dictate the direction the healing with take you. It’s like how you would put your destination on your GPS but the routes it will guide you by are seldom your choice; especially if you’ve never travelled to that destination before. So in my case, I had to make sure that I’m well enough emotionally to live and survive which ever course the healing of this particular wound would be.

As much as I am pro healing, it’s important that you first secure your emotional strength before you attempt confrontation or the wound might pull you under.

Today I felt I had just enough emotional strength to attempt confrontation. Confrontation doesn’t mean you’ll be met with the same effort to heal by those that hurt you – which is why their response may make or break you, depending on your emotional strength.

I think it’s also import I speak about the manner of confrontation. This is important because it sets the tone of the healing process.

I hope this encourages you to find your healing, the right way, the right time…

Your Love

A few years ago a close friend of my said something that would change my life forever. We were chatting in a group on a messenger app and I was sharing my frustrations on how I was feeling stuck and stagnant with my friends on the group and the she asked a question or was it statement? I don’t remember every detail, but she mentioned how I had to believe God loves in order to see His love.

It hit home because I was battling with self-acceptance; the rejection I experienced as child especially from my biological parents made me believe I wasn’t worthy of love – even God’s love.

I paused a bit, I thought to myself “…wow, OK. Do I really believe God loves me?

My friend went on to say, unlike humans, God wants to give us His love, not because we’ve earned it but because he wants us to have it.

I thought of the number of times I was a little more, quiet, nicer, disciplined all in hopes of being granted the love I so desired from my parents, but my attempts would always fail. So now, here I was being told that God loves me, because He loves me. I was shocked and hesitant to believe it; but I had nothing to lose so I started focusing on who God was. I have always had a relationship with God for as long as I could remember and yet I didn’t believe He loved me unconditionally.

I once told my mom how I used believe rejection was love. When you’re a child, you learn and know only what you’re exposed to. So because I was brought up being rejected, I never questioned it, hence I felt everything that was done to me was my fault and that I deserved it, just like I would be an extra good child in order to deserve to being rewarded with affection. Unlike when you’re an adult, you’ve had the opportunity to possibly see different views and beliefs – but as a child, how you’re treated becomes your imprint; your signature. That becomes how you define yourself and if these thoughts aren’t challenged or changed, then you’re bound to live a sad life.

One of the things my friend mentioned as ‘tools’ to changing my mindset was mediation. She spoke of how she meditates on God’s love for her. I am a fan of day dreaming and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try it.

And it worked, it really did. The load of guilt I used to carry slowly decreased. I was becoming more and more happy, genuinely happy and at peace. Anxiety was still there but it wasn’t choking me emotionally anymore. It was a work in progress, it still is; and one lesson led to another. Even to this today I am still learning new lessons on being ‘whole’ and content. I am far from being a noble Christian, but I am assured of God’s love for me. No matter what life throws at me, I am assured that my Father will see me through and to this very day, He’s still doing that.

In conclusion. I have realised that others can’t love you to your satisfaction until you’ve loved yourself to that extent. You’ll never recognise or accept their efforts of love towards you until you’ve reached that peak of love for yourself, from yourself.  Some women get married in hopes of being loved, but their ideals of love are so impossible for their husbands to fulfill and when this happens, these women recognise their husband’s failures as betrayal. Which then often leads to chaos within their marriages.

I hope this piece has been meaningful and insightful.

Trauma Battles

I am battling putting this down. I think it’s because it’s a bit of a challenge translating the frustration of wanting answers for the trauma that was caused on to us. Some of us have issues with rejection, disappointments, abuse and neglect from our parents. When I was in my teens, I thought when I became an adult I’ll be able to live with it – the trauma that is.

The reality was far from this. I married young in hopes that marriage would fix me and fill the void and hunger for love that I never received from my parents. I married a man who was raised with love by his parents, so my need for constant verification was leaving him overwhelmed.

I tried confronting my family about my trauma and I was told that I am holding on to the past; but this wasn’t the past, it was very much the present to me. The pain was still there. I was now a mother and I was failing at my relationship with my children because I didn’t know to embrace them – this meant that if I don’t deal with my trauma, I would pass it on to my children even unintentionally.

To let go, I needed closure. Closure doesn't mean the wrongs done to me will be rectified; but closure is meant to initiate the healing process. It’s unfair that I have to justify my pain in order to be granted closure; it's my pain. It's my progress in life that is being held back. I need to heal. To heal, I have to confront. 
My confrontation isn't betrayal to anyone, but it will be betrayal to myself and future if I don't confront the trauma. I’ve never been taught confrontation and because of this, I ended up taking on the ugly habit of blame shifting.

Now imagine my first marriage. I got into it with baggage from childhood, my spouse had to tip toe around it and tried to live with, in order to salvage our marriage – but it became too much, not just for him but for me too. It was heavy as thick fog on a winter morning. Our marriage eventually ended and the cycle of blame shifting was an almost reality, because I thought love meant that we stay in unhealthy relationships and hope for change – that’s how my relationship with my biological parents was. There was no confrontation, but a live with it attitude.

The only thing that saved my last marriage was confrontation from my now late husband. He forced me to confront the past and offered his support. It wasn’t easy, it still isn’t because I am constantly learning how to be a good person. I am unlearning the ugly habits that came with carrying trauma for almost 3 decades – if you’re going to carry trauma, you have to carry it well. You must be bitter, angry, anxious, sad, depressed and good at the blame game.

Now I’m learning to carry peace and to carry peace successfully I need to constantly self-introspect, meditate on what’s good, practice forgiveness and saying no. yes; saying no actually promotes peace. I do what I can for others, I no longer go far and beyond risking my mental health.

Touch From A Distance

I read once that when one becomes widowed, their love for their late spouse increases. I don’t find this to be weird at all, because I can personally attest to this. This makes moving on to new relationships a great challenge. When one passes away, it becomes almost impossible to remember any of their wrongs – unless if they were evil people of course.

So in my case I asked God to bless me with a man that would come into my life while I still mourned my late husband. I suppose in my little understating I wanted someone who could love me beyond their comfort. It’s very easy to love someone who’s never wrong, but loving someone who’s still in love with their last partner takes a special kind of human to achieve this.

I have no doubt that one day I’ll be able to fully give myself to another man, but before that happens I want to have felt the comfort of his caring heart.

This brings me to Mr. Good morning.

I love how I can be vulnerable with him. He doesn’t force himself to understand me; he just lets me be with a gentle reminder as to say ‘I am here, I don’t understand but I am here’.

And me being the fall in love too quick culprit, somehow he’s managed to bring me down gently from cloud nine, to a beautiful reality that is our blossoming friendship.

This helps ease the guilt of loving two men at once.

I am learning to leave my last marriage in the hands of the past as I embrace moving on with this man who’s trying his best to be my best.

Maybe he’s what I asked God for. A man who loves me beyond his comfort. I hope to be good to him, not as to pay him back but because I’d love to love like that again.

Numb

“Trust the process...” they said. I didn’t know what the process was, let alone what it entailed. I had just buried my beloved. Life was just a strange dark mess. I didn’t have the mental capacity to handle what the world was expecting of me. I was just flowing from one day to the next. The only reason I got out of bed each day was to see off the kids before the left for school and as soon as they would leave, I would slide back into my bed.

There was some warmth about sleeping all day. I felt hidden. I wanted to be invisible. I didn’t want to be seen or heard. Being in bed the whole day felt like the only thing that could soothe my aching heart. I would compare my heart to a crying baby; being in discomfort but can’t say because of what, so it resorts to crying as a form of expression.
I honestly don’t even remember motivating myself to snap out of it. I was completely worn out and in total surrender to the pain.

I appreciated having a car then. It allowed me to leave the house without fear of being stopped on the street by those who knew what had happened. I would just wave and drive by whenever I saw someone I knew on the street.

It’s not that I didn’t want them close to me, but I wasn’t in the spirits of chatting to anyone. I couldn’t even recognise myself – I had become this absolute fragile shadow of me. I wasn’t welcoming to everyone. I wanted to hide, not because of shame – but because I wanted sheer silence. I didn’t want to be asked how I was. I just wanted complete utter peace. Unfortunately explaining how you feel to those around you usually involves communication in the form of speaking – and that caused so much turmoil within myself. I felt like I was betraying myself by not giving myself what I needed – so I stayed in bed in order to achieve this.

It’s been two and a half years since my Mbu passed on and I no longer feel this way – well, on most days I don’t; but there is a young widow out there, whose journey just begun. This piece is for her. I totally get you.