Growing through anxiety ....

Growing through anxiety ....

This morning I received a text ...“Mum, I have my first pimple, I am growing up!”.

Now let me put this in context, this text is from our youngest child, who is at that moment is upstairs, in her bedroom, and it is 7am!

I bound upstairs, and I am invited to inspect the blemish on her cheek – no it does not appear to be a mosquito bite, nor an allergy spot, yes I confirm it does appear to be a full blown pimple.  

With delight, our child proudly confides that this is truly evidence of her development.

I share in her excitement, as I look about her room filled with soft toys and pink…and I note for a moment, I am able to sit with both the joy and grief of motherhood... 

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How we impact others ...

How we impact others ...

This weekend past, it was my school reunion.  Now whilst that might not seem like anything significant, quite a few decades on, there was a lot to reflect on. 

You see I was a boarder sent to a city school from the country at 12 years old.  Only getting to go home on the holidays or the occasional long weekend, I essentially grew up at high school.  At the reunion I met up again with the people that had grown me up – my fellow students.

Reflecting on the stories shared on the night, I realize now the huge impact we all had upon one another.  

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Generation G(oogle) - children, anxiety and the web?

Generation G(oogle) - children, anxiety and the web?

I noticed on Facebook the other day a meme came up on my feed that read, “Please don’t confuse your Google search with my medical degree.” And it got me thinking about the power of Google in our lives and in particular the lives of our children, the access it affords them to the wondrous and unknown, that generations before us could only have dreamed about. There is much said in the media and taught in our children’s schools about the dangers of inappropriate, unsupervised access to the Internet. We are all too aware of social media trolls, cyber bullying and online predators but what of the seemingly harmless websites our children visit and the hidden impact they can have?

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Who is your teacher…?

Who is your teacher…?

All my life I have lived surrounded by beautiful gardens.  As a child the garden was a place of escape into wonder and make believe.  As I grew older the garden became a place of family working bees - arguing with my siblings and protesting with my parents as we raked leaves, watered the garden beds and mowed the lawns .  As a young adult home from university, the garden grew into a place where I could talk with my mother about the questions of life, as I helped her toil away in the vegie patch or prune the roses.

The garden grew and transformed, as I grew and transformed.

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Taking a break … and remembering who I am?

Taking a break … and remembering who I am?

We are on our way home from 4 days away. Away from the routines, of school lunches, laundry and of work.  Four days in a different place.  Four days in the outdoors and with the tribe of our family. 

Sometimes it had can be hard to find a way to stop, to take stock, to break the routines of life.  As a mother, as a therapist, as a believer in the importance of being with experience, there are definitely times when I can find this a challenge as much as anybody else. 

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Community ... we all need it.

Community ... we all need it.

Last night I had the privilege of connecting with a group of people whom I journeyed through university with.  It had been a long time since we had all seen each other.  Yet the conversation flowed and the peels of laughter echoed as we shared stories of our life together as students, as well as the life that has become for us each since those days of endless study and personal reflection.

A seemingly random group of people, all from such different worlds, yet all so touched by the humanness of experience…this was a gathering of therapists.

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Embracing the fear of Menopause...

Embracing the fear of Menopause...

"It is 2:30am, yet again I have awoken bolt upright dreaming of the worst for my children.  This cycle of interrupted sleep takes its toll.  I go over it in my head, perhaps I am trying to fit too much in, or maybe it’s that accident I saw on the road last week…or maybe there really is something terribly wrong??  It’s quiet in the house, I don’t want to bother anyone, so I lie here thinking, thinking, thinking…until by early morning and having consulted Dr Google... I am convinced that my symptoms tell me there is something very wrong with me. 

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Memories ... the last dance...

Memories ... the last dance...

I have a distinct memory from when I was quite little…dancing with my Dad after dinner.  I was probably 3 or 4 years old, and after dinner each night, my father would put on the record player and teach me to dance.  My Dad was an older father, so the music was not of the time, but of his youth and he taught me how to waltz, to foxtrot and later how to jive. 

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