Thursday, 6 November 2014

Your Body talks

Yesterday I took Emma for a Body Talk session. The process, and practitioner, came highly recommended by a friend I trust and respect.

I think I did it a few years back. And a few weeks later I ended up in rehab for depression and an eating disorder.  Coincide? Possibly. The breakthrough I needed? Definitely.

But back to Emma. Emma eats a lot. For a five year old.  For a girl. And while she's eating, she's asking for the next plateful, slice, treat. We keep telling her to just enjoy what she has in her mouth at that moment. But it doesn't work.  She has an insatiable hunger that can't, or won't, be satisfied.

Mark worries about her weight, from a health point of view as well as a societal one. I do too. I was a fat kid growing up and I hated it. But because I'm so sensitive to the issue, I rather tap dance around it.

We also don't know her genetic makeup.  Her biological parents could have been BFGS.  So she could be genuinely hungry and we end up starving her.

Body Talk, if you Google it, works on a cellular level.  During the appointment there's a lot of mention of chakras, chis and energies.  There's balancing and aligning as attention is given to the physical and emotional levels. If you're a sceptic, and you're allowed to be, you'll roll your eyes for the rest of this post, but I can tell you that before our appointment he asked me to write down concerns around Emma and highlight them on a drawing of the body. He didn't once look at that document and he was pretty spot on. He also got her to fall asleep in two minutes.

On a physical level Emma's body isn't absorbing any nutrients and minerals. Her iron levels are low, as are her various vitamin levels, all necessary for a body to function properly. She battles to sleep, is often constipated and possibly is lactose intolerant, hence the eczema on her body.

On a deeper level Emma is in a constant state of fright or flight. Mark and I often comment on how she seems to 'overreact' when she's moaned at or we tell her we're not happy with something she's done. And (apparently - see what I did there? im covering my bases for those who think I'm a loon) it's because she's  needing approval, stemming from her abandonment and rejection issues from early on. Emma (apparently ;) feels that if she isn't performing at her best with us, we too will give her away.

My little girl, who is wise and mature for her age, is battling with her identity.  She feels as though she doesn't quite fit in in our world, nor does she fit comfortably in a black culture.  And apparently is letting her visit Esther in Cosmo and go with Primrose to church on Sundays really is food for her soul.

Emma's self worth is very low and on some level she questions why she wasn't good enough for her BM to keep her, to want her.

When he 'cleared' her heart and head chakras, she relaxed, and literally fell asleep. Gone. Out like a light.

Of course I've simplified this because I actually don't quite understand it. But to sum it up, Emma eats because she is hungry. Nothing will satisfy her for as long as her body isn't absorbing nutrients. And she's relying on sugary things for the energy that healthy vitamins and would normally give her. Emma also eats (at the moment) to fill a very real gap she feels. She eats to fill a void, that right now, she's battling to fill emotionally and spiritually.

We've got another session in 6-8 weeks and I'll let you know how that goes.  In the meantime I'm booking sessions for Mark, Ben and myself.

I'd love to hear your thoughts...

Thursday, 23 October 2014

I used to pray for world peace. Then things changed...

To survive in an ever evolving world you've got to be good with change.  To move with the times you've got to be adaptable. To be a mom means changing constantly. Minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day.  To not adapt to your circumstances as a mom is to die...a slow painful death. Okay.  Not really. Not literally.  But figuratively definitely. 

We went from a twohumansfourdogs household in a matter of weeks. Before we knew what had hit us we were parents to a three month old little girl. Things changed so quickly I didn't have time to read any books on child rearing or raising. I winged it. In fact, I still do.
And just as we were settling into a routine of a household with two and a half humans and four dogs we got an sms that would change our lives forever. Again.  It simply read "are you guys still thinking about adopting another baba?"  And so things changed without any warning, or shopping time. Within 72 hours we had a baby boy.

I wasn't big on change.  Growing up we lived in the same house for 20 something years. I moved from my folks' house only when I got married at 26. My then husband and I lived in the same house for four years until we got divorced. I like liked consistency. Now I ebb and flow like the tide. Sometimes I'm like a tsunami.  It changes all the time. It depends on what the situation calls for. The only thing consistent about me now is that I change. Consistently.

Perspectives change. Opinions alter. Goalposts shift further away or move in a lot closer. I used to pray for world peace but then I became a mom and now a squabble free dinner is a score.  Saturdays and Sundays were lazy days spent in bed or on the couch. Leisure time was getting through an entire book in an afternoon. Now a bowel movement without any interruptions from an ankle biter is considered free time.  I loved arty farty movies and analysing them with friends. Now I know who Swiper and Boots are and can count to ten in Spanish.

Before Emma and Ben arrived a quickie was a quickie was a quickie.  Now a quickie can mean anything from a shower to popping out for a haircut or cigarette.  And my husband and I speak in code. A wink means there's a chocolate in the kitchen. Two winks means I'm going to eat mine quickly in the laundry room. Circles of friends have changed and because we adopted two munchkins of colour I get to hang with some incredibly colourful people, like Kagiso Msimango, who shares her experiences of motherhood with Thing 1 and Thing 2.

I loved my life BC (before children) but I love it more BC (because of change). 

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Submit your #LoveChange story – of no more than 650 words via the “Your Story” tab on the Change Exchange . Feel free to upload a pic to go with it, or include a link to an Instragram pic or YouTube video. 

You’ll find all the competition rules on the Change Exchange. But get writing now because the #LoveChange entries close 31 Oct 2014. Ts & Cs apply.

I can't wait to read YOUR #LoveChange story xxx

Monday, 20 October 2014

I'm retarded white trash...apparently

Today I was called a f*cking retard, told I looked like white trash and that from my appearance there was no way I could afford insurance. All of this over a car. A car!

Don't get me wrong.  I love nice things. I'm a Taurus. BC (before children) I didn't flinch at spending R3000 on a pair of jeans. In fact, just last night I was looking at a handbag I had bought a few years back. It cost R12k.  Yes, and it made sense then.  Last night I was thinking HTF did I ever justify that purchase. Priorities change. Kids change things. 

I drive the car I do because I could afford it at the time, it gets me from A to B and there's space for all my party stuff.  I no longer frequent Diesel and G Star because the reality is I don't have the disposable income I used to.  And I'm okay with it.  You're gonna like me because of me. Not because of where I shop or what I wear.

So back to me being called a 'retarded white trash uninsured hick' this morning.  I was running late for a meeting. I wasn't concentrating.  My mind was on 101 things. And I scraped the car next to me. The scratch was small and when the car guards came over to look they said it could probably be polished out.

I immediately left my details with the security and asked if he could pass it onto the driver if I wasn't back. I whatsapped friends telling them what had happened and joked that it was more than likely some highly strung woman's car. If only I had known just how highly strung.

When I got back to my car the other one was still there.  I made sure the security guard still had my details and reminded him to please pass them on. And I started reversing. Along came a woman pushing a pram and the guard asked me to stop.  He then told her what had happened.  And it just went downhill.

She looked at the scratch and let out a blood curdling scream.  I thought she was joking. She wasn't. 

The bit that follows is the dialogue between the two of us:
Her: you scratched my fucking car and you were just going to drive away! How dare you you bitch!

Me: I wasn't driving away. I left my details with this gentleman to give to you in case I missed you leaving

Her: my fuck! My fucking car (blood curdling scream). Are you fucking stupid? And I don't suppose you've got insurance have you?

Me: I am so so sorry. I didn't do this on purpose. Really I am so sorry (pathetic I know but that's me)

Her: for fuck's sake I don't need this shit now. Now I have to go to the fucking police station and report this because you can't fucking drive!
And I suppose your piece of shit car is absolutely fine?

Me: no it's not fine. It's scratched too

Her: oh for fuck's sake! Now you expect me to feel sorry for you!

At this point the car guards and the guys who wash the cars had all kinda moved away from her and were standing behind me. And they were all whispering "ignore her. Don't let her upset you.  She's behaving so badly!"

She then got into her car and started dialling her husband.  "You need to talk him and tell him you did this! I'm not having him think this was my fault!"

Her: (on the phone) I need you to speak to this fucking retard who just crashed into my car!  The fucking bitch can't drive and by the looks of her there's no way she's insured!"

She hands the phone over to me and I apologise to her husband and explain what happened and again say I'm sorry. And he says it's ok. She's just really stressed and tired. They haven't had water at home for a few days and someone recently crashed into her car. And I say again how sorry I am and that in really didn't mean for it to happen and that she's just so upset and angry. At this point she yells at me that she doesn't need to be psychoanalized by a fucking idiot.

By now I was a snotball of a mess.  I was doing the ugly cry while still trying to remain composed.  The car wash man kept looking at me and rolling his eyes in her direction.

I know I was in the wrong. I know I ruined her day and added to her stress. I know she doesn't need this right now.  I get it. But it's a car! Or am I wrong? Surely a civil conversation would have been more productive? Or am I, because I'm in the wrong, underplaying it?