“Yes, I can,” I laughed, as I waved good bye.

I know what he meant. This is a good man; he is passionate about social change, about the environment, about sustainability. He’s just got back from Java, where he stayed with a friend who is working in (another) orphanage in Bali. He gets me, likes me, respects me (I hope!) – so why did he say that?

Because he’s worried what I might be doing to myself.

Isn’t that sad?

Because there is so much to be passionate about, conventional wisdom goes, there is a very real danger of burning yourself out by throwing yourself with the same fervour at every cause or interest. Because finding enough time and energy to beat against walls, rail against injustices and speak about change can sap the strongest amongst us. Because finding the strength to say ‘No, I can’t help with this right now’ is sometimes beyond us.

Because being willing, not just to care, but to try and do something about the things you care about is still a lifestyle choice for most of us. One that is considered to carry certain inherent risks. Like burnout. Like disillusionment. Like failure.

Well, sorry, but I’m playing Devil’s advocate again: I feel we can’t afford to abdicate our duty to care any more.

When Cate invited me to get involved with Project 18 I was thrilled, because it gave me a solid focus for a level of frustration I was trying hard (and failing) to ignore, at the gulf between cultures and countries that exists – is maintained – by critically low standards of education, subjugation of women, and racial and religious intolerance, to generalise most sweepingly.

In other words, and to paraphrase Cate’s most recent post, trying to find some answers for these children and communities makes me happy, and that’s why I do it.

I can find a focus, and act. Pure bliss.

As Maslow says, it’s all about self-actualisation; when I can make things happen for people, I feel fulfilled. Even if my contribution is just the teensiest, tiniest piece of organisation, or promoting the efforts of others, I know that I am taking action, and living my passion, which makes me feel complete. Yes, frankly – it’s Win/win.

But also, and often, it gets personal. Cancer is not my friend. Cancer is no-one’s friend. Cancer took my dad far earlier than I would have wished, eleven years, one week and one day ago.

Cate’s call about Dainere’s sudden downturn galvanised us. When we first spoke about her, several weeks before, there was no question that I would help fulfil the pledge Cate and Ash made to Dainere. I didn’t need my personal passion, nor memories of my father’s illness, to tell me that it was the right thing for us to do. I challenge anyone, but especially a parent, to read Dainere’s story, to read her own words, to place yourself inside her parents’ shoes, and not empathise.

Not everyone would choose to do this, of course. How to balance our lives with our passions? – well, that’s a balancing act I dare say we’ll be working on till we die.

pregnant warrior by dizznbonn CC Flickr

Because for me, for some of us, this is a choice already made. We’ll pick our battles, alright, and then we’ll go out fighting. The wars may be fought on many fronts, and we may need to marshal reserves we don’t have, but we’ll have a damn good crack at it, and go down grinning.

Which is an unlikely warrior metaphor for a person of peace like myself, but seems fitting.

The world needs more people of passion – are you one of them?*

*If you are, please go to that pretty button on the side and help raise more money for Dainere’s Fund. Or sponsor a child in the Project 18 orphanage. Or act on your own passions. Just – act.

Grim, isn’t it. You don’t come read me to hear tales of death and sadness and disease, do you? There’s so, so much of it, both near and far. So many worthy causes, so many needy people – it’s enough to make you feel helpless, hopeless, impotent in the face of all that need, right?

Well, sorry, but I don’t believe shutting off is the answer. There is always something you can do. There is always someone you can help. There is always a way that you can acknowledge that your life is just a little better than others, and you’d like to help. Not for guilt – because you can, because it’s human to care.

Some of you may know that a little while ago I became a part of Project 18, a NFP dedicated to providing support, education and a sustainable future for street kids, orphans and the needy in Bali. My friend Cate, Project 18’s founder, travelled there in July and began setting up the orphanage, discovering first-hand how systemic the problems were, that left these children without an education or little in the way of a future.

We were talking last week about funding projects for Project 18 when Cate gave me a piece of news which, despite her impending return to Bali on October 1st, put everything else out of focus. But first, some background.

Last month, Cate and two of her children, Ash (15) and Ailish(6) – who are the You Team from Planet You – travelled to Canberra and met Dainere Anthoney, a young girl suffering from medullablastoma (an aggressive form of brain tumour), filming her for a video story they are doing on childhood cancers.

Dainere has recently had a book published (‘You Have to Go Through A Storm To Get to A Rainbow’), based on the blog she has kept since her diagnosis. For her, publication of the book (her wish granted by the Starlight Foundation) was a way to share her experiences with other kids in difficult and frightening circumstances. As well, through sales of the book she has been able to contribute in a meaningful way to the Sydney Children’s Hospital Foundation – Brain Tumour Fund.

Her ultimate dream is to see a copy of her book reach every school in the country, to be able to feel that her words might reach and help even more people. She is one awe-inspiring little lady.

I’m not going to tell Dainere’s story in detail. Cate has done a beautiful job of it here; it’s their story, not mine. Me, I’m the one with the crazy big ideas, who is contacting all of Dainere’s favourite celebrities (she loves Masterchef and Benji Marshall – Matt Preston helped launch her book, but he is, unfortunately, out of the country), and is about to front up and knock on the doors at Sunrise and ACA, to get these people to throw their weight behind the campaign to get Dainere’s book reprinted and sold to every school in the country.

We only need to raise $15,000 to get the 5000 copy reprint we need to get it into every school. By purchasing a copy, the schools then raise $65,000 for the Sydney Children’s Hospital and the Brain Tumour Fund. Win/win.

Fifteen thousand dollars. In the grand scheme of things, that’s not that much. If 1500 people would donate just $10 each, we’d have the money.

That piece of news Cate gave me? Things are getting dire for Dainere; already confined to a wheelchair as the tumour has robbed her of the use of her legs, in recent days she has lost use of her right arm. Only her left arm remains functional. Yet she’s still blogging, still hoping. She is off to Sydney for further tests next week, but there is really nothing that current medical science can do for her.

Time is running out. We’ve put Cate’s pledge to get Dainere’s book reprinted and into schools at the top of our To-Do list, as we desperately want to achieve this in her remaining lifetime. It’s the least we can do for this incredibly bright, courageous and inspirational young lady, who teaches us all about finding the balance between self and others.

Already, hearing of Project 18’s mission and Dainere’s story, people have expressed how moved they are…and then done nothing. Are we so numbed by the great need in the world, that we can’t recognise the value in action as well as compassion?

This is where you come in. See that button on the side of the page? Start by donating some money.** Then, if you’re a blogger, you could take copy of that button (click on Add to Site under the ticker) and add it to your own blog. Perhaps you might write a post about Dainere and the Fund, and ask others to do the same things? Perhaps you are best friends or cousins or neighbours to Benji Marshall or George Colambaris or Mel Doyle, and can help me contact them, to talk to them about how they can help to spread the word and make Dainere’s last wish come true? (If you are, contact me on Twitter – @ruddygood. Ta. )

See, there’s always something you can do. Because bad things happen when the good do nothing. Or something like that.

Yes, I know they’ll happen anyway – but that doesn’t mean you should do nothing about it.

**This fund raising is done under authority from the Sydney Children’s Hospital Fund Authorisation number #1510. The beneficiary is the Brain Tumour Rehabilitation Program and all donations over $2 are tax deductable – receipts will be issued by the Sydney Children’s Hospital Fund.

The squire, resistant to the change to the status quo represented by the railways, was trying to convince another major character of the folly of championing the railway. It was, he said,  just a passing ‘mania’.

Ulp! I think I said it myself once, talking about social media like Facebook and Twitter. Gradually, over the last couple of years, first Facebook and then Twitter have woven themselves into the fabric of my everyday life, in ways which continue to surprise, amuse, occasionally frustrate and often delight me.

These days, I’m guessing that you, like me, are often faced with explaining what it is you ‘do’, in your online life. For instance, offline friends ask, what’s the point to Twitter? Why would you want to spend your day blurting out snippets of your life in 140 characters to complete strangers around the world?

Why indeed?

Shall I tell you what my experience of Twitter has been like over the last 6 months, and what it has brought me?

I ventured into Twitter at the beginning of the year in a purely experimental sense. It seemed somehow trivial, lightweight compared to Facebook. I made the choice to keep Facebook as a tool to connect with family and close friends, and wanted to see how useful Twitter would be in my planned freelance writing career. Since then, I’ve put the freelancing on the backburner, but Twitter has become, dare I say it, almost indispensable in my every day life. A couple of months ago, I went on a week’s holiday and was Twitter-free for the trip – I can do without it…but why would I want to?

Twitter has brought me:

Friends - Some of the people I met through Twitter I’ve already met in ‘real life’ (that term is getting tired – online life can be very ‘real’, too), some I’m sure I will very soon (and I’m so looking forward to it!), and some I may never meet but value enormously anyway.

Friends, as the fridge magnet tells us, are the family we choose for ourselves. In the winnowing process that occurs on Twitter, as I followed people with similar interests, something rather magical happened which is much more difficult to achieve offline: I found not one, but many people with whom I share similar interests, passions, life stages, sense of humour.  I’ve come to know people whom I would be happy to include in my family, for the rest of my life, and I didn’t have to leave home to do it. I’m a stay-at-home mum, studying uni externally, living in a small rural village – that shit is gold!

Mentors - I’m on a journey, as are we all, and finding those special people who can shine the light of their particular brilliance and insight into my experience is crucial. We do not learn in a bubble;  the wisdom and perception of others is invaluable to me, to highlight areas I can improve upon, and present old ideas in new lights. And prod me – sometimes gently, sometimes not. Twitter has given me several. Some of them may not even realise the function they perform in  my life, but I am grateful for them just the same.

Colleagues/partners – I know that the future of my entrepreneurial success lies online, at least to start with. I also recognise that this year for me has been one of learning, and I’ve been happy to follow and read the work of those who I see as just a few steps ahead of me, who conveniently post the links to their latest good thoughts on Twitter. I’ve been especially happy to connect with some of these people on a personal level on Twitter, and elsewhere. We know that, in our growing friendships and mutual admiration, there are seeds for future great work. It’s wonderful stuff – heady, exciting, and envigorating.

World-changing opportunities – I’ve spoken before about Cate Bolt, and the incredible work she is doing. A little while ago, Cate invited me to get a little more involved, and I’ve taken on the role of VP for Project 18, a NFP  established to provide education, opportunities and a sustainable quality of life for underprivileged and orphaned children in Bali. Right now, I’m feeling a bit superfluous and useless as I encounter all the (polite, well-meaning) resistance that Cate has been dealing with for ages as she developed this project, but I’m excited by the new ideas we’re kicking around, and I’m still chasing a documentary crew to follow her on her next trip to Bali to visit the orphanage she set up on her last visit. (Very likely in October – any film-makers reading this, feel free to contact me asap. Through Twitter is fine. ). Cate and I met on Twitter, before connecting offline. We share online friends, the minuatie of daily life, frustrations and triumphs, through Twitter. And try, in our own small ways, to change the world.

Resources – Have I written the post yet, about what a bower-bird I am for information and ideas and resources? No. Well, it’s in the works. You might recognise yourself in it. Beginning to experience the Internet on a regular basis, about a decade ago, I felt the joy of an avid reader walking into the world’s biggest library. That joy hasn’t diminished, though it has occasionally tarnished under the flood of dross. Twitter acts like a friendly librarian, who smiles when I come in  and shows me some new gems that she just knows I’m going to love. And she’s rarely wrong. Got to love that.

My time is precious, juggling boyo and study and projects and life in general – even my blog reader is sorely neglected. Twitter has provided a fairly focused view of the things that interest me – enough to thoroughly distract me, if I allow it (oh, those lovely shiny pieces of information), but not to the point of overwhelm. It suits my everyday needs, for now. (Stumbleupon, I will be back…one day.)

Playground - At the end of the day, or at any other part of it when I need to step out of the work I am doing, I can tune into another level of Twitter, and find my playmates. These may be any, and many, of the people I’ve mentioned above. I suppose you could call Twitter our water-cooler. For many of us, working from home or for ourselves means that it is hard to compartmentalize our lives cleanly into work, family and leisure – the lines are blurry. The need to play, to laugh, to step out of the roles we have created for ourselves is just as strong whether we work in or out of the home; Twitter allows us to do that.

I can start my morning chasing breakfast in bed (I wish – got about 6 more years to wait for that, I suspect), and end my day with #chocwars and an imaginary swing dance with my ‘partner’ (1000 miles away) murmuring witty bon mots in my (horizontal) ear.

Silly? Yes. Trivial. Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. I do have great friends and a social life outside my home, but I spend so much time here in my house. It is wonderfully beneficial for my sanity to be able to step sideways for a moment, wherever I am in my day, and share a laugh and a little perspective with a friend.

So, should you use Twitter the same way?

I wouldn’t dream of telling you what you should do – these are merely my own reflections. We all have our own demands on our time, our own needs, and our own right ways of achieving balance. There have been plenty of words written recently-  by those much more respected than I – about whether social media like Twitter is an efficient use of your time, a effective way to promote your business or activities, or an indulgent time-waster full of shallow twerps.

I know that my experience of social media in general, and Twitter in particular, has been full of value for me. I think such tools are here to stay; how they evolve remains to be seen, and whether Twitter will even be the medium of choice in even 12 months time, I wouldn’t dare to say.

I do think that we humans, such social creatures, have embraced the ability to shrink the physical boundaries between ourselves, meet others who share our passions and goals, and find new and exciting ways to experience and even change the world together. I no longer believe that social media is just a passing mania, but in fact represents the tip of the iceberg in terms of the new ways we can meet, inspire, communicate, and do business with one another, no matter where on the planet we sit.

Tell me – what do you think? Has this little birdy changed your life, too? And what would happen, if the #failwhale became a permanent fixture?

Here’s Looking At You… from Tracy Rudd on Vimeo.

Apologies for the out-of-synch audio – technical issues are providing a rapid learning curve for me (again!). In the interests of getting the thing up and out there, I ask you to bear with me, but I’ll make sure I’ve got to the bottom of it for next time.

My ISP tonight agrees there is a problem with my upload speed, which is basically stopping me from uploading anything bigger than a tweet (like, ah, FTP’ing theme files etc) – but they have no idea (yet) why it is happening. I have to do some isolation testing with borrowed equipment, and if that doesn’t work then line technicians will be involved.

Best laid plans of mice and bloggers, ay? On such an historic day as this, when Australia has its first female Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, it would be nice to be doing something other than beating my head on my desk, and swearing at every inanimate object, but there you go…Life, and the road to success, does not always work out as you want it to.

I’m taking the maintenance splash page down for now, until I can be sure that I can get back ‘under the hood’ and finish the job properly. I’ve got a community event I’m coordinating this weekend, and the stress I’ve given myself trying to make my computer do what I want and deal with the final details of the event means that I need to slow down and breathe, or I’m not enjoying what I’m doing…which, I’ve come to understand, is key for me.

So- hi, if you’ve just dropped by to check out what I’m about. Enjoy the reading, and keep checking back. The new-look SSMama is on the way… she’s just taking her own sweet time!

Edited today to add: Thanks to the awesome Ernie of Der|Design , who created this theme (Gateway Studios, available through Themeforest) and kindly came in here to help install the theme files after all my FTP issues, this IS actually the bare bones of the new look. Still trying to iron out my tech issues (on Hold to my ISP as I type, in fact!) so haven’t been able to upload anything myself; do forgive buttons that promise to email to non-existent ‘studios’ etc. I will make much fuss and fanfare when I have it the way I’d like, but in the meantime, any and all feedback is welcome. Especially since I’m in the process of improving things, right?

photo credit: seyed mostafa zamani

Somehow, we tend to have a perception that people who achieve extraordinary things must have a greater strength of character than ourselves; be more talented, more visionary, clearer of focus, more committed to their outcomes. More ‘together’ than we are, perhaps?

And somehow, too often, we let our own poor estimations of our abilities or gifts or commitment  get in the way of taking the first step towards our own goals. We imagine our inspirations, our heroes, striding confidently into their planned futures, and we resolve to wait for a day until we, too, can feel that kind of resolve, that certainty of purpose.

Woah! Cut the lofty upbeat soundtrack with one of those needle-lifting-off-record noises!

I met one of my inspirations last week, and the meeting reminded me of how misguided and limiting that kind of thinking really is.

Cate Bolt didn’t set out to be a hero, and she certainly wouldn’t claim to have everything mapped out (though she would confess to sleeping a lot better if it could be). She’s certainly a woman on a mission – Cate’s leaving Australia in the early hours of tomorrow morning, to spend two weeks in Indonesia establishing an orphanage for homeless street kids. This week, she plans to find 10 children to house, feed and educate – children whose welfare and well-being, says Cate, will be a responsibility she expects to bear for the rest of her life.

The charity she founded, Project 18, has been funded entirely through the social media. Cate’s presence and interactions on Facebook and Twitter primarily, plus her blog An Ordinary Life, have resulted in over 2000 followers, some of whom have purchased sponsorship packs (various essential items for the children of the orphanage), bags (hand-made by Cate), T-shirts and raffle tickets. It’s not enough to cover all the eventualities she’s dreamed of in the wee small hours of the night, but she’s going anyway.

In case you think Cate must be a lady-who-lunches, doing this in her ‘spare’  time, I should point out that this freelance writer, former music journo and mother of 9 (no, that is not a typo) has recently experienced homelessness herself. She and her family are currently housed in a dwelling so small that she and her older boys sleep in the backyard in a tent and a caravan. For more of Cate’s story, she has just posted a timely summary of The Story So Far – go read it, and come back – I’ll wait.

Yes, to say Cate and her family are doing it tough is an understatement. What she is presently experiencing herself is more than many of us could cope with yet, instead of focusing on their own lack, she and her family are looking outwards to find ways they can help others and the planet. (Two of Cate’s children, Ash & Ailish,  are behind Planet You, an online project to raise the eco-consciousness of today’s youth. A couple of weeks ago, they were videoing interviews with the crew of the Sea Shepherd.)

Cate herself also campaigns to raise awareness of Australia’s own homeless people (her open letter to Kevin Rudd raised a certain amount of media attention earlier this year, and she spoke on homelessness at the TEDx in Sydney in April), as well the impact of palm oil production on habitats worldwide and the plight of orangutans particularly.

Pretty awe-inspiring, yes? Also, incredibly daunting? Hell, yes!

Cate would be the first to agree with me, that she is a pretty normal human being (though we may debate the use of the word ‘normal’ ). She lusts after an iPad, too, and enjoys shopping and eating good food and coveting gorgeous fabrics and taking holidays with her family.  She also worries there may be no future for this planet, our children, our wildlife – that all she does may be in vain.  She’s been frequently sleepless, nights before her departure, over concern for all the details that she can’t account for, the things she doesn’t know and can’t predict before this first trip, the money she doesn’t have to cover every eventuality. Oh, yes – first trip. Did I mention she hasn’t been overseas before?

Is Cate letting any of this stop her? No.

Is she letting her own doubts and fears, the many uncertainties, the criticism and death threats (!?), her own difficult situation get in the way of this goal, this mission? No.

Is she Superwoman? No.

Is she my hero? Yes.

Has she greater strength of character, talent and vision than most of us? Well, yes and no. She certainly has a fire and passion that I greatly admire, but you could mark that down to plain stubbornness, if you dared. She saw an injustice in the world; her heart spoke clearly to her that she needed to do something about it and, little by little, she made a plan and stuck to it. Tomorrow morning, she flies to Indonesia, an angel on a plane, to make a significant difference in the lives of 10 Indonesian children. At the same time, in the example she has set, she is already making a significant difference in the life of her own children, and of those she has touched in pursuit of her goals.

Any one of us could do the same. Many of us don’t. That’s what makes Cate my hero. I always admire people of passion, but I save my greatest respect for those who live the truth of that passion.

To those of you reading this, may I suggest 2 things?

First, consider what is stopping you from living your passion, and work out what you can do about it. In doing so, you may begin your own journey to save the planet, one dream at a time.

Secondly, do what you can to help Cate achieve her mission; buy a sponsorship pack, buy or sell raffle tickets, tweet or blog about her work to encourage more people to get behind her incredible efforts.

Reflect on how near, and yet how far, you and your family are from hunger and homelessness and loss, and do what you can for those children and families for whom these things are a daily reality. Go to Project 18, Planet You and An Ordinary Life to learn about ways you can help, and to keep up with the endeavours of Cate and her family. (You can follow Cate on Twitter on @catebolt, too.)

Namaste.

And for Cate:  Safe and successful journey, my dear. I’ve said it all already. x

Sometimes, reflecting on my “single” status, I wish there was another word I could use that didn’t imply lack.

Do you know what I mean?

Single – one – implies loneliness, an absence of other; one against the world.

Sometimes, yes, as a parent that can be exactly how I feel, since I didn’t set out to be a parent by myself but chose to do it as a part of a life plan shared between two people.

Having that plan change, and being placed in the position of having to be everything for the boyo most days of the week, can be challenging and  isolating. There are times when it would be lovely to have someone else step in and say, “It’s okay – I’ll handle this” and be able to trust that they will do so in a way that I am comfortable with, in a way that underlines and supports all that I am hoping to do as a parent.

I realised a long time ago that I didn’t have that in the partner I married, sadly. When I became a single parent I accepted that as part of my new lifestyle: within my control was what I did and said, which was fine. If I stuff up, if I don’t handle things well, and feel like the crappiest parent on earth, at least I don’t have someone carping on about it for the next week – okay, if you rule out my own internal dialogue.

But that’s me the parent, griping a little about the huge and awesome responsibility for the raising of my boy – which I don’t begrudge for a second.

As a person, as a woman, I’ve been thinking about the implications of identifying as a “single” woman (and yes, I recognise the irony, that I chose this blog name, after all!).

Over on the amazing Elizabeth Potts Weinstein’s blog Live Your Truth, I read and responded to a post she wrote a couple of days ago called The Truth I’m Not Speaking.

She wrote about her own recent reflections on being single; firstly, some middle-of-the-night thoughts about the idea of Forever in relationships, and her uncertainty if that (a lifetime monagamous relationship) was right/possible for her, and then, in the light of day and with some insights from some who know her very, very well, on how she had caught herself out in a lie. That she DID want that kind of forever after, and believed it was possible, and one day she would be ready for it and “the truth is I am willing to do the work and take the risks to find it. Or be open to it finding me.”

It is an incredible post, and has had an incredible and uplifting and inspiring response. EPW is brilliant at getting right to the heart of the matter, for herself and for others, and this post is no exception. Yet, I felt I had to call her on it, somewhat.

Okay, it pushed some buttons for me. I’ve been single – happily, whole-heartedly, unrepentantly single – for over 2 years now. I haven’t had a date. I haven’t sought one. I haven’t looked at someone in that way (oh, okay, there was this one lovely registrar when the boyo was waiting to see the specialist one time…).

I love my life. I love this freedom I have, to think, to choose, to grow and explore all that I can be, to be who and what I am, without need to compromise (for another adult – the boyo is a given). And I am oh, so tired of people telling me (without prompting from me) that “it’s okay, the right man will come along, someone amazing is out there…” etc etc. Look, I’m sure he is. I’m sure there are a bunch of amazing guys out there looking for someone just like me…but where is it written that it has to be what I want? Why does my solo status seem to make so many people uncomfortable – or pitying – or both? Why is the assumption, to paraphrase the book title, that I am nothing without a man? Why can I not be complete in myself?

And why does the fact that I say this at all have to be dismissed as nothing but hurt and bitterness talking? Look, that’s not what Elizabeth said back to me, of course. She replied to my outburst, rather kindly, that that was MY truth and up to me to discover, and she was totally right. And, yes, I agree with the idea that it is entirely possible that somewhere in my future, such an experience might be right for me.

But not for me, now. And the me that I am now. And I wish there was a word that said that, that fit in our lexicon somewhere to describe those of us who are perfectly happy in a relationship with ourselves. And complete. And not lacking for anything.

Who’s with me? And what’s the word?

(BTW, the image has nothing to do with being single either…or does it? A beautiful bromeliad, blooming in my garden – its single bloom magnificent, multi-faceted and complete in itself. )

There’s a beautiful initiative going on out in the blogosphere today, started by Jodie Ansted of Mummy Mayhem. It’s called Bloggers Without Makeup Day, and she is urging female bloggers to reveal themselves as they are, sans makeup, in their blogs and their Twitter profiles (as she explains here) .

In outing ourselves in all our fresh-faced rawness,  without the powder, the mascara, the lippy, the soft lighting and the flattering B&W filters, she hopes we can think a little bit more about what it means to BE ourselves. It is something we always encourage our children to do, yet perhaps present an ambiguous or even contradictory message with our own appearance and habits, especially for our little girls.

It’s natural for all of us, especially when reaching out to a wider audience, to want to be seen in a flattering light, to ‘present’ well. Our society places great stock in appearances; appearing well-groomed is supposed to send a message that we take ourselves seriously, and that therefore, that our work and our words can be taken seriously. Which is a complete furphy, of course!

How many of us, mamas and otherwise, sit here at the computer or elsewhere in the home and beaver away at our worthwhile endeavours in our pyjamas or old jeans, hair scraped behind ears, puffy-eyed from another late night stint? Does this make our work any less worthwhile, less awesome? Of course not! What counts is how naked you get on the page, or how genuine you are in your efforts to do good work, or how much care and thought you put into your parenting decisions, not how you look while you’re doing it.

I used to work in retail, and I started in fashion. A full face of makeup was as natural as breathing to me back then. Gradually, over the years, the habit has slipped to a mere sketch of mineral powder, lippy & mascara when going somewhere special (it’s almost become a ritual to mark the ‘specialness’ of the outing) – the rest of the time, I leave my face naked without a second thought.

At first, I thought there was no scope for me to become involved. Then, I looked at my Twitter profile pic, and most of the self-portraits I have put up here, and chuckled as I realised that my choices had the glamour added later in Photoshop or Lightroom, with a colour filter here or a B&W action there.

So, here, in  all my naked glory, is a picture taken this morning. Note the bags under my eyes from staying up too late writing the last post (I know – two posts in 2 days! I’m going to break your reader!). I want to point this out because I want you to know how seriously I am taking this journey to success we are undertaking together, and I’m not going to dress it up in pretty face-paint. I’m a single mama – look at me shine!

I won’t go so far as to say I don’t like Mother’s Day (as my heart would curl up in a little ball if my boyo didn’t acknowledge me in some special way), but I’m pretty unimpressed with the commercial spin put on it. I was in full observation mode last weekend at the shops; purse firmly tucked away in my bag while I had a cuppa with a friend, I saw so many others in an orgy of spending on trite and meaningless crap meant to signify the year-round depth of their love for their mothers. Sigh.

I spent 45 minutes on the phone to my Mum on Sunday; we do that every week or 2. Like me, she would have been saddened if I hadn’t acknowledged her on the day, but that’s as far as it goes. I’ve taken her out for afternoon tea sometimes (mainly ‘cos that’s something we love to do any time) or maybe bought her a little treat when I’ve been with her, but otherwise we don’t bother with it. (Her birthday is always the week or so before Mother’s Day, so she’s usually feeling well-loved up and treasured by the time it rolls around.)

The boyo spent the weekend with his father. Juggling the ‘special’ days is one of the things you do when you are “co-parenting” (can you hear those inverted commas?), so I appreciated that they rang me again on the Sunday morning, for the boyo to wish me a happy day and to double/triple check if I wanted to do “something special” with them. I didn’t; I was pottering around, enjoying the quiet start to the morning and getting some writing & housework done – a Mother’s Day bonus! (And frankly, the idea of sharing ‘special time’ with my ex is not high on my to-do list.)

My real Mother’s Day treat came on the Friday before, when the boyo ran in his first school cross-country. I say ‘ran’, which is rather over-stating things. He participated, and he completed it and I am very proud of him for that alone.

No biggie there; lots of little kids find it a bit daunting, and I know there are quite a few who choose to opt out by chucking a sickie or pleading a pre-existing condition. He actually asked me the week before if he had to go in it; I asked why shouldn’t he, and reassured him that just doing it was worthwhile. He’s a bit competitive. Don’t know where he gets that from. I could see that he was daunted by the idea of not feeling he could win, but he loves the hare & the tortoise tale so we talked about that, and also the good feeling we get just by giving something a go. (Funny how the stuff we talk about in our daily interactions with others reflects the stuff we need to learn for ourselves, isn’t it?)

I hadn’t planned to go to the cross-country. He was going on the bus; I had to study, an assignment to shape up, an event I’m kicking into shape… He asked me, just as I kissed him goodbye, and for a moment I wavered, but I didn’t think it mattered, and stuck to the plan. Then, an hour or so later, my girlfriend rang, about to head down, to see if I wanted to go. I said No, then Yes.

It mattered. Unlike cross-countries I remembered from my childhood, when the whole school just went out and tackled the course and straggled in as and when they finished, they were broken into gender and age groups, and everyone watched. I saw this knowledge sink into my boy’s heart as he watched the first 2 races; his face fell, and I knew why I was there.

I ran with him. Well, we walked mostly. And looked at the scenery. And waved at the other kids as they ran past us heading back to the finish line, and cheered them on. And talked about how and why his leg was hurting just then, and what we were going to do when we came to the home straight. Which, I told him, was when the cheers of the whole crowd would rise up and give him wings (I was right about this – we mothers know these things), and he would run and it wouldn’t hurt, and he needn’t worry about the other kids getting there first because he was going to beat his mother (who was going to try her hardest to catch him). And he did.

Maybe it was the huge lump in my throat that stopped me catching up with him; the thought that, Boyo, I’ve got your back. I listened to him respond with a cheerful swagger to the unknowing insensitivity of other little kids, pointing out that they had all beaten him,  as he reminded them that he had in fact beaten his mother – beat THAT. He survived and finished that cross-country with his confidence and dignity intact, and right then, I knew that nothing that happened on Mother’s Day could beat that moment for me.

But it was still pretty special, when his father brought him home after lunch and he gave me these:

And these (hand-picked by boyo):

And this:

Within our bodies, it serves to draw our awareness towards injury or unwellness – which is why reaching for the paracetemol as soon as you have a headache is not as beneficial as tuning into your body and uncovering why you have a headache. Hormones? Food sensitivity? Some kind of infection or virus?

Finding the key to that headache can allow you to heal it at the source, and leave you healthier, clearer and in control of your own wellbeing.

Emotional pain is also a given. We place our trust in other situations, other people, and some let us down; we dream big dreams, and circumstances seem to conspire to make some of those dreams unachievable. We love; we lose. We marry or partner, have children, and the relationship fails.

The pain in our hearts can seem immense, immeasurable. Yet, somehow, the pain eases, recedes, even goes away entirely if we are lucky. Some of us reach for the anesthetic effect of alcohol or drugs. Some seek solace in new relationships or old friendships. Some bury it deep, and hope it will go away by itself.

Yet, how many of us actually look at what that pain highlights, about the areas we need to heal, so that we can be in charge of our emotional well-being, too. Knowing how to acknowledge and work with the pain, learn from it and grow from it is an incredibly powerful and empowering experience. It’s so important, so profound, that I think it should be taught in homes and schools. But it’s not.

It’s something I’ve been learning to do all my life; for me, it gives my life meaning and purpose. Clearly, having been through a relationship breakdown and the ending of a marriage, I have some way to travel yet. Now, as a mama alone with the boyo it seems even more crucial for me to get a handle on it so that I can be whole for him and to model what emotional wellness can be to him.

It’s not always easy or straightforward to recognise what pain is indicating to us, or what steps we need to take to address the underlying problem. Take that headache again; how do I learn to recognise it as a symptom of  another condition, rather than a challenge to be dealt with head-on by itself, with drugs or water or relaxation? Take procrastination: how do I learn that the self-sabotage implicit in putting off things I need to do is a symptom of a deeper, underlying emotional pain that has not yet healed?

Becoming whole, which enables me to successfully go after my life’s dreams and teach my boyo how to go after his, means first having to delve into the hurt places in my heart. I am learning to work with, and through, the pain. Sometimes, it means practising ‘tough love’ on myself; more often, it’s about treating myself with infinite tenderness, a task I find challenging almost above all else.

So, what about you? What is your pain? What have you learned and how have you grown from the painful experiences in your life?  How are you healing your emotional hurts, so that you and your family can embrace the future you plan, with joy and whole-hearted wellness?