Trust Me…


I need  to honour my intuition as it gently whispers… ‘Trust me’.

I cannot repeat the same patterns of the past…

I’ve come too far and done too much work on myself… I don’t want to become guarded because I sense someone else’s guard is up. I don’t want to lose myself ever again, like that.

I want to go ‘all in’ with someone who’s open to going ‘all in’ with me. I want to embrace the possibility of falling in love and know that I’m not falling alone.

I want to be with someone who can let their barriers fall away and feel the experience of letting go with me; to act on it and express it with no holds barred, in all its vulnerable, scary, beautiful glory.

I want to be with someone I can grow with, as we grow together, healing and building on our life’s lessons and evolving into our best possible selves.  For if a relationship is not capable of opening us up, is it not stunting our growth, or worse still, driving us backwards?

With self-awareness arises an invitation to change; an opportunity to overcome all that has held us back. We can either embrace this call, however uncomfortable it may be initially, or we can run.

Self-awareness is the calling card but it requires action, courage and faith. When you are on the right path, you know. The signs are there, all around, and the gut-instinct doesn’t lie.

To ignore it is painful, to hide from that inner-calling of expansion dims our soul and gradually a part of us dies.

I don’t want to dim my light. I cannot be in a one-sided relationship whereby I’m the one showing all the love and affection, initiating connection and giving much more than receiving… eventually it chips away at my self-esteem and I feel rejected and questioning of my worth.

I refuse to let go of the love I have for myself now, I refuse to sacrifice the hard work I’ve put in to take off my armour. I refuse to put that armour back on, I don’t want or need it anymore.

I want to feel EVERYTHING! All that this beautiful world holds, every experience, good or bad, I want to know it and absorb it all… I want to be fully awake… I want to be fully alive!





Every now and then I will be stopped in my tracks with a recollection of how it used to be; the comparison of before and after I found a new way of life. Seven years ago I surrendered and sought help for addiction and alcoholism. Drugs, alcohol and depression had been a constant companion from my early teen years until my mid-twenties, and I was completely overwhelmed by my emotions and thoughts on a daily basis.

I would be engulfed with so much pain, misery, anger and sadness that I couldn’t see a way out. It consumed me, failing to give me any respite from my wounded-self, and I would drown in the overwhelming feelings. I lacked the energy to do anything other than allow it to take me down.

My only “break” from these dark emotions came in the form of nightly bottles of wine and grams of cocaine; or so I thought… What I failed to realise was that I was on an endless cycle, a downward spiral, and I assumed that something external, such as a new boyfriend, job or home, would one day solve all my problems and lift me from the cyclone of dismal emotions that enveloped me.

The biggest revelation when I sought recovery from addiction was that I held the answers all along; within me I had the strength to overcome anything, and as I had always suspected, life really didn’t have to be this hard.


I have grown enough now, ‘mind, body and soul’, to know that part of me has always been observing all that I experience. A presence within that is very calm and still, that holds all the inner-knowing I will ever need. I have awakened from a dark slumber and I continue to grow and evolve, aware that my shifting reactions to life’s events is part of that development.

I used to do everything and anything to escape my feelings; from addictive substances and behaviours, to at my worst, suicide attempts. However, today I crave a different solution to the chaos of my thinking; I seek those quiet moments where I can just ‘be’. Where I can simply sit and be immersed in presence, rather than seeking escapism, and most surprisingly I am committed to checking-in with my feelings.

In the past, when overwhelmed by my feelings, I thought something was wrong with me, I judged myself and thought everyone else judged me, so I would attempt to put my best mask on. I thought I felt crazy because I was feeling my feelings, but what I now know to be true is that I felt crazy because I was overly identified with my thinking. I was unable to observe my thoughts, I was living in my head and engaging with the chatter, rather than checking in with my heart and soul.

‘Everything passes’, the Spirit whispers. It all washes over us. Even when we are completely and utterly, one-hundred percent in it, in fact then even more so, it washes over like a wave, ebbing and flowing.

This year has been tough. I have a lot to be grateful for in my life, but as a full-time carer to my Son and having just lost my Dad to cancer, things have been challenging, to say the least.

What strikes me today is that grief, frustration, anger and sadness comes in waves, as opposed to the overwhelming emotions I once experienced. Throughout any one day I experience a whole range of emotions, feeling happy and joyful, until suddenly a wave of sadness and loss sweeps over me, until the next wave of happiness returns. As the Buddhists have long taught, impermanence is the very core of existence. Being aware of these waves, and feeling them entirely, interrupts the pattern of being drowned by the emotion.

Our hearts are so vast, the Spirit so calm and unmoving. It has the capacity to feel it all, hold it all, and cope with it all… All we need is a little faith that ‘this too shall pass’.

Soul Path

Into the silence I retreat,

Rousing thoughts and memories,



No longer who I was,

No nearer where I’m going.

Distanced from thinking,

Closer to knowing.


Content and humbled,

Among the leafy trees.

Grounded spirit,

Knowing an inner-peace.


I am awareness,

Observing the confusion.

Breathe in, breathe out,

See the delusion.


Far from who I was,

Nearer where I’m going.

Distanced from thinking,

Closer to knowing.


 “At the bottom of grief, we find unconditional love, a love that is not even dependent on physical form. Grief contains its own end. And it doesn’t mean that we forget our loved ones. It doesn’t mean that we are not visited by them in memory and feeling. It doesn’t mean that sadness disappears overnight. It doesn’t mean that we don’t feel all kinds of things. But we realise deeply that we have not lost anything fundamental to us, and the world has not stopped, and they are not truly “absent” in the way the mind thought they were.” ~ Jeff Foster


I thought I was prepared for the death of my Dad. I felt I had grieved many times over the last seven years, since a major stroke left him severely disabled in 2009 at 60 years old.

As anyone who has watched a loved one’s health deteriorate knows, there is an acceptance process that inevitably ensues, knowing you will never be with that person as they once were. Every year on his birthday I would descend into painful tears of loss, for the times we spent together at his customary birthday meals, and longing to enjoy the laughter, conversation and bond we shared on these occasions.

His loss of speech and partial paralysis caused by the stroke meant I instead would visit him at his nursing home, watching as he sank into depression and frustration. It was heart-breaking and very difficult; although I always felt content after visiting him, in the knowledge that I had brought him some comfort, as we spent precious time in each other’s company.

I used to pray for him, and pray that his suffering would come to an end. I knew it would one day, but instead of the relief I expected to feel (in knowing he is at peace), I am left raw, lost and overcome with incredible sadness.

There were times I pleaded with God to end his suffering. I’d cry out in desperation, and sometimes anger, “No more, please God, no more!” So why then when my prayers are answered is it still so painful?

Perhaps while I knew he was ready to go, I was not fully ready to let him go. My attempts to rationalise and comfort myself and others with words of, “he’s at peace” and it’s what he wanted,” certainly does not prevent the grief I feel.

The feelings of loss are unlike any I have experienced before. It hurts physically; my heart feels that it has physically broken, and my sadness descends in overwhelming waves of rawness.

The shock, anxiety and adrenalin I experienced from the moment I received the 3am, surreal phone call, up until the day of his funeral has started to subside. Those early days of grief were summed up by a quote I happened upon by C. S. Lewis in A Grief Observed…

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.”

I now feel lost. I yearn to see my Dad again, if only to hold his hand, look into his eyes, tell him I love him and kiss his temple (as I did in his final days). I am like a little girl lost, wanting her Daddy at the age of 34 years old.

I am aware that my inner child, of various ages, for numerous reasons, pines for him. There are many levels of this grief, stemming from the many layers of consciousness within me.

In those moments of bargaining when I cry out “Why, Why, Why?” it is a culmination of seven years of gradual loss. I still grieve for my Dad who I found unconscious on his living room floor all those years ago, and I have grieved for him as his primary caregiver since that day. This was ever apparent in my emotion on leaving the crematorium on the day of his funeral. I felt a sense that I was abandoning him, that I wasn’t looking after him, and he needed me.

This was the role I had adopted over the years, and even in death I feel a need to take care of him. I wait impatiently for his ashes to be returned to me so I can care for them lovingly too.

My personal circumstances do not resonate with the idea that grief is the loss of “what could have been.” I am not grieving for a future of “what it should be”; I explored those feelings, and found acceptance there a long time ago, with the realisation that he would never recover from the stroke. That part of grief was familiar to me, having experienced my fair share of endings and change throughout my life. However, the comfort was always present to reassure me that I could still see him and sit with him; He was still alive.

The comfort, security and protection a Daddy’s girl craves from a Father was also grieved at this time, leaving me to wonder, “What am I grieving?” Without doubt, it’s partly his presence in physical form; the light in his eyes and smile on his face when I entered the nursing home. But I have sensed, in those present moments alone, that it goes much deeper than that…

My grief is essentially Love. Overwhelming, unconditional love. My “heart-breaking” is pure love, with a vastness that fills my heart so much, it feels it will likely burst open!

I never knew just how much capacity I had to love, nor was I fully aware of how much love I had for my Dad until he died. He had his faults, as we all do, he was not perfect, as are none of us, but I loved him unconditionally with every fibre of my being.

A piece may feel missing from the jigsaw of my heart, after all I will never have another Dad. The man who genetically created me and welcomed me into this world has passed on, he has left his earthly body, and I am not at the stage yet where I have wholeheartedly accepted this. The love simply feels too strong to fully let go.

The pain/love calls for me to sit with it completely; to feel my emotions and sadness with uncensored presence. This is not always easy, or possible, when my time is divided between processing my feelings and raising two children. However, I am finding time at intervals to immerse myself, not only in the sadness, but also in my love for him.

I know I will never be the same again. However, I am aware from the lessons of past pain that the change I experience, will tenderly transform me with growth, rather than deterioration. The only requirement in accepting this growth is to allow my grief to envelop me in all its forms, and ride the rollercoaster of emotions without restraint.

I have no doubt that the pain will subside with time, but the love will always remain. One day I may reach a point where I can smile at the thought of him, rather than shed tears of loss. For I know deep down that he is not lost to me. Presence is not the physical body that acts as our vessel, connection goes far deeper than what we observe with our eyes, and love is eternal, transcending all time and space.


~ Rest in Loving Peace my Dear Dad…Your departure has taught me the vastness of unconditional love and for that I am forever grateful.