Being Childfree

I don’t have kids. 

I’m 39 and I’ve never tried to have children. I’ve said the reason for not having kids was not wanting them but the truth is, I have no idea about my fertility as I’ve never explored the prospect of birthing a little human! Until now.


I can feel my body changing, I can feel my hormones shifting, feeling a little peri-menopausal. 

Recently my bleed is doing weird and wonderful things, one day of spotting and nothing for the next few days. This is the case this month, I’m sat here with an ache in my womb and feel absolutely knackered. My womb wants to release, I can feel this need to let the fuck go but it’s not coming easy. I bled a few days back on the new moon for an hour or so and then, nothing. I don’t know if this is lockdown side-effects, it’s been a whirlpool of all-sorts-of-crazy over the last year, of course my body will respond.


It could be the beginning of peri-menopause. This can continue for a good few years before menopause, an initiation into wisdom-hood. This is how I like to see it. 

And if it is, babies may not be written in the stars for me. There is a history of early menopause in my family too, which I’m trying very hard to forget.

This is a hard pill to swallow. As a woman without a partner, I don’t have the ‘let’s try and have a baby’ option. I don’t know ANY men to ask if they want to co-parent and the route of IUI or IVF is way out of focus, having little £££ to my name. I never thought I’d opt for the medical route to get pregnant but honestly, if I had the money, I think I’d try. I don’t have a house to re-mortgage or a rich family member to go to for a loan. Life panned out VERY differently to how I’d imagined in my early 20’s. My mental health took a nose-dive in my late 20’s and it’s been a long road to recovery, which has been the most empowering and incredible journey but not without compromises.

I was able to move back with my folks to recover from severe anxiety and agoraphobia. Dating was NO WAY. I didn’t want to invest in anything other than myself. I’ve been able to write, paint, pray, meditate and move my body to health. This is wonderful but has taken it’s time and in doing so, through my 30’s, when my friends were getting married or having kids of their own, I was healing and craving no distractions.

I consider myself lucky that I’ve had time and space to explore my human make-up and deepen my faith, yet now, I think about having children.

Is there a little soul waiting to be born into existence with me as their mother?

I don’t know.

To be continued, I guess.

Pass the time

I’ve decided to write a poem

Trying hard to make it rhyme 

I wanna be good at something

And find a way to pass the time 

I’ve thought about many things

The subject? What could that be…

I close my eyes, I focus

Nope, nothing exciting to see

So what, right now, is important 

What do I want to say?

Do I want to make a statement 

Or brighten someone’s day?

To be honest, I don’t really care

If people are happy or not

As long as they’re ticking over

Not hurting people a lot

But maybe they are hurting people

Maybe I’m doing that also?

Shit, now I think of my life

LOVE… I could have done moreso 

Have I said mean things in passing?

Things that were not meant to hurt

Have I triggered a response

Like flight or fight in the dirt? 

What a quandary I find myself in

this turmoil, it’s thick and fast 

I just wanted to write a poem

Not question ways of my past

So here, I’m writing these words

Caring little if it rhymes 

As I seem to have quickly discovered

It’s distraction I need in these times 

But would you Adam & Eve it

Rhyming ain’t hard to do

So I’m passing the time quite easy

Turns out I AM a poet too.

Winter can get VERY dark

I wrote a poem a few months ago, in December.

It’s called Together….

I stood above you 

With an axe

Wanting to slay 

Slicing you in two

Soaking the pillow with your warm, crimson blood

With hate at the end of my fingers

Wanting to wrap them around your neck

Squeezing so tightly 

Your eyes bulge and your nose turns blue

Those lips of yours, they’d quiver in fear 

I stood above you 

With fever in my eyes

Salty sweat engulfing you  

Watching you drown

Wanting to drink back my tears

Filling my belly like a balloon

I stood above you 

And if I were to burst

My guts would cover you 

Together dead

As it has always been.

The End. Need I say more?

Being Ordinary

I AM outstandingly ordinary.

Totally ordinary and doing it to the best of my ability.

I once wanted to be EXTRA-ordinary, in a way we’re fed being extra-ordinary is. And by the way, being extra-ordinary is different to being EXTRA, I AM extra and not afraid to say 🙂

We’re fed that extra-ordinary is having a ton of money and being noticed or having a career that means ‘something’. Or now, in these modern days, being an activist or social influencer totally makes you ‘somebody’.

Being a star, being watched and admired and reflected upon. I wanted that, when I was a rebel-do-care teenager. Wanting all that didn’t go away either, everything I did during my 20’s, there was always a “does this make me somebody?” “Am I standing out?” “What am I going to gain from doing this?” “Can I make MORE money?” 

And I’m not too sure how making money makes you extra-ordinary but it seems to carry that weight and I was first in line to hold that lie, totally convinced I’d be happy, only when I was extra-ordinary and proving myself.

Proving to who? I’m thinking about that as I’m typing, who was I trying to prove something to?

The WORLD!… I would have said that back then.

I am standing tall, with ‘success’ beneath my feet and people wanting to ‘be’ me. Totally laughable now, who the hell did I think I wanted to be? God maybe? Some kind of capitalist warmonger? I would have totally argued against the latter in my 20’s. 

“I am a really nice person!… but fucking LOVE me and think of me more than you think of yourself!”

It was absolutely that extreme, and if humans were totally honest with themselves, about 80% of our daily thoughts are pretty irrational and extreme, without our even noticing. 

Example A: Years ago, I woke up during the night, I’d just moved into a flat in London so it was all new. It was a flat share, and I was the first to move in so I was alone that night. I couldn’t sleep as I never do someplace new and every noise had me jumping out of my skin. I decided, now dosed up to the eyeballs in fear, to get a glass of water as that’s what people do through the night when they’re terrified and living in a horror movie, and in my mind, my life at the very moment was being written by Stephen King.

There was a flashing blue light coming from the bathroom. 

What the hell is that? 

By this point I was utterly petrified and had come to the unquestionable conclusion it was aliens. They’d landed in my little east London flat and wanted to take me away to experiment on me. I crept to the door, as you do, because again in horror films they always creep towards danger and mass murderers. I flung the door open as my heart skipped a beat.

It was my electric toothbrush on charge. 

Oh yeah, it does that. I remembered.

Point is, our thoughts are more often than not, irrational. 

This need I had to be extra-ordinary was a lot like walking towards the blue flashing light… flipping scary (because honestly, who thrives with that level of responsibility, being extra-ordinary to those outside of themselves), turning out to be not what I originally thought it to be (a story created by my focus of attention, blown up and morphed into this cosmic, otherworldly creation) and once the cover is blown, it’s totally something ‘normal’ and ‘everyday’ and gets kind of same-same and part of life after while.

Extra-ordinary is ordinary jazzed up with glitter and disco balls. People, for sure, do extra-ordinary things but again, extra-ordinary is what many do in an ordinary day like be a wonderful friend, or love their child, or adopt an animal or human, or choose to smile more than frown in a day, or grieve, or walk or breathe! (being alive is extra-ordinary!) 

Is this ‘preachy’? I’m becoming more and more conscious of how we have an idea about something, like an ‘ah-ha’ moment and think ‘this has to be HEARD!’… we share like we’re the gurus who know-it-all and boom, you’ve just contributed to this ever-expanding self-help culture that can feel over-opinionated, and extremely confusing, on the daily. 


Sharing can be extremely helpful and healing too.

Side note: I have a lentil pie in the oven which I’m very excited to eat in about 10 minutes. Overshare? No such thing in this day and age, right?

Food, eating, enjoying it, now that is EXTRA-ORDINARY!

I’m off to eat pie.

Thinking about… Letting go.

I think letting go of something you created is the importance of creating it in the first place. 

That you’re not creating something to keep hold of it, you’re creating something because if you don’t, you’ll go a little loopy. Just me?? Ok then.

There’s this sense that when you put your ‘heart and soul’ into something, you have to have something to show for it. Like nothing is worth doing unless you get something back. That you’re only as worthy as what you can essentially get back for what you share with others.

And us humans have skills! We’re innovative, we’re artist, we like numbers and structure and symmetry and enjoy working within those fields of thought. We want to be seen, like stars in the sky. We want to feel like we’re moving things, like water moves driftwood. We’re attracted to colour and want to show off, like a peacock struts his intricately designed tail. We’re all things natural and Earthly, but there can be a thought pattern that makes you feel you’re not worthy on this planet unless you’re being paid to be part of it. This makes total sense in my head 🙂

My mental and physical sickness comes in waves, and when I feel totally off and my body aches and I can’t think about anything other than how much I’m hating on myself for not being ‘that’ woman who keeps her house and mind and nails tidy and smooth… when I’m on that rock, I have to create. This could be writing, drawing, cooking, singing (alone) or talking to myself like I’m in a film… I truly think my sanity depends on my ‘madness’.

And then once something is created, I have to let it go. Otherwise it all becomes like a smelly pond, and I add more and more until it spills out, wets my feet and I become a damp mess!

And that’s why blogging is so great!

I mean, I’m new to this game and know nothing about how to blog, I picked the simplest layout I could find and tadah! (there’s no way I’ll use this platform to its maximum potential as I just want to write stuff, press publish and be on my way).

It’s the Publish option I love, like I’m writing my own mini novel, every entry. That once I’ve written something, there’s a button that pretty much says ‘and now I’m complete, thank you and goodbye.’ 

I don’t have to keep it sitting in a folder on my laptop (which I have plenty of, full of unread poems and short stories, I feel I’m hoarding words!)

I’ve been thinking about the whole copyright thing, that if I am thinking something, I can guarantee that someone, somewhere is thinking the same thing. I am not original enough or special to think that I am the only one who has thought a certain idea or created something so specific that it only does and can belong to me. To think that ideas belong to you is like thinking that when you breathe, the outbreath is your piece of air, that any residue inhaled by another is stealing.

I mean, I don’t think we own anything but I don’t want to get too deep 600 words in. I will say that I believe the concept of owning something or someone is one of the biggest illusions us humans hold so tightly onto and creates a whole world of pain.

Death seems to creep into all avenues of our life, and this, what I’m writing right now, is a fleeting thought. I’ll soon press the Publish button and tomorrow, I’ll have something new bubbling up… and now I’m thinking too much about this entry and should I press publish, or delete?!

And now I’m complete, thank you and goodbye. 

Thinking about… death, again! (with a hint of faith)

Yes, I’m thinking about death, again. 

How can I not, were in the middle of a pandemic and the ‘news’ headlines have this crafty way of getting to you, invited or not. I’ve never been so confronted with people dying before. Figures, every day, and these figures grow and numbers become so many I’m not sure what to do with that information. My empathy levels are lessening, and that scares a little bit of crap out of me! My nervous system is crying yet my body feels a little numb and emotionally, I feel like I’m totally coping yet the smallest thing makes me want punch a hole in the wall. I’m coping, yes, but coping is what us humans do, we don’t have to do it well. However, flowing and surrendering, that is another matter.

In my thinking of death, in my thinking of how transitory this living malarkey is and how seriously we take it yet it can go in a flash, the one thing that feels more important than ever is faith.

Faith is such a strange thing as I find it a tough one to put into words. I don’t think faith can be explained, which is why religions have a million and one interpretations. I was brought up a Christian but what does that mean? I believe in Christ? I didn’t, I went to church every Sunday because I didn’t get a choice, not because I loved Jesus. I got bored, I sat and kicked my feet against the pew in-front of me and I got a look from mum that said ‘keep doing that and you’re in serious trouble young lady’. I listened to that look, my brother not so much and would often crawl across the floor, mum not noticing until it was too late to grab a leg and slide him back. Basically, it was just a thing, being a Christian was a thing I was and church was what I did. 

‘It’s in the Bible!!’

That was the answer I got to most of my questions as I grew more aware of the contradictions. I did try and read the Bible but I still didn’t get answers – I was a kid and kids are more literal and Jesus walking on water didn’t make sense to my questions of why do bad things happen and where do we go when we die? Nobody could explain, because honestly, no one knows! Heaven forbid that adults didn’t actually understand the bible either.

It’s like Shakespeare. No-one totally ‘gets it’. We read it at school and most of us were ‘what the hell does this even mean?’ and to appear clever and witty, we’d nod during English and plagiarise something smart we read, offloading it like it was our own. Or was that just me?? I bet Shakespeare didn’t even know… it’s poetry, his way of making sense of something that, in the end, doesn’t really mean anything.

And that is faith, interpretation. 

Now, I believe in Christ but in such a different way to how I thought it should be. Actually, I don’t believe in Christ, I believe Christ when I hear what is spoken to me through prayer, or when I meditate and feel ALL that Love.

I don’t label myself a Christian as I don’t need to. I connect with Jesus and that is that. I don’t have to be in some ruled existence or contract to say if I don’t do or say certain things, I’m a sinner or ‘wrong’. Nope, that is not how Christ works for me. See, interpretation. 

And death is so much a part of faith. My faith is strengthening the more I contemplate death. I’m watching myself and my parents age, I can see they’re not able to do things with as much ease as they once did. I can feel my body change and my dreams float away like little clouds passing, once gone, I can’t see them anymore. I can’t even remember their shape or distance from me. I can’t ‘be’ the me I was 10 years ago, she’s gone, my imagining of her has to die, otherwise the way I live my life gets really warped and frustrations with my ever-ageing body will get deeper and deeper until I end up hating what is inevitable, an ever-changing physicality. And I’ve been there, that warped place, I still go there some days and it’s always as I remember it, pretty dark.

So death, she’s in my thoughts and she’s feeding my faith and some days fear wins and I’m shit scared of losing what I have. Yet, knowing death IS happening, somehow that keeps my faith alive and day by day, faith grows. I like to see faith as a tree and when the sun shines or the moon is bright, fear is the shade below her branches. The shade is forever moving yet the tree, she don’t move an inch. 

Thinking About… Death

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. because, we’re all gonna die.

You, me, everyone you know, will die.

And that sounds depressing as hell, it really does. I think about my mum dying and i’m like ‘how the frigging bananas am I gonna cope with that?!’ I didnt want to think about it for a long time and when I was young I used to say to my mum ‘I’m really scared you’re gonna die and how will I cope without you’ and she’d say ‘I’m not going anywhere’ and by the grace of god, she didn’t and still hasn’t but of course she will. And the more afraid I was to think about death, the more I was afraid to do stuff, just in case something happened that would result in death. Worse case scenario was always ‘I could die’. Thing is, I’M GONNA DIE. It’s only case scenario.

So, the last few years i’ve decided to take a different approach. If I know I’m going to die and its a transition every human goes through, maybe I should incorporate the idea of death into my everyday. That way, we can become more familiar with each other. Friends, if you like. Of course I can never fully understand death, not until I actually die (and even then, as I’ll be experiencing it, I won’t need to understand it) but the more I have surrendered to the fact that death happens, the less worried about it I seem to have become. I don’t worry about it because I know it’s inevitable. I don’t pray for the day to never come as I know that’s like asking for all the trees that have been cut down to grow back, in a day. It’s against creation, against universal law. And I am not above universal law, as much as my puffed up ego would love to resist this notion, I am inconsequential when it comes to this big, old universe pulsing away, with or without my physical being. 

So, this is my beginning. Death. When birth happens, more dies. Not like ‘when a fairy looses it wings’ kinda death but when little babies, who can’t do anything for themselves other than poo and cry and eat come into the world, life known to those around us, dies. It becomes something new, for sure, but that is death right? When someone close to us dies, life is never the same as it was when they were in it. You have to get used to a new way of life. Same for our mothers and fathers and grandparents or careers/guardians. Plus. something dies for us babies too. A dark, warm, safe(ish) space, catered for 24/7 via cafe placenta. 

And maybe I still miss that place! I do wonder about our memories of pre-birth but thats a whole other matter.


I am kinda scared of the dark and as a woman who never really saw the stars until she moved out of London, the dark, darkness of night scares the crap outta me! And side note here, does anyone else hear more noise when there is less noise to notice? It’s a weird polarity but true non-the-less. So moving out of the city is way more romantic sounding as city’s are jungles and you kinda get used to the squawks and rustle. 

My birth was text book, apparently. Isn’t that great! for me and my mum. That I sailed down that birth canal. I rocked birth basically.

‘Hell yea, I’m coming out of here like it’s 1999’ (it wasn’t, it was 1982)

I sailed from the dark side like a kid in corduroys coasting down a steel slide with a velvet, feather cushion to greet my tiny ass. I wasn’t wearing corduroys, that would be a miracle.

I hope I meet that velvet cushion again, at the very end. I hope those steps I take towards death, I hope I walk them and don’t look back. Knowing me, I’ll look back. I may be shit scared, I may not be. I may not know it’s my final round on this now butt worn and rusty steel slide but I hope, if I know it or not, it’s textbook. 

Not my call though, i’m far too unimportant for that.