Tag: blog

Mothers Like No Others

Yesterday was just incredibly unpleasant in Auckland. An epic deluge of rain from another of those atmospheric rivers blew through the city and Northland. 

Leaks in my home wept. This reminded me of the huge amount of work we have ahead of us breathing new life into this nearly century old building. Not many people would be keen to take on such a mammoth task, but we have a great team, and our designers are well across it and good design saves so much cost and confusion down the line.

Relevant colloquialisms = a stitch in time saves nine, an ounce of prevention saves a pound of cure. There’s more, but we have an incredible design and architecture team, flanked by loyal (albeit quirky) building and implementation team. Very blessed and always a little bit stressed at this stage of our evolution. 

I would not trade a single thing about the complete chaos and incredible amount of effort and meaning my life has right now. But fuck me. There’s always a lot going on.

What else went haywire? Oh yes, we were late (a whole 6 minutes) dropping son to school as it was a swamp on the motorway and we also missed our exit.

The scales in the morning tipped in at 77kg which is 20kgs more than I ought to weigh apparently. Pfft. Whatever. 

Just a bit of a clusterfuck all around really.

Yet, somehow it was a lovely, productive, beautiful day. 

We’ve been getting a lot of invites to a lot of things lately. My answer to almost everything is still a big, clear, booming and beautiful NO.

Damon will be going to a couple of things with my son Daniel as he is a grown up now.

So yes, yesterday ought to have been quite awful, yet it absolutely was not.

My beyond doting darling Damon was perfect portions of annoyed and delighted with various projects, implementation and plans. I ran errands successfully and got well over 15k steps and went to Pilates. I hate pilates. I hate all exercise that isn’t walking through the woods/forest/mountains or skiing. But doing stuff I hate makes my amygdala stronger according to my 20 year old geektastic Daniel son.

The most important thing that happened? My friend rang me to tell me she was impressed by my parenting. 

I was at Costco beating the crowds at 10am on a Tuesday to grab cheese and bulk lunchbox snacks. She called, and her tone of earnest triggered the abused/gaslit/neglected Dee I used to be and I thought she was ringing to scold me.

My broken brain, even after 6 years of healing, recovery and unmedicated and unmitigated safety and freedom assumed I was in trouble. 

Here is a screenshot that kinda describes the level of me I get to be since turning my back on most of my life some years ago now:

Today I am me. Me does not give a single fuck what most people think about the me that I am. I don’t talk shit about other people (except my ex and my trashy persona non grata biological disaster zone that were once considered family). There’s not really time to judge other people or be concerned with what anyone else is doing, unless they make me aware or want or need time from me. I will make time for most people if they ask still. But most people do not and that’s cool.

The serious lack of interest in what other people think of or say about me did not seem possible when I was stuck in the glittery but shitty life I used to lead. Old me was addicted to validation, now I crave connection and meaning.

If someone does not like me? Good.

I like me.

TBH, I am a fucking delight.

So… Yeah.

Nope. Not in trouble. She took the time to tell me what a joy it was to see me parent and how great our rapport as mother and son is.

I cannot begin to tell you what that means to someone who was gaslit, abused, and wrongly accused of being a poor parent and crazy person. 

Me 10 years ago could not imagine the safety and balance that comes from practicing the actual zero tolerance for fuckery I am able to maintain through most of my life. It is standard operating procedure to be authentic and imperfect, and I have the bandwidth to engage with the very small number of people (which included family) I allow in my space. 

Want to make more time to see more people who I do indeed Love. But this will happen when it happens.

I have four friends who I speak to almost every day.

That’s all I can handle.

That is enough and they get the benefit and burden of being in my inner circle. 

So.

I popped round for a very uplifting visit with one of the favoured four the night before. Went straight to see her after picking up my son from the North Shore. 

We laughed and chatted and Jamie joined us to protest and complain he was bored. He’s 11, it is his job to be bored and boredom is a gift denied most children these days.

We were the last generation (Gen X) to grow up entertaining ourselves in nature and being bored. 

Sigh.

So he joined our conversation and we had long chats about the Persephone project which he has been hearing about in some form his whole life. I asked what he thought Persephone was gearing up to do. He thought it was rescuing women who were like me when I was sad and broken.

Reasonable assumption indeed. 

But nope. My friend and I both chimed in and said there is nothing ambulance at the bottom of the cliff, nor triage, nor rescuing, nor sheltering women. Persephone will uplift and encourage, not rescue.

Semantics are everything. We explained semantics and how saying the same (relative) thing with different words could change everything about how the message is recieved.

This budding legacy project is all about supporting and uplifting women who have already done enough work to be safe and strong, and need a push to get to the next level in a world that has made it hard for women to get ahead. 

No rescuing. 

We rescued ourselves. 

Just recognising, supporting, acknowledging, investing in, and encouraging goddesses in meaningful ways.

So when she called, and her voice sounded serious, I thought she was gonna maybe scold me for using the cunt word as liberally as I had in conversations with her incredible daughter (who I adore and am so proud of). 

I cannot tell you in hindsight how ridiculous this assumption was, or how sad I am at my brain for thinking that everyone is gonna sucker punch me, scold me, lie to me, or give me shit any time I pick up a phone call. 

Our conversations with her 19 year old delight of a daughter were scintillating. She’s doing an intense biomed degree and we talked about brains and pathways and all sorts of interesting things she learned that day.

Full disclosure, this friend is a super mom. Kind, funny, warm, supportive and so much more engaged with the meaningful journey of being a mom than I ever was. She’s just dreamy and I am in awe of her most of the time.

However, this particular friend never uses the words cunt or bitch, and she hasn’t for a long time. It is one of her many unique and beautiful ways of celebrating women and flexing her feminist activist muscle. No derogatory phrases pertaining to female anything. 

I, on the other hand LOVE the cunt word. It is my favourite on so many levels and for so many reasons.

Using it as liberally as I do is how I practice my own method of worshiping women. It is a divisive word about a powerful, beautiful and magical thing that I am glad to be in possession of.

This is not a secret. I can put my sprinkling of c word and scrappy language to the side when I need to, but I never feel the need to when it is her and I. We’ve been great friends for a long time now.

So yeah.

Healing and happiness don’t mean the cPTSD part of you doesn’t revert to fear and fight or flight thinking even when you are safe and know you are safe. 

I say no to almost everything and only do things that I simply know I must or that bring me actual joy.

Damon and I also finally got around to getting our nails done yesterday. The technicians at the nail place know us really well at this point. We aim to visit the salon when it is quiet (which is rare) and we sometimes give gifts from the farm. 

Everyone is so kind and warm to us there. And they’re curious about us as we travel so much and have a lot of kids who come along from time to time to get their nails done.

My nail tech had even more questions than usual yesterday.

We covered the fact I am a witch, and I clearly like to be barefoot. she could tell from the state of my heels you see. I also explained that I avoid humans as much as I can and that is why I am so happy traveling to places where nobody knows me, nobody cares who I am and I can just smile at strangers and live my life and learn things to apply to our farm and other projects. 

A lovely woman named Barbara from Waimate (deep south) overheard our conversations. She laughed long and hearty through our chats, and said she fully understands my desire to disappear most of the time. 

I was too kind, and too accessible for far too long. I used up all my fucks begging to be seen and validated and failing to feel better from either of these things.

Now, I just relish my own company. Validation is not required, human contact is kept surface level and safe, but I still hold space for offering support and advice because I can do this without putting myself at any risk of burn out theses days. Boundaries are strong and beauty and magic are everywhere most of the time.

I still get triggered. I still struggle with deep sadness. I still feel angry and scared a lot of the time.

But brains do learn to seek and find joy and feel safe. 

If the feelings of anxiety and frustration are invited to run their course, and gratitude and wonder are nurtured in healthy green light relationships… brains and hearts do heal.

Yesterday was indeed a gift, and I just wanted to share a few snippets of it with you.

Thanks for reading. 

Don’t Want to Jinx It…

Over the last two days here in Manhattan, Damon and I binged the new romcom series “Nobody Wants This” and it was pretty okay. Based in LA, not here, but still American AF.

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Cute. Relatable. 

I am writing this blog in support of waiting for the right person and the magic that manifests when you find them.

Noah (romantic cis male lead) and Joanne (romantic cis female lead) are maybe a bit like my spunky former Monk and me. He’s calm, humble, cute, and called to spiritual and general leadership practice. She’s a small hurricane and hot mess. 

Biggest glaring difference in the narratives obviously being we are doing our best to navigate the journeys of the combination of seven kids from our previous relationships. That is a terrific, terrifying and rewarding challenge.

We are currently in the final throws of our third annual big family trip. Took the teenagers to Japan in January. Six of the seven kids joined us for a ski trip to Queenstown. This last 2024 adventure started with all four of my kids, my very difficult to understand (so I have long since stopped trying) ex-husband Steve, and my stepson River. 

There are only two remaining children here in NYC. Stephanie and River. They are both much happier having their third amigo Daniel (my oldest kid) in the mix, and are clearly missing his calming and quirky vibe. We all are.

Steph had a tummy bug a couple of days ago but is on the mend and River has been a great sport. He remains undeniably a 15 year old boy. 15 year old boys are shuffly, snuffly, filled to the eyeballs with testosterone, and generally live on a completely different frequency to tired but content middle aged witches such as myself. 

Yet we get along most of the time. We all Love and respect one another, and all three of my step kids are actively grateful for the happiness I bring to their father. He is a pretty happy guy and really finds me a joy to be around. Who the fuck knows how or why that is the case, but we do have a great time together. 

The close quarters over the past couple of weeks have probably now worn on the last communal nerve however. 

That’s to be expected. And we have separate rooms on separate floors here in Manhattan so are all given the space to rest and there’s a lovely dinner with some of our fave New Yorkers in the West Village tonight. 

It is clear we have grown and had some amazing moments. One day they might even realise what a huge fucking effort it is to get something like this to happen. And if the Oracle is particularly kind, perhaps they will even appreciate those efforts one day. We live in hope.

None of this is what I want to talk about.

I want to talk, again… I know, about my beautiful and doting wife Damon. 

Watching this romcom about a couple in their 40’s finding happiness was a lovely little chance to reflect on our journey.

It has been over five years “off the apps” which seems so strange, as it’s been mostly a smooth ride, despite the occasional bump. 

Damon was never for a single second on any of the apps. He is not built that way, nor would he need to as he was considered a rather eligible bachelor in the months before we hooked up. 

Over two years we’ve been blissfully married, monogamous and meandering the planet together. We are basically and continuously joined at the hip. Neither of us knew we’d be quite so content in such an arrangement.

So the final episode of the season – spoiler alert – left the happy new couple briefly breaking up because Noah was going to be the big cheese Rabi and Joanne wasn’t ready to convert to Judaism. 

Queue contemplative moment looking over at my man (who is SUCH a snack, I just gotta remind everyone how beautiful this fella is, face, baby blue eyes, luscious curly locks, body and MOST importantly his shining, brave and abundant soul) and thinking how far we have both come and what we sacrificed to be living the life we do.

We found each other at low points in both of our lives. I was fairly fresh out of a serious nervous break-down and he was healing and rebuilding himself across many facets of his journey.

We moved in together and started traveling at a mind-boggling pace. There was little to no fucking around and he was not for a single moment in the maybe camp, but always a resounding “HELL YES” when it came to me and our relationship.

I just, generally, couldn’t believe my luck. And yes, I did absolutely do the Dee thing at the start and try my very best to sabotage the situation as soon as it seemed it might actually work. Luckily he saw through my dipshittery and trauma and hung in there.

Covid locked us down at our farm together, and that farm has become our business and a bane and blessing to both our bank account (which is shared, I must do a blog on that one day) and our overall happiness. 

We love that farm. 

It is unrecognizable from the weed infested fuckery it was when my ex was making decisions for the property. The farm was the only thing I demanded in my divorce. Other assets were split down the middle without any fuss, but the ex and his mother kept hold of a property portfolio that is actually huge. Never was there a single fuck given by me on that front. 

We were even going to move into the family home and fix it up and pay market rates to rent it knowing the kids (Adam in particular) wanted to keep the place. 

That absolutely did not happen and I am eternally grateful it didn’t. Funny how stressful moments can in hindsight clearly be blessings. We were poised with boxes on moving day when the ex-husband phoned out of the blue and announced his new missus wasn’t having it.  

Dumbass forgot to talk to her about it. Not cool. Not a surprise either, but seriously disrespectful to her and to us. Que sera sera.

So we were homeless for a few weeks with all our shit in storage. I was very confused and angry, but am now chuffed that I didn’t end up trying once again, in an infinite stream of attempts to help out my ungrateful ex. That is a hiding to nowhere. He will never appreciate anything. We get it, we move on.

Wanting the farm and nothing else, and not fighting for the much more valuable family home was one of the many excellent decisions I have made for myself since my brain and self was re-set.

I said to Damon this morning, that I appreciated all he sacrificed. He sold his house and we spent a few fabulous months managing getting it to market together. That meant he came to our marriage solvent and supportive. He also agreed to leave his CEO role at a lovely NGO. He took huge risks and stepped in as acting CEO for 6 months at one of my companies ChargeNet. He was a calm and steady hand and was kicked to the curb without so much as a thank you after his internment. Not a single fuck given by either of us on that subject either. People suck, it’s cool I am basically immune at this point.

I think, the secret sauce to my bountiful happiness these days has a lot to do with letting people and shit go. These days I step forward into what is next without overthinking or wasting good give-a-fuck-energy.

Damon wrapping up as CEO at ChargeNet was a special time for us. His job was stressful and as soon as he was replaced by a competent woman, we were able to focus on the farm, and more importantly ourselves and our marriage. 

As he started dating me basically at rock bottom and held me up and accountable through my divorce and recovery, I did not feel like the one who had to make too many sacrifices coming into this.

He corrected that thought process by reminding me I completely turned my back on “an active social life”. 

That translates to my slut-faming phase. 

I was also still, at that point, surrounded by some large number of people who would not cross a road to piss on me if I were on fire. But yes. When we started out, I thought I was a big independent bad-ass who needed to not have her wings clipped. 

This was an arrangement he originally considered, but the fact is, our boy Damon does not share. No way, no how, with no-one. He is a penguin through and through. Only has eyes for Dianna, and boundaries around that are clear and observable in every aspect of our relationship. 

I can chat once in a blue moon with a fun or interesting ex, and he knows about that. It’ll just be for a check-in or cheerful congratulations message, but it is rare that I bother. He just maintains a cool and respectful distance from anyone that was or wanted to be romantically involved with him. 

Worth mentioning that I am a big fan of his first wife. She is a walking contradiction, a great beauty, and fierce goddess. We are not designed to be friends as we have deeply different personalities, passions, goals, and interests. I definitely think you could say I am a fan though. She’s a stunning and fascinating woman. Damon and her are pretty low drama and they both clearly Love their kids. I do too. They are incredible people and make me very proud.

So I will wrap up there as I have blathered on enough. And, as the title says, I do NOT care to jinx this incredible soft, safe, squishy and satisfying marriage of ours. We fought our own battles to become the people we are today, and our nervous systems are clearly grateful for the ongoing reflection and efforts toward healing and gratitude.

But what’s my take home message? Well a number of our friends who have left or had disappointing relationships and marriages come to an end say that Damon and my relationship gives them cause for hope that the next time around can be better, that it is possible to find a more rewarding and loving relationship in our more mature years. We often joke that that is a huge amount of pressure for us!

Whilst we may not have the definite explanation of our apparent success (at least to date), and we do know in the grand scheme our relationship is still in its relative infancy, we can say honestly that we do take the job of not taking one another for granted very seriously. I think that is a key reason why things have gotten better and better with each day that passes rather than is so often the case getting worse. We tend to focus on what would make the other person happy and delight in delighting each other.

That’s some good tonic right there. How many people in relationships do you know that can genuinely say that? I’ll warrant it’s not many, but you know what, I can almost guarantee that the relationships where the parties involved ARE able to say that will be the most happy ones and will have the greatest chance of surviving. 

Thanks for reading.