Reflections After Four Years of Marriage

All of the thinking I have done on the subject of this marriage, and happiness in general brings me back to one fundamental fact.

Love YOURSELF. The rest of the good shit sorta stems from this, and I never really got to experience any of that until I fell in Love with me. Which required a lot of alone time, some seriously shitty dating stories, and isolation for days, and at one point weeks at a time. But I fucking got there. And I want all the women of the world to embark on the same and most important love story of their lives. And it starts with YOU goddess…

So let me take you on one of my typically meandering journeys as we embark on our fourth year of wedded bliss.

Four years of marriage have wafted by.

Since I realized it was our anniversary yesterday, it seems I can’t stop thinking about the absolute clusterfuck my nervous system and survival instincts were in when we started dating.

Me and my namesake Goddess Dianna at the V&A? Maybe...

Chasing and placating people who clearly fucking hated me was how I rolled for a very long time. Not an uncommon trauma response considering the shit storm of a childhood and early adult life I trawled through. Unsafe people, trauma bonds, a total lack of self-preservation, and no desire or capacity to have or observe my own or others’ boundaries made the first 40 years of life pretty-fucking interesting.

Beautiful at times.

And absolutely exhausting.

It is an incomprehensible miracle I survived some of the very bad decisions unhealed me made. But I also got shit done. Fuck did I what. Unstoppable and without an off-switch for decades.

Cringe.

So. Some number of years after Steve and I split, I found myself pursued by plenty of suitors across the planet. I tended to fawn over the broken, beastly, mad-bad-and-dangerous-to-know types. Stable, suitable and sensible people generally didn’t last long on my dance card.

Then… There was Damon.

Damon made no secret of his intent or interest. He had been waiting in the wings nursing the wounds inflicted by his own catalogue of slings and arrows.

This blue-eyed beauty arrived with his own battle scars and PTSD from parenting, relationships and life.

And he implored me not to hurt him.

The dance of settling down and nervous systems synching was swift but undeniably bumpy in our first year or two together.

Thankfully, at some point, we kinda just became obsessed and content with each other.

And from that point, we have absolutely soared.

Somehow, we have built businesses, circled the globe, navigated the last throws of parenting prior to the much-anticipated empty nest phase. And there is nobody and nothing on the planet we crave or enjoy more than being in each other’s company. Regardless of where we are or what we are doing.

This anniversary Damon chopped wood.

He fields countless calls from contractors and choreographs work across our three properties/projects. We had his two sons on site at the retreat helping so I made them vegan bolognaise. While he kept his many plates spinning as he does nearly every single day, I ran errands. Had a flying but deeply satisfying visit with my friend Vanessa. Also had to bring our sick cat to and then from the vet after he likely ingested some poisoned rodent while skulking around the property. $980 vet bill, but it is the first time in 7 years this particular three-legged cat has needed a vet aside from his vaccines. We are so pleased he is on the mend.

So yeah, our life and romance is rather full of chaos and deadlines. But so much progress and creativity as well.

The seven children are all growing into very solid and interesting adults. Watching our ducklings fly the nest one by one has however absolutely not been the source of any great sadness. They are blossoming into beautifully complicated, generally funny, and genuinely decent human beings. They’re all in their own ways vastly superior to their parents in how they see and manage the world. Not a single one of them (not even YOU if you are reading this Stephanie) have their shit together, but they are all having a far superior journey through their teens and 20’s than I remember having. They know they are loved. That’s something that is not negotiable and I likely annoy my kids at least with reminding them just how proud and impressed I am by them.

Sometimes they struggle. Sometimes they soar. But, generally, they seem to appreciate us. They even jump at opportunities to spend time with us when the opportunity presents itself.

But oh my, we enjoy the gaps in our calendar that do not include ANY of the children in our orbit. They carry on with their lives and we check in digitally from time to time, but it is so nice to spend some stretches of time and space sans children.

I could talk ad nauseum about how divinely dedicated Damon is every fucking day. He stops to admire my face and stares with moist eyes at me every single morning. Several times a week he asks things like: “How can I show up more for you?” or “Well, will that make you happy?” and any number varieties of check ins to ensure he is being the best wife and lover on the planet for me. I only hope I show him how much I appreciate his incredible leadership skills, exacting standards, hopeless romanticism, and generally impressive capacity to be a good cunt.

But somehow, I think I want to talk about how none of us ought to settle for anything less than being safe, seen and happy in a relationship.

Women were conditioned for centuries to swallow cups of cold sick in our relationships with men and meekly ask for more.

None of that.

Get a pet, plant a garden and find a fantastic vibrator before you settle for or stay in any romantic situation where you are not adored for the goddess you are.

I guess the same stands true for men settling for unsupportive women – but that’s not really my field of work.

No relationship will be flawless. No pairing will be perfectly matched. No romance will be without sailing sluggishly through some doldrums, regardless of how fast and exhilarating the brisk sessions of movement may be.

But it ought not always be fucking hard.

If you do not feel seen, respected, or safe, you deserve more.

And perfectly lovely individuals can be with the wrong partner and become emotional brutes or the worst version of themselves, just because the chemistry is off, the timing is wrong, or it simply isn’t meant to be. There’s a point when we all know if things aren’t working, and that’s the point we owe it to ourselves, our partners, our dependents and the people who look to us for inspiration or guidance to call time on toxic, no matter how long you’ve been together or how good things once were.

While I can’t currently imagine the interdependent bubble of bliss bursting between Damon and I, our story only continues so long as Love, grace, joy, adventure, and respect is getting served and consumed in both directions.

And for that recipe to continue to successfully see us through, we sometimes need to disappear completely together.

So we have to jealously guard some serious Deemon time together. Being absolutely lost anywhere together without a soul who know us or a single solitary meeting or engagement on the agenda for a few days, well, that keeps us deeply attached, if not, continually obsessed with each other. It is our formula, and was also the formula that found me falling in Love with MY OWN DAMNED self several years ago. Being isolated in magical solitude is a powerful magic that works for me. I know that the idea of rattling around the globe without much of a plan would not appeal to everyone. Some would find it a vile and unfun option indeed.

But I guess that’s a good part of the puzzle. Fall in Love with you and allow the appropriate person with equal parts of adoration for your fine self, and similar interests and a capacity to enjoy the same shenanigans that support your happiness.

Yup.

That’s the magic right there.

First and absolutely non-negotiable.

Love you. Fall madly and deeply in Love with you so anyone who does not understand what a complete delight you are can FUCK OFF.

This is the only way to make yourself or someone else comfortable and complete in a coupled situation.

Once you’ve accomplished this, and either played the field or found yourself through sufficient meditation, abstinence, gardening, travel, or whatever you need to figure out that you are a complete and total delight. ONLY THEN can you partner with someone that Loves you too, and will enjoy doing the things you love to do.

Thank you for being wonderful Damon.

And thank you for reading if you’re still with me beloved observer!

XXOO

Struggling to Embrace Change

Writing is therapy for me.

I take the time to weave words and tell stories, tapping out tirades and taking the reader on a journey of authenticity that starts in my brain and ends here on the screen.

Today I have been trying to fashion a clear and cohesive plan for our myriad of projects, travels, and businesses.

Over on another channel I allowed the included AI facility to fashion a blog about regenerative mindset. It’s strange and when I read it felt somehow unhinged and detached. I posted it anyway, more as an experiment than anything.

Here’s the thing.

Everyone but me seems to be embracing this revolution. AI makes creating content, pulling together ideas, and shaping brands a much easier and clearly more voluminous prospect.

I fucking don’t trust it.

And…

Do not even get me started on Data centres. What kind of cretan thinks precious life-giving fresh water is better served cooling circuitry at a data farm that is moving us further toward the singularity or some post-apocolyptic matrix nightmare.

No fucking thank you. And what the actual fuck.

But what can I do? I am just one rage filled woman who dragged myself through the ashes of my own fucking personal hell. Only to rise like the divine, chubby, curious and creative creature I am and phoenix into a fucking beautiful existence where nearly nobody is ever allowed near me.

While that’s pretty cool, and I am eternally proud of my plucky little self, I am not in the habit of joining forces with too many other humans or collaborating these days.

So.

Clearly, I’m smart enough to know that anything and everything about me that has been posted on the Internet is somehow the property of the machine that is AI. I do not live in a cognitive dissonant world where I assume privacy or protection of any kind from the digital monster and the menagarei of megalomaniacal men encouraging the tsunami of shortcuts and simplifications.

But I don’t fucking like it.

How do I navigate this?

We are building a very low tech experience. We have to use social media and promote ourselves digitally, and of course AI is ensconced in many if not all of the digital tools we use, from booking platforms to editing software.

My darling children never spare my feelings and point out daily that I am actually a cunty hypocrite. They also admit that I do try to not be a cunty hypocrite, and actively stand my ground as a thinking, feeling human being in very strange and divisive times.

Lemme give you an example of not being cunty but still kinda being a cheeky cunt, which I must say I love about me.

Because we live in the CBD and travel a lot, we eat out a lot. When you eat out in 2026, you are often (or always) asked if you have any allergies or dietary requirements.

I do not have any religious or dietary requirements.

However.

Nearly every time I am asked this I volunteer this piece of personal infromation:

“I am deeply and importantly allergic to fascism.”

My 12 year old son, bless his earnest and lovely little socks, will volunteer that information if ever I forget.

This sentence has earned me several high fives. My first high five was actually at the Savoy in London at breakfast where the lovely and talented waitress did a double take. Paused. And said with a broad smile:

“Same actually.” And a magical high five moment was burned into my memory.

I am not particularly brave or well organised. Probably safer to describe my activism as slackdivism or paltry attempts to assuage my white-middle-class-privileged-guilt.

I do not brand myself as a change maker or disruptor or infuencer. Simply a tired, peri-menopausal witch trying to stay safe, sane and sleep well at night by not being too terrible.

A mini-messiah complex and the conviction that it was my job to help every person who crossed my path sent me to the funny farm back in 2018 so now my peace and mental hygiene are paramount, and anyone who threatens to disrupt these things will not be tolerated. Not that I’m particularly mean to anyone, I just don’t and won’t a lot more than I can or will.

So here is what we are trying to achieve.

A place where people feel safe. Genuinely enjoyable offline and off-grid experiences and robust options for curbing digital addictions. Opportunities to be a part of mindful and regenerative practices with like-minded people who are equally keen to belong to a counter-culture of kindness and inclusive community.

Rather interestingly though, I don’t really participate in any of these things very often. Life has left me seriously cynical and it is safe to say I am pretty angry about injustice and fuckery in general. I do not people much these days. Even lovely humans drain my batteries and take my spoons. I don’t start most days with many spoons and those I have get handed to strangers more than people I know. The few friends I have may not hear from me for days, months or even years as I navigate the gauntlets of life with my wife and cat being the only constant companions. The kids too, but being delightfully divorced means I get at least half of my life sans children should I choose to be somewhere they are not.

But I’ll be good god-damned if I am not keen as fuck to create a safe place I did not have access to when I was falling apart. People get bitter or better, and I want to be a better person. Truly I do. But… I also want to be left the fuck alone most of the time.

So, with the passionate and impressive skills of my beautiful wife Damon, we are attempting to put together a suite of services and situations to encourage kindness, creativity, and a welcome an enriching escape from the digital age.

As it is an incredibly complicated and multi-faceted system, I will bullet point and abridge a version of the plans because people are always a bit stunned and confused when we try and fail to elevator-pitch our plans.

Matakana Retreat

Around 50 acres of topographically challenging, biologically significant and genuinely magical surrounds.

This patch of paradise is located about 10 minutes away from Matakana village along a dirt road. We will never be interested in providing access to huge numbers of humans, this is a boutique offering that will always give a serene sense of solitude and access to getting off-grid and off-line.

We’ve had guests ask for us to provide a secure safe to store devices during visits. Essentially an opportunity to grab devices (a-la White Lotus) and hide them away to allow families to digitally detox together.

We host guests on this property across three self-contained and character-packed private vacation rentals. One rather spiffy ec-chic lodge that can comforably host up to 8 people.

A safari tent that we have decided to shut down over winter because it does get a bit cold and not everyone loves the idea of snuggling in bed with an electric blanket and you simply cannot keep a tent toasty in the winter time. It is a tent.

And the newest member of the retreat family is the work-in-progress that is our airstream caravan site. It is much warmer in the winter, and has a cedar hot tub, but to be absolutely honest we have tweaking to do. It just doesn’t quite flow or feel as private as the other options. We are working on that and it is still a very cosy and well-reviewed spot.

Along with these three options, we are spending this winter (2026) upgrading and improving the paths, planting and introducing a comprehensive wellness suite.

That’s probably enough information to whet some appetites on the retreat portion of our priorities at present.

City Surrounds (Persephone’s Palace)

This is where we live most of the time we are in Aotearoa, as the retreat is booked out and providing resource to pour back into the other projects.

The building is in midtown. It is four full stories of fucking whatever. This whatever needs a new roof, new elevator, new just about everything.

I suspect that most sane human beings would not be even remotely interested in living in the building while imminent and comprehensive renovations were on the cards.

Luckily, I almost always find other people’s idea of sanity and sane behaviour (as in where to live, and what to do with resources) rather boring. Doing shit that other people think can’t be done is my idea of fun. And the kids have found that they are quite content to be along for this particular ride.

Our adult and older teenage kids have their own apartments in this building. My youngest who is 12 has a room in our penthouse apartment and his 16 year old brother can come and go as he pleases.

The ground floor and first floor are being gutted and moved around to provide a flexible third space for creative cohorts to find community and pay fair and reasonable prices for state of the art premises.

Well… maybe. It is all evolving.

What was a restaurant will be gutted and turned into a flexible third space for events and banquets. The banquets and regular community-centric gatherings (mocktail and menopause Mondays, live music, poetry nights, open mics… so many options!) will be able to showcase the produce we grow ethically at the farm.

Regenerative Farm (Persephone’s Paddocks)

The incredible response we have had to the retreat had left us running out of room to process resources (mainly lumbar) and diversify our project.

So we found a well-maintained finishing block 15 minutes from our Matakana farm.

This is all new to us and we are very grateful to have a brilliant farm manager and clearly engaged agricultural consultant helping us ease into the scene.

Swales and continuously regenerating forestry projects will set the stage for a multi-generational and protected in perpetuity project.

We will be building a barn, and inviting animals to live long, healthy and happy lives as friends not food.

We will also be nourishing beef cattle who have fantastic and free-range days of comfort and happiness until they get too heavy for the land to comfortably carry. Then they will be moved on to the next finishing block or off to have one final bad day after what we hope are many happy ones.

The ethicality of this is something I am struggling with. I adore animals, but I also eat meat. While most of my diet is vegetarian as a result of my personal opinions and particular tastes, I would much rather raise happy healthy bovines who are calm and loved for their time here.

Food security is something a lot of us have to come to terms with.

Finding Persephone Projects

This is the core of where my passion comes together.

So I had hoped to never own/manage a registered charity after volunteering and establishing more than I can count.

Experience had me incredulous to the concept of charities. I’d seen too many strange and less than transparent shitty shenanigans happen as a volunteer, and watched a couple of situations I’d kicked off fall into the hands of actual assholes who did not carry on in the spirit of the work I’d done.

The idea of a social enterprise seemed somewhat more transparent. But the fact is, there is a need for the mechanism of giving with both hands. There is a function in society that lifts and asks nothing but allows people to reciprocate and contribute when and how they can. And there is a rigorous level of checks and balances in managing a charity that I hope to not only uphold but smash out of the park with integrity and clarity.

I adore women.

I’ve watched our ideas and efforts be stolen in real time and at every angle by misogynistic men who have been handed what women have worked for.

This is the essence of Persephone.

In Greek myth she was the daughter of deities (Zeus and Demeter) who was kidnapped by her uncle (Zeus’s brother Hades) and taken to the underworld.

What absolute fuckery.

Demeter so loved her daughter and missed her so much that she bargained with the bullshit men to have her back and as the Queen of agriculture and the harvest her daughter became the feminine deity associated with Spring.

I hate everything about this story,

I hate the male dipshits that stole and bargained for the beautiful, autonomous, magical being that is Persephone. I hate trauma bonds. I hate the concept of kidnapping being considered okay if she gets to be queen… but FUCK ME DAYS I do adore a woman who just takes what she has been dealt and fucking rises.

Persephone is my greek mythological perception of Leonard Cohen’s sentence:

“There is a crack, a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in”

Well circumstance certainly cracked Persephone.

And, in my imagining, she became a loving and gentle advocate for every creature who has their time in the underworld. And we all have and will experience our own and others’ deaths. Plants, animals, fungus… even light must expire. And she is uniquely qualified to understand that without death and decay there is no birth or growth.

I want to see women thrive. And I want them to encourage others to do the same. I want our broken to become our beautiful and I want to be vulnerable together.

Thanks for reading.

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.

Love Sharing Stories – But Some Magic is Just for Me

The cycle of shame over not writing, editing, or attending enough to creative endeavours is my Sisyphus boulder.

While I do not currently earn a living from creative pursuits, I live a life scorched by the flames of curiosity and wonder. I also have the freedom and resources to be doing basically whatever I want, when I wish, where I choose, and only with people I actually adore. Yet, time gets swallowed up with business commitments, children, chores and general drudgery.

This is why we travel. And we travel A LOT. We head off to far flung places most people just don’t think to go so we can steep like a couple of happy little teabags in a hot water of hope, happiness, curiosity and creativity.

My soulmate and muse Damon exists on a very different plane to me and sees the world through the eyes of an almost minimalist former Buddhist monk. He does not crave or create clutter or confusion.

These days I am incomprehensibly calmer than I was a decade ago. Yet, still feel drawn to whimsy and probably more excitement than your average middle-aged witch. Also tend toward being compelled to consume trinkets and things as we travel. Purchased a lovely and loud bright orange dress in Santa Barbara. Do I need another dress? Absolutely not. Do I like my new dress? You bet your sweet bippy I do it is cute af.

dress turned out to be the same color as the sunset on the trip from Houston to Merida.

So now we are ensconced in blissful solitude in a castle-like conversion in the capital of the Yucatan province in Mexico. Merida is the real Mexico I crave, not a touristic town filled with gringos like us. We came here to improve our Spanish and it is a necessity to speak it here. So that is a win.

We are also going to put me in my corset and witchy dress so I can swan around and Damon can photograph me. Love having a partner who is so willing to be silly and childlike with me. We literally play dress up and hide in our rich inner lives in strange and wonderful locations all over the planet.

We always have so many intentions of sharing the incredible moments of change and transformation we enjoy on our travels. Also sharing the rare but real challenges that sometimes arise in our intrepid choices. Honestly, we have some incredible ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ stories and really ought to be sharing those along with our smoother and simpler sojourns.

We are pretty content most of the time at this stage in our lives. We actively avoid being ensconced in our own or other people’s complex orbits and dynamics as the more people you’ve got in your orbit, the higher the chances of being pulled into orbits of drama or difficulty. We do not shy away from grief or challenging times when they are presented to people we Love. We do avoid most people most of the time though, as we like our own company so very much. Life is predominantly devoid of drama and I tend to make myself scarce at the first sign of convoluted fuckery, decipherable deceit, or any other general hijinx.

It is definitely by design that I only have four close friends. I am deeply, madly, and importantly in Love with hundreds of humans who have wandered into my life over the years. I would drop everything to support any one of them if I were summoned. But true, trusted, sincere friendships that I chat with consistent regularity (most days) I only have the bandwidth for four. I had more but my fuck around and find out mechanism means there’s been a lot of goodbyes for the sake of self-respect and preservation since I started my healing journey. Nobody nowhere will hear me speak anything but Love and respect for the people who were in my inner orbit once and have since been shut out. Provided they didn’t do anything cruel, conniving or unforgivable. I will speak that truth all day long if someone shit on me. But most of the friendships I have ended in the years since my breakdown have ended because it was time. No anger or animosity, just the dull ache that comes from wanting to reach and share good news or check in to celebrate a win or commiserate over something. And that ache is seasoned with a strong sense of relief as when something special and cherished ends, it always makes room for new adventures and beginnings. I am not a person who regrets letting go. I actually Love this about me. The ability to let go of basically anything or anyone so I have the bandwidth to really show up for what is important and fill up my cup too.

Last week I took a rare and intense peak into the life and history of one of my four favoured friendships. Auriga brought us on a whirlwind tour of her teenage, formative and young adult life. I want to smash out a stunning update replete with images and insights that will capture with clarity the magic we were exposed to. I’m desperate to deliver with just enough words the closeness and clarity this journey introduced to our friendship. I want to bring the reader along on the funny, harrowing, heart-wrenching, exciting, and incredible journey we went on over four very busy and beautiful days.

But that magic lives in my heart now. And it is mine to have and I doubt I would be able to accurately describe the complex, charming, extraordinary and awe-inspiring magic I was exposed to.

So I won’t.

I will perhaps write down some thoughts about the two beautiful people I finally met after hearing about them both for years. Auriga’s parents are formidable forces of nature in the most natural and wonderful way. She looked like a chuffed child sitting between them as we enjoyed sushi at a place over on Howard Hughes Drive.

How cute is Auriga and her parents are just lovely. The poodle is named Little Bit and I am more than a little bit obsessed with her she's perfect.

They have already lived long and incredible lives and are both witty, and brilliant and have poetry and pain sewn in their coat pockets from lives well-lived and mistakes made and learned from and stories that would make anyone laugh and cry. I wish them continued long, healthy, magical life. Along with all the other incredible over-achieving magical creatures we met. We need hope more than ever in these uncertain times. I have been decidedly charged up with some of that hope thanks to the magnificent and intelligent Americans I met on this adventure.

And my heart hurts for them all as the world journey’s farther into patterns that many of us hoped would never be repeated.

Check in with your friends in the USA there’s a lot of feelings being felt right now and supporting mercy, kindness and intelligence is more important than I think it has ever been in my 46 years on this earth.

Thanks for reading.

Toiled Delightfully Through Tuesday

Bright Sides Glimmering Everywhere – Despite or Perhaps Because of My Raging ADHD?

So I have been known to create my own crisis/tension from time to time as this state is where my neuro-divergent self seriously gets shining…

Think I will start by saying thanks to you Wickedly Wonderful Witches who slipped into my DMs today. And the lovely, patient women who keep in contact through the years on social media or IRL. My Coven really delivered some serious safe and magical vibes as I bopped around the city not doing the things I ought to be doing.

Today was a Tuesday.

Day started a bit wobbly… I am feeling like an asshole because I am overdue for uploading/sharing the top ten for the photo comp I ran (rather successfully might I add!) in April.

I am so bad at deadlines. So. Fucking. Unbelievably bad.

HOWEVER…

Avoiding doing things I ought to be doing has always been a magical wonderland where I am a fucking weapon at doing other, unrelated tasks.

Today I was a machine.

Arranged house-sitting and childcare situation for the month of November. The cat and our house are going to be absolutely pampered while Damon and I are pinching ourselves hiking through the Himalayas in the private and mysterious Kingdom of Bhutan.

Op-shopped up a storm and scored a bunch of bargains at the Habitat for Humanity store in Wairau. I picked up a proper (slightly scuffed but fit a treat) pair of Christian Loubouton sparkly heels. I will likely never own another pair, and these were a proper Cinderella moment. Ridiculous amount of money, but I am frugal as fuck with the shoe situation most of the time, and the money goes to a charity I actually admire, so… WINNING!

I also found a delightful designer bag for one of my besties who just got a new job and needs to slay all day while she is well on her way.

I’ve also been manifesting the perfect rain jacket and asking the Oracle to help me find this elusive item. Today, she delivered and I got a shiny/sparkly deep red rain jacket that fit me beautifully for a cool $20. I am gonna wear the absolute SHIT out of this jacket. It is perfect.

Long luxurious chats with a few of my fave goddesses about serious witchy life stuff on the DMs all day. It’s all proper private chatham house rules topics so I won’t share cause it’s none-o-yo-b’ness… suffice to say the synchronicity between us was and is kinda exquisite. I don’t have many friends at this stage of my journey, but I sure do Love and appreciate the handful that have held on and proven they are trustworthy and true.

Also went in to renew Registration on our teeny tiny city sized i3. That’s an electric car for those who don’t recognise the term i3. Her name is D33M0N – which is of course my name and my wife’s name squished together. DEE and daMON – and it’s also the name of our growing and UNBELIEVABLY fun and rewarding company. Gonna be a hot minute before the place is humming along in profitability zone without us, but it is an absolute joy most of the time. Wish everyone could Love their job as much as we do the farm and the eco-retreat. There would be no war, no crime, everyone would just be chill hanging with their chickens and listening to the bananas grow. Or whatever version of that fills them with as much joy as our tiny slice of paradise brings us and our team.

Paid the RUC’s (Road User Charges) for both D33M0N and LOLGAS. $743 for 10,000km for those who were wondering what the chargers are. I do not mind paying road user charges but I do vehemently resent paying the same amount as planet fucking, particulate matter spewing diesel disasters are charged. That is some serious bullshit right there, and exactly the kind of inane and completely ill-advised bollocks I have come to expect from our current cluster fuck of a political administration. Truly confounding.

Ordered three cheapo pairs of spectacles from Oscar Wylee (3 pairs $300… the rate at which I lose glasses I cannot justify spending more).

Got call from school nurse Steph’s still not feeling great and today was her fourth day off school. The school nurse was a sweetheart and agreed Princess Stephanie needs another day to rest tomorrow. This feels pretty okay considering she’s got most of the years required credits (with excellence) and is already applying for universities here, in Australia and Canada.

Organised THREE belated birthday dinners out this week and next. Have also committed to doing some weird early morning exercise situation in Matakana with Sarah on Monday morning first thing. Oracle preserve me I am a little scared!

Shopped for groceries, popped dinner on (roast chicken marinated overnight in oat milk and herbs and spices, highly HIGHLY recommend this recipe… so tender!), video call with the chair of my trust (an elusive but utterly divine goddess… sadly our paths won’t cross now until July as we are all so freaking busy!)

Fed kids, admired our array of happy healthy pot plants (I never had a tidy, safe, calm home or pot plants ever in my life until I moved in with my domestic goddess wife), and was curled up in my jammies by 6:30pm.

AND THEN…

I wrote this blog.

Had no idea what an incredibly busy (and actually painfully expensive thanks to licensing and registration fees) and pleasantly productive day I had until I started writing.

And how utterly blessed I feel to be surrounded by a safe, warm, calm environment. My joy tonight was bubbling over as I chatted with happy, funny, open, and grateful kids. Gosh they are far more settled and self-refelctive than I was at their ages. Perhaps even more than I am now.

Then came the obligatory pats for our needy three-legged rescue cat. His name is Benedict Cumbercat and he is actually a total asshole but we adore him. Tonight also saw me swept up in a moment where I very nearly wept with joy surveying our warm tidy living room full of healthy pot plants and witchy herbs thriving in their eclectic pots I have collected through op-shopping expeditions.

Not even a fraction of these rather wonderful things would have happened today if I wasn’t well and truly tied up in absolute knots about my earth day photo competition dilemma. I must honour those who entered and share the finalists. And I will. And it will feel pretty good I hope.

But, for now, I’m just going to tuck in my ten year old and then slip off into a peaceful slumber thinking about all the big and little things that made today rather magical.

If Pain is a Gift, Today I am Blessed

On Friday last week I stayed in bed most of the day after my social battery went totally flat after we attended a beautiful send off for Damon’s uncle David at the glorious goddess Auntie Ingrid’s home. I am a big fan of Auntie Ingrid and had a lovely time laughing with Damon’s niece, his delightful dad, and some friends and neighbours as well. Also got to catch up with Cousin Emma who is here from Boston, and of course my irrepressible and decidedly delightful mother in law Pamela. Her brother David completely changed the face of the music and broadcasting industries in Aotearoa, and he was much loved and well-respected pain in the ass according to the speeches and songs shared in his honour. A giant of a man in stature, charisma, and his indominable legacy.

So my beautiful wife Damon and I snuggled in and had a quiet day on Friday. I decided at some point to make myself some baked beans with melted cheese on top. A fateful decision that would have deep and disastrous consequences.

Those scolding hot beans and the molten cheese attached themselves to the roof of my mouth and seared and sizzled and burned and bubbled. I knew I’d fucked up immediately. Burns are an insidious suffering and the echo of thousands of heat-related injuries flooded through my accident prone body and nervous system in a flash while this latest dipshittery occurred.

It is now a week later. I am unable to talk or eat without pain. A trip to the dentist confirmed the extreme nature of my injury and sprays, gargles and pain killers are keeping the pain dull enough that I can read my wonderful Barbara Kingsolver novel “Unsheltered” and pause now to write this quickfire blog.

My life is certainly not terrible.

When shit goes wrong, as it sometimes (often) does, I am reminded just how not terrible things are as terrible things kinda waft through my consciousness and concrete reality.

Consciousness and concrete reality are really such small parts of the magic that is existence, but we place a great deal of focus on them. Most states pass. Joy and euphoria come and go, as do grief and despair, pain and pleasure. It all wafts through and it is such a fucking incredible gift to experience it from a place where I know there is hope – after living a powerless and hopeless existence for such an incredibly long time.

I am not powerless. I am filled with hope. Even bad days feel like a gift as somehow, now, that I have called back my life and my boundaries to my own self. Lately, I am good even when things are not going great.

It’s so fucking weird and awesome.

As is customary, Damon and I have been continuing to toil away at things we both Love, and also… manage to keep our shit together (just) when dealing with truly vile and disgusting people. These vile creatures serve very little purpose on this planet, aside from reminding sensible/kind/curious/creative people how not to be boring, cowardly and disappointing cunts.

The world needs these horid, boring, angry, annoying people. The deepest frustration I have observed with them, however, is that they claw and con their way to positions of some level of power despite generally never having done anything interesting or useful. This old boys club continues to be filled with cowards and cretins and it continues to protect itself despite clearly competent aspects of society (women, minorities, thinkers, creatives, truly competent and charismatic leaders, and even kindness in general) proving to be far better and more fun for everyone and everything involved.

Days like today remind me just how glad I am to have picked a side and sticking to it though. I choose the planet, nature, community, tolerance, creativity, art, hope, and magic. I do not choose, seek or condone ignorance, hate, greed, fascism or privilege. All that nasty shit is just getting way too mainstream for my liking these days, and I will stay in my lane and actively condemn it until the last breath leaves my beautiful little body.

So, having inflicted a reasonably serious injury on myself, I just have to calmly manage the pain and let it heal. I was not stressed out, or under the influence of any drugs or alcohol, or in any sort of hurry at all. I just made a really poor decision and a week later I am rendered rather helpless. Still able to function, more-or-less. Had a typically perfect catch up with my darling low-drama-llama goddess Mel and her sparkling beam of light daughter. And have had some b’ness meetings and strategy sessions and done a wee whisp of creative work this week as well. But through it all there is a pain that ranges from dull and controlled by the codeine to seering and excruciating.

I don’t hate it.

Suspect that the reason why I do not hate it, despite pain being genuinely unfun, there’s a comfort associated with a small but notable injury. This that goes beyond the fact I know it will heal and I will relish feeling fit and healthy even more after going through the motions of this recovery. I feel grateful it was not a bigger or different injury and am more grateful for the bits of me that are working and the vessel that carries me being in reasonable order most of the time.

When I was young and living through a traumatic and hellish childhood/puberty there was plenty of self-harm and poor decisions leading to injury. Now that I am safe and removed from toxic and abusive people… well, most of them… Even pain is not what it was when things were the way they were before. Now I’ve successfully built boundaries and started to design a safe, private, simple and very satisfying life. I have nothing to prove and don’t need anything from any fucker these days.

Still, I relish honest and creative collaboration and connection with a community. I thrive in situations with perfectly imperfect people doing their best and giving an actual authentic fuck about themselves and making the world bearable for themselves and others. Community and connection for creation not self-interest. It’s its own kind of magic.

My friends have checked in and chided at me for what is clearly on brand – if something is worth doing it is worth OVER-doing. My beautiful wife Damon has carried on important work at the farm and rushed home to nurse me in my invalid state. Not that he can do much. Poor thing. He wants so much to be helpful. I can’t eat and talking is a chore too, so he feels a bit helpless, but his presence is calming and there’s a tenderness that is so incredibly pure when one of a couple of lovebirds is injured or unwell.

Nurse pickles (we are dog sitting) is very concerned and helpful during my recovery ❤️‍🩹

I guess, all I am saying, is that I feel awful, and that’s somehow making me feel decidedly blessed and it is wonderful.

My mouth will heal. My friends are divine. My kids are all on different and fascinating paths right now and I am so stressed out by and utterly proud of each and every one of them. And I am safe. I am safe from gaslighting, cruelty, or scary social climbing con-artists. I am surrounded by people who are their authentic selves and perfectly imperfect in safe and interesting ways. Feeling shitty never felt so good.

Have a great long weekend everyone.

Much Love and thank you for reading.

Stuck in the 90’s Again

I truly Love being back at school. The penny drops and some readings sink in every once in a while, and for just a moment, I feel like a fucking academic rockstar.

I could spend the rest of my adult life languishing in books and journals and online resources all day. Words are delicious and reading and writing is a special kind of heaven for a logophile like myself.

Being an adult student pisses all over my undergrad and postgraduate diploma experiences. I actually want to be there now. It is the least stressful and in some ways most rewarding part of my life (sorry kids, husband, job and activism) right now. Probably mostly owing to the fact I know it will all be over by August. I felt the same giddiness about the first few events I managed when I got back to work, and the first weeks of my youngest children’s lives. I guess I like variety.

Anyway, what was I on about again?

Ah, yes, so I seriously love being back at school. I was in the library all day yesterday and today, and I’m up on the all but abandoned 4th floor that smells of books, and ink, and laptop fans and coffee. This is lucky, as the main floor smells of young people. You know the smell, like the 7th form common room. Lynx and sweat and raging hormones. So much yuck. Much prefer the musty smell of books to that of millennials. Nothing wrong with young people, we were all young people at one time or another, I just rather prefer being a feisty middle-aged mother of four.

I have earned my stripes in this life, and have crammed a decade worth of living and adventure into each and every year since striking out on my own (mostly) at the age of 16.

One of the nice things about getting/being older is the reminiscing. I wouldn’t want to do my teens or twenties over again for all the tea in China (China, CHINA… can’t help myself… Trump memes are like brain worms) but I do like thinking back on my incredibly interesting coming of age.

You’ve heard the saying “youth is wasted on the young” well I think that’s stone cold bullshit. Youth is not a waste. It is very important. Doing dumbass shit and becoming self aware and connected to a bigger purpose than ourselves is a destination only possible through the trials, heartache, laughter, tears, dramatics, awkward sex, fleeting first kisses, epic adventures and learning how to be resilient through all of this shit.

Youth is best spent in a body that can handle the punishment that comes with making many bad (and some fabulous) decisions. So, it is not wasted on the young. It is perfectly suited to them. And they can fucking HAVE IT!

So today’s soundtrack was exclusively 90’s fare. I listened to Counting Crows, and Lisa Loeb, and then the COMPLETE Third Eye Blind collection. I was transported to the University of Calgary and our four bedroom apartment in Castle Hall. They’ve since torn that whole complex that was built for the 1988 winter olympics down.

Chain smoking, beer for breakfast and working a full time job at a coffee shop on campus called (ever so originally) The Coffee Company. I Loved that job. I got another “foreign” student friend a job alongside me there. We’ve all but lost touch now. Her name was Sarah and she works as an events manager or something in Queenstown. I see her shit come up on Facebook or Instagram occasionally, but we’ve taken very different paths and don’t have mutual friends anymore. I see the other fabulous Australian Jess online a lot, we share a lot of political views so I like reading her status updates and shit.

So this trip down memory lane got me thinking. If I could go back and give skinny, insecure, campus bicycle (just about everyone had a ride) Dee some really solid advice it would include:

Listen, like ACTUALLY FUCKING LISTEN to that voice that says “that isn’t a good idea Dianna…” but listen MORE to the voice that says: “HEY! You should DO THAT!”
STOP SMOKING.
Give less fucks about what people think, most people whose opinions matter to you today will fall into obscurity (even with social media) and be replaced with people who are smart, kind, caring, quirky, wonderful and treat you with Love and respect.
Definitely go out with the sweet short guy you’re going to meet in a few years named Steve, and definitely do tell him that you can’t be bothered dating anyone who doesn’t want kids (together you’ll have four)
Love the shit out of everything and do not be ashamed. Your passion and enthusiasm will take you all over the planet, and it will be amazing. It does run out though, so use up every morsel while you can before it does.
Dance and sing and go on a lot of road trips.
The freedom you have right now is something you’ll not think of as a gift until it is replaced with the trappings of being an adult and all the responsibilities contained therein, so be free (and wrap up every single time if you’re feeling randy)
Enjoy your own company. You won’t realize how precious and wonderful being by yourself is until your mid 30’s and you almost NEVER get to be by yourself for any length of time ever. Seriously. Even going to the toilet will include an audience when you have four fucking kids, so go sit under a tree somewhere and just fucking be, because you won’t be getting a lot of those moments with a young family in tow.
Be confident and humble. You’ll figure it out…

So, seeing as I do not have a time machine to go back and tell me these things, I will instead hope that my kids benefit from the wisdom bred from my many adventures. Sprinkle on top of this Phteven’s own vast and varied life experience, and the kids will have a lot to draw on if they ever need advice.

So I am going to leave you with a song that my husband and I listened to on countless road trips and adventures together (before and after we had kids) from one of my top three favourite obscure Canadian bands. Do yourself a goddamned favour and listen to the whole thing, because it is CRAZY how history repeats and some things do not change, while others totally do.

Here’s “Stuck in the 90’s Again” by my main men from Eastern Canada (who are WELL over 30 now BTW)

MOXY FRUVOUS!

Thank you for reading.

Goodnight.

My Sweary Blog

If you want G rated please check out deehobbit.com

Tag: life

Reflections After Four Years of Marriage

Struggling to Embrace Change

Mothers Like No Others

Love Sharing Stories – But Some Magic is Just for Me

Toiled Delightfully Through Tuesday

If Pain is a Gift, Today I am Blessed

Stuck in the 90’s Again