I remember being at school, yes my memory does take me back that far surprisingly enough, I was really good at English, I don’t know what they call it these days, but I was always getting good marks for my stories, essays, poetry, handwriting and everything pertaining to English lessons. I remember wanting to be an artist, writer or a journalist, thank God I didn’t do the latter, but actually I didn’t do any of them, because as circumstances would have it, my mother moved us out of the city to the country, and my teen rebel surfaced in a disastrous way. By 15 I was pregnant, 16 I was a mother, ladies, the stories about there being nothing else to do in a country town are correct! My mother was busy running the local cafe she had bought and didn’t have time to supervise us kids, so run rampant we did, trouble is, it bit me in the ass big time!
So there it was, my writing dreams completely destroyed as I tried to navigate my way through motherhood. Trouble is I kept having kids, and then by the time I was in my late 30’s my kids started having kids and I always had a child of some sort theirs or mine attached to my widening hips! All sense of purpose for myself, all sense of even knowing who I was, left before I had even discovered it. When things used to shit me, I would grab a pen and paper and write a poem or just write, then throw it away. I would draw and then write a short story about it, but was always criticized and made fun of so I just put that side of me away. Oh it would surface every now and then but I never thought I ‘measured’ up to the work everyone else was doing so I always put it back in the depths of my dreams where it would remain until I turned 50.
For some reason turning 50 was like a catalyst, I could do what I wanted, when I wanted. I could eat what I wanted, I could say what I wanted. How did things change so drastically that I now had a voice? I’ll tell you how, because I bloody well was sick of being creatively quiet! My husband has been a great support of mine for many years, yes it is the same man that fathered my first child alllll those years ago, yes we are still together which is a cultural shock on its own! I am a stay at home mum, yes I still have a child at home LOL, a 14 year old boy but he takes no looking after, he is a wonderful child and just no bother. This has enabled me to practice my art more readily, write poems and blog. I am not great at it because being in menopause makes you forget words and actually how to string 2 words together that make any sense. It also makes you forget your own damn name so trying to find yourself really takes on a whole new meaning during menopause! But I found I was allowing myself to start thinking about writing again and poetry, I started looking at courses I could take, and how could I get the ideas to write a really good story. Turning 50 has allowed me to start reading again, feeding my imagination and retraining my vocabulary. I have had kids my whole life so my amazing vocabulary was replaced with “I wish this kid would sleep”, “don’t touch that”, “stop eating that” etc etc. The big words had gone and were replaced with a lot of baby talk and kid talk.
So last year I was invited to put my artwork in an art show where 2 of my pieces sold, That can’t be right, my work isn’t good enough for this, it’s funny how we can never seem to change the perception of ourselves and yet we can encourage others to do so, well I can anyway. Becoming 50 gave me the ‘age’ right to now stop worrying about what everyone else was thinking and start trying to work out who I am and what creative path I should be on. In the meantime I am going to do everything possible and see what I love the most.
So back to writing….I am going to do it one of these days, I am going to become an author before I die, so that gives me a fair scope of time to get learning. I am going to embrace the gifts God gave me and no longer try and kill them in my self sabotaging kind of way. I am going to do this, and I would be well pleased if you would join me on my journey! x