a work in progress

Category: Woman To Woman (Page 1 of 28)

A little dahl, will do.

My dearest.

There are tears in your eyes as you speak.

Welling up.

You won’t let them fall.

I listen, in silence.

Because this a grief I do not know.

I can’t fathom.

Haven’t been thru.

So I feel.

I have nothing to offer.

No words of solace.

And as we leave,

The tears in my eyes fall.

And we hug.

Woman to woman.

Stillness to soul.


And so I cook for you.

The one thing I know to do.

My mother’s dahl.


I let the mustard seeds burst.

Curry leaves from the garden.

Toovar dahl, soft and blended.

Just the way my mum makes it.


I put in jaggery for sweetness in your day.

Lemon juice for strength in your body.

Corriander powder for iron and the fire in you.

Chilli powder to make you feel hugged.


I put in my metta.

My good vibes.

The only way I know.

I taste it and I know.

It’s just right as it is.


A mother’s love, from my mother to me.

From my motherhood to yours.

My dearest.

My tears still fall for you.

I know the dahl will not do.



A little comfort.

On the worst of days.

When the tears don’t stop.

When Netflix doesn’t numb enough.

When dark thoughts sweep like torrents in your mind.

And you can’t see any light.

A little dahl.

Will do.


Till today turns into the next.

And little by little,

The darkness shifts.

And the healing starts.



A little dahl.

Will do.




Holier Than Thou

Don’t judge her.

That woman who poses all up in her Insta with bikinis and butt flesh.

You have no idea how badly he broke her heart.

Don’t judge her.

The mother who won’t get her child jabbed.

She saw a world of chemicals and toxins, and you haven’t seen the darkness she saw.

Don’t judge her.

That woman who has a sharp tongue and speaks her mind far too often.

You have no idea the grief her own tenderness brought her.

Don’t judge her.

That woman with the FENDI handbag who has every nail manicured and every freckle concealed.

She feels good when the sales assistants make way for her, because there was a time when they didn’t.

Don’t judge her.

That scraggly looking woman with 3 kids in the backseat, groaning and yelling. You’ll presume she brought this on herself. But honey, you’ve got no idea.

Don’t judge her.

I know we do it in our thoughts.

And that is really, really hard to control.

But at least.

We can try and hold our tongues back.

Hold our fingers back from typing out the words.

Because we do it to each other.

Woman to woman.

And all we’re doing.

Is bringing us all down.



The Victims

I have a type of friend I avoid.

A type of conversation I avoid.

Run the other way.

She’s the victim.

Everything is wrong in her world.

It’s everyone else’s fault.

Life is a struggle.

And I think the simple truth is.

It’s too close to home.

Reminds me of myself.

And I know.

I can’t fix it for you sweetheart.

There are not enough words I can offer to empower you.

So instead.

You suck.

The life out of me.

And I can’t.

Be that for you.


I’m simply.

Not strong.





It’s Corny (consider yourself warned)

I think after the miscarriage, I went through what I’ve labelled as “mild depression”. It wasn’t too bad, I probably got a bit addicted to sugar to keep me afloat and am thankful to Aru for giving me a reason to drag myself out of bed.

In the middle of it tho, there was a lot of Ayurvedic support medicine I was taking and I just started getting back to my basics. Less work, a little yoga. Homemade food. Friends. That sort of stuff.

And one thing was more meditation.

I am a total sucker for Deepak & Oprah.

And one thing Oprah said really rang true for me.

She said.

It’s corny.

Be warned.

But she said.

Say “Yes To Life”.

And I realised.

That for a long time, outside of Kholo, I had been saying no.

No, I don’t want to go to Bendigo to see the Marimekko exhibit, it’s too far.

No, I don’t want to see friends, because of XYZ.

No, I don’t want to go see that movie because what if it’s not good enough?

I wanted every experience to be 100% perfection.

So much so, I had started missing out on experiences in general.

Now, I’m trying to get back to just saying yes.

To having something to look forward to over the weekend.

To catching up with friends, even though I may need to process some vibes (I tell you, I feel soooo much :/).

To having potentially bad experiences (as well as amazing ones).

All I’m saying is.

There was a greenhouse in Bendigo and it was so, so beautiful.


Say Yes To Life.

And it’s beautiful surprises 🙂


(May, 2018)


There is a Kings of Leon song somewhere in history.

About a charmer.

And I think I became one very early on.

I used to be feisty.

I used to be radical and outspoken.

I never got voted for prefect in primary school.

I think the teachers decided I should be one anyways,

Because you know. Surnames.

Safe to say, I never won the popular vote.


I had this fight at high school, where I was arguing with a girl.

And she ripped it into me.

For always being “right”.

And no one had really fought me back till her.

No one had tried to put me in my so called place.

I was stunned.

I didn’t really know how to process or cope.

For some reason, I doubled down and thought she was right and I was wrong.

Who I was being was hurting people.

And so I learnt to win love.

To win votes.

To win affection.

Because I wanted to be the frickin belle of the ball.

And so I layered up.

Made up.

And I trained to win.

I’m so good at it now.

I can’t tell you who I really am.

Because it’s somewhere there.

Under all the layers.

Of the pleasing.



Recurring Dreams

I always have these dreams.

That I’m getting late.

And this time,

It was clearer.

I kept getting distracted by things along the way.

Stopping me from arriving.

My politeness, holding me back.

Putting me on the burner,

Slowly and steadily.

And I’m always ok to get slowly grilled,

So long as I’m polite.

I need.

To end.

The habit.


It’s ok

It’s ok to go slow.

It’s ok to show up late.

It’s ok to feel everything.

It’s ok to not know where it’s all going.

It’s ok to be late for after school pick-up.

It’s ok to send out deliveries a day late.

It’s ok to not be on top of your insta-game.

It’s ok to online shop when you shouldn’t.

It’s ok to feel jealous and not understand why.

It’s ok to eat that dairy milk when you wish it had been 80% dark instead.

It’s ok to pause.

It’s actually good.

So for all my A-types.

Just know, you have my blessings for every time you fuck shit up.

With love.



The nerve centre.

It had been dead.



I’d seen blood and body rush out.

Forming rivers in a shower.

Fusing and departing.

I’d seen a life.

It breaks you in so many ways.

We think the worst of it is in the womb.

Or in the mind.

But it’s also there.

From where it leaves.

And so.

For nights, for days on end.

I’d sought something.

To fill the void.

The doctors said six weeks of no sex.

But they were happy to stick up a plastic cold probe up my vagina and wiggle the shit out of it.

And I had no idea.

My vagina.

Had been through a trauma of it’s own.

And now I realise.

How fucking insensitive and unaware we are.

Of course it feels.

Of course it breathes.

It is life.

It is the creator of life.

And when it was finally loved.

I wept.

And wept.

And wept.

In the dark of the night.

Finally maybe, I could begin to feel anew.

A Friendship


You read my words and offered me an out.

When I told you.


You booked the place and made sure it was cozy.

It was just what I needed.


Leather upholstery.

Chocolate fondant.

I didn’t even notice the absent fireplace.

Woman to woman.

Mother to mother.

You just.


And you just.


Allowed me to fall apart in a paragraph.

Which turned into a short story.

And fall apart some more.

In the awkward way that I do.

But you felt.

And you didn’t say a thing.

To justify.

To accept.

To correct.

To adjust.

To fix.

To make it better.

All that bullshit.

You didn’t offer.

You just let it be.

And from one mother who has lost a baby,

To another mother who has lost a baby,

You were exactly what the universe prescribed,

For this hurting heart,

That can’t quite figure out,


But has to accept.

That it is.

For that.

I can only, ever thank you.




Yesterday you spoke.

And spoke. 

And spoke. 

I wanted you to get it all out. 

Out of your system. 

The words, the pain, the hurt. 



So that your insides were anew. 

But I couldn’t help but notice. 

Those strings of words. 

All too familiar. 

Because there was a time. 

When they came from my lips. 

He said I shouldn’t. 

They thought it was best I don’t. 

It’s not in my control. 

He bought the tickets so I had to go. 

I told him we shouldn’t, but he said we should. 

All those words. 

Tell me. 

You gave your power to him. 

Nestled it in his lap. 

And then asked me. 

What can I do? 




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