Personal

The Power of a quiet moment

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I’m sat in a hotel room. It’s quiet. No kids climbing on me or jumping on the bed. No little voices or hands close.

Part of me misses them. I’ve never done this before. By the time I share it, I’ll be back home, in the beautiful and overwhelming chaos of parenting; of my messy, gorgeous life, where sometimes I crave the opportunity to have some space. Yet, when I get it, I miss them.

Why?

Does it make me a bad mother? No. It makes me human. A wonderful blend of contradictions that are ever heightened by my neurospicy brain.

The quiet gives me time to think, and cry, and scream into the void as I shower alone. The quiet offers me solace and space to remember that while motherhood is a core part of my identity right now, this season of my life is a season – my children will always be my children; but they will grow and needs will change, and I can be more than just one kind of human.

I can be multifaceted and embrace the fact that there is no one thing I want to choose; but rather than I am a human who brings joy and finds gratitude in the various aspects of parenting and life around our children; just as much as writing, photography, food (to an extent) and crafting brings. I can read and listen again and again to the importance of narrowing down the people I want to connect with; but truly, it’s all to fit into a box that I have to squash and distort myself to do.

I read once that to be neurospicy is to be a star and asked to fit into a small square box – the only option is to cut of each of the points, but in doing so, we cut of the bits that make us special; that make us, us. It is not only a disservice to ourselves to do this, but to all the others watching us too.

The power of these quiet moments reinforces that for me.

It has reminded me, that though there are days where I can’t wait for bedtime, or some air, or naps and music in my ears, there are more than those moments that exist – and choosing to define our experiences with the good, without negating the hard ones, begins to rewire our brains and remind us of the power of priorities. By prioritising the memories of joy; I cultivate more.

What does quiet mean for you?

I invite you to spend a minute, if you can spare one; and notice what’s around right now. Notice the noise or quiet; and what it means for you. Wherever you are at; you are enough.

Thanks for reading x

Rohana

Why did they burn girls mummy ?

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

International Women’s Day brings lots of feelings up.

Last year, a school friend of mine birthed her gorgeous baby into the world; and though we’ve never gone deep into the story of her birth, I know beyond words she was phenomenal. This year, it was one of my first thoughts – her baby turned 1. What an absolute honour to know women raising women, strong, capable, loved.

What an honour to be surrounded by women, breaking cycles, healing themselves, and birthing their own girls into a world with less to carry forward.

I thought of my friend and her baby. I thought of my own pregnancy and how much carrying a girl forced me to confront fears about raising one.

I thought about how raising a girl has changed me; pushed me to advocate for myself, and to heal – so that she (and my boys) have less to work through; less to weigh them down, and less to pass on again.

I looked at my daughter; awake and asking for breakfast and I thought, today is going to be a good one.

We played and chat, and her brothers woke up; each in their own little world.

I watched her write and thought about International Women’s Day, and what it means to me, and what it might mean to us as a family unit. Should I mark the occasion? I had nothing prepared.

In the end, we didn’t celebrate specifically. We didn’t do any special crafts or read anything because of the day; which I have tried in previous years and have learned, as I dive deeper into the knowing of myself as a mother, that these things (though joyful and purposeful in part) bring stress and discomfort to our group. Instead, we talked; about bodies and women, and how we are most powerful when we can do both what we want, and what is right for the world.

Well behaved women rarely make history

Eleanor Roosevelt

The other day, she asked me about my current read; Burning Woman by Lucy H Pearce, and together with Theo, we spoke about how women (and men in smaller numbers) were burned for magick. They were horrified, without any extra detail – but they asked for more.

Why?

What could I tell them? At ages 5 and 3, how could I explain the privilege they sit on, through the place they live in the world, the tonality of their skin, the reality of job security that their dad has, and the choices we make as a family – they are so damn lucky. And they know it, in part; but at the ages of 5 and 3, I am not going to burden them with the weight of it being so vastly different for so many.

That said, I won’t shy from it either.

Instead, I told them, that the people in power (a little like in Frozen II with Elsa’s grandfather) were – and are – scared of magick. They feared people who knew nature, and who could find food and medicine in plants. They were scared of women who didn’t listen to them, because they wanted to be in charge; and when they weren’t listened to, they got angry. When they couldn’t control the magick people, they decided to call them witches; and hunt and burn them.

But why did they not listen mummy? Why did they want to control them? Who was in charge?

“They didn’t listen because they didn’t want to – a little like when you don’t want to stop playing for dinner; you don’t until you’re ready, and I can’t make you. The difference is, in our family, we respect your bodies, and we try and listen to what you want and need as much as we can. It hasn’t always been like that – and it still isn’t for everyone. Every family has it’s own rules – but now, we don’t burn people for not listening.”

“They wanted to control them because … well why do you think?” – “To be super powerful… like the baddies do, except, were there any superheroes to come save the people?”

Breathe… my 5 year old got me. He may push my limits but he just gets things, and says them in ways that make me need to hit pause.

We carried on talking… about baddies and superheroes, and how in real life it isn’t so simple. Again referencing things they understand; like the Bluey episode where Bandit pretends to be the best in the world, and then admits he’s good at some stuff, not everything. We aren’t bad or good all the time; like when we get angry and hit a sibling, it doesn’t mean we are baddies forever, but it does mean we need to repair.

By the end of our walk and talk; they had a basic idea that people were burned because they weren’t understood; and because the people in charge (who are kind of a mystery and “shouldn’t get to decide for everyone”) were scared of them. It wasn’t something I’d anticipated, so navigating it like this felt enough without too much.

I’m glad we’ve begun to raise our daughters more like our sons, but it will never work until we raise out sons more like our daughters.

Gloria Steinem

Today, I didn’t bring up the burning woman conversation from last week. I could have to anchor in points but I don’t think I need to, they’ll show me what they remember and need in time. We settled on talking about how we can support girls and women to listen to our bodies by doing it ourselves and making healthy choices – and about consent and body boundaries for everyone. We chat about how when we do what we want, but that is also right / good for the world, we are celebrating people, and the earth.

And we talked about how boys and men need support to; but that sometimes they need it for different reasons – so they have a different celebration day.

It’s a day that is so important to facilitate conversations; it’s a day that we speak truths that often get hidden otherwise; it’s a day where there is a little less fear about being burned, because we are all shouting ‘smash the patriarchy’ together.

But it’s a day.

This work is lifetime. This day is a drop – and we need lots of drops to make the ocean.

Raising humans is political, and nothing hits home harder than this on days where we discuss equity – because in raising them; we set the standard. Our standard here, in our slow, intentional, play filled life, is to dismantle the power of patriarchy and capitalism that links women’s’ worth to her productivity or reproductive capacity. It is to remind my sons and daughter that every single feeling is to be felt; every part of them is important, and every minute they are loved – because if we have a generation of kids who know their power; they will raise more kids who know their power – and systems that do not serve for good will collapse.

As always, thanks for reading

Rohana x

The rollercoaster of Motehrhood

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Motherhood is a marathon. It’s sweaty and exhausting and often filled with various bodily fluids, not many of them our own. We often find that we are in a cycle of doing and being for everyone else, wearing the same clothes for days or holding back hair while our kids are sick even when we just want to throw up too!

But somehow, despite doing all of the things, often on little sleep and a vague remembrance of what it feels like to have a full cup, we begin to wonder if we are enough.

Am I doing enough?

Am I cooking enough ‘good’ food?

Is the house clean enough?

Do I cuddle my children enough?

Have I been a ‘good enough’ partner recently?

Have I even thought about all the birthdays or friends or the appointments I need to book?

Am I enough? Or am I screwing up?

It’s exhausting!

The mental load of motherhood is enough to break us. We feel guilt glands grow with every ‘to do’ and every ‘should’; and eventually, we end up feeling like we just can’t cope – but that there’s also no way we can stop.

You are holding everything together; almost exclusively at times; with not even a thank you or any notice taken. You are not a superwoman, but you are being asked to be.

But what if there was another way? What if we could, at least, shift the guilt.

Move away from the guilt that we aren’t enough – because my goodness we are!

Our inner critic roars when we get frustrated by broken bananas and bedtime battles; because we are so stretched at every angle, that we cannot see how adding more big feelings is possible. Every time our inner critic pipes up, we buy into the belief that we ‘should’ be doing more.

I call bullshit!

And, in fact; I call so much bullshit, that I created a course on this exact topic. The Rollercoaster of Motherhood in all it’s messy madness doesn’t have to include guilt over not enoughness. It doesn’t have to include overwhelm at all the things society tells us we should be. And it doesn’t have to include days after days where we feel like we are failing; just because we haven’t met the impossibly high standards we (or others) have set for ourselves.

If you’re interested to learn more; contact me. I will be opening opportunity later this year, to work with mothers, and families at a much deeper level than I have been writing; because I believe it’s time we reclaim the power we have raising our children. Reclaim the political act that parenting is; not just so we move away from not feeling enough – but so that our children have better, more positive writing on the walls of their mind.

As ever, thank you for reading. You are amazing!

Rohana

Building Trust When Kids Lie

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Trust is a big word in relationships.

I had an old photo come up recently; one of those shared ones from a quote page on Facebook which read “trust is like a piece of paper, once you crumple it up, you can smooth it out again, but it will never be exactly the same.” It got me thinking about trust, and the way we bring it up with our kids.

They trust us implicitly in the early years. They have to in order to survive. As they get older, around the age of 4, they begin to experiment with lies – not to hurt us, but rather, to see what happens.

When my oldest started this, I was shocked! It brought up a lot for me; about the relationship I have with trust, and how its affected my personal life. So, despite being very triggered, and definitely not responding calmly at first, I got curious – why do children lie? It turns out, it’s kind of like discovering a superpower, where they can hold multiple versions of a story, and keep track of each one relating to other people, and then see what happens. They may be scared or worried, or maybe just curious; but lying is a developmental leap; and after all, adults tell white lies all the time right? Especially to kids.

So how are they meant to trust us?

And how do we build a relationship of trust with them?

I don’t the answers – if I did I wouldn’t be writing this – but I do have my experiences and reflections. In part because I think by getting curious and researching, I learned that I wasn’t the only mum freaking out about trust. It’s pretty universal, which I think is a good indicator of how messed up so many people over this concept, and how loaded it really it.

Trust is the foundation of relationships isn’t it? And yet, our kids see/hear us lie about the park being closed, or not going to a party or the big one: Santa! It’s confusing; because there are some socially acceptable lies – whether or not we agree with them personally.

By getting honest; which is harder and often leads to more upset, we set the standard.

“No, we’re not going to the park today because mummy is cold and it’s nearly lunchtime.”

“There are more biscuits in the house but right now we can’t have them because we’ve had enough for today.”

“I’m taking a few minutes by myself, because I am tired. I love you, and adults get tired too, so I need a few minutes to rest.”

None of these are fun; and most of the time they are going to result in a child getting angry or sad or both, but it means that when they have to regulate, or tell someone why they can’t do something, or need a minute, they are equipped with the language to do so. The hardest one for me, is time alone. The others, after practice, now result in some form of compromise or negotiation where I say no, and they say “when can we?” and we talk about it.

For example the other day we went for a woodland walk and my daughter really wanted to go to the park afterwards, but my oldest son was tired and it was nearly lunchtime. I said no, because we had to get home and she wasn’t happy. She said she’d go alone and I said I couldn’t let her, but that we’d go another day. She asked if the next day (i.e. tomorrow) I’d bring her, and I said “I don’t know, but I promise when we come out to this area again, I’ll bring a picnic and we can do the park as well. Today I don’t have enough food, and your brothers tired so it’s not a good idea.” She understood.

But what about when they lie?

At first, I struggled. I got upset, and I felt like I was failing at teaching them the importance of truth telling. Then, I stopped, dropped the idea that it was an attack on me or my parenting, and tried to understand why. When it involved hurting a sibling, or spilling the soap everywhere; it was because they were scared about what I’d do.

I don’t want my kids to be scared of me. This was a huge reality check for me. I wanted them to know, mistakes, big feelings, doing things we shouldn’t (often because impulse control isn’t a thing for tiny people), are okay, because we can clean up and repair, and we can figure out a way forward, together. Once I realised this, and I talked to them about it, we shifted. I got less upset; they didn’t lie as much. When they did, I asked them to tell me what really happened; or I played along for a bit; and teased the truth out.

Truthfully; when my kids lie now, unless there’s potential danger, I go with it – which for the most part means they turn around quickly and say “I tricked you” and then we play or laugh or chat about it. I don’t always manage, but when this happens, I also try and remind them that they’re body is stronger in truth – and that they can impact every single cell inside them positively by being truthful.

It’s not a perfect system, and we’re not perfect at it. But it works for us right now… and through adults setting the standard, we’re building trust, so they know they can rely on us, even if they don’t like what they hear. It’s building bridges, and it’s reminding them (and me) that we can live in truth far more peacefully than with white lies that crumple our paper in the long term.

Thank you for reading,

Rohana

Do We Have to Fill Our Own Buckets?

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Self care has become an entire industry, and I am by no means the first nor will I be the last to call out the absolute exhaustion this brings to mums.

To women and men everywhere to some extent I’m sure, but to mums especially, when we are bombarded with messages about the importance of self care, to then have to add it as yet another thing we ‘should’ be doing.

What does self care look like? It used to be marketed as face masks and bubble baths; but with the ever increasing growth of the mental wellness industry, I am seeing it start to look like suggestions for meditation and relaxation – both of which, I absolutely value; and both of which, when I feel like I ‘have to’ do them, begin to become things I resent.

My kids have a book, about buckets and happiness. It’s called ‘Have You Filled a Bucket Today?’.

The book suggests, in a nutshell, that every single person has a bucket (invisible of course) with joy/happiness and good feelings; and every single person has the potential to fill or empty buckets – others and their own. The essence of the story, is that when we fill up the buckets of others; with good deeds and kind words, we unintentionally fill our own buckets as well. However, if we dip into buckets, then ours also begin to empty.

It’s become a frequent reference in our home, often when we ask, “are you dipping or filling a bucket with this action right now?”

I mentioned the book, because, as I have thought about self care, buckets, cups and other various metaphors regarding our personal capacity for cultivating and nurturing our own joy, I’ve thought about the idea that we are responsible for filling our own buckets.

A friend wrote beautifully to me recently, about how the 10 minutes of yoga, the walk with a podcast and the hot tea or shower alone are not really ways to fill her cup, but more like armbands while she is trying to get to shore. She inspired me, and her words prompted me to dig deeper; because we all have these armbands, and we hold on to them because if they are taken away… well, it’s a slippery slope right? I learned that it was for me anyway.

These armbands aren’t enough though. Not long term. They are literally just keeping us afloat. In fact, my friend also wrote that, though its exhausting now, it won’t be forever. And so, after a few more conversations, I began to think about receiving.

I messaged another friend, and told her how my children are currently in phases where they’ll feed me, or teach me things we’ve done together, while I pretend not to know – and this brings them joy. Not only because they are showing their knowledge, but because they are sharing, giving to me, in the way that I have naturally given to them all their lives. In the way I have modelled relationships work. They, as they grow, are giving back.

So it’s now my job, to also model receiving.

As mums, self care is often a to-do on our list. Something we have to do for ourselves, often coupled with the pressure that we need to teach our children to look after their own needs by doing so ourselves. It is more of a requirement, a should, a must-do … and then often, we come back to more chaos, which puts us off trying the ‘self care’ activity again.

I propose then, that the problem isn’t in the self care specifically, but rather in our conditioning that it must be done for us, by us, alone.

What if instead – we opted to receive self care? Maybe in the form of pre-prepped meals, which eases time constrains and allows us to pick up a book?

What if we received help with the housework, and it wasn’t done to our standards, but it was done – and so we could have a bath?

What if, we chose to ask for someone to organize the weeks plan, while we fill our cup creating or moving our bodies?

These may not be all-inclusive holidays in the Bahamas, but by asking for help – and being open to receiving it, even if it means a change in the standards of clothes folding or toys away, we can move from armbands helping us float, to the a paddleboard we are riding to shore?

Do we really have to do it all ourselves? Or can we let others fill our bucket too, because lets be really honest, how much of your day/week/lifetime, do you spend giving to others, so you can fill their buckets first?

With love,

Rohana

P.S. In case nobody told you today, you are loved, important, and so much more than enough.

Saying thank you, to a year of growth – intentions for 2023

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

2022 was a year of unfinished projects for me.

Of ideas that have not quite been birthed.

Of self love that has been a rollercoaster, constantly moving yet up and down.

As we embark into this new calendar year, I am setting intentions, letting go and giving thanks; but also embracing the truth that while yes, the Gregorian calendar tells us it is a new year; the earth is still sleeping in the northern hemisphere. We are still deep in winter, engulfed in darkness late in the morning, and early in the evening – Mother Earth is not quite ready to celebrate a new year.

Speaking to friends who’ve felt this pull inward; I actually said today, maybe it’s because we have children; so our inner compass, is reminding us that our energy is best conserved for a while longer. Reading tonight with my eldest, I thought about this some more – he, for the past 3 years now, has come alive after bedtime during the winter months, eager to learn, read, create, chat, and just be with me or his dad. I used to think that it was because he wanted to spend the time with us that he couldn’t get in the day with his younger siblings; and partly I still think this factors in, but more than, I think it’s because his body knows that there is reason to rest in the morning, to sleep in and cocoon himself in the warmth of audiobooks and blankets; but that in the evening, when ancestrally maybe there’d have been a fire lit for warmth, and stories shared in community, he is yearning for that; and he won’t sleep. It feels like his soul is waiting for that sense of hygge and sangha, and he’s exploring ways to find it at home.

I made a To-Do list, of things to do before the end of the calendar year… and I did 1 out of the 8 of them. But, my words for this year include intention and purpose – what use is it, to do things because we ‘have to’ with no joy or love in the action? I wrote a list, and between parenting and listening to my inner voice, I realised I am still wintering. Honouring my body’s cycle which I am only starting to learn after years of not menstruating; and honouring the earths cycle – because the ground beneath us, when we let ourselves be held by her; is such a guiding force.

I am choosing to let go of some anger, and angst that isn’t mine to hold.

I am choosing to let go of beliefs that surround me not feeling enough.

I am choosing to let go of the pull to control things far beyond my own thoughts and body.

And

I am thanking those parts of me that I let go; because they have journeyed here with me; and got me to this time in my life.

I am thanking the year 2022; which I started feeling weak and unable to listen to my voice; because she was being drowned out by all the pressure, to-do lists and mental load of motherhood. I am thanking the journey of love, compassion, discovery and dance I have had – with ups and downs and twirls around.

And I am thanking my life forces – my children who remind me every day of the lessons that life offers.

This year; in time with the rhythm of my body, and the rhythm of the earth, I have hopes and dreams and goals for this space – but for now; my intention is to honour myself.

To fill my cup.

To rest.

To celebrate my family; my husband, myself.

I invite you to do the same; celebrate yourself – because if you don’t, who will ? You are an amazing human after all!

Xoxo

Rohana

Confessions, compassion and Continued growth… the difference of a year.

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

*Trigger warning*
This post contains mental health struggles; anxiety, overwhelm, post-natal depression and a feeling of wanting to die. If these are struggles you are going through; please reach out to support systems – if you have none; please reach out to me. Nobody should struggle alone.

Trigger warning done; I’ll be honest – this is a very hard piece of writing to begin – and I am choosing to share this, vulnerably, because I know that I would have benefited from reading someone else’s story last year.

It’s December; the joy and festivity is pushed and though yes, there are more conversations about how this month is a particularly difficult one for lots of people, most of it gets drowned out by capitalism, consumerism, competition and comparison – 4 C’s for a very rough month.

Confessions

This time last year; I was in the middle of a postpartum breakdown.

I haven’t ignored it this year; but for the most part, I’ve moved forward. Now; it’s coming up to the anniversary of the exact moment of my rock bottom crisis and I am being guided inward. I’m feeling a pull to reflect, to mourn, to accept, and to celebrate.

Last year, I was less than 6 months postpartum, navigating 3 kids, military spouse life, homeschooling and a whole host of mum guilt; not to mention the whole continued saga and fallout of the c0v*d19 lockdowns. I was overwhelmed. Sleep deprived. Emotionally exhausted. Touched out. Annnnd whatever else you could throw in the mix that comes with new parenting; plus navigating siblings – essentially; I needed help.

Unfortunately; I also am the kind of person who felt like asking for help was weak.

Added to that, the healthy and regular doses of comments (from professionals, strangers, acquaintances and even friends) that I should have expected it, that I had chosen 3 so close together, that I was exaggerating, that I should be more grateful, and that I looked like I had my hands full – I wasn’t too keen on asking for help; for fear I wouldn’t get it; and for fear of judgement.

Looking back, I see how vulnerable I was.

And how vulnerable, by default, my kids were.

I reached out for help – I reached out to professions and was told I needed to toughen up (or go onto antidepressants – which I personally did not want to do). I reached out to friends – it helped, but far away and in different situations, I felt a burden (which I understand now, was contributing to my overwhelm, and was/is related to trauma). I reached out – in the ways I could – and overwhelmingly the message was – “you’re struggling, but not enough”.

Not enough.

Not enough became engrained into how I felt.

I felt not enough.

I felt like I was failing.

I felt like I couldn’t cope.

And one day, after a particularly overwhelming moment with the kids, emotions running high, and extra sleep deprivation thrown into the pot, I snapped.

I remember standing in the hallway, next to the jackets and heater and the kitchen floor being cold as I moved away from it; hyperventilating and crying. H came downstairs after making sure the kids were okay with whatever they were playing or doing; and he tried to hug me; but I just couldn’t catch my breathe. And in between gasps I said to him; “I feel like I am dying – I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Not struggling enough…

The truth is, we can’t see how much someone is struggling. If they’re asking for help, it’s because they need it.

This rock bottom; for me was a wake up call. H and I discussed getting help, and I did the only thing I felt I had access to – signed up for online therapy – starting that week; a few days after Christmas.

Truthfully; I didn’t want to admit to anyone just how hard it felt.

I also didn’t want to be told again that I didn’t seem to be struggling – because I was still grateful. I was still doing activities with the kids and going for walks etc; I was masking and coping. And I was burning out trying to hide.

Therapy helped. I felt validated. I got curious.

Then, after a while, I stopped; and I began to help myself. I began to disassociate with that anxiety and that overwhelm. I began to create spaces for myself; and I began to ask for what I needed again. Therapy was like the band aid, I needed it to start; but the deep, intentional, ritualistic healing I wanted and needed; began when I accepted that nobody would do it for me; that, just like in birthing my babies; I was the one who could and would do it. And not that I was alone, but I did, and I do, have the power to do it.

Compassion

My word for 2022, I decided after my breakdown, was compassion. I knew I’d need a lot of it. For myself, and for my children – and it was the right choice.

Through compassion; therapy, books, journaling, yoga, breath work, walking, gratitude practices and creating everything from cards and canvas’s to kids books and t-shirts; I’ve moved from a space of wanting to die; feeling like I was dying, to a space of absolute joy – even surrounding the hardest moments; I can look at my life and know that I want it. I choose it. I am creating it.

Compassion, Creativity and Celebration have been the 3 C’s that have helped me navigate this rollercoaster year. Calm would be the 4th C, if I need to throw one in.

Returning to calm; being curiously compassionate, creating with my children and alone, and celebrating myself – I can sit here, write, listening to the rain and know, that without a doubt; I’ve moved mountains this year. I have grown, stretched, adjusted, aligned – and I am a better human for it.

I am good enough.

As a mum

As a friend

As a family memeber

As a human

I am good enough.

Continued Growth

The work is by no means done.

In fact, in some ways, it’s only beginning.

As I look to the darkest parts of myself, and I begin to really deepen my relationship with her, I am met again and again with this enoughness. I am reminded that when I felt like I couldn’t open up anymore; when I felt like I just couldn’t keep going in the birthing of my children; that was when I was most vulnerable, and most able to step into my power.

I am reminded that when I felt like I was going to have to have this baby cut out of me because how could I keep pushing – minutes later, he was in arms.

I am reminded that when I felt like I couldn’t carry on; I closed my eyes, and felt my daughter move; and seconds later, I was lifting her out the water onto my chest.

I am reminded that when I felt like I was being split in half, I moved my body, and screamed a primal, powerful sound to bring my youngest baby earthside.

I was supported in each of these moments. I was held. I was safe. But nobody could do it for me.

Last year, when I felt like I wanted to die; that primal, powerful part of me lifted her head in defiance. She knew. I’m learning. Nobody is going to live the life I want – except me.

I am enough.

I am more than enough.

I am a warrior goddess – and from the darkest moments of my motherhood; I have stepped into the lightest.

My word for 2022 was compassion.

For 2023 I am choosing more than 1. The words we surround ourselves with, after all, are ones we begin to embody.

My words for 2023 are: Joy, Intention, Power and Abundance.

If you haven’t got a word/words for next year, I invite you to set them.

If you’ve read these words today; I appreciate your time.

With love

Xox

R

* Featured Image for the post was taken by Gaby Sweet Photography, based in Devon; whom I highly recommend. She’s a beautiful human and has a gift for capturing moments of magic.

Did I Screw up?

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Chatting about the past few years, experiences, opportunities, covid and all the craziness that brought, I text my partner, “I wonder how much I’ve screwed up?”

“You haven’t screwed up darling” he responded in a heartbeat. Always there, encouraging me… even when we have no idea what to do next. I am grateful.

I haven’t responded yet, I decided to write this instead!

Truthfully, I have screwed up. We all do at times. In my journey as a mum, I’ve screwed up on many occasions – but what I’ve learned is, that the rupture isn’t as important as the repair.

I sat on my bed earlier this summer, and I cried. My daughter – at 2 years old – asked me what was wrong, and I told her that I was sad and angry and that I had some big feelings … or something like that; I was upset because I felt overwhelmed at something. Her response will stick with me always:

She cupped my face in her hands and said, “It’s okay mama, I have big feelings too sometimes, but you help me with them. You’ll be happy later”

She just got it. It didn’t matter why I was upset, or who was to blame. It didn’t matter what was screwed up. It didn’t matter if the dishes didn’t get done or the clothes stayed out. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was the cuddle. The laugh. The cry and the release. The repair.

A few weeks ago I decided to release a course online. On motherhood, on guilt, on navigating the not-enoughness we feel. On reframing the narrative and celebrating ourselves.

Yet here I am, sharing vulnerably, that I still feel not enough. I need my support systems; I have built a framework, for myself, that brings me back to a mindspace of celebration, gratitude and joy. I’ve learned this year, more than ever, that no-matter what I feel like I screwed up – there is always joy to be found.

It is not the screwing up that matters; it is how we choose to repair it.

Tonight, my worries and thoughts have come from past events; so repair isn’t as easy as saying sorry and moving forward. It requires intention; planning, and attention to my children’s needs now.

Repair is powerful; saying sorry has been one of the biggest tools in my toolbox. Repair also requires forgiveness; of myself. Self compassion, knowing I absolutely did the best I could, with what I had, at the time, and a big hug! Havening myself tonight has been a source of comfort for sure.

We all screw up. I did. I have. I will.

I feel it more right now I think, as I look towards sharing my toolbox with others, even though I am still in the messy middle of feeling my big feelings too.

But no-matter what, I know I can look at my babies, as they sleep, and feel deeply, that we are all doing the best we can, whatever that means for us right now. And that, in my experience, makes all the difference.

Xoxo

Rohana

Love Buttons and Goodbye Hugs

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Last week the kids said goodbye to their dad again… a relatively regular occurrence for our family, like any military family will know. For us though it doesn’t usually involve a plane, and for the first time since Theodore’s birth, it was him saying goodbye to return to the UK, while I stayed in Gibraltar with our children.

They know that he works long hours, nights away, weeks away, and part of his job (although it hasn’t affected us in recent years – for which I am grateful) is going away for months at a time. It’s part of life with him being a submariner. A life without daddy is unimaginable; but a life where he isn’t around all the time, its the norm.

We’ve stayed in Gibraltar, after being here since the early autumn, actively making more moves towards changing the direction of our life, away from a life we had planned in the UK. It’s a tumultuous turn of events; one even 6 months ago I had never imagined would be our reality, and yet, in my bones I know that this is our destiny. To change. To shift. To grow something more than what our current life offers.

So last week we said goodbye, and we did something new; a little ritual that provided a wholesome, connected farewell, and has been a source of comfort throughout our week.

We gave the kids, love buttons.

Yep, they are as cute as they sound, and totally harmless.

Drawing a heart on each of their hands, one colour for mummy, one colour for daddy; the kids have had a slowly fading inked heart of their hands, which they’ve been able to look at and press, and feel a sense of connection, of love, of wantedness with their dad.

Of course they know they are loved. Every voice message, video call, and hug tells them that.

And yet, there is something powerful in the symbolism of a drawn signature; theirs and theirs alone… to share and compare between brothers and sister, and to remind each other, that they are all loved. They can see it. They can feel it. They, in their childhood wisdom, are able to live in it.

Being away from a parent, regardless of how adaptable a child is, is tough. We ask for a lot of their courage, understanding, acceptance; and often, though the narrative is changing, don’t really sit and think about life from their point of view.

For example; to my kids right now, I’d imagine a collective narrative like this one:

Mummy has moved us all (except daddy) away from our home, into someone else’s (albeit a trusted and loved grandparents home), away from friends, away from toys and parks and spaces we know.
We’ve played and done things, and miss home.
We miss dad.
We miss our toys and television, and our special pillows.
We miss our stained red sofa and the stairs we play slide on.
We also like the parks here, and some of the people we’ve met.
We like having grandparents around, but we also miss our dad.
We see other dads, and wonder why ours can’t be here.
We wonder why money and jobs and houses are so important to the grown ups.
We feel happy and sad and a mix of other things we aren’t sure we have names for… but every day we play and try our best, and we’re with mummy, so we’ll be okay.

Looking at life from their view helps realign my own. It’s how and why I chose to create these love buttons; because simply saying I love you, didn’t feel like enough.