This will make you cry

Guaranteed. And if it doesn't, you're a heartless wretch.

I wish it was by me but it isn't, it's by Darrah Parker.


Do you know how beautiful you are?

Standing there.
Sitting there.
Waiting there.
Breathing there.

Do you know how beautiful you are?

Pumping gas.
Feeding your children.
Sitting in your cubicle.
Loading the dishwasher.
Running on the treadmill.
Standing in line at the grocery store.

Do you know how beautiful you are?

Wearing sweat pants.
No make-up.
Jeans two sizes too small (or too big).
Spanx hidden beneath your clingy dress.
Pajamas (because you are just running an errand and who will see you?)

Do you know how beautiful you are?

With laugh lines that are forming around your mouth.
Gray hairs sprinkled around your temples.
Ten (or 20 or 50) pounds you’ve been wanting to lose.
Hair growing too much in some places and not enough in others.
Sags and bags and lines and creases.
Pimples and dimples and ripples and rolls.

Do you know how beautiful you are?

As the weight of the unknown rests between your ears.
What should I cook for dinner?
Will I make it to my appointment on time?
How will I pay the phone bill this month?
Will I ever have time for me?
What would happen if I lost my job?
What would happen if I quit my job?
When will I be happy?
How will I be happy?
What will make me happy?

Do you know how beautiful you are?

With all of your hopes.
Joy.
Anxiety.
Laughter.
Tears.
Dreams.
Fears.

Do you know how beautiful you are?

When across the room.
Behind you in line.
Next to you on the elevator.
Is a woman who sees you.
Because she is you.
She sees you and catches her breath
Because she sees who you are
beneath
all
of
it.

She is wondering if you know how beautiful you are
And is wishing she had her camera with her so that she could show you.

Toads

So I started out all enthusiastic with this blog thing, I was happy I was writing again, happy I was doing something creative, but as with so many things, it started off with a bang and sidled off with a whimper. The problem was, the doubt crept in. Why would anyone be interested? That's the thing with your inner critic isn't it? So instead of listening to that old toad, I'll just do it anyway.

Speaking of old toads, I recently cast off the Philip Larkin one. The toad that sits on your shoulder. Work. Not work in general, that would be stupid. But my "proper" job. I was getting so far away from what I was actually good at that I was waving at it as I struggled to keep my head above the water. And I was definitely drowning, not waving for fun.

So I've embarked on the freelance thing again. Confidence wavers from time to time - who the hell leaves their job in the middle of a recession? - but I know that I'm happier. And saner. And healthier for it. And, consequently, so are my kids and boyf. They'll be getting coal and satsumas for Christmas, but they don't mind as long as mummy's not a stressed-out old bag anymore! Eh kids, are you with me? Kids?