softly softly

One week of work, and sometimes i am tired.

One week of work and i've had these random conversations.

I've met people- and i don't like meeting people much any more these days due to the awkwardness that is my conversation skills.

But i fake it.

The confidence and the skills.

I fake it and i hope that the words coming out of my mouth make some kind of sense and won't come back to haunt me. They always come back. I run things round in my head. Oh wow, did i say that? Geez. What a douche.

But I find myself having these conversations, and wanting to help.

I see the tiredness on the faces of mothers, grandmothers, just people- the same tired i recognise from the reflection in the mirror. I feel like offering them my spaces. Give me your kids, go rest.

I wish i could offer a reprieve to everyone that needs it.

And gosh, in this craziness that's swirling around us- everyone seems to need it.

Then i remind myself- that people are made of more than the things that happen to them. That my faith in them, whether they know of it or not... well it's gotta be stronger than the fear.

Because everyone's already got the voice in their heads that doubt.  They don't need me adding to that.

So i watch. I listen. I tell the words that escape my lips to be kind. Be quiet. Be helpful.

My insides feel scared, and a bit numb- a protection mechanism that's been automatic for so long.

In the quiet that's layered with fear - I hope. I hope for people and all their struggles and sadness and i hope for kindness, respite, moments of clarity, moments of real.

I hope for the kind of certainty that's different for everyone. The kind of certainty that comes with knowing who you are despite everything else.

Whatever it is you need, i hope you find it.

My insides ache. For all the suffering.

My actions become robotic, practiced. Automatic. My thoughts are frayed. My days are slipping again.

I have this urge to escape and at the same time this longing to protect everyone from all the things in the world i cannot change for them.

I find myself repeating to people the things i want to feel for myself. Speak truths. Hold truths. Be honest. Be gentle. Be brave.

I forget all the time.

Once again i'm here, in this place of privilege- surrounded by comforts and kindnesses and kids who are extraordinary blessings- and i find myself asking what the point of all these days are... and when will we ever be free.

Snap out of it.

I pick him up, and ask him in a concealed desperation. "Jacie, do you like Mondays?"

Another week that i am counting down the hours on.

"Yes!" without falter.

Why's that?

Because on Mondays i get to hug you mum. So it is a good day.

And i think briefly- you hug me everyday... then i get it.

The simplicity of gratitude.

Each day that we get our hugs... these are good days.

'Mum, today i missed you at school and i cried.'

I wrap one arm around her- she hides her face and all i kiss is hair.

My darling, i wish i could take you and just spend all our days never missing each other.

And i think why the heck not.

why... can't we be free.


Kinda spaced out, and torn between lives.

So he reminds me like this...

MUM! You're squeezing me!

But... I'm hugging you.

No mum, if you press too hard... it's sqqqqueeeeezing.

A hug is softly.

Softly softly.


And i follow his lead. Relax, and he giggles in my ear-  Pulling away with his eyes shut by a giant grin.

See mum. Hugs are soft.

And there you have it...

Life... life is hard peeps

But hugs.. hugs are soft.

It's pretty deep.