What Love Told Me book



PAMPER PARTY at your home !

I Belong to Me

Last month I took part in a naked photo shoot in a beautiful woodland with 5 amazing, inspirational women - all with their own reasons for doing it.  These stories will be compiled in a book with the photos and published to raise money for charity. (Please get in touch if you would also like to be involved in future projects) Here is my story of why I took part. 

I Belong to Me

I have always felt different; like I truly never belonged anywhere.  I have been searching for this feeling of Belonging all of my life and not knowing I had to find it within myself, I have adapted, numbed myself, modified my behaviour and tried to go along with Everybody Else just to experience ‘fitting in’ and being ‘normal’.  But at the age of 44, after doing this photo shoot and writing a book of poetry telling my truth, I am finally celebrating who I really am.  And it’s fucking liberating. And terrifying. And glorious.


I am an Empath who wants to have a heart connection with MOST people on a soul level rather than on a bullshit superficial level.  So, apart from the obvious (- keeping us alive!), I’ve never really seen the point of having a body! I guess on some level I’ve always felt disconnected from mine as anything other than skin and bone, so I find it strange that our society judges people based on their appearance.


Plus I’ve always been the opposite - I don’t really care what anyone looks like - I’m more curious about what’s going on beneath the surface. I want to know if they also have HUGE feelings like me, I want to know their doubts and insecurities, what keeps them awake, what their dreams are, how they feel regardless of their external body. But no one talked about any of this stuff, so that only contributed to my feeling that I’d been born into the wrong body in the wrong country in the wrong time. 


High school only highlighted the ‘There’s something wrong with me’ belief as it became apparent that certain parts of me WERE different to other kids- I guess I learnt this through mild bullying or name calling -My hair was this out of control curly frizzball and given my name, ‘Kate Bush’ was an obvious one, alongside ‘Bogbrush’ and ‘Mophead’.  This attention was excruciating as I was very shy and blushed very easily if more than 3 people were looking at me (which they often did to take the piss out of that fact I was going red).  I also wore very dodgy National Health glasses, had a brace to correct the gap in my teeth and was taller and skinnier than everyone in my class. I hated everything about myself, purely because it singled me out as some sort of freak - which is how I felt.  But deep down I wanted someone to see me for the size of my heart or how much I felt things, rather than how I looked. I think it was during this time that I just accepted that my worth would always be determined by the way others saw me and tried to fit in as best I could.


Needless to say, I didn’t have a real boyfriend until I was 18 and always felt like the Ugly Duckling the whole way through my teens. This all changed at University when men started to find me attractive, which was bizarre to me as I was still the same on the inside - but still it was about the external; this time in appreciation of my body but still not my heart. I had a few boyfriends during these years and in my final year I fell head over heels in love, which ended after a year as he got offered a job abroad. This was the first time I experienced heartbreak. It was no ones fault but I was gutted and hid the pain through numbing;  Binge drinking, emotional eating and One Night Stands. More disconnection to my body.


For the first time in those early twenties, I started to use my body to gain love. Or what I thought was love. The combination of sadness, alcohol and new male attention lead me to let my body be used in a way that was a temporary hit of connection through meaningless sex, which very quickly turned into deep shame and even deeper self loathing afterwards.

I suppose my self-worth was now dependant on how men viewed me and since I was too scared of getting hurt again by becoming involved with anyone, the empty sex was less risky than actual love. Let them into your body but not your heart.


When I was 31 after 6 years being single, I met another Big Love who was able to see through my bullshit story of wanting to be on my own.  The love was immediate, we recognised each other on a deep level and I ignored the lack of chemistry and moved in with him the following year.


He loved me unconditionally, accepted my Empath sensitivities and encouraged my Spiritual side.  Through this exploration I worked on my low self esteem and general unconscious hatred towards myself by stopping the binge drinking, reading the work of Louise Hay about loving yourself and tapping into this Spiritual World of Reiki, crystals, angels and guides etc.  But despite this connection to The Divine, my disconnection to my own body was even worse, as the love between us became  more like a platonic relationship. But I wanted more and we split up just after I turned 40.


It seemed like I had spent my twenties putting my body through sex without love and in my thirties, it became love without sex.  On a deeper level, I longed to integrate a body AND heart connection


At this point in my forties, I had lost all connection to my body but this goddess within me was ready to emerge after being firmly in my shut-down masculine for years.  I finally took responsibility for belonging to myself and started to heal this disconnection. I came off the pill and got in touch with my cycle. I studied the work of David Deida and Esther Perel on intimacy and the Masculine/Feminine polarity, I went to a Jade Egg workshop (google it!)  I experienced Divine Sacred Sex as a Holy Communion with another,  I started to treat my body with more kindness. I chanted the Ho’onopono forgiveness prayer into the mirror a million times, I wrote blogs telling my truth, I published my book ‘What Love told Me’ and gradually I began to like myself for the first time as a WHOLE being.


 I took part in this project because I wanted to connect in nature with myself, purely for me to acknowledge the freedom I now feel from all of the disconnection and as an act of forgiveness towards my body.  I have put her through so much abuse and neglect and wanted to offer myself this photo shoot to myself to honour that.  So for me, prancing around naked in the rain was about the healing I have experienced and me celebrating my precious body in apology to her.


It’s only writing this now, that I realise why I have longed to tell my truth and become more authentic in all areas of my life. The more I have exposed my experience of being the odd-one-out, the more people confess that they are the same. Which is such a relief as for such a big chunk of my life, I felt so much confusion from thinking I was the Only One whilst simultaneously believing that surely we’re all the same underneath.


As I have brought compassion to the weird parts of me and embraced my uniqueness by openly talking about my doubts, my fears and my insecurities; more people from my Tribe have appeared saying that they were always like me too. And that has brought a new feeling of belonging and connection - And I’m not saying I’ve got my shit together or that I believe I will ever reach a state of complete self love (Christ, I still binge on chocolate and check in the mirror how big my belly is) but I want to tell the truth and not disconnect from who I am anymore. 


I’m now at a place where I want to show up in the world as ‘ME’ in all my truth- where I completely and utterly belong to myself - and connect to my own Body, Mind AND Soul. And I’m sharing this because we cannot do this healing by ourselves.  We are all in this together.  We need each other. So if you can also tell your truth and show your wobbly bits (literally in the case of this beautiful book!), I promise you, you will find the Other Weird Ones so you will never have to feel alone again.


The Emperor’s New Clothes

I’ve written a little book of some poem-things or wordings if you like, which I am self-publishing just because I’ve always wanted to write a book and because after ‘Run Marathon’ it was number two on my Bucket List

The weird thing is now it is finished and due to become live on Amazon in just over a month, I can’t actually bring myself to say the words ‘I’ve written a book’ - not that I’ve even told many people, but when I DO mention it I hear me using the word ‘thing’afterwards, as in; ‘I’ve written this little Book thing. With Poem-things. Or more like Wordy-things really’.  Why the hell am I putting the word THING on the end of my sentences to dismiss it and put down what it actually is. A Book.

And as if that isn’t weird enough - because I asked for guidance from God (or ‘Love’ as I prefer to say in case you lot think I’m a religious nut) to write it - I am not even taking credit for the fact that they are partly my words! Oh yes - I think that I am only a minor contributor and ‘Love’ did all the hard work by telling me what to write!! Which is hilarious because it would be MUCH better and definitely wouldn’t have Ego-stylee subjects in there and a Kate-Roberts tone to the words.  And anyway, I’m sure God/Love/The Divine would use much bigger words if It was doing direct channelling through little me !!

Classic predictable vulnerability in action.  Now I have finished the thing and am about to share it with the world...ok well some of my mates and my parents who might buy a copy... I am absolutely BRICKING IT !!  All this self doubt rocking up in full force. 

Rewind to last November - whilst on a Course in Miracles retreat with Hollie and Robert Holden in Findhorn, we took part in a writing meditation where we asked Love to guide our words and this 'poem-thing' (eye roll) kind of FELL out of me called ‘The Holy Relationship’ about ‘God’ being invited into all of our relationships. So a few people shared what they had written and when they asked for one more, my fella sat next to me, kind of nudged me and I found myself walking to the front ready to share.  Bear in mind at this point I have only ever shared a few ‘blog-things’ (yawn..) on Faceless Facebook before, rather than to actual human beings, of which there were 50 in that room.  I sat down next to Hollie on the floor, shaking and started to read my words into the microphone (as if it wasn’t terrifying enough).  My ‘word-thing’ was quite long. 3 pages in my journal. As I turned the page I looked up at Hollie and rather apologetically said ‘Don’t worry I’ve nearly finished’ worried that I was hogging the limelight.  But as I looked at her she had tears in her eyes and was visibly moved.  I remember thinking ‘that’s weird’ but carried on and when I finished I looked up and other people in the audience were also crying. Then Robert said some stuff I don’t remember but definitely something about having read many of the Sufi poets and that mine was ‘just as beautiful’.

As I returned to my seat my MCV (Mean Chatty Voice) said bitchily ‘He’s definitely lying’ but during the break more people came over to thank me for sharing the words and told me how much my poem had touched them in some way.  I just keep thinking it was SO WEIRD.  And it continued at lunch. People talking about me and my poem at the lunch table and complimenting me and saying lovely things about how they felt when I had shared.  WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?

I was pretty quiet during lunch until one more person had come over to me it finally dawned on me that NOT THAT MANY PEOPLE WOULD LIE! Like my little mean voice had been so convincing when it was a couple of people (plus Robert and Holllie) but when it got to about 20 people (not an exaggeration) there was no way I could continue to believe him saying ‘They all think your writing is shit and theyre all just being nice to your face. She’s lying too. Theyre ALL in it together’ and I finally got that, sure there was probably a few people that didn’t find it that good but the majority of people did and wanted to tell me. People were telling the truth.

I think that this extreme kind of ‘group reassurance’ sparked me into action, because back home , the following week I wrote (well, LOVE wrote, remember!!) over 40 poems in the middle of the night every day for a week. I had my book. I contacted Michelle(Catanach - check her on FB if you also want to write a book) and things started moving and I decided a launch date near my birthday in April.

I was going to publish my book-thing.

In the meantime, I sent the rough version to Robert and Hollie and rather cheekily (whilst totally shitting it as they are two huge Mentors for me) asked if they would have a look at it and maybe even contribute to a Foreword or give me a quote from The Course that I could include. About two weeks later I heard back from Robert telling me that he was, I quote; ‘Loving my poetry’ and that it was ‘very inspiring’ - which translated in Katey-Roberts-land as..... the COMPLETE OPPOSITE !!!!! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ?  Yet again The Voice telling me this time ‘Well, he might have liked the first one you did but he HATES the rest of them and definitely doesn’t think that theyre good enough to go into a book or else he would have written a few words for the Foreword.’ cue HUGE MELTDOWN from me.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I felt mortified, embarrassed, ashamed. ‘Why the hell am I doing this. My book-thing is obviously shit. I can’t believe I think that anyone would want to read it’. And despite any rational person (my publisher and my boyfriend) telling me that Robert had actually said NICE positive things and is a very busy man doing all things Hayhouse or chatting to his mate Oprah and probably simply doesn’t have time; all I wanted to do was pull the plug on the whole thing, because in my head Robert was lying. Again.

But I felt so needy of his validation, his approval, his reassurance and even though he had given it in the email I just was consumed by this self doubt. My book-thing is SHIT.

So I had a little shame-fear-cry and just sat on the floor with my tears, also feeling surprise at the force of my feeling. And when I stopped, turned my computer on to write this - actively leaning into all the uncomfortableness?...uncomfortability?  (definitely can’t get the ‘word-thing’ here!) to try and work out what was going on.

And I thought about the Emperors New Clothes.  Cos that’s how I feel bringing this book into the world; prancing about the streets with it, completely bollock naked with everyone telling me how good it is, but secretly laughing behind my back saying ‘who does she think she is? This is SHIT’

I’d been expecting the Vulnerability Hangover, but this was happening BEFORE I’ve even published the bloomin book-thing ! That’s ridiculous!

So as I write this I remember who I am writing the book for. Me and no one else. Not my fella. Not my mates. Not my parents. Not you lot. Not Robert and Hollie. Just me.

Just because I have always wanted to.

Just because it is a dream of mine.

Just because I wanted to birth some creation into the world with my name on it.

But mainly because I’ve always wanted to write a book. Not a book-thing. An actual book.

And MY book is called ‘What Love Told Me’

Because Love DID tell me.

And that is enough for me.




One of those days

"Wakey Wakey, Lazy bones"

A rude awakening. I open my eyes to the morning light, wondering whose voice it is today. 

It's Fear. "Good morning, rise and shine" he says as he draws back the curtains

"Oh its you" I say wearily.

"I'm here too" said the quiet shy voice of Love, but Fear talks over her, as usual. 

"C'mon, get up - we have so much to do". He drags the covers off me. 

Love just rolls her eyes as she pulls the duvet back over herself. 

I step out of bed and Fear trips me up. 

"Ha ha gotcha!"

I am tearful, wobbly, raw.  I look longingly at Love but she's fallen back asleep. 

Fear drags me to the bathroom and as I look in the mirror he snidely tells me how rough I look. 

I stare at my reflection, searching for Love's best friend Kindness, but only the Evil twins rock up - Bossiness and Meanness. 

"Good morning", they chirp simultaneously. 

"Why are you two so perky?" I ask, but they're too busy inspecting my frizzy hair and sniggering. 

"Ok we have a busy day ahead of us- let's get a move on shall we" says Bossiness as he orders me into the shower, whilst Meanness gives my naked body the once over and makes some comment to the others out of earshot. I pull the shower curtain around me but can still hear them whispering about me.

I wash and dry myself quickly. My energy is flat but they usher me into the bedroom to get dressed.  My clothes feel too big and I wonder if I have shrunk in the night.

"Wow you're very small today" sayd Fear

"Look at the state of you", quips Meanness "You can't go out looking like that"

"We haven't go time for all this messing" says Bossiness. "We have to get things done, remember"

We go downstairs and there is Significance looking at his watch.  "What time do you call this ? We are so busy. Let's Go Go Go. Chop Chop" 

"What's the plan of attack?" asks Fear

“Well clearly this Loser is incapable of organising things today so we’ll have to do everything for her” says Meanness. “We need a meeting” and they huddle together, each of them shouting over the other.

No one notices as I sneak out and go back upstairs.

Love is awake. She’s sitting in bed reading and drinking tea.

“I’m tired”, I tell her. “I can’t do it today. It’s all too much”

She draws back the covers and beckons me in. “Well, get back in here with us, my dear" and I notice Kindness in there too. These two are inseparable after all.  I get in and Kindness speaks softly;"That bunch of fools will be fine without you today" as she starts stroking my hair and my face.

“Don't worry, we’ll look after you today" says Love. "You need some nurturing. Some rest” and I start to relax as she cuddles me.

She looks in my tired, tearful eyes and whispers “Darling girl there is nothing you need to do or be today. You are enough without the Busyness. And sometimes you just can’t do it and that’s ok. Now rest your weary heart, my dear and start again tomorrow. We’ll stay with you” and Kindness nods with her.

And I sigh as I fall back asleep in Love’s arms, feeling her rocking me gently, whispering my name.



Beautiful Grief

I see her sitting quietly on Her bench softly crying. 

She seems oblivious to the tears mixing with the rain water on her face. It's dark. 

I approach her. “I see you” I say silently, but the inevitable “Are you okay?” is what actually comes out.

“Of course not” her eyes reply, but the lie “I’m fine” is spoken.

Neither of us believe her.

“May I sit?” I speak, with the rest of the words hanging in the air;“...May I quietly witness your pain ? Will you show me your truth?”

Her heart raw and open responds. “I will show you. It is too much for me to carry alone tonight”


She sips on her bottle. Archers. The sickly sweet smell transports me back in time for a moment and I lose my presence. She offers me a cigarette then when I refuse, apologises for the smoke.

“How did you see me?”. She seems surprised

I tell her I see a lot of people sitting on this bench in their grief. Remembering.

“I come here to be with Her.”  

“Do you talk to Her?” I ask

“All the time”

“What does she say?”

“Many things. Usually she asks me to come and join her, but I haven’t managed it yet”

The ‘yet’ hangs between us.


And she begins to talk. Stories and memories about Her. She was only 16. Her young life cut short by That Man. We all know him.  He took 22 with him in total. The senseless tragedy of Our City.  I feel anger again.

The empathy is stronger now. “That is fucking shit. The pain you must feel. That is really fucking hard”

I am surprised at my Lioness. My language somehow hoping to connect with her rage in the vulgarity of her pain.

She shows me a video of Her singing at a school concert. Her voice is pure. Stunning. ‘There must be some mistake’ I think - She is so real on the screen. So alive

“She was so beautiful and so strong” she tells me

“She must take after you”

She snorts.

But I mean it.  How beautiful she is, sat here in the rain consumed by this cruel grief.  I see so much love in her pain. The despair and unfathomable sadness has so much grace to it. It’s all there blurred together.

She talks. Almost like a Confession. How she’s plans it. How her brain has decided that she must also stop Being. How every time she has tried, she gets saved at the last minute.  

To me it is a great wonder the pills remain untouched in her pocket.

Given the choice between this Life without Her or Death - I am bewildered why she would choose to stay.

‘What stops you?’ I want to ask; ‘Why would you, when she’s calling you so loudly from the Other Side?’

But I do not dare in case my asking sparks her into action. Nudges her over. And for a moment I panic. I move into Fixer. Helper. How can I stop her? How can I save her ? I’ve been put on her path tonight. But what the hell can I do ? Show me. Show me. Show me...

Luckily she’s tired. It won’t be tonight

We both know

I feel relieved. She feels weak.

Maybe tomorrow


I selfishly ask “What are you going to do now?”, shamefully signalling our meeting is almost over. I am relieved when she tells me she’ll go back. 

She pauses. “Thank you - you are so kind”

“It is me who should be thanking you. Thank you for showing me it all.”

And we walk back. Mostly in silence but with some awkward snippets of small talk. The Vulnerability gone now. The intimacy forgotten between us. 


As she leaves, I embrace her and hold on a little longer.

Perhaps for myself rather than her.

As I’ll never know whether she’ll make it. 


Bad Blood

For the first time ever in my life last night a man (my man) bought tampons for me. This month I have the worst period I've had since I was about 16, when I used to faint regularly in church because I was so weak from blood loss and anaemia. Last night after watching a film on the sofa, I had the mortifying realisation that my period was so heavy, the blood had leaked through my Super-Duper-Mother-of-All-Tampons tampon, my knickers AND my jeans. Luckily the sofa escaped looking like a scene from Chainsaw Massacre and I managed to leg it to the bathroom without further damage.

Then as I sat on the loo, the panic set in as I realised I'd used an entire box of tampons that day, and that I didn't actually have enough to get me through the night. Surely all the chemists where I usually buy the Extra Super Plus Plus (!) variety that my Day 1 required, would be closed at this time of night. 

I went downstairs and burst into tears.  My lovely man was soothing, telling me this was a particularly bad month. I felt vulnerable and embarrassed.  My insecurity goaded me to ask if any of his ex girlfriends had it ‘this bad’ to which he sweetly replied No.  Great, now I was filled with worry AND huge shame as well.

Then he valiantly declared that he would go to Tesco, even though it was 9 o'clock at night (in my brain fog I’d forgotten that unlike the supermarkets in NL, over here they’re open till Stupid O’clock AND there is an ENTIRE aisle full of Sanitary Products! ) Wow what a man! So he went and even returned with a bar of Dairy Milk.

So why did I feel embarrassed?

Image result for rupi kaur period

A while ago, this image above of Photographer and Poet Rupi Kaur’s fully clothed woman lying in bed with a period stain was deleted twice by Instagram because it didn’t 'follow their community guidelines', which prohibit ‘sexual acts, violence and nudity’ and apparently menstruation related pics.  Rather fabulously, this ridiculous response from the Social Media site only grabbed Rupi more attention (hurrah!) and the photos were reposted with an apology, and indirectly more exposure all over the world.

But when I saw the image - I remember also feeling shocked and a bit scared, I suppose.  Like ‘I can’t believe she just did that’.  It was closely followed by the delayed reaction ‘Good on her’, but my initial feeling was definitely shock.  And shame, since this was an image that I could have personally posed for hundreds of times over the 27 years I have been having periods. I’ve seen it all before. I’ve changed outfits and bedclothes and scrubbed mattresses, as I’m sure ALL women have, but I’ve never spoken to anyone about it and I’d definitely never seen images before Rupi’s.  So why is it so shocking ?

I guess in any other situation to have that much blood coming out of a part of your body WOULD be shocking ! Christ, we would probably ring an ambulance or at the very least head over to A&E to get stitched up.  But this is something that’s happening internally on a monthly basis.  That we have to just GET ON WITH. Periods are meant to be invisible. And I also want to keep mine invisible. I do an extra check of the toilet after I’ve flushed to remove any trace of blood, that God forbid another human might witness. I hide tampons secretly in my jeans’ pocket if I am going to the loo for a change.  Once on the bus whilst rummaging in my bag, a tampon fell out and rolled down the aisle towards the driver and I did nothing! I just sat there with my cheeks getting redder and redder, hoping no one had noticed.  What the fuck?!! 

And even now, in this relationship with my loving boyfriend I felt relieved that he hadn’t seen any blood and was only witnessing the aftermath of my pants and jeans soaking in the kitchen sink, which was bad enough. And HE didn’t give a shit (in a nice way) - he wasn’t bothered.  It was ALL me. I felt the shame, the embarrassment. I was the one who tried to block him seeing me scrubbing the red stains as he came in the kitchen. I was the one avoiding eye contact as he left for Tesco.  And then on his return I was so over-the-top grateful to him - profusely thanking him and apologising for ‘having to put up with me’ ! What ? Like it was some sort of traumatic ordeal for him to buy tampons. But certainly he was the first man who has ever ‘done that’ for me.  I couldn’t even ask him - He was the one who offered and wasn’t the slightest bit fazed! So clearly it’s ONLY ME making it out to be a Big Deal.

Or is it? Are there other women out there who feel the same? I have no idea! Cos we don’t talk about it !!

I think I first remember the embarrassment when the ‘Tampax Lady’ visited our school in the 80s and took all the girls into a room separately.  I don’t remember it EVER being mentioned again!  I like to think that no longer happens nowadays and the boys are also included too in the Period Talk.  But maybe I’m wrong as perhaps that would still be embarrassing for the girls?  I’m a 43 year old woman and clearly I’m still embarrassed. 

My fella told me, on his return from the supermarket, that there’d been a small gang of 20-something women sniggering as they overheard him on the phone, checking he’d found the right tampons.  Is it that unusual to see a man buying sanitary products ? I guess so.  But then I have never asked a single ex-boyfriend/friend/work colleague or even my Dad/my Brother in the past. So what do you expect?

So women of the world - perhaps it starts with us. To talk amongst ourselves. To the men. To our kids.  Boys and girls. This taboo will only change if we speak out. And normalise our monthly cycles.  And NEVER EVER talk in code about ‘Auntie Flo coming to town’ or pronouncing the word ‘Period’ like Victoria Wood’s classic sketch !

And to perhaps take the lead from our men, who would be happy to pick you up some Lil-lets next time he’s in Boots. Because HE doesn’t care. He just wants to make you happy. And feel like he’s needed. And appreciated.

The final part of Rupi Kaur’s statement to Instagram (to see her response in full click here: https://www.instagram.com/p/0ovWwJHA6f/?hl=en) was this: 

“In older civilizations this blood was considered holy. In some it still is. But a majority of people, societies. and communities shun this natural process. Some are more comfortable with the pornification of women. The sexualisation of women. The violence and degradation of women than this. They cannot be bothered to express their disgust about all that. But will be angered and bothered by this. We menstruate and they see it as dirty. Attention seeking. Sick. A burden. As if this process is less natural than breathing. As if it is not a bridge between this universe and the last. As if this process is not love. labour. life. selfless and strikingly beautiful."

She uses the word BEAUTIFUL ! About periods ! Pppffff what the fuck ? That is certainly NOT a word I would use! So apart from Rupi, perhaps it’s some of us with the problem.  The Women. We’re the ones judging our own cycles. We hate our PMT. We hate feeling weak. We couldn’t possibly call in sick at work because of ‘Period Pains’. We cry in the toilets away from The Boss (male or female). We hide away. We compare ourselves to our friends and their cycles. We shame ourselves ‘So-and-so doen’t get it THIS bad’.

There’s also now Women judging Women for STILL using tampons and wasting MORE plastic when they ‘should’ be making their own recycleable sanitary pads. So we buy a Moon-cup off Amazon then start judging ourselves again for not being able to get the bloody thing up there. We judge other people talking about their cycle.  Perhaps you’re judging me? And on and on it goes...

Feeling shameful. Keeping Quiet. Staying Invisible.

And I almost didn’t write this post. My ego was telling me I’m attention seeking or that I’m being a Victim trying to get sympathy for my ‘Bad’ periods. When actually it just didn’t want me to write about it because its still a taboo topic.  I have always felt weird and uncomfortable saying the words bleeding and blood in relation to menstruation. Yet I’m happy to post about the more ‘mental’ aspects of my cycle - trying to normalise PMT and educate myself (and others) about this PMDD which some of us suffer from (which ALSO shockingly my female doctor had NEVER heard of!..I digress).

So perhaps the root cause is that (some of) us have a problem embracing our feminine, celebrating our cycle and reminding ourselves that this is a sacred process.  

I invite you to look at this photo again. Did you also feel the shock factor? Did you find it confronting even just for a minute?  Imagine if it was a photo of YOU that had been posted.  And acknowledge how YOU might feel about that. Would there be some shame and embarrassment? Disgust ? Or could you see it like my new hero(ine) Rupi does - that it simply represents love, life, beauty?

So next time, there’s an ‘incident’, I shall be repeating her beautiful words - “My womb is home to the Divine” as I’m scrubbing my pants in the sink. Or perhaps I’ll ask my Man to do it whilst I go to Tesco..... Too far ?