What’s the point?

My ego has been a bit bruised (OK, hemorrhaging) for a few days. Sulking. Frowning at me in the mirror. Making me nauseated and not nourish my body properly. Admiring my jutty hip bones. Rabbiting on my head about the how’s and why’s and what’s I may not have considered yet (except the 4000 other times it brought them to my attention while I was trying to sleep). Telling me I should get on with it with feisty determination, and writing nasty blogs about being turfed.

The other, much more in touch part of me has been the wild, heart healing hippy. I have every crystal possible on my body or in my room. I brought the biggest, kick ass salt lamp that exists and when we go to bed the whole house glows PINK. I’ve got homeopathic drops for purity and grief, and herbal supplements to calm and soothe. I put hypnosis for insomnia audio soundtrack on at bedtime (and then my ego fights it for 45 minutes by making my heart race and my mind say things like “well this isn’t working!”). I’m sleeping more, I’m eating our chooks eggs for breakfast, doing organic dance classes and I’m ok more than I’m not ok. When I drink a coffee I get a sense of hope and possibility, and when I come home to my calm and quiet and PINK house I remember how long it has been since it felt like this.

My ego likes to ask ‘what’s the point?’, and that kind of shitty question would keep me in bed all day, if I didn’t feel so nauseated at 6am and had to get up and eat an egg to combat it. I didn’t realise with clarity how important ‘the point’ is to me, but in the end ‘the point’ is my bigger purpose, without which I am pointless.

It’s just I thought I had ‘the point’ figured out! I thought this blog was going to be about blended families, and relationships, and juggling kids and work and some of the middle class dilemmas like Tupperware cupboards. I had my focus honed in on this narrow little facet of my life, with all the pressure and the expectations on one part. I allowed one person to be my muse, the focus of all my creative energy, and when that part wasn’t going like it should, I wondered if I really knew ‘the point’ at all. Turns out I didn’t. I didn’t plan to write about heartbreak again or jutty hipbones. I didn’t plan to expose my raw emotion for the entire world to see.

Now I have had to stop and take stock my view expands, and ‘the point’ is so far beyond the little pointy bit I was focussed on.

‘The point’ is actually wide and broad and deep and it touches stuff I didn’t know I knew. It’s about what it means to be  family, how to love people, how to be a great mum and role model for your daughters, how to let your children teach you about life, how to let go, how to expand your world so your purpose fills it, how to get along with your exes, how your friends are a reflection of who you are, how to be open and honest when you feel you’ve been sideswiped, being (nearly) forty and a single mother of four, how to choose the right people to love, getting back on the horse (one day), how to be OK with not being OK, how to trust yourself, how to be magic.

And to get there I just need to take it easy on myself. Softly, softy. A day, an hour and a moment at time. And be OK with where and how that is at that moment. That would be ‘the point’.