Liquid gold


I wasn’t sure what I wanted to write when I sat down at my computer. So much has happened since my last post, my life has entirely changed, but for some reason, nothing would come to me when I sat down to write. I wasn’t sure how to capture the growth and changes in my life, and as a result, I’ve had so many beautiful readers asking me for an update, only for me to stare blankly at the screen. So, I decided to just sit down and write whatever came to me. I’m a big believer that whatever pours out will be exactly what someone else needed to hear at this very moment, so best to just breathe and let it flow.

April, 2018. One year on.

Eliana Schoulal Photography

Eliana Schoulal Photography

I’ve always maintained the stance co-parenting is hard. Throw in new partners on both sides, a few inner-demons, and the shared responsibility of the love of both of your lives, and you have a melting pot of heightened emotions. But despite all of this, I’ve taken heart that when one of us is down, the other is there to pick up the slack. Never has this been more apparent than in the past few months when we’ve both needed one another in ways we haven’t for a very long time. We’ve worked together. Vented together. Tried our very best to navigate this co-parenting game laden with booby traps, unexpected twists and turns and dead ends. We’re not perfect by any means. We still drive one another absolutely insane. Ollie’s dad and I have our differences, yet share dangerous similarities. We’re both hot-headed and incredibly stubborn, so fights can escalate before either of us have had the chance to take a deep breath and diffuse it. But I’ve come to accept that’s just part and parcel of sharing something that means everything to both of us. Oliver is our flesh and blood. He’s the sum of a love we once shared, transmuted through his skin and bones. But judging by the horror stories I’ve heard, it can be so much worse. We’re both determined not to let it get to that state. Oliver is the only one who loses out if our relationship deteriorates to that point. It’s vital to have mutual respect for the role the other plays in the child’s life.

It’s almost been a year to the day since my world unravelled. My relationship with Ollie’s dad has changed in ways I never thought it would have the capacity to, but at the end of the day, we’ve somehow manoeuvred around every obstacle in our path. I never thought I’d have to learn the lessons I have along the way. I’ve learnt them the hard way, through immense pain I never realised my heart was capable of feeling. But it’s only when we feel the very depth of our emotions can we understand and appreciate what it means to finally be at peace once again. Sometimes you have to shatter into a thousand pieces only to assemble a stronger, better version of yourself. In Japan, there’s an art form called “kintsukuroi,” which is the art of repairing pottery with silver or gold. It’s based on the premise that the piece is more beautiful because it has broken. It doesn’t hide away from the imperfection, or try and disguise it, rather it embraces it, amplifying the crevices for the world to see, creating a version that never would’ve existed if it hadn’t shattered in the first place. If you’re feeling broken, think of yourself as a vase, and self-love as the liquid gold, coursing through every crack of your fractured heart, filling every part of yourself you hate, every stretch mark, blemish and wrinkle. Strengthening it, glorifying it, until eventually the parts you'd convinced yourself were unworthy are now glittering with gold. You've got to let go of what you were, to become what you are. As for the bowl, its true life started the moment it was dropped. So did yours.

I promise I won’t be as slack in the future. I will post more often, sharing the joy of mothering the most beautiful soul my heart has ever known. I have a new job. New love. New life. New travels. People have left my life and new ones have come in. There is so much to share… and so much to be excited for!

Elizabeth AnileComment