SHERMIN LEE

 When I was in hospital (I've been in a total of 7 times IIRC), I met a hopeless young man who would lie on the floor all day. When his friend came to visit, he would lament that the place was hell to stay in and that he hated everyone here. He was generally very negative. I remember turning to him and saying 'give us a chance. You might end up having fun with the people here' or something to that effect. Same energy Lo and behold, fast forward a few years later and he's getting married to the love of his life, that he met in the very same hell he wasn't willing to give a chance to at first. They are madly in love and the happiest kids I know on Facebook. Now, fast forward a few years from when I first met them in a hopeless place, and I'm in the hospital again. This time, there is another blossoming romance. But alas, things never worked out because they both took their lives, one after the other.  Perhaps their lives would have been saved, if they had found so

 I am a result of the times I'm living in. I overeat and I have breakouts on my skin from stress.  Look at this Namibian woman with flawless skin and a healthy body. Now look at me and my obese ass sitting here writing this blog post. *SMDH

 I've been on meds for about close to 2 years now.  I used to have spurts of creativity, but ever since I got on my meds, I stopped having these highs, or manic episodes where I would write poems and posts. I can't say I miss being in the hospital too much. I like my freedom, and being in the hospital takes that away from me: no phone, no laptop, no way to contact the outside world. If I were to ever go back in, I'd borrow some books from the library before going to get admitted - mostly romantic type books. I may be bipolar, and the medication may be numbing, but at least I still have this platform, even if nobody is reading what I write. It's cathartic and therapeutic to get to write, almost like journaling, but public. If I were more able, I'd draw a nice cartoon to go along with this post. Maybe I'll give it a try: Ta-daa! I'm thankful for this laptop, it makes writing and drawing a breeze. I have my dad to thank. I still have all my loved ones with me..

 I'm happiest when I'm writing, because I feel productive. But when the dark thoughts assail me, I feel useless and start questioning my existence. The one passion I have is writing. Oh well, I have multiple interests: I like music, and to sing, too. I only wish for a way to turn my passions and play into something profitable.   I want to feel like my work means something; I want to be productive and love my work, too.

It's been close to 2 years since I was last admitted to hospital for mania (Dec 2019). I've been at home doing fuck all and feeling bad about it - thoughts like 'I should rejoin the workforce' and 'I feel useless lying around at home all the time' would manifest, leaving me feeling suicidal at times. But now I know there is a movement called #tangping or #lyingflat, and I don't feel so bad anymore. Increasingly, more and more people are rejecting the 996 (9am - 9pm, 6 days a week) working life, and are just coasting by day to day like I am. They work less and live within their means. I don't work at all. I feel bad that my husband is the only one supporting our young family. But my bipolar depression acts as a handicap sometimes, and it's hard to hold on to any job. Suffice to say I'm glad #tangping exists, and I don't have to feel bad about wanting to stay at home without working. Perhaps I'll take the next step in tang ping and get a te

Just like video tapes went out of style, cell phones with cameras will go out of style, too. We will replace phones with virtual reality technology. How, I do not know, but I know it with certainty, that there will come a day when we no longer use our phones to take and save photos.

When we sit in a car, an airplane, any vehicle that travels faster than we can on foot, we are effectively cutting short our journey, thus time-travelling (speeding up time). If I would have gotten to my destination in 4 hours by foot, and I take 30minutes by car, I am speeding up my travel process. If that isn't time-travel (pressing the fast-forward button), then what is?

I was feeling dejected and down, seeing my life as bleak and meaningless. That is, until I started reading some articles on Mothership.com, specifically their 'Stories of Us' section. It was then that I realised that our destinies are in our own hands. We shape who and what we become, by reaching out and getting for ourselves the very things we want, becoming the versions of ourselves that we want to be. I want to be a writer, and so I reached out to their recruitment arm. Here's hoping they write back. Update: well blow me down, it just came to my attention that I'm already a writer. I'm writing this blog, aren't I? Lol.

I had not known this to be true - that writing for a living would be a dream come true. Every time my fingers tap the keyboard and words form on the screen, it's like some kind of magic taking over. I pray and hope for more writing engagements; to put my skills and voice to use.

Instead of thinking of home and 'outside' as separate, think of the space blending into one another. Think of outside as an extension of home... Then maybe it wouldn't be so hard to leave the house, since you never really left, and the whole of outside is part of the inside (your home). @sherminukulee

You cannot talk about Mental Health without religion and spirituality coming into the mix. You cannot understand mental health conditions based purely on brain science: what about the soul? What about consciousness being about more than thought; being about heart and spirit? Psychiatry is based on brain science, but I'd put my money on therapy that involves talking about feelings, and feeling human emotions, whether it's loneliness, sadness or grief. @sherminukulee

So what if we know the composition of the human body? I'd like to know why I'm alive, sentient, and thinking.. 26 May 2023 Update: I feel like I have a vague hold on the why, having now gone through spiritual metamorphosis and cultivating the practice of consistent emotional regulation (regular catharsis)... My next question is  HOW ???

What is 'keeping busy'? What does it look like? Filling your time at a job you don't care about? Keeping busy for the sake of being busy..? And in your spare, free time, what do you do? You try and stay occupied with entertainment. It is no wonder then, that you find nothing worthwhile. Because all you do is waste your time 'keeping busy/staying entertained' when there are so many causes out there to champion... And yet, there you sit, lamenting the fact that life is boring, when it is indeed within your jurisdiction to change that. Start by looking outwards: what's a great cause for me to champion with my time today? Maybe clean water; sanitation; hunger. Stop wasting your time, when you can donate it. Or maybe start by looking inward: what moves me, what drives me, what do I enjoy? What would I be doing right now, if I could do anything in the world?

Today I am 'Happy' But 'happy' is almost profane: a curse word. I'm afraid to say I feel happy, because it is often an emotion or state of being that is all too fleeting... So what am I feeling today? Uplifted, cheerful, nice... Never 'happy', because 'happy' is a bad word, something I cannot achieve on my own? No. Nevermind that it doesn't last; even if for half an hour, I feel happy right now.

Look around you - what do you see? I see decay. As we take our next breath, we grow closer to drawing our last. As we live, so too are we dying.

I feel like an animal, trapped in a cage of my own making. It is a gilded one with lots of creature comforts. I have nothing to complain about, and yet I lament my sedentary lifestyle - still, I'm not motivated to do anything about it. Is this a catch-22 situation? It sure feels like it.

Why are we always in such a rush, such a hurry, to be somewhere? What about the present? I see the frazzled, hassled-looking nenek hurrying her charge along, pulling him by the hand. Why? Where are they going? What are they late for? Why do we spend our days and our time on Earth  rushing, worrying, working as hard as we do for our quality of life and standard of living - there is no guaranteed fortune, or heaven, at the end of our existence, so why do we live like we're in hell, and heaven is miles and miles away... when it could very well be on our doorstep, if we just stopped to look, listen, and play..? Why are we going so fast, what am I missing? What's wrong with slowly slowly now? Again, what am I missing out..?

Feel.

Myself.

Is sex/gender fluid? No, you are either male or female. Is identity fluid? Yes, you can identity as male, female, male-female, female-male etc. But that is only my opinion, which we all know, is fluid. #agreetodisagree

Comfort is not a reward, it is a systematic management process for emotions like sadness, grief and anger. Punishing big emotions only exacerbates and fuels anger/frustration etc. The emotional child is needing and wanting for your comfort and attention. Will you choose to be soothing and help soften rough, sharply-edged and pointy emotions, or do you continue to whip and lash the suffering *animal/hurting *child? *Plot-twist: The suffering animal/child is you .

The time you spend working is also life... So why do we separate work and life as two different things? You are alive and living and breathing as you go about doing your work (well, most of us, anyway). So why choose to submit to the slow death of mindless, soul-crushing-or-numbing-at-best, meaningless work? <  Neglect Your Family & Ignore Your Passion  > #survival over #selfrealisation is #deathtohopesanddreams... and #deathtohopesanddreams is #livingbutnottrulyalive

Happiness and fulfillment aren’t something you think your way to. It’s in the doing and being present every day. --- All the thinking and rationalizing in the world is just expending mental energy. At a certain point you have to 'do', and be present in your actions.

You have an object. You need to move said object from point A to B. You remove object from point A and carry it to point B. Congratulations, you have accomplished a task, and are now fulfilled. -- You have an object at point A. You have another of the same object at point B. You no longer have any job to do, in relation to ferrying objects from point A to point B. Your service/work is no longer required. You have been rendered not useful, in this circumstance. #obsolete #noworknofulfilment

I wish I could suck and fuck and have fun and not give a damn or two shits about people in my life. I just wish I had the opportunity to have meaningless, animalistic sex, without the consequences. #Girlsjustwannahavefun Update (4 Dec 2022): It's been 3 years since I wrote this post. I can say without hesitation that I have certainly moved past feeling this way in my life. I have experimented within reason, learned and grown a little, and the only sucking and fucking I'm interested in doing now is sucking less at playing the ukulele and singing, and being fucking awesome and winning at life. 😎

Today, my daughter quietly let go and pissed her panties, puddling onto the floor. I did not get mad - which would have been my usual, tired response when I'm stressed and distracted. Instead, I shamed her. The damage I did to her psyche was far worse than if I had responded angrily, or taken a healthier/more healing approach by supporting and encouraging her, and letting her know that it was okay, we all do silly/undesirable things, make mistakes, and accidents happen. I shamed her by telling her I was not, in fact, going to clean her up, and she could stand in her piddle. She really, really started to cry. And for the rest of the day, she refused to wear panties, asking to be comfortable in diapers instead. I had achieved the opposite effect of what I had set out to do. Shame is an unwieldy emotion that parents, and a patriarchal society has to be or should learn to be careful with. By Ciole Loia, on Quora:

Breathe in, breathe out (deep and slowly). Hold your breath for as long as you can, after the outflow/exhalation. Appreciate the little death in life. The quiet. The void/the chilling-out (state of resting). Go back to regular/more shallow breathing, as you normally would. WARNING: DO NOT TRY IF YOU ARE PRONE TO PASSING OUT FROM HOLDING YOUR BREATH. ATTEMPT AT YOUR OWN PRECAUTION.

This is a story of how we became a lost, and losing people. -- Once, there was a king who loved his wife, very, very much. She was his moon, his stars and his ocean.  When he was down, she was his up. And he loved her so much, that he gave his seed to her, 3 times, to grow her womb and bring her fruits into bloom and blossom And he was happy. Alas, that happiness was not to last. One evening in July, as she was out by the garden, gazing at their children playing in the fountain in the great sprawling grounds of the palace, tragedy struck. Her short, impermanent life was taken by a passing beast that had determined to crouch and hide in the bushes. It had no reason to attack and maul her to dying (it did not appear to be hungry), but it did anyway, apparently unprovoked, as her children watched in horror, powerless to stop the unfolding gruesome scene of their mother being torn apart, limb by limb, in the mouth of an unrelenting and fearsome lion. And it was

I direct my attention, and my attention in turn directs me. What I choose to pay attention to, and give focus to, becomes my life. And my life will continue to revolve around the things I lend importance to, in my mind. Until and unless I turn my attentions elsewhere, onto other tangents, thoughts, and ideas, my life is what I choose to pay attention to. What I choose to think, becomes what I act on. What I act on, gives me fodder for my thoughts. (The attention - direction cycle)

Once you have faced the worst of your emotions, fear melts away. I wonder when fear will visit me again. I hope when it does, he comes to see me as an old friend, and not an enemy.

To allow yourself to feel, before you attempt to communicate with someone else's emotions. To cry before you address the needs of a crying child. To feel their pain, and respect its nature and power, and understand its source origin (or at least attempt to), before you begin to attempt to interact with it and to try and convert that energy into something less destructive to the self, and more healing (lest you absorb that pain, or destroy them or a part of yourself in the process of attempting to heal).

Life-form: a living creature/animate being Life-source: a well or pool of sustenance for something or someone living. I have always been a life-form: my body, and its energies. But becoming a woman, and a mother - carrying a child in my womb, and then feeding and sustaining her from my own flesh and body (breast milk) turned me into a life-source. My connection to the source of all life - energy, and mystery - was strongest when I was both a life-form, and a life-source. God(?), or source, was sensed at its strongest, when I was breastfeeding my child. I mourn that psychiatric doctors interfered with a connection they could not understand - they did not understand that it was detrimental to my physical and emotional and mental health to stop using *source to take care of and feed my daughter. *source refers to God, or the divine, or universal forces - I.e. the naturally occurring milk that a mother makes for her child, with her natural body. I am still sa

Adulting is hard. So treat yourself to that ice cream cone, or buy yourself a cute stuffed plushie to hug. Give yourself the experience you would have wanted your parents to give you, when you were a kid. Your inner child will thank you, and you will feel happier for taking care of your innocence and the place where joy and pure love comes from.

In my hand, I hold a pen The power to be free A flower child, lost in the wild Slow-growing on a tree And if I fall down to the ground, Then who will capture me? A cosmic force, a sonic voice Tells me that soon, you'll see

Source made/created/produced every man, woman and child, and every creature on earth beautiful: with the potential to be-a-you-to-full.  Be a you, to full. Be yourself, to the fullest capacity you know how. ❤

Today, everything that could have gone wrong, did. I had planned on getting a good night's rest, but my daughter kept waking me up all through the night, complaining of aches and pains. In the morning, I felt tired and had the runs, courtesy of my kids and their gastric flu. I popped some pills and left it at that. I had half a mind not to even step out the door - what would it matter if I missed a day of exercise, a day of work? I immediately nipped that thought in the bud - negative automatic thought is second-nature and seductive. Powering through your natural responses and reactions takes a certain level of calm and determination. So I told myself to fight through the sick/tired feelings. Even when I had to turn back and head home to switch my pair of pants out (my helper had left incomplete stitches and a pin in the one I was wearing), I had to remind myself it was okay! Even when I found myself sitting at the coffeeshop, trying to book a cab and not g

Cleo-PAT-Ra was the name of a lion. A God. A creature. Cleo: woman. Pat: (now known as pet). Ra: Goddess/God. Cats were not pets or slaves or servants. Not to the Egyptian kings and queens, at least. They were protectors. And the protector to protect them all? CleopatRa. When we KILLED her (the beast), Egypt fell apart. The ‘Lion Sleeps Tonight’, a song about killing lions/hunting them for sport, underscores the tale of how Man, in his folly, ill-appointed himself as protector and ruler of the realm, when the higher power should have gone to the beast of beasts, the animal to rule them all: the lion queen (beast) and her king (man). One without the other, and the world is tipped into chaos and imbalance. We are all animals. Human beings are NOT the apex predator, and neither are we prey. We are somewhere in the middle. And we have forgotten that, thinking ourselves higher creatures than our quadruped counterparts. I submit we honour cats and nature again; a cat’s purr vibrat

Dad, you didn't teach me discipline or control over my sexuality. You were always absent- when you weren't working, you were still checked out emotionally. I never learned how to hug a man or draw healthy touch or affection and attention from men, because you never role-modelled that for me. All you ever were was unavailable, physically and emotionally. Maybe your presence and simply listening to me would have taken the wind out of my sails, on a ship sailing towards lust and hedonism... Mom, you didn't teach me how to, or that it was ok to harness and cultivate my sensuality. I had to fly blind and grope around in the dark to figure out that a woman's power is her gentleness and kindness of heart, not just her sexuality. Being sexy and desirable is not powerful, without also being kind and soft, to my partner(s) and to myself. I'm not complaining about my parents. I'm taking responsibility as a parent, as a mother and as a father, too, in the abs

There is a darkness that consumes Everything in its path It is a formless, shapeless monster  With no future and no past It likes to hide in places Where nobody knows its name It takes the brightness out from light And fills a heart with pain Some know it rather well and dear While others never know its fear The power that is has, control Steals away inside your soul At last, in darkness, shall I find A quiet, still, and peaceful mind  I accept that this I am 'Meaningless', she is my friend

You raised me with anxiety and irrational fear in your heart, and that's why I have my own anxieties and irrational fears now. You guilt-tripped me into apologising for behaviours and expressions that were actually healthy for me, and that's why I struggle to exhibit healthy behaviours and habits, and to express myself in a genuine and open and honest way. You encroached upon my decision making, which is why I made bad and foolish choices, against my better judgement and instincts. I'm flaky, and I escape my problems and big emotions. I cannot blame you, but I don't think it is a coincidence that my sister is this way, too. For all this, you have made me stronger and wiser. You did your best to mould my spirit, but I fit no mould. I broke apart to break free of your control and your manipulation, only to fix myself back together again, this time with no manual or directives from you, but to the whisperings of my own heart. I love you for trying and

The human spirit is limitless. When you trap it in a cage, staying at home all day, or sitting in a ward in a mental hospital all week, month, year(s), what do you expect happens to the human spirit? Neglected, or not taught how to embrace, harness and channel your spirit into 'fulfilling' activities and tasks, the mental and spiritual faculties decline from lack of use, or misuse. Instead of putting your mind, body and will to good work that could potentially benefit yourself and other people, we sit staring out the window from within the confines of the mental institution's ward... The same can be said to be true of staying home, consuming entertainment media all day. We are all spiritual beings. We are capable of healing our spirit the same way a bird let loose from its cage has the option of flying away, learning how to, or to stay grounded. The choice is ours, how we want to harness and channel our living essence. We can read, research, ask for guidanc

Something happened to me today that turned my understanding of myself and my emotions on its ear. I began to understand why I'd checked myself into a mental hospital, to cry and grieve and scream and generally act like a mentally insane person. I was denied the release of my emotions (i.e. my anger, my sadness, frustration and fears) when I was under my parents' tutelage. It became apparent to me, after how they handled the situation today: instead of owning up to their emotions of sadness (which I suspect was their primary emotion, seconded by frustration, perhaps), they responded to my 3-year old daughter's tears and frustration with anger. She'd wanted to go swimming, but she wanted to go to sleep. She'd wanted to go out for a fun excursion, but she also wanted to be carried to the car. And so, in her confusion and ambivalence, she released her emotions the only way she knows how: by talking through tears and screams of loud frustration. And ho

As a child, I was touched inappropriately. After that, I repressed the memory for the rest of my life, until now. Perhaps my childhood trauma is one of the reasons why I spiraled out of control and ended up in a mental hospital, and possibly why I overeat.

I sign up for projects and work and think 'oh I'll be happier for having done it/achieving this' when really, the most rewarding part of the job is being on the job. Doing the work, experiencing the activities and socialising with the people: that's where the payout lies. Ofcourse, taking a paycheck home is also, if not equally enjoyable. But if you choose only to focus on the end goal, the game itself becomes... Well, cumbersome and exhausting. But if you play to have fun, and enjoy the work you've chosen to do- to immerse yourself in the situation - well, then you create your own gold. *Thumbs up*

I'm fat, I have acne/pimples all over my face. I'm 25 and the most unfit I've been, ever. Plastered all over TV and billboards and ad spaces and the media are images of young, beautiful, fit people/models. I'm not one of these people, and perhaps I'll never be. I don't even try to be. I could, if I wanted to. But I don't feel like I need to look a certain way to feel a certain way. I accept the me that I am.

Up until now, I have been buffeted by the forces of change in my life. I never asked to be someone's wife, or mother, but I am. It seems everything I've asked for, I've gotten but couldn't hold on to (my singing/hosting gigs). And everything that's never even occured to me to have/achieve, I have received/attained (being a stay-at-home mom/wife). Perhaps purpose is circumstantial: life happens, and you (& your purpose) happen along with it. https://www.facebook.com/dualityconcept/

As I was washing my 3-year old daughter's bum after a poo, she says to me 'because you wash my piku (bum) so many times, I love you'. Now I know the value of simple everyday mundane chores. What was once a hassle and troublesome act became something wonderful and amazing - all because I know now my daughter appreciates and loves me for the small acts of kindness I show her everyday.

We were at the playground, and there was a particular piece of exercise equipment my daughter was interested in. She got onboard, looked at me and said: "I don't know. Teach me." My 3 year old knows ( learns ) so much more than what most people older than her would. All because of those 5 words.

It’s 2:28am, and I’m still awake. I’m tired, but my mind/soul is unwilling to put my body and brain to slumber. I’m inspired. Like Kanye West, a man I once presumed conceited and entitled, I am inspired. He wants to change the world. I do, too.  At the same time, I DON’T want to change the world. I know it will happen. I just want to be a Mother, and then a Grandmother. THAT is how I am going to change the world around me.  I am only one, and I am alone, but not on my own. Because a tiny drop in the water creates a ripple effect, and I am infinitesimally tiny.

Children are autonomous. Until we break them. Children are precocious, until we teach them. Children are guileless, until we corrupt them. We are all children.

All anyone ever wants is attention: above recognition, above appreciation, above acknowledgement, maybe even on par with wanting approval. I know I'm like that. Just like a child who says 'look mummy! Look, I did this,' or 'I did that', some of the time when I finish writing a blog post, I'm excited for certain people to read my content, and so I show it to them.' And asking for attention is not wrong. The problem with our world today is that people are asking for attention without having anything susbtantial to share. (People are mainly concerned with hopping on the next viral trend, that they sometimes forget that content with weight and gravity remains timeless, whereas fluff is just... fluff. It's lightweight and often negligible). We are constantly bombarded by negative imaging and messaging. 'Do this, be this, have that,' a lot of messages are crafted by talented people to manipulate us into consuming or conforming, so they

Click the picture. I dare you. You cannot treat the artist's temparament and spiritual ills: a soul-crushing, debilitating depression, through medicine and academic knowledge, without first knowing the science behind the creative mind/heart/soul. A thing like that should be handled with care, as the emo is far more intricate than the ego. There is a certain artistry to listening, asking the right questions, and getting NOT the right or correct responses, but rather truthful and honest responses, whether they are emotional, physical or verbal. The artist, or every single human being I know has a recovery mechanism innate to his or her person. It takes time and self-work: introspection, to find what is healing to existential depression and suicidal ideation; anxiety. Self-talk and therapy, healing and cure cannot come from without (external reality), when the 'problem' or 'illness' stems from the intrinsic (the internal/imagined reality). Just as

I am a dutiful wife: I have a duty to love, honour and care for my husband. I am a dutiful mother: I have a duty to my children, to raise them whole and raise them well. Keep them clothed, fed and content, if not truly happy. I have a duty to my family and friends: to care for them when they need me, to listen when they need a listening ear. I have a duty to my readers: to be inspired by the people I meet, to write for their needs. But most of all, and above all else, I have a duty to myself: I have a duty to love, honour and respect my voice. To take care of me, to correctly and vociferously identify, and then understand my needs as a woman, a spiritual being, a wife, mother, friend, writer, singer, daughter, lover, caregiver etc. I have to put duty above all else. Duty to whom? Duty to myself. Because if I don't, duty to everything and everyone else breaks down and falls to shit. #Truth

Men function primarily on ego. Their sense of pride, achievement, satisfaction rests on their concept of right and wrong, justice and injustice, what is fair and what is not. Man is logical and calculated. Man: products and creatures of Nurture. Women rely on instinct; intuition; mother-nature. We are irrational, illogical, emotional, creatures of nature. These are strengths the sexes carry. They overlap in many ways. A man CAN be a woman, in identity, and so too a woman can be man, in identity. Of course, we cannot change our biological makeup, but our personalities and attitudes, even our beliefs are fluid. So, be a man, or be a woman. Be ego, be emo. Be nurture, be nature. Just be you. A true you.

Trust your gut, for it will never lead you wrong. Your logical, reasoning mind might. That's because your logical, reasoning mind is constantly and subconsciously being manipulated and guided by external messages: your family, friends, the media, advertising, society, government, religion. Your gut, or your instinct, on the other hand, also known as your conscience, is yours and yours alone. It is impervious to external influence and subliminal messaging, because it doesn't exist on the same conscious planes in the universe as the logical mind.  It is as old as the first human, ancient as time, and incorruptible. Your gut feeling is you. You are the voice that talks to yourself. And all the time, YOU are right. Not the ego, not the self, not the logical, reasoning voice inside your head. Your conscience; the voice of God; spirit. Trust it. Trust you .

I lost my mind, after I had my babies in the hospital. Why? I have a theory, and that theory is that right after birth, a mother needs to be with her baby, or else the body instinctively responds to the absence of the baby with stress hormones. I call it the dead baby syndrome. If mother and child are not immediately attached and allowed to start the breastfeeding and in-arms bonding process, the woman reacts instinctively, intuitively processing the absence of the child as the child's death. Now, logically, the woman understands that the child is just being taken away for care or tests. But the primitive, primal nature and subconscious mind cannot understand or process the absence as anything but 'my baby has died'. And so, begins the spiral of grief and emotional instability. This is my bipolar 'trigger' story. I know of one other woman who claims to have developed bipolarity after she had her kids. Perhaps more research can be done in this area, an

Being a mother is a job. Nay, a career. It is being a teacher, being a friend, being a boss, being creative, being an entrepreneur, an adventurer, an artist, a visionary (envisioning a better future for your kids). It doesn't, and shouldn't pay in money. It pays with love and kindness, bliss and happiness. And more of us need to stop discounting that. Stop discounting ourselves. We need to start standing up for the rights of women to be mothers, and fathers to be fathers. We need to stop abusing the overworked, tired, under-appreciated PARENT. Because there is no boss, but ourselves. There is no workforce but our children. There is no capital investment but the investment in the welfare of children and their lives. And isn't that the noblest goal/job of all? Read further: https://www.psychologytoday.com/intl/blog/moral-landscapes/201904/killing-mothering-the-center-society A well-researched article by Dr. Darcia Narvaez

What changed? My thoughts are still the same, my environment the same, the people around me the same. I am the same. So what's different? I reached out: I called old acquaintances - people whom I connected with, or felt inspired by; people I had questions for (specifically relating to my/their situation) and I talked to them. I got inspired by other people: I watched their YouTube videos and read their books and articles. Today, I'm impervious to perceived putdowns and other people's opinions on me, because I know that there are others out there who 'get' me. Socialising is key. Best over the phone, better face to face. You need quality people, not quantity. I know it's hard to find people you can connect with, but keep trying. Out of the hundreds of people that you meet, if you put yourself out there (I go for peer support sessions and visit Clubheal even though 99% of the people there are not necessarily 'my scene') you WILL

I submit that when I was in the institute of mental health (IMH), I was under a sort of spiritual attack. I was going in and out of dancing, and singing, in a trance-like state. I communed with my inner soul; my inner self; my inner-spirit; God. I heard the words, I heard the music. I bobbed along, I responded, I reacted.' And I was drugged into submission - submit to being 'normal'. Stop hearing your conscience: Mania, they called it. Spirituality, I say. God is my 'mental illness'. Take that, IMH.

So I sing sad songs. Because they make me feel real; genuine. The make me sad, they make me cry. They make me grieve . And then, something amazing happens. I feel well again. Call me a masochist, but we all need pain and suffering in life. It FEELS GOOD to release this type of energy and stress through song/sport/meditation/art (cooking, sewing, painting etc)/work. Let's talk about balance. Yin and Yang. Light and dark. I'm at place in life where overcoming sorrow and pain feels good. Maybe one day, perhaps, I'll have no more sorrow and pain, and I could be happy all the time. But for right now, my world vision is that of lightness and darkness; happiness and sadness. So, I sing.

I cry almost every day now. Well, two days in a row. And that's ok. After a cry, I feel a sense of relief and release. It's cathartic.

Sing. Sing sad songs. Sing happy songs. Sing your heart out. Emote. Feel. Live. Love. Even if you can't hold a tune, sing. 'I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free' - His eye is on the Sparrow (Lauryn Hill)

No, what I truly want is to breastfeed my children. But the time for that has passed... . I don't want to be a lactation consultant. It's too much tedious work getting the certification. No, I want to be a blogger. I want to write, and I want my blog to be popular like xia xue's, and I want to be sponsored and for marketers and advertisers to use my platform for their products (I want to advocate for the products and services I use and/or believe in. Things that make life easier, breezier, and at least more bearable. What I don't want, is to be a mouthpiece for a brand or product or service that is harmful or destructive, or that does a disservice to the world and others. If i ever do that, please come back to this post and call me out on it. We'll talk about it like civil folk do). But what would I write about? My feelings, perhaps. My neuroticism, my bipolarity, my highs and lows. I've come through a cloud of depression and suicide, and now I

If breastfeeding and being a Mother and showering your kids with love was a paid job, how many more would do it? If volunteering to sing for the sick was a paid job, would I do it? Yes, I would. But none of these things are reality - can I turn them into my reality? How? How would I turn breastfeeding and giving Motherly love and singing for the sick-what I’m passionate about-into a career? Into something that not only fulfils me and nourishes my soul, but into something that can help me provide for and sustain myself, my family, my friends, and my community? Do I blog about it, as I am now? Do becoming a breastfeeding/stay-home-mum advocate or coach? Do I continue to sing at bars and restaurants for the ‘sick’ (glug glug) and disillusioned?  How do I continue my life and do the work I was intended to do, and be rewarded and recognised for it?  Do I even want to be recognised for it? Yes, I do. I want to live life in my own quiet way, serving my purpose and m