My eyes see differently.

I’m going into this deep (possibly triggering and controversial) space, because last night I read an article about narcissistic disorder and how completely awful and horrible and unacceptable narcissists are. As I wound up the article it occurred to me that the whole thing was shaming the narcissist in question because how dare they, why would they, can’t they just behave?

Something fell in my heart as I read that article. It was only at the very end that the writer dared to mention the possibility that we might feel sorry for the narcissist, and it saddened me, guys. I have to admit, it really did.

It took me back to a time in my early twenties. I was a gymnastics coach and I also worked for the holiday programs the gym ran each school holidays (which were hectic let me tell you, but satisfying all the same.) I have an affinity with kids, and I still credit that work as my most fulfilling to date. But one day there was a stand-off: a little boy, behaving badly. Very, very badly—probably hitting the other children, I really can’t remember the details.

The other coaches were bothered. I could understand that, but I could also feel that little boy, and I could feel that his bad behaviour wasn’t coming from a place of I don’t care about any of you! destruction. It was coming from a place of pain and need. So I sat with him and I gave him my heart. Within the hour we were up and playing with the rest of the children as though nothing had happened to destroy the peace in the first place.

The thing about my way of seeing the world is this. A narcissist is born off a painful past and my goodness I ache for the child that was. I ache for the adult that child went on to become, too…and so I suppose what I’m asking is: can’t we be a little more caring? To everyone, not just the people that ‘belong’ because they tick all the good behaviour boxes absolutely.

I wish our society lived more with their hearts, I honestly do. Because if we did, we’d not see the narcissist as some kind of monster that must be banished to the black hole of misbehaviour, where they cannot hurt the ‘good’ people of the world any longer. I used to be one of the people who said: how dare they. I used to be that girl.

I’m not her anymore. My heart loves everyone, even the narcissists, and it’s the narcissists of the world who need the most help to get their sinking ships back above the water. No ship ever, floated back to the surface of life whilst continually being pushed back down.

I don’t know, guys. I don’t want to upset anyone with this, I truly don’t, so if this has triggered any of you who have been seriously affected by the behaviour of a narcissist—I’m so sorry. Please know that your voice and feelings matter to me very much. It’s not my intention to belittle your pain.

It is my intention however to shed some light. We all belong, none of us any more, none of us any less. And because of this…I truly think we should help each other to rise above our demons, rather than cast stones at each other for having them. Compassion to all people just seems right to me, that’s all. How about we give each other the support and encouragement we need to heal?

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A Blog a Day in May

Sad Hands

My hands are not happy with me. If there were little faces in the middle of my palms, both faces would feature a raised eyebrow and an angry forehead, absolutely. They’ve had a big day, the poor muffins. But because they’ve had a big day…I’ve had a good one. A satisfying one.

It all started when a GIGANTIC load of firewood landed in the driveway. I’d just finished putting my little girl into bed when I noticed the truck and the man and the wood, ALL the wood, goodness gracious me.

I called my husband and tried to explain to him the faces my hands had begun to make in preparation for the mammoth effort that lay in front of me. In other words. Oh, bother. Wood. In driveway. Who is going to move it? Oh, yes, that’s right: me.

My husband (who was at work, probably grinning) suggested that I tidy the firewood storage area and, If I could do that by the time he got home, he would happily do the lifting, the wheelbarrowing, the stacking. The stacking. The stacking.

Well, could I just leave it, and wait for a man?

I would not just leave it there, NO, Sam I Am!

Instead, me and my little people bundled into our ‘cold day’ clothes, and with the Super Mario Brothers theme song blipping away in the background, Mummy moved the wood. All of it. All-of-it.

What a legend.

What an amazing, awesome, mega wonderful—and unbelievably modest—super champion I am.


How to convince my aching hands that this whole wooden adventure has all been worth it?

This may take a while.

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A Blog a Day in May

Friday Waffle

I’ve blown up the heater, again. Both of them. First the ducted heating, then the little beige buzzy thing I set up to replace it. That went within ten minutes of me turning it on, so I suppose this means we really will need to get the fire going tonight. (Not a tragedy. I so adore the warmth and romance of a wood fire, don’t you?)

I thought I’d do a bit of a waffle session on the blog, today. The ‘soft girl’ has been punishing you all with philosophical musings for quite a few days now, and let’s face it— some days are absolutely made for waffling. Today is one of them. Friday! My favorite day of the week.

Friday is like a deep breath, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s even a gasp, for some, like breaching the surface of a way too deep week of work. The end of the working week is a comfort that most of us cling to as a means of reward, celebration, and escape. And, by most of us, I mean…me. I’ve always loved that about Friday, the feeling of peace and closure attached to it.

But I also hate that. Why should we (human folk) feel the need to rush through life, just so we can make it to that place where all the good things live. Family. Me time. Time to work for ‘the self’, rather than for ‘the self of someone else’.

I dream of the day we all slot into our perfect puzzle pieces. The day we all stand up and say, actually no. I feel there is something more for me, something that will light my soul on fire and have me feeling just a little less excited about Friday. About the weekend.

Yes, I’m a dreamer. But it’s possible. Anything is.

Well. At least, I think so. 🙂

Happy weekend, my beautiful bloggy friends.

Oh! And, Happy Friday! 🙂

xx Brooke

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