Through My Eyes – Mykayla

Through My Eyes – Mykayla

Dear Husband,

I’m sorry I’m feeling depressed today. I know it’s hard for you to come home from work and understand why. I don’t mean to expose it so much because I know you don’t understand.

I’m sorry I yell when you ask what’s wrong. I don’t know how to word what I feel sometimes. It’s not as black and white as you’d like it to be. It’s grey. It’s so grey. Read more

MEGA, Matching and Money

MEGA, Matching and Money

This past week I have finally stopped procrastinating.

Instead of letting my anxiety rule when I think ‘It is too hard, don’t bother, people will just laugh, you can’t do it’ I’ve decided to think ‘Who cares? You’ve got this!’

Who cares if people laugh when I rock up to the gym with my thunder thighs and bubble butt? Isn’t that what the gym was originally created for? I mean waaaay back. Back when they were about losing weight and getting fit, and not about looking the part, or having a like-worthy status update.

There are three things that have put me in the fitness frame of mind. In no particular order they are:

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The Matriarch

The Matriarch

Yesterday I lost my Great Nanna. The woman I was named after. The matriarch of our family. The greatest banana-sandwich-maker the world will ever know. The woman that collected coins all year round so that she could send a little bag of them to each of her great-grandchildren at Christmas. A woman with beautiful, cursive handwriting (a dying art if you ask me), who wrote letters that I still have stashed away in my memory box.

A mother, a grandmother, a great grandmother, and even a great-great grandmother.

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The Patriarch

The Patriarch

He took my hand in his
It looked so small.
His, calloused, petrol soaked hands
Worked and tanned,
Protected mine, keeping me safe.

A smoke hung from his mouth
The smell was all-consuming,
I didn’t mind, in fact, I basked in it
I can still smell it now, it breaks me.
Triggering the memory of an easier time

A maroon polo shirt on his back.
He would give it to me if I asked.
If it was all he owned.
He’d give it all for a smile,
For his family, with love.

His voice, earthy and wise,
Cracked from age and cigarettes,
More beautiful to my ears
Than a thousand symphonies.
To hear it again would be bliss.

We’re broken now,
Split and corrupt.
He was the glue.
He would be ashamed,
Looking down disgusted.

His one and only disrespected.
This wasn’t his way.
He stood for family, loyalty, love.
And that’s what we remember,
Though some forget, we will fight,

We will fight to honour him.