Body Language

• December
• 6

Did you know that up to 93% of our communication is non-verbal? It encompasses many things such as your tone of voice, eye movement, posture, hand gestures, facial expressions and more.

Most of us are familiar with one of the most basic and powerful body language signals – when a person crosses his or her arms across the chest. This can indicate that a person is putting up an unconscious barrier between themselves and others. In a peaceful atmosphere, it can mean that a person is thinking deeply about what is being discussed; but in a serious or confrontational situation, it can mean that a person is expressing opposition. Or it could just mean that the person is feeling a bit cold, especially if combined with rubbing the arms or huddling!

Fellas, if a girl you like shows body language such as tilting her head, touching her hair or neck, makes prolonged or frequent eye contact with you, or shrugs her shoulders or crosses her legs while with you, it’s a pretty sure bet that she returns your interest.

In a job interview, we all know how important it is to make sure we communicate the right body language. Little things like a firm, confident handshake, not fidgeting, and maintaining good posture all help convey that you are confident that you are the right person for the job.

Or perhaps you’ve learnt how to use body language to tell if somebody is lying or withholding information – usually by rubbing the nose or touching the face during conversation. Excessive blinking can also be a giveaway. Check the eyes. When people are trying to remember something, they will look up and to one side (this differs according to the person). When they lie, they look up off to the other side.

It’s true, actions speak louder than words! But I think perhaps the best example of body language is one that sends a message of love. It dates back a couple of thousand of years – and you may have heard this saying before …

“I asked the Lord, how much do you love me?

And He stretched out His arms and said ‘this much’ … and then died for me and you.”

Let us preach you, Dear Jesus, without preaching …  not by words but by our example -  Mother Teresa

Horror Story? No, my reality …

• December
• 2

The Friday Files continue …

Crouching down gingerly behind the industrial bins, I found comfort in a pile of hessian sacks. Carefully, I eased my bruised body underneath one and curled up into a tight little ball, grateful for the warmth and protection it offered from the chill night air. Even now, it is difficult to describe the pain that I was in. Every part of my body felt swollen and it was difficult to move. My head ached from the blows, and my arms and legs stung where they were raw and grazed, especially when my tears landed upon the broken skin. But the worst pain was the utter misery and desolation I felt.

Why had this happened to me? Again? What had I done to deserve this? Where could I go? What would happen to me? How could I get away? Who would believe me?

It sounds like a horror story, but this was my reality as a child being raised by a parent with a severe psychiatric illness. The scene above was one that occurred with monotonous regularity in the years after my father left – so from when I was 10 until maybe 17 or 18.

After any fight or altercation with my mother, I would determine to run away for good. But each time, I found myself drawn to the same spot. Only 5 or 6 houses down the street was a small block of shops, and I would find myself hiding in the dark behind them (hence the industrial bins and hessian sacks).  Ironically, there was a police station only a dozen or so houses in the other direction but it was rarely manned at that hour of the night. And who would ever believe me? They would just take me straight back to my abuser, thinking that I was the troublemaker! I’d already experienced the pain of being disbelieved by those who could have helped or made a difference.

We lived so close to a train station, and main roads, it’s a wonder I never took off once and for all, to make a life for myself on the streets.  But there were a few reasons. First of all, I had not a cent to my name. Being raised in an abusive home, I had quickly learnt that the only way to survive was to obey and follow the letter of the law no matter what, so hitching a ride or sneaking on a train without paying my fare was something that just didn’t even bear thinking about. I had nowhere to go, and I knew that life on the streets for a young girl like myself was a recipe for disaster – crime, rape, drugs or worse.  Perhaps the hell I found myself in wasn’t so bad after all?

Nowadays, I look back on it and I think that God had somehow set a boundary or guard around the block where we lived, and no matter how hard I tried, it was like I was physically unable to step out of that comparatively safe zone.

If things were so bad, why on earth did I stay until just two weeks before my twentieth birthday? It’s a question that I have often asked myself. I think part of the answer is the same reason that many women stay in a domestic violence situation. The whole abuse experience so weakens their self esteem and confidence, that they feel trapped and unable to escape; plus they feel that they have nowhere to go, no options for the future. I had no job, no money, no means of support. Plus I had three very big reasons to stay: my two younger sisters and brother. I felt incredibly responsible for them, and knew that they would suffer if I deserted them …

… Thirty odd years later, I thank God every single day for my loving husband, beautiful children and the peaceful home that I helped create. The close bond I have with my siblings. Joy, hope, love, security, comfort, peace, contentment, healing. God really has restored the years that the locusts had eaten (Joel 2:25).

A Weighty Issue

• November
• 29

People often comment on how thin my daughter is (pictured at her primary school graduation, 3 years ago now), and then look at me disbelievingly when I tell them I was just as skinny when I was a girl!

But as you will see from this old school photo of me in Year 6, it’s true. Check out the knobby knees! (And socks with sandals – what was I thinking??!)

In fact I weighed just 48kg on my wedding day, aged 23 – Miss 15 already weighs more than that!

These days I can’t do up the zip on my wedding dress – two children and quite a few kilos later! I’m just over the healthy BMI range for my height, but because there is a family history of heart disease and I have high cholesterol, I am following my doctor’s advice and trying to lose some weight.

If you’ve ever struggled with your weight you will probably identify with me when I say – “I love my food!”  It’s not easy to pass up some of my favourite foods. But now I’m on a mission to shift a few kilos, I’m mostly able to keep to a sensible eating plan. But I admit there are days when I give into temptation and find myself feasting on chocolate, cheese, biscuits, or some other calorie-laden treat!

Afterwards I feel sick about my lack of self-control and willpower, and beat myself up mentally. It would be so easy to think, well that’s it, I’ve blown it now – may as well forget the diet and chuck it all in.  But one of the things I have learnt about the weight loss journey is that even if you do blow it – and let’s face it, we all do! – the important thing is to start afresh the next day, and not let it sideline you permanently. Forget what went before, and make a new start every morning.

Which is just like our walk of faith really. How many times do we blow it and fall into sin – losing our temper, indulging in a bit of gossip, ignoring a person in need because it’s not “convenient”, think unkind thoughts about a family member.

But the beautiful thing about our Father God is that His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22 – 23), and as we turn to Him he is faithful to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9).

Forget the latest vitamin boosted cereal – God is the only one who can truly give us a fresh start every morning!

Whether it comes to weight loss or the Christian life, what are the snags that make you want to just give up?

Which one’s worse – teens or their parents?

• November
• 27

Lately I’ve been pondering which one is worse – the teens, or the parents?!

It’s been a week of milestones for our two teens. Last week I posted about Mr 17’s graduation from high school. Since then he’s dyed his hair to celebrate his freedom – it’s half green, half black (inspired by a certain UFC wrestler). Surprisingly it looks really good! Thankfully he was not interested in participating in Schoolies Week, instead we will be going on a family holiday in the near future.

On Sunday, Miss 15 turned … 15! She had about 7 girls for a sleepover, so we converted the garage into “party central”, with an air conditioner (it was stinking hot), a heap of mattresses, Playstation, music, small pool table, fairy lights and plenty of junk food. After a BBQ breakfast we drove the girls to the ferry, and they spent the afternoon on the beach at Coochiemudlo Island.

That was supposed to be the end of the “party” but somehow we ended up with 2 extras back at our place, waiting … waiting … and waiting for parents to pick them up. Supposedly they’d gone out for dinner nearby and were to collect the girls afterwards. But at 9pm, we’d had enough, and drove them home ourselves.

Needless to say we were not terribly impressed with the parents taking advantage of us like that, especially as we’d never even met them! Or, were the girls just spinning a tale so they could spend more time together? Hard to tell!

 Miss 15 seems to have a new group of friends (we were only familiar with two of the party guests), which we thought might be a good thing as a couple of the old group seem to have gone off the rails. However I am already not keen on one of the new friends – the alarm bells are ringing! I think Miss 15 was a bit shocked too so hopefully she has seen another side to this friend.

So where do I start to tell you about why I’m concerned about this new friend?

1. She’s 14, and has a 17 or 18 year old boyfriend, and they’ve been together for 8 months – with full parental approval. I’m sorry, but am I the only one sitting here thinking “WHAT THE?!”. He has recently got his P’s and drives her everywhere so they have a lot of freedom …
2. Hubby took the girls to the convenience store on the Saturday night and while he was paying for stuff, the girls waited outside. This particular friend had an urgent call of nature, so apparently squatted right there and then (we only found out later when the girls were giggling about it). Hmmmm. That’s just grotty …
3. When the girls went to Coochie for the afternoon, we thought about going along to supervise but decided against it. After all the girls are mostly 15, and this is COOCHIE we’re talking about, a sleepy little island, not Surfers Paradise or Kings Cross! A four hour visit to this family-oriented location on their own seemed appropriate. BUT as we later found out, this friend’s boyfriend turned up, and the pair then disappeared until it was time to get the ferry back!

Miss 15 was distinctly unimpressed and I sincerely hope she hangs on to these feelings! The one saving grace is that I’m told this friend doesn’t often socialise with the girls outside of school, because she spends all her spare time with the boyfriend.

 I will be interested to see how Miss 15 handles all this … it was certainly an eye-opener to us in a lot of ways …

I have to say I was also really shocked by some of the parents. We’d never met most of the party guests before, and have also never spoken to or met their parents. Not one parent phoned us in the lead up to the party to check what supervision there would be, or to make sure that there really WAS a party. Even when the girls were dropped off, not one parent took the time to walk up to the front door and introduce themselves. Seriously! I mean – we could have been child molesters, drug dealers, axe murderers …

Maybe we are over-protective, but there is NO WAY we would let our 14 or 15 year old daughter sleep over somewhere without sussing it out first! Actually, I tell a lie, we have banned sleepovers altogether at other people’s houses this year, simply because we KNOW that there is not going to be quality parental supervision. After a particular incident several months ago, we told Miss 15 that we were no longer prepared to allow sleepovers at friend’s houses as there is no supervision. She retorted, “But X’s Mum will be there!” to which I replied, “Exactly! No supervision! We know she lets her kids do this, that and the other – not acceptable!”

Part of our kids growing up is allowing them more freedom, especially as they prove themselves worthy of our trust. But at the same time, they are still young people – not adults yet – and in need of parental guidance and wisdom. However sometimes (like this weekend) I feel like the only parent in the universe that feels this way …

What about you? What rules and boundaries do you have for the teens in your family? What freedoms do you allow and at what ages?

I want to be a THRIVER not a survivor of abuse!

• November
• 25

The Friday Files continue …

“Even though it does not draw blood or leave scars, psychological maltreatment is not only a form of child abuse – like physical battering or sexual assault – it may be the most damaging of the three.”  Victoria Secunda

To look at my life now, you would never know what I have been through and yet still come out of it with a smile on my face. My life is truly blessed and I am so thankful to God for all He has brought me through. I love the photo below which was taken about 5 years ago – I think you can clearly see a woman who has made peace with her past, and found true happiness!

You’ve probably read it in the newspaper a hundred times … somebody down and out, or even a convicted criminal, blaming it all on their rotten childhood. It might be that:

• their parents had an extremely bitter divorce;
• they felt abandoned by their Dad;
• they were raised by a parent with a serious psychiatric illness;
• they had not one, but two alcoholic, stepfathers;
• one of their parents attempted suicide numerous times;
• they were kicked out of home as a teenager;
• they spent time in a home or orphanage;
• they received regular beatings and other physical abuse;
• they were emotionally abused, blackmailed and manipulated by a parent;
• they were raised in poverty;
• and told they were a millstone around their parent’s neck.

They felt lost, lonely, forgotten.  And you’d probably be right in thinking, no wonder their lives ended up in such a mess, or they’ve gotten into trouble with the law.

Personally, it just makes me mad. I think it’s a copout. Because I’ve just described the first twenty years of my own life. And yet – I’m living proof that life doesn’t have to be a continual downward spiral.  You can break the pain and the patterns of the past! 

It hasn’t been easy, but I have found peace, love, joy and acceptance, despite the past. So how did I get over my difficult start in life?  The healing process has not been easy and has taken many years, but then I was hurt over many years too.  Nor is it a completed work! I am very much still a work in progress.

Judging by the start I had in life, I feel blessed to even be alive right now.  I could have so easily been another statistic – of suicide, teen pregnancy, drugs and alcohol abuse, a street kid, who knows.

I’ll continue this series each Friday – the Friday files! Next week, I’ll give you just a glimpse of a typical scene from my childhood … warning, contains graphic material that may upset some tender-hearted readers.

Magazine Mailout …

• November
• 22

As I was printing off the address labels, getting ready to send out the new issue of Footprints, Miss 15 came into the room. Picking up a sheet of labels, she began to read out some of the names of subscribers until she came across one that she couldn’t pronounce.

“Mum, how do you say this name?” she asked. I demonstrated before rattling off that particular subscriber’s suburb and state.

“How do you know all that?” she asked in amazement, before testing my knowledge thoroughly. It became a game – each time she called out a first name, I would supply the surname, suburb and state. Sometimes, with a common Christian name, I had to rattle off quite a few possibilities before I hit the bulls-eye!

There are approximately 450 subscribers to Footprints at any one time,and yet somehow I know most of them by name and address. It’s easy to become familiar when I’m the one who reads your emails, contributions and subscriptions, types your details into the database, prints out the labels for each issue and the hundred and one other administrative tasks connected with issuing a quarterly magazine!

Although my daughter was most impressed that I knew all of “my” subscribers by name, here’s something that’s even more impressive! God knows by name, every single person ever to live on the face of the earth. And yet He knows so much more than that about each one of us. He not only knows your current and past addresses, He also knows your habits, likes and dislikes, dreams and desires, passions and pain.

He even knows the number of hairs on your head (Matt 10:30, Luke 12:7). Once again I am reminded of just how great, how awesome, yet how personal and loving our God is!

What about you? What sort of info “sticks” best in YOUR memory?

Publicising Your Book

• November
• 20

On Saturday 12 November I attended (and taught a session!) at the Word Writers Fair in Brisbane. I was really inspired by the session ”How to get media attention for your book in a saturated market” which was presented by Laura O’Connell, author of “African Hearts”, so am sharing my notes here …

Marketing is NOT about you – it’s all about RELATIONSHIPS.

Successful relationships rely on being able to 1. communicate effectively; 2. respect the other person; 3. listen effectively; and 4. help the other person.

Bookstores

Don’t be afraid to introduce yourself to bookstores and/or organise a book signing. Start by emailing; follow up with a phone call two days later. Then, make face to face contact before the event.

Laura had little chocolates made up with a “Thanks, Laura” sticker on them, that she could hand out at events. She suggested steering clear of using bookmarks for promotion as these can be overdone.

When it comes to book signings, Laura’s key piece of advice is DON’T SIT AT THE BOOK TABLE! (Unless you bring a customer back.) Instead, roam the store and chat to the customers, ask them what sort of books they are looking for, try to be helpful, in fact – don’t even mention your book (unless asked)!

Media

Help the media and the bookstores by providing your bio (not just your writing background, but what’s interesting about you. Laura found that the media always picked up on the fact that she was orphaned at a young age); book cover; flyers; reader reviews; and of course, your contact details.

Laura recommends arriving an hour before any media interview to give you a chance to say hi and chat with staff.

If possible, get a photo of you with your book under their logo.

Make sure you send a thank you, Laura suggests 3 days afterwards – including the photo of you under their logo is a nice touch.

Speaking Opportunities

Laura used a mini pop up banner on the book table, if she was speaking or at a book signing. The banner showed her book cover and an author photo – just $25 from Officeworks!

If you are fortunate enough to be speaking at an event, always ask permission to sell your books.

The Book Launch

Laura suggests covering the books until after the speeches so people aren’t distracted when they could be meeting and mingling.

You could arrange to have a book launch in different towns. (Why settle for one launch when you can have more? What’s that saying – the more the merrier?!)

At the launch, get someone who’s actually read it, to talk about your book.

Give away a copy of your book. Laura likes to encourage the winner to send the book around the world – she includes a slip of paper inside the front cover so the winner can sign it, date it, and write their town before passing it on to another person after they’ve read it. Then that next person can then continue the chain …

One interesting anecdote – when Laura went into one particular bookstore, the buyer flicked through her book three times without reading a word. When Laura asked why, the buyer said, I was looking for lots of white space. People buy books that have lots of white space and don’t look too jam packed or intense … something to remember if you are self-publishing or have some say in the typesetting of your book!

Milestones

• November
• 18

The Friday Files continue …

Mr 17 graduated from high school yesterday. We started the day with one of our family traditions for special occasions (birthdays, Christmas, etc) – all 4 of us on our bed, sipping our coffee and sharing a box of chocolates.

We also presented our graduate with a new watch to mark the occasion. 

The ceremony was very moving, especially when the graduates presented a flower to the people who had been instrumental in helping them to make it this far (usually their parents).

It’s a huge milestone, and a joyous occasion. Lawrence and I are just SO PROUD, as you can probably see from the photos!

I can’t help comparing it to some of the milestones in MY life. Due to my mother’s psychiatric illnesses, they were rarely happy events.

My 16^th birthday – my Dad took me out to a fancy restaurant which was lovely and made me feel like a princess. What was not so lovely was enduring my mother’s rants and raves before and after the event. She hated my Dad, hated that I looked like him, hated that we had anything to do with him. Her bitterness poisoned my relationship with him.

My Senior Formal – Mum had a major explosion only a day or two before my formal, and would have nothing to do with it.  I was absolutely miserable on what should have been one of the happiest nights of my life. It’s hard to enjoy something like this when you are torn up inside and full of fear.

My College Graduation – By this stage I had left home and Mum and I hadn’t spoken since. Dad and I had only just started rebuilding our relationship from scratch, something that was only possible now that Mum wasn’t constantly in my ear. So it seemed very strange to have my Dad and his partner as my family for such a special occasion.

My 21^st birthday – I had been out of home for about a year and Mum and I had only recently begun speaking again, so our relationship was strained. It was a very low key occasion.

My Wedding – When it came time to send out the invitations, I asked both my Mum and her current husband, and Dad and his partner. All my life I had been forced to “choose” between them (Mum usually won out, as she was the parent I lived with and I wasn’t game to go against her wishes), but I was sick of it.  It was MY wedding, and I was the one paying for it, so the time had come. I invited both, and told them both that THEY had to sort it out. Of course, my Mum got offended and refused to come to the wedding.

In hindsight I think I’m glad, because heaven only knows what trouble she would have caused, or the scene she may have made f she’d actually turned up. When the Big Day dawned I couldn’t help but wonder if she would put in an appearance.  I just couldn’t fathom a parent staying away from such a momentous occasion. I still can’t! But sure enough, she didn’t come. After that intial thought early in the morning, I was too busy, happy and excited to give the matter another thought and it wasn’t until during our honeymoon that my new husband and I discussed her boycott. Although there was some lingering sadness, overall I was relieved.

It wasn’t until after the honeymoon that I heard about what Mum did to my brother. At 16, he was the only one still living at home at that stage. We’d asked him to be a groomsman and Mum told him that if he went to “that” wedding, that he needn’t bother coming home!  Little brother had a lot more guts than I would have at that age, and not only came to the wedding but never once let on the turmoil he went through to be there.  He ended up staying with my sister and her husband that weekend. It took a lot of courage for my brother to do that and keep it to himself, not wanting to spoil our day.

When we resumed contact, Mum told me that she spent my wedding day in bed, crying her eyes out. It was clear that she didn’t take any responsibility for the situation – that she didn’t realise that she’d brought it on herself, because it was HER choice. She blamed ME. But, I held my tongue, thinking “anything for peace”. I desperately wanted to make our relationship work …

The Birth of My Children – When I was 6 months pregnant with our son Mum got in a mood and picked a fight on the phone, before hanging up on me (long story … I’ll save it for another post). So when our boy was born (AND on my Dad’s birthday no less – she would NEVER forgive me for that!) I was in a quandary. Should I let her know? And if so, how? I ended up sending her a birth announcement once I’d come home from hospital, just like we sent to all our relatives and friends. In return, we received the plainest, cheapest “new baby” card with no message inside, just signed “Mum & (her partner)”.

By the time our daughter came along 2 ½ years later I didn’t even send a card.

I have often wondered HOW she could live with herself, knowing that she’d missed out on the special occasions in her daughter’s life. She never came to my wedding. She never saw my beautiful children – her grandchildren!

I think the answer is, she didn’t accept the blame. She blamed everybody else (typical of a borderline). THAT’S how she could live with herself.

I just can’t imagine being like that with my children. No matter what they do, I will always love them and be there for them. I guess that proves just how sick my Mum really was …

Life Underground

• November
• 15

Coober Pedy in the heart of South Australia had always been on my list of must-see destinations. Although interested in the opals it is renowned for, I was even more intrigued by the concept of living underground. So it was a dream come true when we visited Coober Pedy during our round Australia trip in 2001.

The landscape around Coober Pedy is marked  by craters and is almost moon-like (no wonder Mad Max was filmed there!). Apart from a few buildings – a couple of blocks of shops and hotels form the heart of the township – the area is barren.

Vast, empty plains, with the occasional carport the only indication of human occupation. Grass is non-existent, trees rare. All part and parcel of living in the driest region of the driest state of the driest continent on the earth, and the price paid by miners wanting to extract the treasure buried deep underground.

Not only did I get to see an underground house, shop, museum and church – these days I believe there is even an underground caravan park – we stayed in an underground backpacker’s cave! Entering the hostel in the midday heat, we were immediately cooled by the cavern’s chill.

Later that evening we discovered another benefit of underground living. While we were out eating dinner, a storm raged overhead, bringing with it a chilly wind. But upon arriving in the hostel, we were welcomed by a comfortable haven. Despite the huge variation in temperatures outside, below the ground the temperature remained constant.

When summer temperatures climb to over 50 degrees, it is easy to see why many take refuge in underground, cave-like dwellings, where there is no need for heating or air conditioning. Deep within, the temperature is a constant 23 or 24 degrees Celsius, ideal for year round comfort.  Without residing underground, few could survive the harsh conditions.

When the heat is on, how do you survive? How do you keep things on an even keel? It all depends on your life underground, what is deep within you!

If you’ve been reading my Friday posts over the past couple of weeks, you will know that I’ve had plenty of storms especially in my childhood years. But what is deep underground in my life is Jesus Christ. I invited Him to dwell within me as a 13 year old, and I believe it is only with His help that I was able to endure the bad times and eventually find hope and healing. 

God has been my rock, my shelter, my refuge, and very real help in times of trouble. I truly believe that if it had not been for His hand on my life, I so easily could have ended up as one of those chilling statistics …

Psalm 46:1 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble.

What did my teachers think?

• November
• 11

The Friday Files continue …

I’ve often wondered what my teachers thought, and if they were aware of the abuse and the difficult family situation I found myself in. I had always been a good student, and comments like “a pleasure to teach” and “very polite and helpful” made a regular appearance on my report card.  As Catherine Camden Pratty put it, “Despite erratic home lives, academic achievement and school life was a way in which some of us gained positive self-esteem and glimpsed a future based on something other than our chaotic and painful home lives.” School was an escape from home.

My Grade Six teacher was an older lady known to be something of a martinet or tartar. However I found her to be firm but fair, and understanding and sympathetic of my situation when she learned of my parents’ decision to separate.

It was when I was in Year Seven that Mum’s behaviour became much more bizarre.  One day she came up to my classroom and when I went outside to see what she wanted, she promptly began to hurl abuse and insults at me.  I can’t even remember what – if anything – had stirred her up. Fortunately we were just out of sight of the class, but obviously not out of earshot. By the time Mum left I was a sobbing, quivering mess. My male teacher must have felt out of his depth because he sent the female teacher from the class next door to check on me. Again, this particular teacher was also known for being extremely stern, but her gentle and caring manner that day only made my tears flow all the more.

Nowadays teachers are primed to be on the alert for domestic violence and abuse, and have a legal requirement to report any suspected cases, but in those days there didn’t seem to be anything the teachers could do.

High school was a relief in many ways because students become that little bit more independent, and your parents are not so visible or involved. Although my mother backhanded me across the face, hit me, shoved me, dragged me by the hair, and threw me to the ground many a time, I don’t think that the bruises and marks were obvious. One time she beat me across the backs of my legs with a wooden spoon until it broke, another time with the cord from the electric jug. I’m sure that the bruises would have been visible on the backs of my legs, but nobody ever remarked on it. And I never said anything. Despite everything, I still felt an overwhelming urge to cover up and protect my mother.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe I thought it was my fault and I deserved such harsh treatment for being such a self-centred person. At the end of the day, she was still my mother and I loved her.

It is hard to remember exactly what triggered an explosion from my Mum – often it was something so minor, she herself used to say that she would “put up with a lot” and then explode over the least little thing – the straw that broke the camel’s back. What I do remember is the violence that followed, when she hit me over the head with a coffee mug which shattered on impact. I think the amount of blood that flowed from the wound shocked her out of her insane rage and she bundled us all up into the car and to the after hours medical centre. On the way we concocted a story to tell the doctor of how I’d hurt my head – I’d slipped on the wet kitchen floor and hit my head on the corner of the stove (at least it wasn’t walking into a door!). I needed several stitches and when I finally sat up from the stretcher where I had been lying, I was stunned by the amount of blood.  The pillow was soaked and ruined despite a protective cover.

Even today, all these years alter, I will occasionally get a hairdresser comment on the scar on the back of my scalp as apparently no hair grows from that spot.

Once again, I can’t help but wonder what the doctor thought that night. Surely he knew?! Why didn’t he do anything or report her to the authorities?  It just wasn’t done back then . . . thankfully things have changed!