Gift box

Last week I received a gift box of goodies. It was one of those subscription boxes where you receive a collection of beauty products each month as a surprise. It’s an awesome gift and I love getting my monthly surprise. This one was a particularly good one, I got eyelash primer, face toner, blusher, a peach lip pencil and some cleanser – all of them completely new to me. I squealed in delight as I opened the lid, which prompted a few colleagues to come rushing over to ogle my booty (of the treasure variety, obviously).

My monthly beauty boxes have become something of interest in the office. As the foreigner in the team, mostly everything I do for the first time becomes a thing of interest in the office. Often a group of ladies will pop round to my desk and watch me unpack my gifts. So there was nothing unusual about this time. I pulled out item by item and explained the magnificence of every product. I got to the cleanser. I opened the lid, gave it a good sniff and proclaimed loudly that I couldn’t wait to use it (on my face). I got a few weird looks and the group soon dispersed back to normal life.

This Saturday while I was looking through each item reading the fine print, I noticed some detail on the cleanser that I’d missed. Firstly, it’s dermatologically approved (very good) and secondly that it is gynaecologically tested (wha-a-a-t?) Yep… it wasn’t face wash. It turned out to be a fairly common ‘intimate’ cleanser available from every store in the first world. It’s designed to help prevent ingrown hairs and the discomfort from shaving certain feminine parts. Perhaps not so appropriate to rub under my colleagues noses while proclaiming how good it’s going to feel on my skin. I. Could. Actually. Die.

Last month marked two years since I jumped on an aeroplane thinking I was temporarily heading off on an adventure. In some ways it feels like twenty years ago. In others, it’s like I just climbed off the boat and am adjusting to wobbly land legs. I’m still figuring out what some road signs mean (slightly scary since I’ve been driving for eight months). I have to Google English-English words from time to time. And for the life of me I can’t understand why the word ‘literally’ is used ‘figuratively’ so casually. I mean, what must the Queen think about that? This is England.

Since I’ve been in the UK I’ve experienced so many new things. Snow falling on my eyelashes. The first taste of Viennese Swirls (which I’m convinced was every bit as addictive as a first hit of heroin). Internet shopping with parcels bravely left outside my front door – including clothing, groceries, jewels and medication (mind blown). Strawberry jammed scones with clotted cream kindly baked by a wonderful colleague (yum). The Great British Bake-off. Walks in nature on my own. Walks through town on my own. Walks in general, on my own. Sleeping with the front door open – by mistake. Buying a down coat (actual tiny feathers – in a coat). Travelling on trains. Travelling on busses. Travelling in taxis.

Kissing French men. Sipping Prosecco. Pronouncing data, ‘date-er’. Going out without sunblock on. Going out in welly boots. Going out in flats and changing into heels at work. Putting on make-up on the underground. Getting my eyeliner straight while administering it on the underground. Going to the corner shop in PJ bottoms and no makeup. Going to the corner shop by foot – with my actual feet, every step.

My new life is a giant leap from my old one in so many ways – some good, some less good. I’ve been homesick, homeless, jobless, broke, lost, alone – so extremely alone. But what’s defined every step of the path is kindness. Every person I’ve reached out to along the way has extended a hand, a hug, some hope. The English may not be renowned for their warmth, but they sure know how to share it when they recognise it’s needed. From the comfort shared with me by my brand new housemate on the eve of Nelson Mandela’s passing, to the embrace from her mum the day my granddad passed and I needed a ‘mummy hug’. From the strangers who have helped me get un-lost to the acquaintances who offered their homes, their families, their special times. I’ve been overwhelmed by so much generosity and kindness.

Two years on I’m still Dorothy on this yellow brick road. I’m surrounded by different people who’ve brought many lessons and so much wonderfulness into my life. But there’s no place like home – kind of literally. Because on my journey I’ve discovered that home is less of a physical place than it is people and a collection of memories. My home is a memory box of love and experiences, gifts that I pack and unpack finding new surprises every time I open the lid. It’s intimate. Personal. Vulnerable. And filled with all the things that make me feel safe, scared, happy and incredibly brave.

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Drinks only, please

I’m of that age now where people keep reminding me to get on with it and settle down. “Maybe you’re being too picky” I’m told, “You’re not getting any younger,” “If you’re thinking of a family it’s time to sort that out. It’s now or never.” I get some polite insinuations and then some direct stabs about my ‘choice’ to be single and alone.

The thing is… it’s not a choice. Finding someone who fits your lifestyle and your heart when you’re set in your ways, living to work and no longer out partying with the entire population of your age group (who also happen to be single), is near impossible. 95% (possibly not a completely accurate statistic) of the good guys/gals are taken. You’re left searching for the remaining datable 5% who were focussed on their careers, on travelling or on dating the wrong person and who now also happen to be on the hunt. There are plenty of fish in the sea when you’re twenty but when you’re thirty and above you’re fishing in a puddle.

I may be single, but I’m not alone. I’m surrounded by amazing friends, supportive colleagues and a very loving family. I recently had a flashback to a time long ago. A time when I felt most alone. In this memory, I was lying on my bathroom floor, door locked, crying hysterically, half engaging with the drunk, raging words coming from the other side of the door and half wanting the world to stop for a moment, so the psychological warfare would cease. I was feeling hopeless, powerless, terrified, trapped, lost. In a relationship but so tremendously alone. I slept in my bath that night. My wash basket of clothes emptied into the bath and two towels laid neatly on top. It was surprisingly comfortable. The next day I would try to continue my life like everything was ok. But it wasn’t.

It’s been a long journey since that day. And I’m now able to tell a great relationship story, one about how I learnt to love myself again, to set my dreams free and make better choices about who I include in my life. I’ve seen some great people and I’ve been on some hideous dates (which taught me plenty in retrospect and have given my friends hours of entertainment). I’ve also let go of some lovely guys and missed opportunities with others because I wasn’t ready to open my world to someone else yet. I have no regrets about any of the things I’ve done or haven’t done. They’ve all helped me stitch closed some deep wounds and find an inner sense of peace.

So, here I am. 35 and (drum roll) single. I have no children and nor am I convinced that I’ll ever have children, which is ok.  First dates are so nerve-wracking to me that I can barely eat – so I always opt for drinks. On one first date, after much wining the gentleman thought it (justifiably) a good idea to do some dining and ordered everything vegetarian on the menu. He had no idea what I’d like (because I’m a foreign and vegetarian). I was absolutely horrified when tray after tray of food arrived and I could barely nibble on a piece of halloumi cheese without feeling nauseous. We didn’t go on second date, but I was truly touched by the way he tried so hard to impress me. While I was sitting opposite him feeling all those things insecure people feel – ugly, fat, stupid – he was finding me funny, interesting, attractive. I thought he must be an idiot!

Perhaps we judge ourselves most harshly. Which is possibly why we should lay off the criticism of others. You don’t know my story, my hopes, my fears, my dreams and I don’t know yours. How about we give the judgement a break? As the pressure on me increases (it’s clearly not going to ease up until I’m passed childbearing age) I’m just going to carry on doing the things that are right for me. I’m not going to settle for someone who isn’t right for me and I’m not going to enter into a bad relationship – just because it’s the right thing to do. I might not have a great love life, but I have a brilliant relationship with myself and with the wonderful people who populate my world. I believe I’m very lucky.

A little crisis

Hello High Heelers,

I think I’m experiencing early onset midlife crisis. The female version. To which there seems to be no cure, or magic pill. Nope. I think men definitely get the better deal with these crises thingys – they run out and buy Ferraris, date younger women and experience a new level of enlightenment (which is clearly a side-effect of having a hot car and a sizzling lady). And here I am, stuck in the confines of my cluttered brain, without the sports car, toyboy or a renewed sense of freedom and self. And, really, I’m not even middle-aged. How is this fair? Not only am I having a crisis – but it’s an unmitigated disaster of one too.

I’ve spent a lot of time feeling really lost lately. And I don’t mean physically lost – though I do that pretty frequently too (I got lost in my own home town recently and still have the incriminating evidence to prove it). Seriously. I’ve been wondering if the world had to stop spinning for a moment and I fell off it (which I doubt would be very graceful), if it would really have any impact on anything – any gravity, so to speak. Does my contribution to humanity have any meaning beyond my own little sphere of friends, family and colleagues? And if not, does it really matter?

Purpose is a funny thing. It can be very elusive at times – well, to be fair, all the time. Just when you start feeling a sense of meaning and understanding, you hit your next obstacle that makes you wonder if you’re really on the right track. If things are right, aren’t they meant to be easy? I spent a whole decade of my youth building a ‘meaningful’ future that would later fall through my fingers like ‘sand through the hourglass’ (with even more drama than the soapie Days of Our Lives). I thought I was happy. I thought it was right. I was wrong. Where did all that go? And why did it all amount to nothing? I’m becoming to realise that there isn’t really a track, a path, or even a destination. As my future continues to reveal itself, it seems to be showing me a series of random adventures that intersect – or don’t – in the strangest ways. I often wonder if wandering is the new norm and if there will ever be a sense of security and comfort. For someone who likes direction and certainty, I am very unhappy about all this. But yet, in some inexplicable way, it makes sense.

Recently while chatting to a close friend and colleague, she said something so simple but so profound, I haven’t been able to forget it. She said: “When you come through a difficult time that felt unnecessary and painful, you can usually turn around from the other side and look back in the realisation that everything you experienced was exactly what you needed to. And where you are in your moment of ‘getting through’ is exactly where you’re meant to be.” It sounded a little silly when she said it. But it stuck to my brain more securely than pink chewing gum to a new white shoe. I mean, come on! Why would I have ‘needed’ to experience everything I held dear falling apart? Until it really sunk in. I know why. It all fell apart to make way for new things, new dreams, new adventures that are even more important and meaningful than the ones I thought I was meant to live. Average things fall apart, so that amazing things can fall together.

Now in this ah-hah moment am I feeling a better sense of stability? No! I still feel completely lost, unstable and rather shaky in my stilettos. But what I’m learning every day is that it’s ok. It’s ok to be a little broken as long as you know it and understand how it affects you. It’s ok to be a little dazed, if you can see the right things clearly. It’s ok to be a little lost as it gives you something to search for. You know, sometimes in getting lost, you actually find yourself. Sometimes in running away you discover your home. Sometimes in pulling yourself apart you find a better way to put the pieces back together. Sometimes. Well. All the time. Tough things happen so that we can be a little stronger, more resilient, more enlightened and more prepared for greater things. I believe this is my truth. And if you’re going through something hard – I believe it is yours too.

Know that through overcoming you open tomorrow up with a new page. You can fill it with whatever you want to. May I suggest that you don’t let others write your story? It’s yours. Find your own tone. Find your own style. Find your own voice. It doesn’t matter what it sounds like. It only matters that it’s yours. Use it.

Have a wonderful week.

Yours in heels,
Jo

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Bouncing up

Hello High Heelers,

Yesterday one of my friends managed to manipulate me into jumping on a trampoline with his 4-year-old niece – I think mostly because he didn’t want to be bouncing up and down talking about princess dresses, Barbies and tiaras, and partially because he realised there’d be much entertainment in watching me attempt to understand a 4-year-old’s logic, while jumping in a tight, short skirt, after having spent 2 painful hours at gym that morning. Crafty one, my friend.

After falling over numerous times (mostly from being not-so-gently nudged by said 4-year-old), I started to wonder if it’s called a trampoline because you get trampled, or because it’s impossible to retain any ladylike dignity when falling in a frock. After much bouncing I found myself completely and utterly exhausted. Keeping up with a sugar-loaded youngling, is challenging. While lying flat on my back (still bouncing somewhat) searching for an exit plan, the precocious little one announced pointing at a tree: “That’s an owl house there. Owls are nocturnal.” What? Nocturnal is a big word. Could someone please explain when reading the Merriam-Webster Dictionary online, on one’s iPad mini, become a prerequisite for nursery school entry? I was certainly stupider as a kid, in fact, I’m stupider as an adult, than that 4-year-old.

In all honesty, I had so much fun playing with the beautiful little girl. She took me through her secret garden paths, spun around for me in her magic, special dress that her granny made her (for ‘special occasions’), she had running races using my scarf as her finish line and truly believed that she outran me (for those of you who know how competitive I am when it comes to sport will know how big a deal it is that I let her win!) In all reality it was refreshing to see everything around us as amazing – to see the world through her sharp, blue, fantastical eyes.

To a child everything is amazing. Everything is special. But as we grow up (or do we grown down?) we start to take things for granted. We start to take people for granted. And worst, we start to take ourselves for granted. We become so critical. I remember standing in front of my mirror a few weeks ago criticising a million things about the way I look. And lately I’ve been so hard on my intellect, my healing process (that I wish could be quicker), and the ‘stupid’ decisions I make and have made. Fair enough – I’m not perfect and I’ll never be perfect, no matter how many kilograms I lose, how much I mould my body through working out, or how much I invest in developing my brain. Attaining true wisdom and comfort in ones’ being is a journey of a lifetime.

This week as you stand in front of the mirror try see yourself in the eyes of your younger self. When I was little all I wanted was to be big, to adorn myself with beautiful things, to apply make-up every day, to go to work like a big person, and to stand tall in pretty heels. I am now that woman. In fact, I’m more than the woman I imagined in my younger mind. I have more dimensions, more emotions, more depth, more everything. I am that grown up that I used to watch with amazement, wishing I could be her. And in that realisation, I am amazing. And you are too.

Let’s try drop the harsh criticism of ourselves. Let’s grown down a little and love ourselves for the simple reasons. Let’s be less hard. Let’s look up to ourselves. Change what you know you need to, accept what you know you can’t change and love your whole, even if it has a few holes.

Have a wonderful week.

Yours in heels,
Jo

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Brokenness heals

Hello High Heelers,

I had a serious ‘aha’ moment this morning. Seriously! But let’s rewind first. Last week I was knocked down by flu and a tummy bug at the same time, and I refused to slow down and let the bugs win. No! I am tougher than bugs! I don’t do broken – or at least I pretend not to, while driving everyone around me demented with my constant complaining. I pushed through the week feeling awful, of course, till I reached the weekend which I mostly spent being miserable and grumpy – which was delightful for everyone around me, as you can imagine. Sure, I behaved like a stubborn idiot, but more importantly I didn’t let myself heal. My body was broken and I ignored it. If I’d behaved like a rational human being, I would have probably wrapped myself up in bed, gone to the doctor and slept it off in a day or two. I did none of that. I stretched it out over the week until I collapsed on Friday afternoon, in a lump of exhaustion, only to become mobile again on Sunday afternoon – followed by more exhaustion on Sunday night. Today, I’m still feeling rather worn out and fuzzy – so I hope this post makes sense.

Why do we believe that being strong when we’re not is intrinsic to our competence as humans? Or why do I? (perhaps you are more rational than I am). We’re not machines. We’re humans. We get sick. Our bones break. Our hearts break. Our feelings get hurt. We fall apart in so many ways. And sure, how we deal with it matters. That we’re resilient matters. But when we ignore our bodies we’re doing far more damage than good. We treat ourselves like objects, we can use our car till it falls apart and then get a new one, and we can replace our ‘old’ iPad when the next version comes out – but we’re not getting a new us when we’re worn out, ever. We are not objects. Back to the ‘aha’ moment. What I realised this morning while catching up with my bestie is that stuff within us breaks for a reason. Often this ‘inner stuff’ breaks to make way for better stuff. It’s usually really hard to see at the time. But if you’re feeling broken – emotionally, physically, mentally, know something… it’s ok to break sometimes. We all break which actually gives us a chance to put our pieces back together again – which really helps us familiarise ourselves more intimately with all of our unique bits.

Having said that, and this was the real ‘aha’, some things break because they’re meant to be broken. Shattered. Irreparably damaged forever. As my bestie reminded me this morning, when we break bad patterns and poor habits we’re breaking things for the better. The discipline in these instances is to actually keep it broken. Sometimes we pour a lifetime of ourselves into fixing things that are not meant to be fixed. If you have a tendency to work for bosses that pull you apart, instead of help you on your growth plan, to find the friend who drains the life out of you, or you keep falling for the partner who cheats, lies and treats you badly, learn to distance yourself and break it. Leave it in tatters. Step away from the mess. Keep your glue for better things. If you are attracting negative things and people into your life, recognise that the common denominator is you – and know that only you have the power to break the pattern. And break it now, with everything that you are.  

This morning I recognised that brokenness is, in many ways, a gift. It’s a dissonance, a discomfort, that forces you to regroup, rethink, look deeper and discover where you want to be, where you deserve to be. Sometimes in knowing where you don’t want to be, you recognise where you ought to go. No matter how tough it is to journey through brokenness and come out the other side, remember that it takes a ray of light to create a shadow – if you’re living in the shadow of who you should be, know that there’s a light in you too, you just need to reclaim it and make it shine.

Today I acknowledge that brokenness is merely transient and gives way to growth. A woman breaks her body in giving birth to a child that blesses her life in many ways. Brokenness forces us to find new ways of doing things and seeing things. Some connections will be blessings in our lives others will break us, teaching us unforgettable lessons. Learn the difference between the two – and don’t confuse them. People will tell you who they are – listen. People will show you who they are – watch them. If you grasp the brokenness in others and cling to it in an attempt to fix yours, you’re heading in a dangerous direction, that will more than likely lead to... well, more brokenness.

Today let’s recognise our brokenness. Let’s see ourselves as people, not objects. Let’s allow ourselves to understand our broken bits. Let’s leave the shattered parts where they should be and pick up the pieces that are valuable. Let’s begin to build better, greater dreams.

Have a wonderful week.

Yours in heels,
Jo

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Getting off the floor

Hello High Heelers,

I had yet another wonderful weekend filled with great friends and memorable times. You know, something magical happens when the girls get together – we’re either trading secrets, healing each other’s hearts, letting our hair down, or doing all of those things at the same time – while going to the bathroom together. During a more contemplative moment, one of my ladies asked me how I’ve managed to pull myself up and get my feet back on the ground so elegantly after going through such a tough year last year. The question had me stumped. Firstly, I don’t see myself as elegant at the moment, and secondly, I don’t recall feeling flat on the floor, unable to move or breathe. But apparently, I was there. I took a moment to think back to a time of feeling face first, nose to the carpet, wondering how I got there and if I’d ever be able to walk again. Yep – it’s true, I was there. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Now, I don’t know much about what you’re going through, I only know my reality, my truth and my experience. But there were three things that really accelerated my journey to becoming more whole during hard times. This is what I know for me, and maybe it will help you too. Here’s goes… Step one: put your feet on the ground. If you have feet, that’s the first step in recognising that you have a lot going for you. When I began to focus on the positive things that I had starting with the most simple, the ones that are usually taken for granted, and I allowed myself to be grateful for them, I began to understand my self-worth, my successes and my value. I realised I have a whole functioning body, a great job, a beautiful home and an immovable support structure. I learned to focus on those things and make them stronger – which meant beginning a health plan, working harder at the things I love, investing more in my living space and spending quality time with the people who build me up.

Then, I learnt to rely on the kindness of others. There is incredible healing in accepting care. Whether it’s friends, family, colleagues or even random strangers, you’d be amazed what people are willing to do to pull you through if you simply put your hand up for help. From my mom wiping up my tears with a hundred tissues, to the wise lady in the grocery queue who offered a hug and words of wisdom. When I opened my eyes, shared my story and took time to listen, I discovered that I was surrounded by kindness. It meant opening my heart, finding my humility and discovering a level of acceptance. Most of us give much to others in their times of need. So sometimes we get to cash in on returned generosity by accepting gifts of advice and support. For many a High Heeler, to lean on others just doesn’t feel right. But it is. We all go through times of bruising and blisters. If we don’t pull off our heels, accept defeat and give mending its time letting others tend to our wounds for a moment, we will never heal. We’ll keep scraping off the fresh scars.

Lastly, accept where you are in your healing at different times. Know it’s a process and that it’s not likely to have a neat beginning, middle and end (wouldn’t that be nice though?) Some days will feel unbearable while others are easy. For instance, tomorrow is the anniversary of my best friend’s death, it will hurt, it will hurt deeply, but that doesn’t mean it’ll hurt to the same degree the following day and the day after that – on the days when I feel healed and remember only the smiles. Know that some hurts may leave you feeling like you’ll never feel the same as you did before. But, if you let yourself, you will feel better, stronger and wiser. Embrace that. It’s pointless trying to cover up how you feel and pretend that life as you know it hasn’t changed drastically when it has. Learn to be a better person, discover your strength, reset your limits and learn the lesson.

We all go through trials that change who we are, how we live and how we see the world. This week as you go through yours, find the things that bring meaning to your journey and that accelerate your healing. If you don’t learn the lesson, the pain is in vain. Let’s get our feet on the ground and get walking, or if you’re in a moment of needing help, put up your hand, pull up your feet and take a moment.

Have a wonderful week.

Yours in heels,

Jo

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Things aren’t as they should be

Hello High Heelers,

I’m in a state of shock. I’m sure you’ve all been there. When you realise that things aren’t as you thought they were and that not all people live up to expectations that match your values and your moral standing. Someone I know, who I studied with at varsity, who has achieved a lot in his youth and who I respect deeply, has been publically embarrassed and his reputation shattered over alleged rapes. See the use of plural there? Not just one. Many. So many that my mind boggled as I read the numerous accounts in the paper. There have been lists drawn up. Shots fired (mostly by the press – though I must say, they aim well!). There’s been a very open condemnation. If he’s innocent then there will be a long road of mending ahead. If he’s not, then he’ll be reaping the results of his actions.

Allegations and truth aside, we will always be baffled by the actions of people we think we know. Gosh – I’m sure we all surprise ourselves at times. I certainly remember a few facepalm moments  thinking ‘what the hell was I thinking?’ But then again, I’ve never raped. Or murdered. Or stolen. Or broken any major laws. But I have broken laws. I partied underage, I’ve ignored speed limits and direct orders – most of us have. I know that’s different, but does it afford me a moral high ground? Many people believe that to cross basic human boundaries takes a certain level of disregard for humanity and perhaps even a dollop of narcissism. The reality is that many people have been assaulted (in my world, it’s at least 33%) and that means that many people have been assailants (we’re probably also looking at, at least a whopping 33%). That pretty much means we are probably all connected to people who have done some really awful things during their time on earth. That means we’ll probably be doing a lot of judging as we uncover the terrible things that the people we know have done. That’s what people do right? We see the sensationalist stories, we believe the perspective presented, we condemn people and we feel grateful that they’re not our sons, our daughters, our siblings, our husbands, our wives…. we forget that they are someone’s.

I personally know a lot of people who have done awful things. Really, truly, despicable, horrible things. In fact, I spent the best year of my life (though I know I have better years coming – watch this space!) teaching in a prison over weekends. I headed up a group of ten inmates. Murderers. Thieves. Rapists. Women abusers. All men. With no supervision. People often ask me if I was scared – I wasn’t. They are some of the most beautiful men I have ever met. That revelation usually ignites surprise and even anger. It did in me to begin with. But when I spent more time with my prisoners I began to no longer see them for things they’ve done, I began to view them for the people they are. Shocking? Maybe. In all honesty I went into prison teaching, with the expectation of meeting ‘bad people’ so when I formed eternal friendships with a group of the most enlightened, aware, kind, caring and honest men I’ve known, that was a surprise beyond comprehension. My friends and family thought I was mad – until they crossed the (judgement) line and met my students. The world judges them in there. I started off judging them in there. And I would guess that the world continues to judge them today as they continue their journey of mending their homes, their families and their communities. We like to judge.

The truth that I learnt when I was teaching that group of broken boys who grew into beautiful men (and while they were teaching me to be a whole, open-minded woman) is that we are not what we’ve done, what we’ve thought or what we’re about to do. People make mistakes. We are not our mistakes. Sometimes we make enormous mistakes that we will spend a lifetime paying for – and fairly so. What we are is what we admit to, what we’re willing to work on and what we constantly try to improve. We are what we forgive. We are what we heal from. We are what we’re strong enough to accept, overcome and survive through.

As the media continues to splash violent stories across our screens, let’s recognise the importance of highlighting social issues that are completely unacceptable and that must be brought to the forefront and discussed. But let’s remember to be human. To be compassionate. To not judge – especially when the facts are not all in yet. Let’s remember that we too, are on a journey of trying to be better at being ourselves. We may not all be psychopaths, rapists and murderers (let’s hope not) but none of us are as close to as perfect as we wish we were. Let’s also be cognisant of the fact that who we walk with on that journey matters, because they may influence our thoughts, our steps and our direction. But let’s be open to meeting many, hearing different perspectives and understanding that we’re not always right.

This week let’s realise that the only ‘right’ we have and are, is the path we choose to walk. So jump off your soap box and choose some great heels to go with that direction! Have a wonderful week.

Yours in heels,
Jo

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Elephant in heels

Hello High Heelers,

Right, so there’s a big elephant sitting in the middle of the room in heels – it’s pink and it’s making trumpeting noises as it blows its nose and wipes away tears (and it’s not me!) So I guess we need to talk about it. We can’t just leave that big, pink elephant in the middle of the room – can we? I wish I could. I wish I could ignore the week that has passed and forget the deep issues that have come to light. I wish the press reports coming out of my country weren’t true. I wish the South African media was falling into sensationalism in the worst possible way. But they’re not. As an idealist who loves to focus on the light side of life, on the beauty and the positivity, I am not happy about sharing elephants with you today. Rainbows, candyfloss and marshmallows are my more favourable choice of nibbly bits. But the only way to eat an elephant is one piece at a time. So let’s go…

Mouthful one: It’s not ok that women are being abused the way we are – in this country, and internationally. Spinning off media coverage of recent rape cases and the Pistorious tragedy, statistics about South African women abuse are flying around like cheap paper planes, piling up in trash cans. I’ve heard everything from 71% in CNN reports (which I’m sure come from some from some or other reputable source) to 50% from our SAPS (our police) results. Whatever the actual statistics are, they’re not ok. It’s not ok that when we sit together as women and open up about the pain we’ve been through in our lives that it’s close to impossible to find a woman who’s never been through some version of abuse at the hands of parents, siblings, strangers and most commonly – intimate partners. The bits of evidence that have been shared from the Oscar Pistorius case is damning to say the least. He shot his girlfriend four times through the bathroom door, there was a bloodied cricket bat at the scene, neighbours were complaining of domestic disturbances earlier that night. The conclusions we draw from this are not at all favourable – no matter which way you look at it. The only living person who’ll ever know the truth about what happened on the night that the Blade Runner allegedly murdered his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp, is Oscar himself.

And should we ever know the truth? Do we really need answers? Why? Well, the awful reality of being a mentor, champion and public role model is that you are held in high regard and that your actions and behaviour begins to matter to people beyond your direct sphere. If I was embroiled in a similar scenario, I’d only be accountable to my family, my friends, and to you, my loyal readers. But when Nike’s ‘bullet in the chamber’ and South Africa’s golden boy breaks the most basic of human rights’ laws, he’s accountable to the whole world. In many ways it’s more than a little unfair. You may argue that he chose to be a public figure and may even have actively chosen to climb the pedestal we put him on. The argument matters less than the fact – our hero has fallen from grace in the most ungraceful way and that hurts us deeply.

This week, my reminder to us all is that people are merely people and that they make mistakes. Whether you forgive these mistakes, or not, is your personal choice – I suggest forgiveness as the preferable path. However, more importantly, when we are disappointed by people we hold in high regard we’re really just letting ourselves down. We put those people up there and the pain we feel is a manifestation of a dream we have created for ourselves. At work we’re bitterly disappointed by the colleague who drops a ball, the leader who shatters a value we hold high and a mentor that simply doesn’t come through for us. You will experience all of those situations as some point – multiple times. They will hurt you deeply. And you will learn the lesson – that all people, no matter how much you look up to them, are people with imperfections that you will not like. The first leader that shattered my idealism was a CEO of a very large business who spent a lot of time growing and developing young people and I, being in my early twenties, was privy to his valuable lessons. When he spoke clouds opened, rays of light shone down and angels sang but when it came out that he’d had an affair with a girl who worked for him and was more than half his wife’s age, I was horrified. He was a fallen angel, a false preacher of family values, and I had to learn to respect him again, one day at a time.

So this week as you dissect what you read in the papers about the people you admire and as you’re let down by mentors and spiritual guides, remember that we’re all guilty of our own mistakes and that in learning from our failures we may learn to fly. And as we continue to read about the horrendous statistics around women abuse and rape in South Africa, let’s use the opportunity to talk, to share and to heal – rather than to become angry and disillusioned. Through recognising the issue – we’re finally coming to terms with the fact that something’s got to change. Let’s start sharing for the sake of our next generations, let’s deal with the elephant in the room, let’s treat people like people not as demi-gods, let’s be real, be human.

I don’t have all the answers and I don’t even have all my thoughts together – please forgive me if I lack sense. But I do know that we’re headed on a journey that will bring healing through pain. Pull on your heels, deal with the blisters and start taking the first steps. Let’s go!

Have a wonderful week.

Yours in heels,
Jo

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Getting through

Hello High Heelers,

I am still reeling in emotion and deep thought after a company visit to the Apartheid Museum last week. No matter where you live, what culture defines you, your religious choices or your gender, we have all had moments where we have stood up for who we are, our history and the future we wish to create. In doing so, we’ve shown loyalty, pride and a solid sense of identity and belonging. But when it comes to being South African and having lived through a fundamental shift in our societal structure, politics and the dominating belief system, we have had hard lessons to learn and we’ve experienced more than a mind shift – we’ve experienced something of a mind explosion. Yet here we are, striding (many of us in heels!) towards a very bright future, where there is equality, unity and respect.

I found myself sobbing through many tissues while wandering around the museum. Sure, the exhibitions and the artefacts are poignant, a reminder of a past riddled with fear, inequality, hatred and violence. The video footage is powerful, brutal and honest in a way that slaps you sideways and makes you feel deep empathy for those who lost everything to allow us all to gain something so fundamentally natural – freedom. But I’d been to the museum many times before and had not been so severely moved. Somehow this trip was different. It took me a while to really dig into my heart and head to figure it out.

Every time I’ve been through this journey of our past, I’ve learnt from the presented items in a historical sense. I heard the stories and placed the pieces together that were absent from my education and experience growing up. This time, the items didn’t tell me the story of our past, they reminded me of my own personal struggles and hurtful experiences I’ve been through over the years. You see, when we’ve been privileged to be spared the suffering that many others endured, there comes with that a sense of guilt. The questions remain: why was I not hurt? Why am I privileged? How is it fair? Why me? That very healthy, but very scary question – why? In my case, this all led to me not allowing myself to feel hurt or go through healing after experiencing harsh times because I’ve been so ‘lucky’.

I don’t mean to badmouth the beautiful place that is my home, but like so many on this journey to the rainbow, I have been through violence and have learnt the true meaning of sheer, crippling terror. The good news is that this kind of thing is on the decline, but the bad news is that it remains in many of us after the incident. It keeps us up at night and it clouds us with fear. What I realised on my journey through our past this time, is that what we went through was a tragedy, where we are is a miracle and where we’re going is something we now have the power to shape and mould.

But before we can truly contribute to that journey, we need to heal from our past. We cannot take the pain of yesterday into a bright tomorrow. We cannot carry our burdens forever, they will slow us down. If we’re to succeed, to really truly succeed, we need to let go of all of that. In my case, it means reflecting on where I am and why I’m there, gaining insight and healing in the area of being a victim and having witnessed violence and trauma. It means dropping off all the negativity to make space for so much more.

The poet, Robert Frost, was really onto something when he wrote “The best way out is always through.” That’s the challenge. That’s our journey. That’s where true freedom lies. To move forward we need to let go of whatever is holding us back. We need to get through it. Sometimes our own perceptions and self-image can be the burden. In other cases it’s experiences. And far too often, it’s people. Whatever it is, call it, name it and drop it.

This week may I challenge you to look at what you’re not getting through, pull on your heels (or fabulous flatties) and start dealing with it? I believe that on the other side of healing is a place where we can all stand tall, walk tall and be our best for ourselves and for the world. Let’s start getting through. Join me on the journey and have a wonderful week.

Yours in heels,
Jo

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These heels were made for walking

Hello High Heelers,

As you all know, I was previously engaged, and have been re-placing my feet in my heels since I became a single gal at the end of last year. It started off with a lot of tripping, falling on my face and sobbing mascara-raccoon-eyes. Red was the colour of my mood – rather than the hue of my lipstick. Messy hair became my lazy way of letting the world know I was angry (I know – rebellious!) and eating ice-cream for dinner ‘a la Bridget Jones’ was the norm for a few months – as was piling on the kilos (those evil things really do sneak up on your when you feel your worst!). While I was in it, I called that phase of my life ‘indulgence’ but it was really quite the opposite of that. It was falling apart so I could step up again. Not pretty. But necessary. So now I call it ‘finding the foundation’ (and I don’t mean the kind you smear on your face).

Being on my own has been a journey of learning to love myself as an individual again. It’s been about becoming comfortable in the quiet times. It has been a great, big, beautiful gift in many ways. What a privilege it’s been to feel so low that the only direction I could go was up. Introspection and self-knowledge became the evening pastime as I switched off the TV and spent time listening to the conversations in my head. After time, I was comfortable enough to just be with me and even managed to gain some control over the conversations happening in my brain. As I called myself ‘useless’, ‘stupid’, ‘broken’, ‘not good enough’ I began to silence the voice of insecurity and started speaking louder with my voice of joy, happiness and wholeness.

I think about who I was just a year ago and I can’t believe that I was actually that person. I am so much better now. I’m stronger. I’m wiser. I’m more adaptable. More understanding. More empathetic. And just plain better. In the relationship I’d become an ‘us’. I never made my own decisions. I didn’t go where I wanted to go. I was hindered by having to consult someone else on every decision I made and that someone else never put me or my dreams first. As a result I shut up my voice of destiny that had previously been talking me through the most wonderful adventures. I became a cold, lonely ‘us’.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that being alone is the best way to be. No! I’d be delighted to be blessed one day with a partner that adds to my life and allows me to be a better me through living my dreams. I’m saying that when you’re in a situation when you shut down your inner voice, and you focus on someone else’s needs and that person isn’t putting you first – you’re probably in a bad place. That doesn’t just go for romantic relationships. It stands in the workplace – my boss, Natalie Maroun encourages me to develop my passion and embrace my dreams. It stands in your friendship circle, where friends driven by jealousy could be holding you back. It stands in your family, where an overprotective family member could be subconsciously (or consciously) making you to let go of your dreams – encouraging you to be fearful of who you could be.

This week’s message is this – people have influence over you, and you have influence over them. Be congnisant of others and make sure you understand their role in your life. If people are breaking instead of building you, you need to reconsider how important that relationship is to you. And most importantly, be certain that you are not that negative force speaking into someone else’s life. Don’t tell your boyfriend not to skydive because you’re afraid of heights. Don’t tell your daughter that she’ll never make a good engineer because she’s too feminine and you have different dreams for her. Don’t limit people. Don’t limit yourself. Do realise that the sky is not the limit, there is no limit. If you have dreams, you must reach for them and you must help others reach for theirs too.

As I pull on my heels this week I feel an amazing sense of comfort knowing who I am again. If you’re going through cutting negative ties, don’t take your time, take action. Trust me – I know how hard it is! Let yourself out into the world with purpose. You are too unique and special to be held back by someone else’s fears. Step up with me and step into your new journey. Let’s go! Let’s walk together.

Yours in heels,
Jo

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Walk a mile in your shoes

Hello High Heelers,

Today I’m not doing the mooshy, smooshy, ‘poor me,’ ‘let me pour out my heart’ stuff. I know you all like it. Goodness – I like it too. It bonds us together and makes us as tight as a pair of new leather Gucci pumps. But there’s only so much of the super-sensitive stuff a High Heeler can take without becoming a sister with too many blisters! Indeed. I believe I am firmly back up on my heels – healed(ish). Sure, it’s a process. But I’ve decided that the process has now been completed. Done. Tick. One ugly situation behind me and a million great experiences ahead. Let’s go!

While having lunch with a well-shoed-flat-heeled-one (lovely little black Nike sneakers I might add) this weekend, I realised that some of you may feel a little left out due to your inability to stand tall in a literal sense. Right, so let’s be real: living life literally needs to happen in the correct circumstances. For instance, when my boss Natalie Maroun says: “I need this project to be completed by tomorrow” (in her scary stern voice). Literally, she means I need to wrap it up by the end of the next day, or face impending doom and possible-loss-of-life. It would be very unwise to find any weird figurative meaning from such words, on account of preservation of life, keeping ones’ head connected to the neck region and what-not.

But when we look at ‘standing tall in heels’, I’ve realised that so many of us stand together on all kinds of levels. Last week I had a phonecall from a special lady, who calls herself the ’grey-haired granny’ (she knows who she is ;)) who shared her sad story with kindness and care. Was she in heels? Uh, I hope not! In fact, I expect she was in a pair of well-worn slippers that fit like old friends – full of comfort and warmth. I’ve had emails from the toughest dudes who have been man-enough to share their sensitive heartache – the kind of guys who would never be caught dead in anything pink (not even salmon – it’s allegedly pink), fluffy or feminine. The calls have come in and the messages have brought so much healing, mostly from non-heeled folk.

And so, I have come to a major realisation this week. Yes I have. And no, it’s not that I’m tougher than a ten ton truck – that’s what I learnt last week, and the week before. This week I discovered that we’re all walking along a journey that is unique to us. You’re the one who has to walk a mile in your shoes. You have to do the hard yards in your footwear and weather the bruises. What’s important in us taking this road together is that we keep just walking (that is my little punt for Johnny Walker!) So, whatever it is that takes you through and helps you stand tall, is the best kind of wear for you (literally and figuratively!)

To the dudes in the gumboots who work hard every day, to the talented performers in point shoes and pain, to the slipper-wearing ladies of lovely words and the sneaker-running friends who keep push us along... All of us who have found our way to stand tall, matter. So this week, as I blow dust off my highest heels I’m standing with you as you shoe-up in your own special way. Let’s prepare for one hell of a journey.

Let’s take this week from the ground and keep climbing higher. Let’s walk together….

Yours in heels,
Jo

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Lessons in healing

Hello High Heelers,

Your support over the past few weeks has been phenomenal. High Heelers really do stand together. Thank you! I’ve had the ladies commiserating, sharing their stories, softening the blow and passing the tissues. There’s no gift quite like a special piece of another woman’s soul when yours is battered. Let me not leave out the ‘flat-shoed-ones’ – you guys have been solid, strong and kind in your reinforcement that there are many out there who know how to give the word ‘man’ deep meaning, strength and beauty. You remind us bruised ones, that we are destined to heal-up, stand up and match up when the time is right. 

This Sunday morning, I watched a friend’s little daughter learn an experiential lesson that will hopefully remain a lifetime lesson. Crawling on the kitchen floor, she reached for the oven door. She did so a few times and was repeatedly warned not to. But she continued. Finally, her dad watched her carefully as she reached out for the very warm, but not hot (he was letting her discover gently!) oven door. She touched it and quickly pulled her hand back in surprise and began to howl from shock. He quickly picked her up and covered her with hugs and kisses so she knew she was ok. She stayed far away from the oven for the rest of the day. Lesson learnt.

So what have I learnt from the last few weeks of being burnt? Well, I’ve learnt a few lifelong lessons that may, or may not, be useful to other High Heelers. Here goes…I’ve learnt that some people are deceitful for no comprehensive reason at all – they just are. You did not cause it, you did not do anything wrong to be wronged. It is what it is. I’ve learnt that people will hurt others simply because they have deep set personal pain and they gain momentary relief through their transgressions. If you cross their path, you’re collateral damage – nothing more, nothing less. You do not own blame and you will not find any logical reasoning for it – do not search, you will only find unfulfilment.

I’ve learnt that you should trust people based on their behaviour – not on their words. Words can slip off the tongue as easily as a skater glides on ice, but behaviour takes effort, decisive work and repetitive action. I’ve learnt that if actions and words do not agree that there is a need for questions to be asked and reasonable answers should be expected. I’ve learnt that there is a place for anger and hurt. From hurt we learn not to make the same mistakes again. From anger, we understand ourselves better, reset our boundaries and reinforce our values. When someone acts against our expectations, anger forces us to recognise it. But don’t let the anger simmer. Use it for your healing and then remove it from your being with any force necessary. I’ve learnt that the most valuable lessons often cost the most – emotionally, physically, time-wise and in patience. I’ve learnt that good friends will support you through hard times and will fill your heart with giggles when it’s really filled with tears.

I’ve learnt that I am stronger than I ever imagined. That I have amazing friends. Awesome colleagues. The most supportive family. That I have the power to rebuild greater dreams than the ones that are broken. And that I have a destiny so lovely than nothing can dampen its desire to grow bigger than me. I’ve learnt to be me a little better, and to love myself a little more. I’ve learnt that pain is inevitable, lessons are necessary, and that healing needs to happen, but it doesn’t need a lifetime, just the right time. This is my time. Thank you for sharing it with me.

Despite all of this I know that I will remain true to me. I know that I will trust without fear again. I know that I will love without hesitation one day and I know that I will be genuinely loved without tainted intentions. I know these things because I know that within the ‘unfairness’ of life, there is justice that is real and that I have the power to determine my own future.

As I walk into my new dreams, walk with me. Let’s do this together. Truly. Retweet, share, ‘like’ and email this message out. Let’s walk together through the tough stuff so we can stand together in life.

Til next week… yours in heeels,
Jo

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