When Life Hits The Fan: Eat Chocolate

I may or may not be sitting here on my couch, eating chocolate. And when I say I may or may not be…what I actually mean to say is: I am.

I will warn you right now: this is one of those random posts about nothing that I sometimes sprinkle the pages of this blog with, the ones where you guys sit there and go, ‘Well how about that. She is just about one of the most random human beings that ever there was.’

I can understand your confusion. You never do know which version of me you’re going to get on here— the poet, the writer, the philosopher, the Soft Girl, the complete and utter dork. I’d probably file this one under the complete and utter dork category. I don’t see this one going literary on you, and I don’t see the words that lie upon this page changing the world in any sort of grand way.

I can promise you one thing, though. The words on this page are me, and I think that’s the beautiful thing about blogging. The sharing of one’s soul with a world of strangers who are, just by virtue of us deciding it, actual friends. And lovely, loyal friends at that.

I’m tired— exhausted actually, from a huge day of organising the newness of my life as a single Mum. No one goes into a marriage thinking they are going to end up divorced, do they? And so when it happens to…well, happen…it’s all the emotional, exhausting things. I have a stress rash on each cheek (on my face, omg, guys. Srsly. 😛 ) I have two eyes that are close to closing for the night (it’s 9:00pm). And I have three parts of a broken heart. A heart that I will rebuild with a new joy, a new life, a new way— but one that’s still a bit squished flat, right at the minute.

But I will get through this like an absolute trooper, I can guarantee you that. Sure, I will cry all the millions of ugly tears in between now and when the good stuff begins again, but the end goal will be a beautiful world that I build with my precious muffins. That is such an exciting prospect.

As an empath (and ‘bit of a sensitive muffin) I’ve always needed time alone to recharge and create. It’s safe to say, I’ll have plenty of that now that I’ll be alone again. I was only just thinking of it earlier, after a conversation I had with my Dad on the weekend: I’ve always sought to hide away from the real world. Even as a young child, I would play alone in my room for hours on end, talking to the mirror, playing with dolls, singing into toilet rolls. It is the natural state of me, and as much as I have loved the gift of my husband and best friend of all these years…I will very much appreciate the gift of returning home.

Well. She couldn’t resist going deep in the end, could she, hey guys. Lol. You all knew it would happen, don’t pretend you didn’t. Okay, well. It’s sleepy byes time. I hope wherever you are in the world, you are safe and happy inside of your shell.

Lots of love, Brooke. xx

black ceramic mug on round white and beige coaster on white textile beside book
Photo by Isabelle Taylor on

Return Of The Soft Girl

The Soft Girl returned for a few moments, yesterday.

My soul. My essence. My flow.

She found me in the car as I drove home from a busy day of moving from one house to another.

She wasn’t with me when I turned on the ignition.

She wasn’t with me when I turned the corner from one street to the next.

But she found me.

She found me through the music that waved in the air around us.

The Soft Girl.

How she drifted in and out of me.

How I long for her soft touch in all of my days.

photo of a woman at sunset
Photo by bruce mars on

Peace In The Sky

Sun looked at Moon and smiled.

‘Look, Moon, here is your story,’ Sun said, as he held up a shine much like his own bright golden rays.

Moon frowned, and drifted into the space where Sun held the golden droplet.

‘No, Sun. What you are showing me is not my story.’

And then she kissed his blazing cheek, and said to him this:

‘My story, Sun, is invisible to all but me. Others may think they see, but they do not. Because, Sun? No one has eyes that can reach inside of another.’

And as the two friends sat side by side, shining their own stories onto the world…each was at peace knowing they would never truly see the other.



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?

person putting bandages on another person s knee
Photo by on



When A Butterfly Takes Flight

It’s the broken heart of my life.

When the soft girl found me, she brought me the most beautiful things. She helped me to feel the trees, and sing with them into the sun. She helped me to turn my most beautiful aches into words— words that so often break my heart and mend my soul: the very thing my words were always meant to do.

But the soft girl has taken so many things from me, also.

And one of those things is my beautiful husband: the most loyal and beautiful friend I’ve ever known.

He is, and always will be, one of my most precious people (and I have a feeling that I will always be one of his.) But over time it became very obvious that our puzzle pieces just weren’t fitting together anymore, and we’ve finally come to admit the truth of that. To ourselves. And to each other. It’s been a bit of a tough time for both of us, needless to say.

At the moment, I’m still processing things emotionally, but as usual this place and the beautiful friends I’ve found here remain the superglue that holds me together— I will always be so grateful to you guys for that. (I’m getting a bit love-hearty again, aren’t I, guys? Lol. You know I’ll never stop.)

What I’m trying to say is: life is a little hard for me at the moment, but I’ll be okay. I’ve got my trees. I’ve got my music. I’ve got my two precious little people, and the promise of a brighter version of the Mum they already know.

And last but not least…I’ve got you. And you’ve got me. And because you’ve got me, you’ve got all the dreamy love hearts, always and forever.

Because that’s just the way this soft girl of mine rolls.

crop field under rainbow and cloudy skies at dayime
Photo by James Wheeler on





The Song Of You

To be brave is to know there is hope.

And to know there is hope is to know

that dreams can come true—

as long as you remember to dream them.

Wish with all your heart, little girl.

Fly your longing into the sun.

Be only you


only you.

It is then that your world will flow as it should.

Be brave, little girl.

Your heart doesn’t beat to be silenced.

Let it beat.

Let it play the song of you.

beautiful blond blur child
Photo by Pixabay on