Warning: Kindness is Dope

I met someone recently who thanked me for something I did for her 20 years ago.

I kid you not.

To be quite honest, I did not recall the detail or that act of apparent kindness at all. She tells me that it came at a time when she desperately needed a strong mother figure and that young-me stepped up.

I must say, our exchanges back then never did feel like “rescue” or “help” to me. In fact, I reckon I was the one who felt good. I was the one who felt useful. I was probably the one who felt high from the endorphins that make us drunk with purpose. That’s really all I remember about our interactions ~ how lovely I felt around her.

How cool?

Her testimony has since inspired me to write some random “Thank You” notes of my own. Because the stars know that there are plenty of people who have touched me over the years. And just like that, I’m part of an energy that keeps the magical vibration of GRATITUDE in motion.

Perhaps you feel inspired to hop on the train and thank someone today too? If so, I can tell you without a doubt that the wise ones were right: It is indeed GIVING that we RECEIVE.

Try it. Thank me (29 years later).

Lee Mayimele

Chief Storyteller

Do you have a heart-wound after a LOSS? If so, come listen to my story….

All this talk about Mother’s Day has me feeling anxious, I must admit. My heart-wound has only just begun to form a scab and I have been taking good care of it.

 

My approach to its healing has been quite simple, actually. Like a good mother, I have looked primarily at INFECTION PREVENTION.

 

For starters, I took a conscious decision that I needed to keep the environment sterile and germ free.  And while I am under no illusiions that one cannot engineer every social environment or interpersonal encounter completely (particularly with family), I knew that it was indeed possible to focus on “access control”. So, I did.  Quite intuitively, I have been terribly circumspect about who I engage with, what I share, and how I could avoid people with energies that felt harsh to my sensitive film. The daily “disinfectant” through meditation and “fresh dressing” through prayer have helped tremendously.

 

Secondly, I focused my attention on creating a HEALING ENVIRONMENT for the heart-wound. Once more, led purely by my instinct, I began to draw on my good memories of my mother and to allow that positive energy to flow into my home, into my work and into my relationship with my own children. I have also played, laugh, rationed screen time and increased my reading time.  I began to seek out real experiences, people, food and music that made me smile.  And sure enough, the smiles came.

 

I am, of course, always mindful that with this sort of wound, research tells us that there is no prescribed time frame for healing completely. In fact, research tells us that there isn’t really a “cure” at all.  Like diabetes perhaps, one simply learns to “manage” the beast and one learns to adapt one’s lifestyle in order to lead a productive life.

 

So, adapting I am.

And it would seem that the wound is indeed closing up.

And the scab will fall off.

And all that will remain is the scar. 

 

How I will relate to the scar, is of course another story entirely, but I will tell you this honestly:  there IS always light at the end of the proverbial tunnel after a loss. Yes, even when you think your entire world has gone black forever.

 

You will one day be able to reflect on your scar and know for sure that every single day is a GIFT. (After all, no scar is able to form on that which is not alive). And like me, you will also be able to CELEBRATE not only on Mothers Day, but every single day that you are alive.

 

Aluta continua, as they say.  May you never take a day for granted.

 

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

The Call to Rip off the Band-Aid

Hardly 24 hours after my mother died, someone walked up to me with the soul (yes soul) purpose of telling me that they were “angry” with me.

 

They felt further entitled to pour out the details, as though I had any capacity whosoever to indulge such a “sharing” at that particular moment in my life.

 

The more I reflected on that emotional ambush in the days after the funeral, the more I tried to empathise, the more I tried to see it from their perspective, the more I rationalised that death brings “complex emotions”, I realised that I was asking the impossible of myself.

 

I had to STOP! 

 

My job was to grieve.

To honour my own tears.

To sit with my own pain.

To validate my own loss.

 

Instead, I was diverted to a lower spectrum of emotions that sought to distract me. 

 

And, I indulged them. Sadly. 

 

Now that all that is in the past, my heart wants to go back there again. To that very point in my life.

 

The voice is gently asking me to lift off the Band-Aid I smacked on the emotional wound and to face what’s been festering there. 

 

And, again I will indulge. Gladly this time. 

 

You see, for me there is real therapy in dissecting the pieces, relooking the complexities with a view to disinfecting the wound in order to clear the inflammation.

 

I know, right? Whooooo volunteers to reopen their own wounds?

 

I do. And, I wish you the courage to do the same.

 

Rip off the Band-Aid! Sure it will hurt for one sick second, but once that initial rip is over, you’re on your way! Then, look at the wound, see it in all its gory complexity and then plot an enlightened way forward.

 

Hey, real healing is a great prospect and it may be just on the other side of your fear.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

 

Aluta continua, as they say. This road is indeed still long…. (for me) but gosh am I ready!

 

 

 

 

Pleae don’t take it so personal!

A gentle little boy came over to our house to play.  My kids were delighted!

 

It was a beautiful hot summer’s day in Johannesburg and a thunderstorm was brewing.

 

My daughter took her favourite cookie, and came into the kitchen to cut it up. She wanted to share it with her friend. Something she refused to do for her brother. Ever.

 

While my daughter was busy with the cookie, the boy announced that he wanted to go home. My daughter was devastated. She was just getting started. What about the cookie?

 

After he left, she started crying “Mama, he doesn’t like me! He doesn’t like meeeee!”

 

It turns out that the boy was scared of thunder. He wanted his mom a bit more than he wanted my girl. Or the cookie!

 

I understood.

My girl did not.

 

She took it personally.

I understood that too.

 

 

….and that got me thinking:  Isn’t that just life huh?  Isn’t that just how the cookie, crumbles?  Very often, we take things personally when really, the shit going down has everything to do with the other person and little to nothing to do with us.

 

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016.  Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

 

 

Loaded Questions – Short-Short Story

Each time she asked a question. I became uneasy.

The question was always loaded.   Guaranteed.

I found this exhausting.  Mentally and emotionally exhausting.

At times, I refuelled.  I got ready. I fired.  Game on.

But most times, I retreated.

My reasons for not playing the game varied.

Sometimes I was just not in the mood for the game.   It happens right?

Other times, the stakes were too high. The casualties too precious.  The possible fatalities strategic.

All in all, I reckon the learning experience was invaluable.

And today, I am grateful.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

YOU are Enough

…The time surely comes

When you put yourself first

When you regain your God essence

When you count your blessings

When you honour your sadness

When you give yourself permission to try

When you name your pain

When you stop calling your passion a “hobby”

When you keep your word

When you kick someone out of your emotional bed

When you alienate nasty creatures

When you write thank you notes

When you take more risks

When you stop trusting losers

When you approach people you need

When you say no to darkness

When you yield appropriately

When you say beautiful words of gratitude instinctively

When you sleep for days

When you trust your internal red flags

When you disappoint another heart

When you run your race and let others run theirs

When you clear everything on your vision board and start again

When you no longer mind being called emotional

When you equate self respect with breathing

When you allow yourself to dream again

When you listen to a child

When you let yourself be touched

When you honour your calling

When you travel to places that call you

When you risk humiliation

When you press “reset” on your life

When you accept the shape of the parts you disguise

When you simply say “not today”

When you acknowledge those that guide you

When you start imitating yourself

When you draw a line in the sand

When you empower other people

When you forgive yourself

When you delight in the success of others

When you laugh loud

When you kiss your broken heart

When you are your own role model

When you emulate the speckles of light you see

When you tone down the noise

When you soothe your heart with music

When you dine alone

When you share your struggles

When you own your fears

When you unlearn your defences

…and on that day, may you know that YOU are enough YOU have always been enough YOU will always be enough End of story!

Aluta Continua, I say!  The road is long (for me)

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Man in Torment

He watched his wife lift her skirt to many men.

He lived through the humiliation.

He ate her bitter words routinely.

He faced her rejections nightly and he sniffed the smells of other men knowingly.

He perfected the art of saying NOTHING.  He was so good at it that when his kids did hear his voice, they ran.

On his mother’s death bed, she said “My son, please do me a favour. Leave that woman. You can’t go on like this without killing yourself or someone else”.

He was shocked. Surely the medication was messing with the old woman’s head.

He could go on! And he did.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Vision

I was on my way to Dubai for an important meeting.  I had prepared well and looked forward to the finalising a strategic deal.

I planned to drink lots of champagne on the flight and make use of the pyjamas. Afterall, flying first class was not something I did every day.

My eyes started getting red soon after boarding.  By the time dinner was served they were on the colour of tomato soup.  The woman sitting next to me said “What are your eyes telling you? What do you not want to see?”.  I laughed, had my nightcap, ran over my notes for the meeting and went to sleep. Lying flat!

I had a plan in my head.  I was sticking to the vision.  (No pun intended).

I arrived safely at my hotel and when I finally got to look in a mirror, I panicked. Just a little bit. My eyes were blood red.  I went to see a doctor immediately.  I needed to sort my eyes out pronto.

When I returned to the hotel, I could not shake the feeling.  I felt awkward and scared.

But, I had a plan. A vision.  I planned to stick to it. 

The first day’s meetings went well but I had to excuse myself from an important dinner that night.  I had to.  My eyes needed rest.

I went to dinner alone.  I felt like someone was watching me.  All the time.

My vision did not include this stupid twist.

My food did not arrive despite two reminders. They apologised and told me that that had never happened in the history of the hotel. They agreed to send the food to my room.

That creepy feeling increased tenfold.  

I went to my room.  The doorbell rang and my heart jumped!  It was only the food arriving but for some reason I was freaked out. I tried to eat but could not relax.

So, I went downstairs to the hotel lobby.  I thought that perhaps a spot of people-watching would distract me. Help me return to normal.  Help me to stop acting crazy!

I was walking across the room when I heard someone making a sound. A catcall kind of sound.  I turned in the direction of the sound and it was a man. An Arab man in a long white cloak and a veil on his head.  He winked at me. 

I knew something was wrong.  I felt INSTANTLY nauseas.  My beautiful vision was gone.  Instead, I was filled with fear, disgust and paranoia. 

I decided to sit down.  For God’s sake! This was a famous hotel with cameras everywhere, plenty of tourists and my business associates were staying in the same damn hotel. What could go wrong?

So, I straightened my shoulders, gave myself a mental smack and walked across the room to another part of the hotel. I looked around for the man.  I did not see him.

I took two steps forward when I heard the man make the sound again.  By now I was officially freaked out!  He was hiding behind a plant and he stuck his tongue out and licked his lips.

Through my sore eyes I saw fear. Big time!

I planned to go straight to reception and alert them to my fears but my phone rang and I took the call.  When I looked around again, I saw the man talking to the people at reception, laughing and looking like they all knew one another.

I could not go to reception. I definitely did NOT want the bad pervert to know that I was scared of him. That was not an option.

So, I went to my room. Bolted the door. Texted my colleague in the room down the hall to find out how the dinner had gone. I didn’t care about the dinner, actually. I just wanted to know that he was there if I needed him.

My eyes insisted on closing. I could not sleep but my eyes needed to be closed.

About 3 hours later, the room phone rang.  I answered and there was no one there.

I called reception. I asked them if they had called.  They said no.  I check with my colleague. He had not called either.

Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

I did not answer.  My eyes refused to open. Literally.  

I did not know if it was the bad man, my colleague, reception, security or some other extra terrestrial!  I guess I will never know.

On the long flight back home, I let my emotions flow.  I just burst out crying!  Those tears acknowledged that I was pissed off that my body had failed me at such a crucial time, that I had let some stupid man play games with my mind when I was not feeling well and that as a woman, I was such a soft target.  Most of the tears were about the vision.  The vision that had gone wrong. Literally.

When I arrived in Johannesburg my eyes were cleared up.

And, instead of keeping an open mind, guess what I did?  Yes, another vision.  The vision I had was of eating hot dinner with my husband in the safety of my home, telling him my story with my eyes sparkly and white.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.