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    In Your Smallest Pocket
    In Your Smallest Pocket
    In Your Smallest Pocket
    Ebook194 pages1 hour

    In Your Smallest Pocket

    By Jane O'Shea

    ()

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    About this ebook

    When we are world weary, at crossroads, in the middle of change. When our hearts hurt and we feel discouraged and alone. When we need some breathing space to rest and remember. Then dipping into this book offers a reminder, that what we may need is actually right here – in our smallest pocket. In Your Smallest Pocket puts into words the messiness of our inner lives, the tangled confusion of our relationships, and our wonder and worry about the world around us. It gives us a vocabulary to start unfamiliar conversations with ourselves and with others.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJane O'Shea
    Release dateOct 16, 2021
    ISBN9780473554590
    In Your Smallest Pocket
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    Author

    Jane O'Shea

    Jane lives in Wellington, New Zealand with her husband Peter. She spends her days tending her garden, walking her dog, and writing. She still sometimes works as a mediator, facilitator, and communications coach and presenter. She has written two other books: In Your Smallest Pocket and Word Remedies. For more information and for book purchases, go to her website: www.wordremedies.co.nz

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      Book preview

      In Your Smallest Pocket - Jane O'Shea

      PREFACE

      ––––––––

      One day, not writing this book became more painful than my fear of writing it.

      So I grabbed some chocolate, and other suitable distractions. A bit more chocolate, and I was ready to go.

      Ten years after my first book.

      INTRODUCTION

      ––––––––

      It starts at the place where everything changes. That was when I almost died. It wasn’t the almost dying that changed everything, it was what happened next.

      I was at my brother’s wedding, so I didn’t want to make a fuss. My old ‘friend’ asthma had made a reappearance in my life, but with three wee children under four, dealing with it hadn’t hit the urgent list. On this occasion, my breathing difficulties were making a particularly strong comeback. I thought I’d quietly slip outside, hide behind a tree, and try to get my breathing to behave itself.

      Just as well my aunt-the-nurse came out to find me, because I don’t remember anything until I realised that I was in an ambulance on my way to hospital. So much for not making a fuss...

      The next week, I was sitting in front of my doctor, resisting all his attempts to put me on daily medication. With some compromising, we managed to negotiate a safe way for me to explore other options to get myself well. Mind you, I had no idea what those options might be.

      First up, I thought I would do some research. Among other causes, there appeared to be some evidence that there was an emotional component to this asthma thing. This was tugging at my interest. Just like that one phrase in a song that gets stuck in your head ... emotional component, emotional component, emo ... The more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I became. Meanwhile the invisible beast was still squeezing the breath right out of me.

      Finally, the earworm won. If the asthma had any kind of emotional basis, what might it be? This turned out to be a smallish question with a biggish answer.

      Once I let my guard down, it was game-on. There were clear signs that all was not well. I was stressed and precariously close to being overwhelmed. Riddled with self-doubt, I was constantly unkind to myself. And if I hadn’t got sick, I might have stayed that way for the rest of my life. Or maybe something else would have broken under the strain of holding myself together.

      This getting-myself-well business was a much bigger job than I had imagined, and I was pretty lost. So I did what I always do when I’m stuck: I made a plan. I decided to try everything and anything until I found what worked.

      If I’d known how much time it would take and how much it would cost, I might have gone for the drugs. As it happened, I learned two things about healing: it follows a wobbly line, and it takes as long as it takes.

      ––––––––

      Just letting you know

      I have written about the sexual abuse that happened to me as a child. It was a definite decision to include this part of myself and my writing. It felt disingenuous to keep this part of myself hidden. But more than that - if I let fear or judgment keep me quiet, then it would feel like I'd become part of the problem.

      The chapter called 'Playing Hide and Seek' is about childhood trauma. The stories 'Some kind of murky grey' and 'It was done' also touch on this subject.

      I’M LOVINGLY CAUGHT

      (Coming home to yourself)

      SURRENDERED

      ––––––––

      ALMOST FORGOTTEN

      ––––––––

      IT IS FOR ME

      ––––––––

      MY OWN MADE EARTH

      ––––––––

      JUST NOW

      ––––––––

      AMBUSHED

      ––––––––

      SAVED

      ––––––––

      WHAT REMAINS

      ––––––––

      JANE O’SHEA AND DISASSOCIATES

      SURRENDERED

      ––––––––

      My tea cools down beside me

      as I sit down to stress

      ––––––––

      I watch the wind dance through the long grass

      which needs mowing since last I looked

      The washing drying in the breeze

      as the sun strolls from cloud to cloud

      ––––––––

      All around me

      life is happening without effort

      And here I am

      in the middle

      incessantly trying

      struggling with this

      urgency about that

      ––––––––

      Overlooking the uncomplicated fact

      that life is already happening

      ––––––––

      Foolishness still prevails

      as I try not to try

      ALMOST FORGOTTEN

      ––––––––

      Tucked away in a corner

      behind the have-tos and the everyday

      are the ideals and ideas we once held so close

      ––––––––

      Now and then

      we need to go in

      and have a good rummage

      to remember what’s still important

      Don’t wait for the crisis

      ––––––––

      It’s already getting late

      ––––––––

      All that was put away for later

      in those safe

      almost forgotten places

      ––––––––

      Time to make sure nothing

      is left out or left behind

      IT IS FOR ME

      ––––––––

      From its winter freeze

      the icy heart-melt begins

      and love starts to flow

      ––––––––

      Fresh new water

      pours from the lonely mountains

      down through the quiet valleys

      moving over warming rocks and rich earth

      ––––––––

      Winding through the plains

      warmed in the sun

      curling its way here

      to awaken my body

      and bathe my aching heart

      ––––––––

      And to my surprise

      this spring flood

      of utterly tender love

      is not for another

      It is for me

      MY OWN MADE EARTH

      ––––––––

      There is one place I like the best

      A place that most people

      would never guess

      ––––––––

      It’s here

      with my hands

      deep in my compost bins

      All four of them

      large and in a row

      ––––––––

      Full to the brim with waste and scraps

      seaweed, weeds, horse poo

      and grounds from my local coffee house

      ––––––––

      Musty smell of rotting

      feeding the worms and the microbes

      The damp warmth

      and rich dark brown finery

      of my own made earth

      ––––––––

      Then lugged and dug into the garden beds

      for the vegetables, for the flowers

      for my sheer delighted pleasure

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