SLOW

Life Writing

| Sheree

During my time of hibernation, (have I mentioned that here?) I’m resting of course but I’m also writing and dreaming and catching up on the things I want to do with my time and energy.

Another one of my abstracts was accepted for a special publication by Demeter Press around mothering and life writing. I completed an essay in 2023, around my Black Matrilineage and last year I complete an essay around Black Mothering and Creativity. This is probably going to have to be redrafted this year, but in all honesty I was just happy to submit something, as I had a major block around this essay. I think it was because I allowed my creativity and energy to be sucked into other people’s creative dreams and lost sight of my own last year. So when it came to writing the essay my well was dry.

Anyway, I’ve started the reading and writing around my third essay now which is all about Black mothering and fugitivity. I love fugitivity and it is one of the supporting words for 2025. As I mentioned before, I’ve been exploring fugitivity for the last few years and what this means as a practice. So I’m mighty pleased in having the time and space to explore it further and deeper through writing this essay.

While going over my abstract again and riffing off from it, I remember my creative non-fiction novella I created called rubedo. I think this came out in July 2016, after the 2015 shit hit the fan episode in my life. rubedo was my exploration of this time in my life and how I got through it. It was through finding myself after years of repression and not listening to my inner wisdom that I came to be who I am today.

Anyway, I revisited rubedo with this chapter/ essay in mind, realising that 2025 is 10 years since this episode in my life. It sometimes feels as if it was just yesterday. I know I felt it keenly last year when Darkling came out. Darkling is my first poetry collection since Laventille (2015) and the shitstorm episode. And to tell the truth, I’m waiting for the the shit to hit the fan again, as I’m sure there are people picking their way through Darkling as I type to try and find evidence of plagiarism again. As they say once a plagiarist always a plagiarist! It’s not a term or label I identified with then or do now. As that’s not me, that’s not who I am but that didn’t stop people then or now from looking for the evidence to prove/support it.

But I’m not here to talk about that. What struck me about rubedo is the raw honesty of it all. And how writing, writing it all out literally saved my life. I’m so grateful that Ian brae enough to pick up my pen and writing through the shit to now.

Here is what I wrote about my capacity to love no matter what:

“But something does inside die this day. And the days that follow. Something
inside of me, the capacity to have patience and make allowances for other
people’s bullshit was destroyed during this lynching. No doubt, using the term
‘lynching’ will invite criticism. I know when Andy Croft my publisher used the
term to condemn what was happening to me on social media he received a
fair amount of criticism. But I do not use this word lightly.


Ironically, in the months leading up to my death by social media, I was
researching and writing poems about lynchings in America. I was referring to
the postcard images that were collected as souvenirs by the spectators of
lynchings at the time. There were those people who got their hands dirty
during a lynching, who actually tied the knot of the noose, beat the victim,
mutilated the bodies. And there were those who came along to watch the
spectacle. Viewing the death of another human being as just another social
event, a festival, something to be enjoyed. Both killers and spectators relish
the sport.

This in my opinion is what happened to me. A public lynching and
souvenirs where taken. One person on Facebook, joined in the thread of
conversation with a comment as a means of marking it. This person was
rubbing their hands with relish, saying that they didn’t want to miss a thing as
this spectacle was just too good to let pass by.


When I died this cruel death something inside broke. I’ve recently come to
realise that is was my heart that broke that night. I’ve been visualising my
heart with a rose in the centre. This rose is closed. This I read as a symbol of

me shutting down, dying inside, shutting off the natural flow of love from my
heart for my family, friends, for the world around me. My heart was broken, so
I have been denying myself and others love. I’ve been living in fear, fear of it
being hurt again, fear of my heart being broken again, fear to love.
In a way, this had to happen to me. For one, I’ve always disliked that capacity
in me to keep forgiving others, letting them back into my life when they’d let
me down and not lived up to my expectations. I’ve taken on board the
responsibilities of others, thinking I’ve had too high standards and I’d been
unfair. That capacity has been obliterated. I can’t take anybody’s bull shit
anymore. But at the same time, this capacity to forgive is part of my large
capacity to love. And if this is who I’m really are , then I shouldn’t fight it any
longer but accept it.


My true self is my capacity to love, to love fiercely and powerfully. I accept
that now and I’m no longer blocking up my love. I can’t live in constant fear of
being hurt, of getting my heart broke again because then I would not be living
true to my capacity, true to me. I would just not be living at all.“

I’m so pleased that since then I have found others, such as bell hooks and Joy James, who write about revolutionary/ radical love and validate my ways of loving, which at times hurts me but also brings me a while heap of joy also. You can’t love without the expectation or knowledge of getting hurt.

Birthright

| Sheree

Our body-temples are divinely designed to restore themselves, but we must rest in order to do so. For rest is not a reward…it is our birthright. And rest helps us to indulge in soft sacred spaces where we are reminded that we are intrinsically worthy of love, concern, care, and pleasure. – Sensual Faith, Lyvonne Briggs

Present Reflections

| Sheree
Visual journal spread

The weekend passed in a haze of pain. Being in pain is tiring. I’ve been keeping moving, not wanting to sit for too long and stiffen up.

My visual journaling practice has been helping to shift my energy. It’s been spreading positive vibes at a time when I could be feeling less positive. My mobility is compromised and I’m feeling it.

I’m not feeling sorry for myself but I have been annoyed with myself. I’m trying to offer more compassion and understanding towards myself and looking at this time of injury as I chance to reflect and learn.

What would I do differently? What do I need to listen to / heed to more? I was following no one else’s instruction than my own when I said I as going out Saturday. Through sheer pig-headedness I continued on my way, even thought I saw the path was dangerous. I didn’t want to be seen as having difficulty in walking. I didn’t want others to judge me as incapable or old even.

I didn’t want to give up on my plans, on myself, not wanting to be beaten I carried on even when my gut was saying turn around and go back home.

But I got beaten anyway and in a much worse way. I’m learning and listening now because I don’t have a choice.

I’m learning how everything is so precarious and one false move everything can change. I didn’t think I was taking things, my life and body for granted. But maybe I was/ still am.

Things have to change. I’m lucky that I have the time and space to bring about this change. Slowly does it indeed. I’m got nothing to prove to myself or anyone else. And I must remember this. No one is watching me as everyone else is focusing on their own shit.

It’s me who’s putting on the pressure, the expectations, the rules and regulations. It’s me who has to let go and surrender.

She spoke too soon …

| Sheree

My last post was about counting my blessings and having gratitude for the life I get to lead. I’m not saying that wasn’t/ isn’t still true. But maybe I just got ahead of myself.

Saturday saw me striding into town to complete errands over black ice. It was on my return that I hit the deck. Yes slipped on the ice right onto the base of my spine and backside.

I could have cried. The pain. I stayed down a bit to assess the damage. Two men came to my rescue and they were like ice skaters trying to stay up themselves. It was treacherous and really did I need to be out walking?

I walked on home, slowly in pain. Still counting my blessings as it could have been worse. And I’m not just saying that. While out I saw two ambulances coming to the aid of people who had fallen on the ice. Helping people into the back with head injuries. So yes it could have been worse.

Since the fall, yes I’ve been in pain. Heat has been applied and I’m keeping moving, if not but slower.

So here I am giving gratitude again because I can still walk and do things even if just slowly. This fall has made me realise how often I bend throughout my day and how I used to do it mindlessly. Now I’m totally mindful, in my body, tending my body with slow, careful movement which can only make me stronger.

End of week Gratitude

| Sheree
Cullercoats’ Underpass

This week has been a blessing.

This week was back to school week but things could have been worse. A cold weather front has hit the UK. Yes it’s cold up North but it could have been worse. At least we’ve had the light. And it’s remained dry even if each morning the windscreen has been frozen.

I’m grateful because I’ve had the privilege of spending quality time with Miss Ella and supporting her on her journey to her GCSE mock examinations. She’s capable, she just needs to believe in herself more. And that’s where I can come in, for sure.

Cullercoats Bay

I’m grateful because I managed to get into the sea twice this week. And there’s still time for more. The sea produced some big waves which were beautiful and dangerous. There was a lot of jumping waves and giggling like the little girl I didn’t get to be when growing up.

I’m grateful to be able to control where I direct my time and energy. At the moment that is all towards myself, first thing, and then I’m ready for what the rest of the day throws at me.

I’m grateful to nature ( until I find a better way of referring to her/ me/ us) as I take my cues and guidance from her and continue to hibernate and rest and dream. LUSH.

Water – RIver Etive

| Sheree

The River Etive, a river running through Glencoe, Scotland which I had the pleasure of getting into on New Year’s Day. This was my first wild swim of the year, of course, but it was also my first wild swim since November, 2024.

At the end of November, I got two new tattoos. I’ll share them at some point here ( a clue you’ve already seen them somewhere on this site already!). So with tattoos, I’m not supposed to get into the sea for three weeks afterwards. Three weeks came and went, and I still hadn’t gotten in. I could make the excuses of time and other commitments, but really there was fear and again me not taking my medicine.

Anyway, I’ve made a commitment to myself and 2025, to make sure I prioritise myself, putting my needs and wants first. Leaning into the joy and making sure I feel LUSH, more times than not.
I got into the River Etive, as I shared here. Now I’m back home, I’m making the effort to get into the sea. It’s on my doorstep.I have no excuses, and yet, I know 2024, saw me less than ever getting into the sea. I lost my rhythm, my mojo of getting in. I forgot how much I gain from walking into the sea, all year around. I’m not planning on doing the same thing this year. This year, I’m making water, inside and outside my body, a priority, as the rewards are multiple and multiply as the day/ days go by. Whatever it takes, I’m getting in. Watch me!

My Last Journal of 2024

| Sheree

In the lead up to Christmas ( I started in October), we were getting a few deliveries and within each box there would be some brown paper. Padding, for safety and probably there to be discarded. But I loved the feel and sound of it. So I started to keep it and before long I got myself a nice little pile of brown paper.
I started by tearing the large sheets into A4ish sized single sheet of brown paper. Of course sometimes my tearing went awry. But no matter, it made that piece more unique and raw. Once I got a pile of sheets, I proceeded to apply acrylic paint to both sides. The colours my heart desired. I loved the mix and the new colours that were created through the process. I threw some white copy paper in the mix too, adding colour, smearing it with my trusty Costa card. Once dry, I folded each sheet and created a book with them all.

The cover and the middle section of this journal, are not my own artwork. This was gift wrap I received some goodies from across the pond a few years again from a friend. This friend, Jo, made the wrapping paper herself. She was a follower of Earth Sea Love and for a while there I had these pieces on my bedroom wall. After the decorating of my room, these piece never got back onto the wall but I wanted to use them still . And not let them go to waste, as I do cherish them.

With the book constructed, I just started writing in it for my morning pages. Not really sequentially either, but drawn to each page by the colours or the feel or the jagged edges. I loved working in this journal through December. I loved the feel of the pages and the sound as the pen scrawled across it, the rustle as I’d turned the pages. LUSH.
That’s what I do now, now that I’ve moved on to my new journal for 2025, I’ve been just sitting and turning the pages, and smiling at how this has made me feel.

I share this joy with you now, as I share my last journal of 2024.