Why I Stay Married to a Gay Man is a personal, intimate story from an anonymous author. I married young, at 19, bright-eyed and hopeful, and in a few months, we will celebrate our 29th anniversary. Like all marriages, we have had our share of happy and sad, growing together as the years passed us by.… Read More
Some folk leave their marriage or long-term relationship with elegance and grace. Some of us have catastrophic break ups that leave us cowering under the covers for months, if not years. When we move on to a new relationship, we bring with us a truck load of heavy baggage. And as our new relationship turns… Read More
Every few days I scour the pages of seek.com looking for a job. It is a bit like looking for a date on RSVP. I filter out the ones that are too far away, too boring and too conservative. My days of wearing a pencil skirt and blazer are over. But unlike internet dating where… Read More
You, who are approaching the end of your fertile years, hear the call of the sea.
You ache for the cool water to ease the hot blush on your face, to soften your dry elbows and erase the lines around your eyes.
As I read about the path taken by women in traditional stories, mythology and fairy tales, I was struck by how our own lives follow this pattern.
The curious thing is that most of us don’t realise what true transformation entails.
I’ve come up with my own reasons why Mr Smith’s kind of marriage isn’t for me.
1. I am an independent, self-sufficient woman and I don’t need anyone else to make me happy. Being in a loving relationship with my boyfriend brings joy to my life, but I know I could be happy on my own.
We moved house this past weekend. Our new place is ten minutes further up the coast, and is nestled in the bush on the side of the hill.
This afternoon I will attend my ninth Bikram Yoga class in ten days. This experience has been life changing. Here are the things that have changed.
[Guest Post] My name is Célynne, and I am HAPPY! My life is exciting and fresh and there are so many possibilities in front of me.
Aged and battered like the cracked bowls the Japanese fill with gold. After the bowls are put back together with seams of molten metal, they are more precious, more durable, more prized.
On my left wrist, scratched into my skin is a red heart with angels wings. It reminds me of my birthday three years ago when Shelley and I sat under the needle at The Illustrated Man and got our tattoos. It was the last birthday I spent with my husband.
It wasn’t until we moved this weekend that I realised that I needed to get away. It feels like I’ve cut the cord to my old life and now I am free. Free to start afresh where there are no memories of my old life, in my old suburb.
Two and a half years ago I threw away everything that belonged to my married life. I started again without a toaster or a vacuum cleaner or an iron.