A Note from Nic
I don't usually add a note, but the author of this article holds a special place in my heart. It’s the story of my oldest friend, Casey. We’ve known each other for over 40 years, she was my co-conspirator as a kid, my confidant as an angsty teenager and my support network from afar as an adult. Looking back at our shared memories, I’m reminded of the lasting power of
friendship, no matter the distance or time.
Casey is the author of James and Elle, a debut novel that offers a deeply emotional and resonant portrayal of navigating the challenges of PTSD and addiction. You can find her book here Home | Casey Rae Author
I’m incredibly proud of her, sharing her journey in the hopes of inspiring others. So, welcome to “Your Goddess Phase,” as Casey beautifully puts it.
If something unexpected were to happen to me, I am content in knowing my life has been filled with adventure, experiences and joy. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life and wish to live for many more years to come, and to watch my wildflower children grow into adults and raise their own families (if they so choose!).
Reflecting on the past 41 years of my own life, there have been many rocky escarpments and steep cliffs I nearly went headlong over. However there have also been many meadows of bliss and moonlit evenings of dancing and laughter - memories to treasure.
My childhood was a mixture of adventure and freedom, and a darker side of stolen innocence. The latter did not fully resurface until I was in my mid-twenties. It is strange how that happens. In my early twenties I traveled (probably to escape and run from my demons) and I experienced such life-affirming moments while I trod on many lands. It was in Morocco where I decided to become a teacher (an idealistic view that education could solve poverty! Insert frowning face) and it was in France where I enjoyed - the very acceptable- red wine at midday and cigarettes for dessert. It was in Namibia where I fell in love with the colours of the desert and the way the landscape would completely transform in the wind. I now realise that my life’s journey is just a piece of sand in the greater landscape of existence, and that in only moments life could transform.
It was not until my lover and partner of over a decade and I traveled Australia that we decided to have children. We were sitting around the campfire on a remote property in Queensland. We had often talked about not having children, but now we were humbled by nature, awed by its beauty, and with a belly of wine, and the carefree attitude (which comes with a life without children), we decided it would be a shame to not show a child this magical world. And so, at 33 I had my daughter, Iluka, and then 37 when I had my little boy, Remy. It was with parenthood that I found a deep respect and love for my body. Prior to this, I had undereaten the right food, overeaten chocolate, and was a daily red wine drinker. When I fell pregnant, I fell deep into the literature of Ina May Gaskin (if you haven't heard of her- she is coined ‘mother of authentic midwifery’ and is in the National Women’s Hall of Fame) and I read story after story of the home-births she supported, where women were encouraged to trust their bodies. She advocated for women to birth the way they wanted, with love and gentleness; without the fear and the medicalisation of a natural process. It was not until here, in my mid-thirties, where I started to trust my body and the cycles it goes through. Recognising that this choice is not for everyone, and every woman’s birth story is unique and their own journey; I free-birthed my son, Remy. On a summer's day in my bedroom, while my distressed 71 year old mother caught him, and my two year old daughter hid in the built in cupboard until her Dad arrived to lift her up! What a comical scene (not traumatic!) and I will remember this as a beautiful, furious moment of trust and generational wisdom.
I think that my early childhood trauma, where power and voice was taken from me, has enabled me to seek autonomy and control over my own body. For example, where I used to despise my periods, I now look forward to the rhythm and flow of the cycle, knowing each week my hormones are offering me a new opportunity to shed what I no longer need, and heal what remains. Can I say how much I love the uterus? Ha- what a powerful organ! No other organ can grow another organ!
Ok, I won’t go too much into the admiration I have for our yonis, but I would love for more women to love and respect their innate ability to ride the waves of change and embrace new beginnings. As I move slowly towards menopause, I am gentle with myself about the changes I will go through.
I love how menopause is beautifully known as “the Goddess phase”. Moving towards my own Goddess phase has allowed me to unravel my childhood trauma, and begin healing my body and in turn, my inner child. Her story matters, and the fear I had around vulnerability and victimisation is beginning (slowly!) to unfurl. So, earlier this year, I wrote a book, titled “James & Elle”. It was not just a ‘book’ to me, it was a deeply personal story about a brother and sister navigating childhood trauma, and the reverberations it caused in their adult lives. It is a tender story about the nuances of walking alongside the wounded, supporting someone through their struggles with mental health and addiction. The release of my book brought a tsunami of feelings- the vulnerability; the fear; the exposure!
“What if they hate it?”
“What if I am sued?”
“What if they don’t believe me?”
“What if they do believe me?”
And the inner voice continued…
Yet here I am. A mum. A teacher. An author. An advocate for survivors of child abuse and violence against women.
There is strength in aging. There is freedom in aging. There is healing in aging.
I can’t wait to see what the next decade brings, when I am finally a Goddess!
Casey Rae
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