I love the tactile feel of using pencils, paints and so on to create. This post is the beginning (of this story) featuring my own writing and illustrations. Read more ...

An article to encourage recovering joy after deep hurts, loss or grief. Inner healing.

Future You is an exercise you can do regularly. Keep your pen and journal handy for writing afterwards.

Recently I had cause to look at the connection meaning of the gazelle in relation to myself and ageing - and another season of life.

In my youth, many girls of our age had learned to sew early on. I remember that I made it from silver lurex material

Creating a circle of shapes - mandala - is very satisfying. Mandalas can be found in nature, paintings and in spiritual practice.

There are all kinds of scenarios that relate to the point of no return. It's the same with inner child work.

Post in response to local tragedy. Grief, loss, shock.

What if' possibilities ... sliding doors - parallel planes. I have created this as a self-reflection, journalling piece for you to ponder o

Reflecting on the changes over decades - moving towards feeling free to be me. Impressions of the sad pressures to be a perfect mother.

Anniversaries can be happy or sad - and if trauma is involved, then they can be tricky and bitter sweet.

A Starry Imagining is a poem with a visual feast created by Karen Curran, Australia

Heartbreak and grief are familiar on events such as Mother's Day ... recognising big feelings safely.

Are you someone who recognises that you have a hidden grief? This grief can be so deep within us that it can surface as overwhelm.

Do you remember times where you feel as if you have been thrown to the wall? Too many demands, responsibilities or too many pressures ...

We all have inner dragons. We can choose to feed the dragon - feed the anger within us ... or we can use that power for good.

A Poem - Mother to a Child ... Ooohh - today it happened. It seems like I had been waiting my whole life to meet you

Life in the 70s and 80s was lived differently. In matters of women and babies, it was still a time of 'hiding pregnancy' in frumpy clothes.

I was 12 years old when my grandfather died. He had returned, from Gallipoli in WW1 like so many, a broken man. And he loved horses.