This Chapter marks a momentous milestone in my blogging here on Ecency. I've reached 10 whole chapters of my Mommy's Mental Health Blogs. The support has been absolutely overwhelming. I can't tell you how much it means that so many of you have reached out and connected with me and shared in my wild and crazy life stories. They have brought me SO much personal healing.
To celebrate this incredible personal milestone and as a massive thank you to all of you who've been following my story, Today, I'm going to share with you a story I've been saving and stewing over for AGES and I swear the belly laughs, cringing, tears and maybe even a little sympathy rage will be worth every minute of your reading time.
So today's the day I tell the story of dog bites, suicidal ideation, stage fright and our trip to the George Wedding. Please don't get me wrong. The wedding itself, and the bride and groom were tearjerkingly beautiful and the love they professed for each other on this special day moved every single person present, right down to their core. The rest of it, however, was a total shit show.
I guess I've been holding onto it for such a long time, because it's a story of shame. And like any story of shame, we like to keep them in the dark, hidden from light, as much as possible. But the one thing shame hates more than anything is when you shine light on it and share it with other people, so here it goes.
This story made me feel ashamed of myself as a person, a partner, a singer, a dreamer and even as a lover.
To me, this was like the biggest test of acceptance into my prospective family-in-law and I spent weeks if not months before, obsessing about cultural differences between my family and Zaks' family and how they would probably shun me for not being able to speak Afrikaans properly. I didn't want them to think of me as just another stupid English girl, so I kept thinking of other ways I could wow them: with my personality and kindness (cue my obsessive people-pleasing addiction). I was scared of spending a weekend with people I didn't know and pictured myself sitting alone at the wedding, and not understanding any of the speeches.
Along with the fears, I also had high hopes and unrealistic expectations. Aloof and judgy, I thought that my future father-in-law, who Zak was living with at the time, would see how lovely I was and how the family would adore me and would have a change of heart and might even ask me to dance with him on the dance floor. In case you haven't picked this up already, I have massive daddy (and mommy) issues.
Being accepted by people is so important to me that I will turn myself into all manners of shapes of emotional pretzels and this is just under normal circumstances. After dating for a year and a half, most of it during the worst of the Covid pandemic, this was also the most formal and important event Zak and I would be attending as a couple. He was going to introduce me to his family as his future wife and potential stepmother to his children. This was a really big deal.
I pictured tripping over in my high-heeled shoes (after a life in the service industry I only ever wear flats), saying stupid things, stuttering, being to English and of course, worried about my appearance. I had a gorgeous dress, but you know, we all worry that we look fat in that dress. Even if our partners tell us we look beautiful, which Zak did verbally and with teary eyes as we took photos together and relished this incredibly romantic experience together. He curled my hair and helped me with my makeup, held my hand and kissed me gently, beaming with pride as he helped me out of the car when we arrived at the wedding venue. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
We kind of thought Zak's dad was going to chicken out of this at the last minute, as he does with most family events. He even missed Christmas. I could liken him to the Christmas grinch, but the purpose of this post is not to be unnecessarily mean or nasty. Though I'd been relentless in my effort to win his affection over the last year and a half, I had realised it was necessary to come to terms with the idea that I would never be skinny enough, pretty enough, musically talented enough or really just enough of anything to win him over. He seemed to love me in the beginning but seemed to love me less and less as Zak grew, personally, and my positive influence on the children became palpable. He was almost jealous or angry that I was seemingly "taking his place." I don't think he ever really thought Zak would find someone to love him and the children completely, frankly because he had made himself almost unlovable out of a lifetime of unresolved trauma. Some people just get like that. Bitter and lonely and angry at the world for not dishing out the fairy tale they expected. I knew I shouldn't take it too personally, but that's absolutely ridiculous because I take fucking EVERYTHING personally. I'm working on it, I swear 🙈
I imagined the rest of the family might be similar, so I really let my anxiety go for a ride. To calm my nerves beforehand, Zak got his aunt and I chatting on whatsapp. She seemed funny and lovely, but also gave me a scathing lowdown of every family member, including her own daughters and brother. I guess that should have been the 1st red flag. Then she said something else that kinda triggered me, but I brushed it off (I'm colourblind when it comes to flags). She said she can be lovely but she can also be a real bitch: and I'm not paraphrasing there. Those were her exact words. She told me not to be worried about the wedding or nervous as they were all down-to-earth people. I offered to help with absolutely anything I could and eventually, she asked me to buy candles for the centerpieces as choice was limited in the town we were set to travel 400km to for the wedding.
A few days before we set off, Zak's dad announced that he would be coming to the wedding after all. Oh lord. So now that my nerves had been slightly settled about the rest of the family, now I had the 5-hour drive and two-night stay with him to look forward to. Anyway. It was HIS family's wedding after all, and although I was hoping for it to be a weekend just for myself and Zak, both because we'd never been away together and because I knew 48 unbroken hours with the christmas grinch would be painful AF, I was willing to suck it up for the sake of peace and because it meant so much to Zak to connect with his extended family.
So I took the Friday off work, so did Zak. We arranged for the children to go to their other parents/ friends for the weekend, we packed the car and off we went.
The drive up was relatively pleasant, sightseeing along the way. The Garden Route is spectacularly beautiful. If you do ever visit Cape Town, you will clearly see how it's majestic beauty can break even the most tense carpool situation.
Upon arriving in George, we were met by Zak's beautiful cousin - the bride to be - who kindly lent us her apartment for our stay.
Zak's aunt called to say we should come over to visit. I was slightly taken aback when we weren't invited for dinner after driving so far, but also gave them grace as she, the mother of the bride, was probably exhausted.
We nervously piled ourselves into the car, after unpacking, and headed through to the mother of the bride's home to meet the family.
It was really at this point that I probably should have got on a bus and gone home, but well, how was I to know what gloriously disastrous events awaited me?
So we arrived at the unexpectedly dishevelled house and were greeted by a pitbull. I have always had a massive soft spot for animals, big or small, and upon hearing that he was a rescue and a survivor of horrendous abuse, I put on my calmest demeanor: walking and talking as gently as possible. No sudden movements. No loud noises. But he could smell the fear on me. The adrenaline pumping through my veins, and as I tried to shimmy past the truck parked between us and the entrance to the house, he went for my leg. At first it was just like unexpected and sudden extreme pressure and shock. I wasn't quite sure what had happened. I looked behind me, he growled briefly and then ran off. I haven't been bitten by a dog since I was four, and that was a Jack Russel who mistook my hand for the vienna sausage I was holding. I was really totally shocked. I was wearing leggings, so despite me yelping as it happened, I managed to mask it for quite some time until the blood started running down out of the bottom of my leggings. "OH dammit." He broke the skin, I thought to myself. I continued to sit as calmly as possible, knowing that Zak's dad was watching my every move, waiting for me to mess up, and was dropping inappropriate jokes to the family as to why the dog would have bitten me. I laughed and swallowed back the tears. As I noticed the blood leaking, something clicked in my brain and suddenly the pain really hit. I asked for a 1st aid kit and enquired as to whether there was a doctor's clinic nearby, but being a small rural town, we were kind of stuck for medical assistance. I calmed my nerves and sat through awkward sundowners with the family, who I now realised were really rather unpleasant. We left, stopping on the way back to the flat for takeaway supper, some disinfectant and plasters. I knew I needed a tetanus shot, but this was going to have to wait until we got back to Cape Town.
Despite having to listen to Zak's dad moan about how much he disapproved of his entire family I managed to calm down. Thankfully, I was able to get a good night's sleep, and did not get lockjaw in the middle of the night. We woke to a gorgeous day in George and decided to visit the farmers market. This was probably the best part of the trip. Zak's dad mostly just sat at a table while Zak and I explored each stall and it's special homemade offerings. My main reason for wanting to come to the market was because I knew from a previous visit that they had Churros. Oh my lord. If you have never had a churro, you NEED to find out where to get one (or three) I did totally try to fit the whole thing in my mouth, to Zak's delight 🤣🤣🤣
With full bellies and a few hours to go to the reception, we went back to the flat to shower and get ready for the wedding. Getting ready for special events with Zak, whether it's weddings or Halloween has become one of my favourite things in the whole world. He curls my hair, helps me with my makeup and is so good and helping me choose outfits that suit me (and of course show off my er, assets teeeheee! He's incredibly loving but definitely not the jealous sort. He's happier to show me off than to have me hide). I chose a gorgeous floor-length red wine dress with plunging neckline (I was a little concerned about the cleavage aspect, but with the amount of fat squishing undergarments I had on, I had no fear of them popping out or running away, and the look in Zak's eyes made me feel like the most beautiful creature on the planet). All dolled up and gorgeous, we even matched. Zak chose a lovely red wine coloured shirt to compliment my dress and off we went to the wedding.
The venue, the bridal couple, and the guests were all so warm and beautiful and gracious. The ceremony was tearjerkingly soulful and the love exchanged in the vows was tangible in the air.
Photos were taken and the usual wait ensued while we waited for the bride and groom. Eventually, we were all seated. The speeches from the groom's side of the family were incredibly touching. Even with my rudimentary grasp of the Afrikaans language, I was moved to tears, especially by the words of the groom's father. The Brides family was vastly different. Speeches were laced with underhanded malice and unresolved trauma. Awkwardness filled the room and was only relieved by the clinking of Champaign glasses.
After the speeches were over, the usual traditional wedding shenanigans commenced, from the groomsmen games to dancing, to the throwing of the bouquet and the garter belt. Warmth and joy returned to this special day and the awkwardness of ill-intended speeches was soon forgotten.
Still keen to impress, I helped the mother and sister of the bride serve the wedding cake to the entire guest compliment. My arms were shaking from nerves and my feet killing me in high-heeled shoes. I did find it especially hard to walk in them since my left calf had pit bull holes poked in it and was ridiculously swollen, but thank goodness, 20 years in hospitality gave me the courage to serve with as much confidence as I could muster.
As the evening wore on and the guests started to filter out, the best man brought out his guitar to serenade the bride and groom. I honestly can't remember what he sang, but I do remember, like so many things from this evening, it moved me to tears. To see the love he had for his friend, the groom, and the love between the bride and groom themselves.
Zak winked at me and hinted that I should go and grab the best man's guitar and pour my heart out to the bride and groom, the best way I know how. Zak's love for me is boundless and so is his belief in me. I, on the other hand, suffer from horrendous stage fright, and this incident happened just before I started performing live again, since putting my music away 20 years before because other people told me to sit down, be quiet and stay small. I mustered up some bravery and asked the Bride and Groom how they would feel if I would sing them a song. With massive hugs and teary eyes, they told me they'd be honoured. It would seem that they had been looking at the songs I'd been posting on Youtube and were incredibly supportive and grateful that I had offered to play them a song. I then approached the best man, and he gleefully passed me his steel string acoustic guitar. I could feel the paralyzing fear welling up from my toes up to my ears, like pins and needles. Zak guided me outside where I rehearsed and got the felt my way around this foreign guitar. It sounded great. I remembered all the lyrics. I hit all the "difficult" notes. I was ready. Well, as ready as I would ever be.
We walked inside, and Zak's father met my gaze. I saw him physically roll his eyes and whisper to his sister. They both glared at me, these two siblings who to my knowledge were at war, but now unified in the distraction that was me. I could feel them like it was burning into the back of my brain... my heart. But I looked at Zak, then at the bridal couple and then told the best man I was ready to sing.
He placed a chair in front of the microphone and the spotlight seemed to shine directly into my eyes as I sat down. So paralyzed with nerves, I could not push the chair further away from the microphone so it was far too close to me. I noticed a little distortion as I spoke to introduce myself and tried to move the mic stand a little. It was too late for adjustments now and I didn't feel I could ask for help. Zak was standing supportively next to me as the panic inside me became uncontrollably. I looked up and started to play, singing those opening lines and as the words came out the room began to spin and all I could see was those two people, riddled with malice and content, judging every strum and vocal. I sang the 1st verse, and then sang the second verse twice by accident, completely forgetting where I was going or what I was doing. I recovered and nailed the chorus and the bridge and managed to end the song, bringing tears to the eyes of the guests in the crowd. When I got up, there was loud applause, and for the rest of the evening, I had almost every single person present come and tell me how beautiful and moving my gift of song was. Apparently, no one really noticed my mistakes. But they did. Oh boy did they.
We enjoyed the rest of the evening, putting the fears and panic behind us as we danced the night away and were greeted by family of the groom and guests alike, asking us when I'd be releasing my album and when Zak and I would be getting married ourselves.
I knew it was not the performance I'd hoped for, but it did move people in the way I'd hoped. I chose Lady Gaga's "Remember us this Way" because I was learning it for Zak. Because it was a perfect love song.
But as we returned to the flat, after an absolutely nerve-wrecking drive home from the venue in the pitch dark mountain ranges and in the pouring rain, We had to endure another hour of torturous speech as Zak's father ripped into the bride, the groom, his sister and almost everyone who attended.
The drive home to Cape Town was even worse, sparking a horrific migraine in Zak and panic in me as Zak's father drove the car at horrendous speeds. There were a few moments there when I thought I wasn't going to make it back home to my son. Zak's father would not let either of us drive as he had not paid the insurance on his car, so we had no choice but to endure and pray.
We made it home, thankfully, and on the Monday, I went off to the doctor to receive my tetanus shot.
In the weeks that followed, the snarky comments from Zak's father, regarding my voice and my guitar playing that evening got worse and worse.
Then, I got into a rather unfortunate and unnecessary argument with Zak's Aunt on Facebook. We had a difference of opinion. While I told her that her stance concerned me, I also reassured her that I respected her decision. I hoped she'd leave it at that, but it would seem that she could not let it go. She eventually swore at me publicly and told me that I have a horrible voice and should never sing again.
I was absolutely devastated... since, at the time, she had told me it was beautiful. That I was worthy... And then the two siblings became united in their hatred of me. Easy, because instead of hating eachother, they could now direct their focus elsewhere and I became the devil in their story.
After her awful words on social media, the amount of friends and family that stood up for me and called her out and even reported her was utterly overwhelming - both close friends and family of mine to people I've known online but never met.
Despite all this positive reinforcement, I could not get their faces out of my head. The way they looked right into my soul with such contempt as I tried to utter words of love. I don't think it would have mattered how perfect my performance was. They had already made up their minds that I was a failure.
After that, Zak received messages and had arguments with his dad, detailing how shameful my outfit was, that I ruined the wedding by singing and that my cleavage was disgraceful.
A month after the wedding, for the 1st time since my own divorce, I packed away my song file and the suicidal ideation returned. One Friday, while I was completely alone at home, my mom was working night duty and my son was at his fathers house, I ran a bath and put my head under the water with no intention of coming up again.
They did it.
They won.
They broke me.
The buzzing in my ears got louder as my heart beat faster and harder in an attempt to get oxygen around my body. Tears drowned away by water I felt my consciousness slipping. Then in my mind's eye, I saw my son. This vision was followed by every single person who has ever told me to sit down, be quiet, shut up, or believe the shame monsters in my head, and I was suddenly filled with
burning rage
I scrambled to the surface of the bath and swore to myself, that no one would ever NOT EVER have the power to make me feel like that ever again. NO ONE is worthy of my life, my dreams, my spirit or my music. That night I almost lost my life.
A month after, I got up on stage and sang my very 1st live concert since I was in a school uniform. And good god did I mean it when I sang:
"I WILL SURVIVE."
