My Own Story

I tired to draw my own story
Today
I sat with my pen and paper
Today
I drew myself first
Today
So I could see me
everyday.
Then I drew my village
placed my people in it
picked a house and lived in it
my story is me.
Then my story needed joy
and I drew all that too
I needed a boy
and I drew him too
but he broke and fell off
but first he broke me in two.
My story flows in and around through and above
my story.
Most times - there are dark forests-
but I don't want to be red riding hood
but I still met all my wolves
on watery full moons.
Then the pencil broke and my canvas flew away.
Now the Artist has taken over
and my story colours are bolder...

Words Matter… Context is Everything.

Following up on my article yesterday about being referred to as being “nice” or “too nice”, I had exchanges with two people on the word nice and how it can be viewed and what it says about the person being described in such a way. I would like to put both responses and then give my own as well.

Response 1: I agree with this wholeheartedly. “Nice” often feels like a shallow label — something people use to box you into compliance, to make you more palatable, or to take advantage of you without acknowledging your depth. It’s a performance that benefits others more than it does you, and it comes at a real cost to your mental, emotional and even physical well-being. Kindness, on the other hand, is a deliberate act. It comes from strength, not obligation. It doesn’t require self-erasure or perfection but instead demands authenticity and discernment. Being kind means honouring yourself first, setting boundaries and then choosing to extend care when it’s genuine. That’s real goodness. You’re right, Moonshine, nice gets you drained, but kind keeps you whole, and there’s nothing wrong with disappointing people if it means you finally stop disappointing yourself.

Response 2: “Nice” is an adjective that describes something as pleasant, agreeable, or satisfactory, but it can also mean kind, friendly, or polite in reference to a person’s behaviour. I think nice is a word that has evolved over time. When you see the definition of nice in the quote, then you may start to feel happier about the word. The bible doesn’t use the word nice, it is true, but the language of the day may have needed more emphasis. I sense your hurt deeply. Try and reframe the word nice to the above definition when remembering, I’m not sure if that will help…

According to Google, the word nice originally meant “ignorant” or “foolish,” derived from the Latin nescius, meaning “not knowing”. Over centuries, it evolved through French and English into a broad range of meanings, including “fussy,” “delicate,” “strange,” “shy,” and “dissolute”. The modern meaning of “pleasant” or “agreeable” emerged in the mid-18th century and is the sense that has become most common today. It is fascinating that although the modern interpretation and meaning are positive, I still felt the negative connotation of nice as a label when it was spoken to me. Nice, based on my readings, can be a dismissive (back-handed)compliment, meaning that someone is viewed as overly accommodating to gain approval. Added to this is the idea that someone who is overly accommodating prioritises the needs, desires, and comfort of others to such an extreme that their own needs, well-being, and sense of self are consistently neglected, often leading to burnout, resentment, and being taken advantage of. So, being called nice is for me an insult because of the situations and conversations in which the word was said. Nice, on its own, can be taken at face value as something good, but even the person using it may not be consciously aware of it. When I look at my life, it has been chapters written by an overly accommodating person who has made too many decisions that were not based on my skills, talents or interests but out of the need for approval by society or people I come in contact with and establish some type of relationship. So I do not want to be nice. I want to evolve.

I want to evolve to just being kind. Now again, according to Google, “kind” has two primary meanings: a type or sort of something, and having a friendly, sympathetic, or benevolent nature. Both meanings stem from the Old English word gecynd, meaning “natural disposition” or “nature,” which itself comes from the Proto-Germanic root kundi-, related to kunjam (“family”) and ultimately the Proto-Indo-European root gene-, meaning “to give birth”. This root suggests an original sense of inherent nature, class, or generation, which evolved into both the concept of a “kind” or category and the sense of natural, positive feelings associated with one’s family, leading to “kindness”. Being kind is all about authenticity. From the definition and explanation above, I want to take the term “natural disposition” and, from that, look at its synonym “innate”. Innate means something that exists in a person or thing from birth, is an essential part of its nature, or is a natural, inherent quality rather than something learned or acquired through experience. Being nice is authenticity that does not require compensation or overcompensation. In the bible, the word nice is never used, but the word kind can be found in several scriptures:

Galatians 5:22-23 -“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

Ephesians 4:32 -“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you”.

1 Corinthians 13:4- “Love is patient, love is kind”

Proverbs 12:25: “Anxiety weighs down the heart, but a kind word cheers it up”.

2 Samuel 9:7: “And David said to him, ‘Do not fear, for I will show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan, and I will restore to you all the land of Saul your father, and you shall eat at my table always. ‘”.

The bible is saturated with examples of Jesus engaging people with truth, challenging their behaviour, thoughts and intentions. Being kind means showing love, being compassionate, forgiving and upholding truth. It means uplifting others, reflecting the love of Christ. Being kind means having the courage to say no, even if it causes discomfort, speaking the truth, even if no one agrees or supports your action. Being kind takes strength, and it takes courage. One of the most vivid depictions of this is the incident where Jesus went into the temple and overturned all the commercial tables, saying, “Get these out of here! Stop turning my Father’s house into a market!”. It was not done to please those people but to save their souls, to save worshippers from exploitation. He was not nice, but he was kind. His motive was to save them and make them aware of their danger in carrying out such activities in the house of the Lord. In that situation, he did not focus on being agreeable or avoiding disturbances; he was not seeking followers and so was not concerned about projecting an image palatable to those he chastised. Further, he did not avoid the truth of the situation by remaining silent, nor did he do it expecting to receive applause. He was not trying to be nice, but he acted out of kindness even if the people at that time did not recognise it as such.

So when I consider all these, I have to say there is a value in being kind and not nice that I want to achieve. I do not want to be nice because nice has kept me silent, rooted and furled tight like a flower that is still waiting to bloom. The bible holds truths and lessons that cannot be negated, and one such truth is the importance and value of being kind. It’s nice to be nice, but it’s much more powerful and freeing to be kind.

My life got better when I realised I didn’t have to be nice. Nice got me run over, stressed out, & disrespected. I’m not nice. I’m a good person.” (unknown)

The Politics of Being Nice

I’m not sure, but I have always felt uncomfortable when people describe me as ‘nice’. Along with the seeming dismissive nature of the label has been this kind of sympathy, which was not encouraging but felt condescending. There was another word they wanted to use, but they were being nice to me. I carried this discomfort until it became a burden. I wanted to shout, “I am not nice, I am trying to be less selfish in my interactions with others!” But I did not do so. Instead, I smiled and pretended that it was the compliment I knew it was not. I did not know why, but I can now unequivocally say, I despise the description “nice”. Because I know it was never a compliment, it was: a form of dismissal, a means of exploitation, silencing and a green light to manipulate. I am not nice.

I realise that being nice can be a social currency, a way to remain in people’s good graces, also known as people pleasing and a way to feel a sense of belonging. However, I am at the age when I no longer want to please, belong or be in anyone’s good graces. I want to ignore you if I do not want to be in your space, to eat what I want, dress how I want, and just be. I am not nice. I have been nice for too long, and the sweet treats I used to receive are like a retriever or bitter, venomously poisonous. I want to retire from the stage, and so I bid, nice, adieu. Instead, I will disappoint everyone and remove the costume. Because being nice is not based on authenticity but requires years of practice – usually in childhood – to perfect a false image, a mask that often slips. Panic attacks, bulimia, anxiety, depression, anorexia and a loss too great to write on this page are all by-products of trying to be nice. So you see, I can no longer be nice. I can no longer lie about things, places and people I do not like or feel uncomfortable with. I can no longer aim for uniformity and conformity. I must bury the dream of perfection, or die.

I want to be kind. I want to be kind to myself by going at my own pace and discovering what it means to be happy and content. I want to make room for myself in my story, and then when I am satisfied, I will build a house and invite a few people over to be my housemates. I spent over 10 years having my energy drained, sucked dry of life by my own mistakes. I will be kind to you based on your intentions and based on your actions. Motivation is critical, and execution is vital. So I will not be nice, but I will decide whether or not I will be kind.

Nice got me used, stressed out and disrespected. I’m not nice. I’m a good person. There’s a difference.” (Unknown).

Breaking Up With Maladaptive Daydreaming…

I spent so much time with you, and now I have to walk away—just like that, just today. The unicorns were great, and as I look back, my heart flips and screams a silent scream, ” I do not want to become a pillar of salt”. I regret looking back; I see the Milky Way and the rainbow – brilliant and true – beckon to me. Suddenly, a hommack emerges to welcome me back to Unreal. Fear claws with delay talons, vicious and true. “What is there to look forward to?”

I am numb, struck dumb by the reality that beckons menacingly. Now, I want to remain. I could stay forever and walk the yellow brick road. Maybe then I could find Freedom, which has been running from me. I never caught it, but it would just be out of reach, encouraging me to chase it and capture it with my net of great expectations. I never did catch it; most times, I could not see it, only hear the roaring of rushing waters, melodious and true floating through the air.

I have avoided those shadowy figures that lure me back into the trap of daily living. My bones grow cold when I feel them growing too close. “Does it make sense to go back? To sit and watch as my fate is reflected in hopeless eyes and zombies of broken dreams. But I want to walk through the path with real flowers, sunshine daffodils, a real path with dirt that fills my lungs before I give it life once more. I want to experience the newness of changes that signal I am still alive and more is just around the corner. “Not all those who wander are lost,” not forever.

As I step away from those dreams, they become cold and hostile, beating at my back. Without looking back, I know they are fading away into mediocrity and into obscurity. A tear hurries down my face, trying to seal the scream building up, ready to overflowing. Those shadows become solid. They become too real. I see the merging of monsters into faces I know and those yet to come…

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to” 

Can I make it in the real?

A Prisoner in Your Head: Maladaptive Daydreaming a Blessing or Curse?

My story is my story not mal not adaptive and certainly not daydreaming! 2024 has been a hard year. It has threatened to drown me. I could not swim. I had no life jacket – only the dreams in my head. I would sit for hours reflecting on my failings and then reject my reality for my daydream. In this world, I create I can be anybody – and everybody. I never fail or make a mistake. I could edit my stories until they satisfied me. I felt free. For a few hours, I was free.

I was the best in my world. I felt no pain. No one hurt me or did me wrong. In my world I was strong. I did not need anybody else. I could build my island and eject or admit whoever I please. But it was mine, in a world where I had no space. I went into my head. I stayed there for an hour to find the grace to come back into my hell for a time. But I knew anywhere any time I could go back and be safe.

“You are falling behind.” “You better pay attention.” No. I can stay for however long I want and the world will stop to let me be. Who could say what hour or the time of day, but me, I made it so. But things got slow in the real world and so my fake world became real and the real became fake and then I got confused. I became locked in my world and lost the key longer and longer each time. I stayed there a willing prisoner and hoped no one would notice or at least would not burst the bubble.

But while they label my world, a “compulsive fantasy” and try to attach blame I remain committed to my prison. There is nothing more important than saving my world, I can allow those childish dreams to die because they were never real. Those wish upon a star dreams never came true and left with what to do I crafted a new world and planted seeds that would take root. While I must physically stay in the world I now hate more and more, I crave the world no one sees but me. I crave it more than food, more than the air I breath

While I wait…

While I wait -
Let me just say
It is not great -
I have to day
I will wait.
I see the glimmer
of hope as it shivers
awake
stretching just so
over the rainbow
so for my sake
I will wait.
Though seas of shadows
lap at me,
they break
then I can see
the impossibilites...
my home
site now is driftwood
on it I shift
see on it
budding olive leaves
peeking up at me,
I smile,
wave hello,
because I know...
I must wait.

Strength Comes…

Strength comes not with facing adversity, but by overcoming them. We no longer want to survive no, for to survive is just about existence. If we are to be victorious in this life we have to get better, gain and overwhelm the adversities. We are told to be survivors, to keep quiet, take the beating now so we can live tomorrow. As for me, I have realised that surviving does not mean you will be in a better place, not stuck in the trauma of survival; always revisiting and feeding the wound. Instead, I want the wound completely healed so I can be stronger and more intuned to making life an endless possibility for possibilities to shine.

When I was younger I almost lost the top joint of my finger. I was opening a tin with a knife and it slipped and the tin cover I had partially opened almost sliced off the joint completely. At first, there was no blood, only a big blob of white mass oozing through. Then, with little warning blood started sprouting endlessly. For some seconds I stood watching the blood as it flowed to the ground, it seemed unreal to me. Then my grandmother came. She had heard me screaming in agony. I had not realised I was crying out quite loudly. I grabbed my finger and bent it back in place to stop the blood; there was so much blood. I was taken to the doctor and a big fat tape was wrapped around it. “You’re lucky you came in time or we would have had to get rid of the joint”, the cut was that deep. The doctor told me that if I wanted to get it as straight as possible I had to keep pushing it forward. When it healed, however, it was not straight. That finger was inelegantly larger than the other hand and had a permanent bend. Of course, I hated it. I tried to hide it and not to use it if I could.

Eventually, I realised three things about that finger. One, it will always be a part of me. So, whether I liked it or not, it was there. I had to accept it in its present state, not how it was or how I wanted it to be. Next, There was a story of survival that meant it had been through something that almost destroyed it but it lived to tell the tale of that experience. Finally, it was strong. It healed in the best way it could, functions the best it can and will remain where it was planted for as long as it has life. The last point was the most inspiring. Yes, it survived, but it had not withered away to a shell of itself. Now it has character, it has presence, and it is the strongest finger I have. Though it is not as beautiful as my other fingers in the original, expected sense, it is beautiful, it is itself because of what it can now do.

My finger illustrates for me the power of one who overcomes. To face the challenge and win means you have been stretched to the point where growth is possible. Where you can evolve into someone who does things you once thought unimaginable. It forces you to test the limits of your strength so you can realise that strength is gained in measures not given at once. Each day an overcomer represents the truth, that in order to thrive we have to be challenged or die a bud and not a flower.