Mountains and Molehills

Today's picture is from a project I'm doing about South African street kids. This little acrobat lives in the utter horror of a beaten, raped and glue-doped street life, yet this is what he does with an open space and an ounce of permission to use it. I have this on my wall at home and sat staring at it yesterday in the midst of my own odd aftermath.

This week I've been trying really hard to get a grip. Despite last week's initial calm response to being robbed, the impact of having the tools of my expression stolen has hit like a demolition ball in the gut, and I have hurt a lot these past few days.

But I have really tried to keep perspective and look around me at what else is still going on in the world. My house hasn't blown down in a tornado, no one has been physically attacked, and I am now over the feeling of being scared in my own home at night.

Is it all relative? I don't think so.

It doesn't do to get into the game of competitive trauma—if something rocks you to your core it's still significant, whether personal bereavement or burning toast. That's not meant to sound trite, but just to suggest (having come up against some surprising issues this last week) that if your 'relative' molehill is feeling like a mountain then there's probably good reason. Give it the attention it needs, and get help doing so because other people can be great in helping you get the real measure of it. Don't be afraid to call everthing to account. If it does you in, okay, but don't let it go unquestioned.

Thank you to everyone who has been in touch and poured a lot of love in my direction over the last week—you're brilliant. The tears are slowly drying up and I think it's going to be okay. x


{Today's soundtrack: Stevie Wonder - anything you've got!}