A poem for today.

Several conversations have occurred in the last few days. Perhaps it's the Christmas spirit? Perhaps the spirit that is bigger than the rest of us? Or am I grasping at straws as I attempt to negotiate my new life?

I move towards a new type of independence. One that I have struggled against, longing for the alternative. One which all my upbringing tells me should be enough, be fine. But it's not.

I'm 33. I'm single. I ache for a child.

I don't want your pity. I don't want to be patted on the head & told another story about how you found your loved one. I don't wanted to be told that I'm attractive, that I should move, that it'll all work out.

Because it might not. And it's about time I start to accept it.

What I do want is the chance to grapple with this, in a way that talking doesn't. A place to hope, but at the same time to doubt. A voice - not a plea.

Because I'm not desperate, although I sometimes feel it. I have a choice. I am strong and resiliant. I have an income. I have a career. I have an education. I have my own house. I have friends and family. I have had the chance to love.

I have much to be thankful for.

Most of all, I have the ability to reflect. So please join me.