The Winds Of Change...

...are surely blowing my way, and bringing such a sweet feeling of relief! After months and months of battles in the wilderness, at last I can feel that things are changing for the better.

These changes, though, unlike many before, are slow, safe and solid. For the first time in my life, I feel that new foundations are being built - not a shell, but a new depth of strength and security, right from the core of my soul. And you know what? Bizarre though it may seem, I'm actually beginning to get a sense of deep gratitude for my recent struggles - and, indeed, those of the past - for now I feel at peace. The struggles have at last brought me to a place of clarity and in a better position than I can ever remember.

Yes, the financial issues are still there - but they seem somewhat insignificant now. For, in the place of fear and stagnation is a newfound confidence and energy. It's not gregarious. It's not out to prove anything or shock anyone. It's not loud or "in your face". It's not there even to make a point. It's now something that's now resonating both inside and outside of me at a constant low pitched hum - making me feel a little like the Ready Brek kids with their warm red glow.

So what's happened? What's changed?

In truth, I'm not sure which came first, the chicken or the egg. I'd like to think that by changing my inner world, it has been responsible for making changes in my outer world - perhaps, though, it's been a little bit of osmosis from both parts? All I do know is that I'm no longer daunted by the road that lies ahead of me. I feel ready and able to face the obstacles I must overcome to finally free myself from Happyman and the mess he's left. But that's all it is now, just a mess - nothing more and nothing less. And messes can be cleared away. It's funny, because now I cannot even begin to imagine how my life was when he was around - not even remotely. The life I had then, the person I was then, is foreign to me. Interestingly, Dylan said exactly the same thing this weekend. I made reference to "Cam" about something - and he looked at me momentarily confused. "Oh, him!" he'd said "I'd forgotten he had a real name - it seems as though he was never here!" I chuckled, as once again my wise son hit the nail on the head.

For perhaps that's key - indifference is THE difference? Perhaps, for me, I've finally "let go" by completing the mourning process properly for the first time? Perhaps the on-going battles have given me the opportunity to clear up old messes as well as the present stuff?

 

Allow me to explain...

During my lifetime of study and self-development, I've often had the instinct that perhaps there was still something left to deal with around the sudden death of my beloved father when I was just four years old. Until recently I believed that I'd already explored every part of that situations - that I'd gone in to every emotion and healed every wound. But the gift that has come out of my husband's worst betrayals, is that I've been given the opportunity to explore all those emotions again - and found a new freedom as a result. For, like my father, Cam was everything to me and I adored him with all my heart and with all my soul. And like my father, he disappeared overnight with no warning and no recourse.

My pain and fury have at times been almost overwhelming. I didn't know that such strong emotions existed. I'd locked away the intensity and power of feelings from my childhood for fear I would literally die from the devastation should I ever open the floodgates. But this time it was as if I had no choice. This time, each new battle, each new test or piece of unexpected bad fortune, has forced me to feel fully - heart, mind, body and soul. And boy it's been hard work...! This time, though, I've also been open to the love and support that surrounds me. This time I haven't shied away. This time I've let myself fall and get up - over and over and over again. But then, as babies, didn't all of us followed exactly this same process so that we could learn to walk?

And now I'm walking. Tall, strong and with a new perspective. Confident that I'm on the right path, and that everything in my life has led me to this moment. And I feel healed - although, I must confess, I hadn't been aware that I was "sick" in any way.... I just know that now I feel better.

Perhaps, at last, I'm no longer waiting for my hero to come home. For perhaps now, I've finally realised that I can face life on my own two feet.

Everyday Miracles And Perfect Guidance

As a child I remember a cinema outing to see Peter Pan, and shouting at the top of my lungs when Tinkerbell died after drinking Peter's poisoned medicine. 

"I DO believe in fairies! I DO believe in fairies!" I'd shrieked, clapping my hands and stamping my feet along with all the other children in the audience, all of us willing her to get better. I can still remember the tingle of pleasure that ran up my spine as Tinkerbell came back to life.

To this day, I still believe in fairies - except now I choose to call them something else. I call them miracles. And I've been lucky enough to experience a few of my own this week.

You'll know about the recent battles I've been facing. Specifically, how to legally deal with the debts that my husband accrued behind my back - not to mention moving forward with the divorce. It's been an interesting few weeks, and a steep learning process along the way!

Just before Christmas (the day of my 45th birthday in fact) you'll remember, I was faced with the frightening advice that I had no other choice than to sell our family home to cover the debts - that particular deal would also have given my husband a nice chunk of cash, and left Dylan and I homeless and still in debt. I've since been chasing around the houses to find a better solution.

A few weeks earlier, at the beginning of December, a relative in America kindly agreed to pay my legal fees. Since my finances have been so tight that I could not even afford to pay my son's school canteen bill, this had given me a major boost as you can imagine!

So the Christmas break saw me send out an impassioned battle cry to James, a solicitor I worked with many years ago. It was James who fought the court case against my legal guardian, a well-known and highly respected local businessman, so that I could gain legal custody of my sister. James was the only person who believed my story - after all, I was only 19 years old and I accept that my stories of cruelty and betrayal would have been pretty hard to believe at the time. But he DID believe me, and he fought long and hard on my behalf. It was a bitter and complicated case, which dragged on for seven years. But in the end we won. So James and I have a history you see. All those years ago we took on a mighty Goliath together - and we beat him. And I decided that I simply must find a way to get him on my side again for this battle.

I had already tried to hire James in the summer, but at that time I had no proof of an English address, and he simply could not work under Scottish law. Now, however, the circumstances have changed, so I was confident that he would react swiftly to my call.

But the response I received just after Christmas Day (I was in London, with my sister at the time) came as a bit of a shock. His email was unusually brief and factual, stating that he had to go in to hospital and had passed everything on to his colleague, Owen. That was fair enough, but he also added that Owen would likely require a substantial sum of money on account in order to make sense of everything. I was surprised and upset by what I took to be a cold brush-off, and decided that I would research other alternatives before making any decisions.

A friend in London, Katy, who my sister and I have known for many years, kindly recommended another solicitor who had been of great help to her a few years earlier. So contact was made, and we awaited a reply. The Christmas break is a wonderful time in so many ways, but can prove to be frustrating when there are pressing business matters to be dealt with!

I flew home to France on 30th December, and I was finally able to speak with them that afternoon. I spent over an hour on the phone with them - firstly to the person my friend had recommended, and then to a lady who I was told would be more able to assist with my particular requirements. I'll admit, I felt heartened by both conversations, and I dared to start believing that I might finally be able to find a way through the nightmare that was by now overtaking my life. So I spent further hours pulling together countless documents detailing and evidencing my claims. But I was not prepared for the response that came in the following morning. It was a brief impersonal email, asking  me to print out and sign their letter of engagement and pay them £1,000 up front on account.

This was not what I had been expecting. My very first question to them had been to ask whether or not they thought they could help me. And if they felt that they could, then specifically what they could do and how much it was going to cost. I had learned from bitter experience in the summer that solicitor's fees can rocket, with very little or nothing to show for their efforts. £2,600 to a firm in Scotland had bought me absolutely nothing apart from a few letters sent to my husband, and I was not about to make the same mistake again. So I immediately replied to their email, stating that I was not going to sign anything, nor was I going to agree to any fees until I had confirmation of what they were going to do for me. Plus the money was not my own, it was my 'aunt' who was paying the fees, so I felt even more strongly that I had to be sure of getting a result this time. 

It was New Years Eve and of course I made sure to keep my aunt in the loop as she had requested. Although she was very quick to respond despite the time difference between America and France, I was somewhat baffled by some of the points she was raising. She had rather hoped that I would go back to my original solicitor, who clearly already understood the situation, and couldn't understand why I was considering briefing a new firm. I wrote back confirming our telephone conversation a few weeks earlier, explaining again that I believed the Scottish firm had been ineffective. I also added that their unpaid bill now formed part of my unsecured debts, so unless we wanted to pay that as well, we could not approach them again. She seemed to understand, and her questions stopped.

I still had no response from the solicitors, so I shut down my computer and headed off to Ruth and Henry's New Year's Eve party. I tried to put all of this to the back of my mind, but it was difficult to 'lighten up' and throw myself in to the festivities, although I did my best to join in.

The next day was Friday and a bank holiday, so I knew that nothing more would happen until the following week. Monday arrived together with a pre-booked meeting with the Notaire to find out how I can remove my estranged husband's name from the property. My French bank manager had already confirmed that since I've been solely responsible for mortage payments since April 2009, they would be happy to recommend a "desolidarisation" of the debt, which basically means I would be able to take it on under my name alone. In order to do that, though, I would also have to have the house in my name alone. Initial telephone discussions had implied that this could be quite a straight forward process, so I went in to the appointment feeling confident.

That was a mistake. Within just a few minutes, I understood that the Notaire was powerless to do anything without instructions from an avocat, or lawyer, as he had to be certain that my husband was being treated fairly. Once again I found myself in a position where I had to justify my request and my process for getting here. Where once again the law seemed more interested in 50:50 distribution of marital assets - with no interest or comprehension of the circumstances behind the separation. And once again I felt the heat rise in my body and the tears prick at my eyes as I took a deep breath to regain my composure and calmly explain the facts of the matter.

These days, everything seems to be a fight of some sort - and I don't understand why it should be that way. I am, beyond shadow of a doubt, the wronged party here. I have also done everything within my power to put things right every step of the way. But wherever I go, whoever I approach, it seems that I have to explain the story over and over again and fight for justice. I'm no shrinking violet, as you know, but even I am now feeling battle weary from the continuing demands of people who expect my marriage break-up to fit in to one of their boxes.

By the end of the meeting some 90 minutes later, I know that I had succeeded in getting my case across, and I had won a new ally. But it had been hard, and there were still no straight forward solutions. The Notaire had suggested that I would be wiser to get the divorce settled in France and gave me the details of a French-speaking lawyer who was based in England.

By now, this is the fourth lawyer I've contacted. And I spent a further two hours discussing my case with this new firm. His advice, by the end of the conversation, was different again from the previous lawyers. He told me that I would have to find out how far the divorce had gone in Scotland, before he could help at all. He also said that, although the business had been based in England, and despite the fact that the French Tax Office had told me in person that I was to pay my taxes in the UK, it was highly likely that in fact I'd been breaking the law for the past 6 years that I've been in this country. I should be a French citizen, and pay my taxes in France, so we'd have to investigate this and get the French authorities involved. Great - another issue on top of all the others! He also said that there was little or nothing he could do to guide me on debt advice, and that until I had found out about my divorce progress in Scotland, he could do nothing more.

I came off the phone feeling deflated. But I wasn't going to be beaten, and immediately found the numbers for the courts in Edinburgh - both the Sheriff Court and the High Court. But neither were answering the phone.

While I was on the phone to the "Frenglish" solicitor, I had a missed call from Owen. Since I felt I had achieved nothing but a few bruises from banging my head against brick walls, I decided it would make sense to return his call and see what he had to say. But he'd already left the office. The other solicitors by the way, the ones I'd spoken to at length on New Years Eve, had not even responded to my email. Their silence, I decided, spoke volumes.

That evening my whole world, once again, caved in on me. Thank goodness I was alone in the house (Dylan had gone back to his lycee that morning) and could let it all out. The fight, determination and positive energy I'd felt so sure about as I'd said goodbye to 2009 now all seemed to have been sapped from my body, and I looked sadly at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I looked lost. Beaten. Small. Sad. Exhausted. I hadn't expected to be knocked down quite so early in the year, and at that moment I had no fight left in me, so I let go. Dropping down on to the floor, I curled up in to a ball and sobbed. The tears seemed never-ending, matched with strange and uncontrollable noises coming from my throat. I could sense the pain from deep within the core of my soul, my arms instinctively wrapping around my body for protection. The sounds were steady, quiet, painful moans - cries of a heart that is breaking to release the hurts of today, yesterday, and perhaps years previously. 

I don't know how long it took, but I reached a stage where I could finally unfold myself, lie on my back, and breathe steadily once again. I was spent. Emotionally, physically, mentally. I was exhausted, but I also felt clear. So I went downstairs, and made myself a cup of hot tea, which I drank accompanied with numerous chocolate biscuits left over from Christmas. I didn't want to think about anything else. I just switched on the TV and allowed myself to be entertained by the first in a new series of Hustle. And slowly, slowly, I felt the warmth of a smile returning to me.

The next day, Tuesday, I was due to have a meeting with my bank. Beforehand, I decided to try reaching Owen again. This time I was successful. I confess to being more abrupt than usual, simply because I was tired of hearing conflicting messages from so-called professionals, and I was not about to be messed around anymore. But I hadn't needed to be that way. Owen was quick, articulate, understanding of the situation, and keen to explain that I may have more rights than I had previously understood.

Encouraged by our first brief conversation, I headed off to the bank. There, I was to hand over my old cards to be replaced by new ones in my maiden name. My bank manager is a fiery, no-nonsense french woman - the same age as me - who has been right by my side since the day I met her just eight months ago. In her office she reminded me just how far I'd come since we first met, and confided in me a secret. Conspiratorially, she leaned over her desk and told me that for as long as she could remember, she hadn't really liked English people, but that through her dealings with me she had completely changed her opinion! Tears once again pricked at my eyes, but this time they were tears of pride. So I shared a secret with her in return - I told her that she was part of "mon equippe", my team, and that she was one of the people I hold responsible for helping me regain my self-esteem. For the first time ever, we finished that meeting with kisses, not handshakes, and I bounced back to the car with my head held high and a smile on my face.

Home once more, I phoned the Scottish Law Courts - Owen had also said that we'll need to know where we stand regarding the divorce - and spoke calmly and confidently to the lady who answered the Sheriff's Office. She duly searched the divorce files for any mention of my name, and reported that there was nothing on record. I then repeated the process with the High Court - and achieved the same result. There was NO record of any divorce petition having been lodged. So the separation date, 22nd April 2009, had never even been registered by the solicitor I had used for three months last year - she had achieved absolutely nothing for her extortionate bill of over £2,600! 

Furious at their lack of performance, but also rejoicing at the fact I was now free to move forward with Owen (funny how things turn out), I stepped back to notice my good fortune. I may have faced a relentless stream of battles over the past few months, but I have learned so much from each one and, as I'm now seeing clearly, I've been guided along my journey. The blocks or dead-ends I saw as frustrations, have all, in fact, led me to where I am now. In a place where I KNOW I have a good solicitor on my side, who is also telling me that the debts are NOT all mine, and that there is another way around every one of my issues.

Delighted with the result, and my subsequent conversation with Owen, I emailed my aunt to let her know that lawyers fees for the divorce would cost no more than £1,200, although the fees for dealing with the debts could not be quoted since we weren't sure exactly what would be involved. I was certain she'd be delighted with my progress, and I happily set off to see my friend Anna for lunch and a good old catch up.

The next day, Wednesday, found me following up on professional introductions for work, and booking in meetings for my upcoming week in London. Relaxed and finally feeling confident about most areas in my life - sure about securing work, convinced that I had a way forward with my divorce, positive about keeping my home - I was busy on my computer when another friend, Julie, popped in for a coffee. Unannounced, it was lovely to see her and hear all her news. She also wanted to hear how I was getting along, so I happily filled her in with my progress.

She and I both happened to be sitting at the kitchen table looking at something on my laptop, when an email came in from my aunt. The title gave nothing away, but I had an instinctive feeling that something was wrong, so although I kept a smile on my face I asked Julie to "be warned, I may get upset at this"... well, thank goodness I did warn her. To my utter shock, the email told me that there had clearly been a misunderstanding and that my aunt was not prepared to pay for my solicitors fees. To say that I felt knocked down is an understantement. After all the battles and emotional energy it had taken me to get this far, her blatant denial of her written offer to pay knocked the wind out of my sails and threatened to capsize my world once again.

"I won't cry, I WON'T!" I said to Julie, the tears welling up and blurring my vision as I tried to make sense of my aunt's sudden change of tone. "What on earth does she expect me to do? How am I going to get through this? I'll have to wait now until I'm earning good money!" deflated and defeated, I let the tears roll down my cheeks. 

My friend's expression was caring and gentle, and I sensed a steely determination in her eyes. 

"How much is the divorce - £1,200 isn't it? And we don't yet know about the debts? So £2,000 would start you off wouldn't it?" and with that she told me she'd transfer £2,000 in to my bank account that very day, and that I could pay her back once I have some work. 

"I can't bear to see you go through this any more, Mel" she added, as I hugged her and cried, speechless at this amazing and totally unexpected act of kindness "you've found a way forward now, so you've got to be able to follow it through" - I nodded, sniffed, and hugged her closer, unable to make any sound, but noticing that very same Tinkerbell tingle running up my spine...

I cannot begin to describe how grateful I am for my kind friend's timely intervention - I am moved beyond words. And I wonder at the timing of these events - what were the odds of her being with me at the very moment my aunt's email arrived? 

Perfect guidance, everyday miracles, and a real-life Guardian Angel to my rescue. I am deeply appreciative, humbled and also boosted by the process that has led me here. My faith is restored, strengthened further than ever before, and I now know that no matter HOW bad things appear, I am truly guided and supported - I just need to remember that as I move forward. Perhaps that's my life-long lesson?

"I DO believe in fairies! I DO, I DO, I DO!!!"

Friendships Are Better Than Normal Ships

...is the caption on the front of a card I received today from friends and neighbours, Peter and Alison. The card, together with the words they'd written inside warmed my heart and made me smile.

Sometimes it's the smallest of things that create the biggest differences - as I'm learning so well this year.

I've had an interesting couple of challenges (tests?) recently, which have helped me measure how I've grown. Both from people who one would 'expect' to be supportive and understanding. "But why didn't you tell me how bad things were?" come their pleas, when I express my frustration at their clear lack of understanding. In the olden days (just a few short weeks ago) I would simply have kept quite. I would automatically have looked to understand what was going on for them, and put my own feelings to one side.

But no more. As I said in an email to Matt (who, together with his lovely family, continue to support me and stick by me through thick and thin) it's no more Miss Nice-Girl. No more will I seek to understand other people's issues at the expense of my own feelings. Yes, it's true, I still hold 100% with my belief that I will seek to understand before being understood. But the shift now is that I'll seek to understand and support MYSELF first and foremost, so that I can then be truly authentic in my comprehension of others.

There's no bravery or brownie badges to be won in allowing others to walk all over me, or treat me in a way that is worse than I would treat others. But as I now realise, the hard fact is that it's been me (and no one else) who has been responsible for letting this happen on so many occasions throughout my life. And it's me, therefore, who has the power to change it right here, right now. I had always held on to the belief that I must be 'good' and, therefore, allow others their foibles. And on many levels that still sticks. With the proviso, now, that I know I'm already 'good enough' and that if someone is treating me with any less respect than I expect, then I will find a way to let them know. For THAT is how we are good - for if we don't respect ourselves, how on earth can we expect others to do the same?

Big lesson. Small shift. Major changes as a result.

So, last night, when I confronted one of these people, I was amazed and delighted that the person immediately telephoned to 'apologize unreservedly' for their unacceptable behaviour. And, at last, they wanted to know - to really understand - what was happening for me and for Dylan. Some might say well it's a little too late - but I disagree. It doesn't matter when it happens - just so long as it happens. 

And with all the dear and caring friends around me, people who send me cards and messages, those who drop off bags of fruit and vegetables on my kitchen table, people who just 'pop in' unannounced to come and have a coffee with me - these are the friendships that continue to strengthen my resolve and renews my faith in a force that is bigger than me. 

Yes, friendships are better than normal ships - and these friendships indeed serve to lift me up and carry me through troubled waters. And I feel blessed and guided, and am finding the courage to continue making the deep inner shifts that will indeed lead me over the horizon to the promised land that has always been there waiting for me.

Now I'm ready to claim it - for I AM good enough. I always have been.

Hope?

Yesterday I read another chapter from my old favourite, "You Can't Afford the Luxury of a Negative Thought" that has really got me thinking. Referring to the story of Pandora and her box of evils, the reader is encouraged to consider Hope as an evil, rather than the more traditional interpretation. This is what the authors say:

"...when Pandora opened the box, all the evils of the world escaped. The last evil inside was hope. What happened to hope is not clear. Some stories say it remained inside; others say it got out. But all agree that hope was the last item in the box."

Most people interpret this as good news - yes, evil has been added to the world, but we've been given hope so that we can take care of all that evil.

The Greeks, however, considered Hope to be as dangerous as all the worlds evils. Some people believe, therefore, that Zeus provided hope as the worst suffering for humankind. He did not want man to throw his life away, no matter how much the other evils might torment him, but rather to go on letting himself be tormented anew. To that end, he gives man hope. In truth, it is the most evil of evils because it prolongs man's suffering.

As the book says, perhaps if it wasn't for Hope, then we'd have cleared up all the evils of the world - we'd have sent them packing back in to the box! But what Hope does, is allow us to tolerate evil and just hope it's going to go away. So, when I looked at it that way, I realised that Hope, rather than being something positive, can in fact make us inactive. In that respect, I agree with the Greeks that it is one of the worst evils, for it can be insidious and lull us in to a false sense of security.

This, in my opinion, is the danger with some forms of 'positive thinking' - and, indeed, a danger to which I fell foul myself all those years ago when mum fell ill as you'll have read in a previous post. Rather than speaking out or trying to get something done, we instead chose 'hope' as our only sword.  

"I hope it will get better tomorrow" we can sigh to ourselves, while doing nothing to actually create a better tomorrow. By giving in to this particular type of hoping we're actually giving away our power. This kind of hope is the kind of hope that inspires passivity, resignation and stagnation. As Francis Bacon said, "Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper".

Yet I also believe there IS a good use for hope and hoping. One where we use it to lift our spirits, to give us belief, and still take positive action at the same time. By remaining hopeful, choosing to believe that there is a good outcome (no matter the evil we're facing) then we can use that to propel us forward and take action to work through our problems and find the right solutions. To quote the book again:

"You can hope things will get better - as a form of holding a positive image of completion - and that's fine. But if you're not taking specific, energetic and frequent actions to make things better, you've got the wrong kind of hope working for you - or, more accurately, working against you"

So now I am running an automatic internal check each time I find myself using the word 'hope'. I ask myself whether I'm using it as a replacement for action, or as a fuel for action. And that, although a seemingly tiny shift, I believe it's actually a major change - as is so often the case. 

I have a copy of the painting Hope, by George Frederick Watts, hanging in my office. It was painted by my great grandmother, and has with it a letter from the artist, granting her permission to copy his painting. It depicts a blindfolded lady, sitting on top of the world and holding a lyre in her hands. To me, it always signified that there was always hope even in the face of the worst trials. Now, however, I'm seeing it with new eyes. I see it now as a reminder to avoid 'blind hope' and instead remember my inner power and take appropriate and matching action!

It's Personal Now!

Now only 'the chosen' - ie. you - can see my blog, so now I have nothing to hide. So I'll be writing loud, proud, and with no more hidden messages! Right now, after a few glasses of red wine, I'm still wise enough to know I should choose my timing... so watch this space - I promise you some bombshells very very soon!!! (Good job the 'draft' button is private - cos that certainly needs some editing!!!) Lots of love xxx

Bring Me My Soapbox!

And the UK is meant to be a 'developed' country, one where human rights and justice form the backbone of our society? If you've read my earlier soap-box session entitled "Happyman 213, the press and the lawyers"  you'll understand some of the frustrations I've been meeting along the way to rebuilding my life. Well, this latest turn is enough to make your teeth curl.

OK, so as a direct result of  what I believe was my husband's deliberate deception, misappropriation of company funds and fraudulent actions, I have discovered that I'm left with a whole mountain of personal debt that runs in to tens of thousands. And he is totally completely and utterly scot-free, excuse the pun. Because he planned it that way. 

He took sole charge of our finances in May 2008, and assured me that everything was in order and that financial agreements were all being honoured. And I believed him - after all, we were not only happily married, we were business partners as well. Why would I doubt what he was telling me?

But in fact this was far from the truth. He had failed to pay the mortgage for nearly six months. He had refused to pay suppliers. He had failed to pay back even a single penny of the business overdraft that I had personally guaranteed. And behind my back he was funding another life and spending money like water - on gadgets and shiny things for himself. Mountain bikes, computers, a holiday, jewellery, love trinkets, clothes, sports equipment - oh, and of course, the countless sex sites and porn channels.

So, as you know, once I discovered the truth back in April this year, I immediately froze the business bank accounts and instructed an insolvency agency to put the company in to liquidation. It was the best I could do at least to safeguard some money to get our suppliers paid. And yet - even though I personally called in the liquidators, they have still failed to give me details on exactly where we are with the process. Because, of course, they've met my ex in person - and have only spoken to me by telephone and via email. No matter how many times I ask for an update, nothing is forthcoming.

I've also been pushed from pillar to post in trying to deal with the debts that have landed on my doorstep. I accept that my situation is perhaps out of the ordinary, and as a result I've spent hours on the phone to UK and Scottish debt advisors. The messages I've been receiving are really quite astonishing.

Firstly, nobody, but NOBODY seems to be in the slightest bit interested in my ex's mismanagement of funds and deliberate deception. They are not interested that he has deserted the marriage and fled to safety in our home in Scotland where he stored all his gadgets and trinkets that have cost me so dearly. They are unwilling to seize any of these goods, despite the fact that they run in to tens of thousands of pounds worth of value. And why not you may ask?

"Because, madam, the debts you have are in your name. They are nothing to do with your husband." And that is as far as anybody is willing to look. 

But I've done everything in my power to bring the truth out in to the open, and to put things right! I didn't need to freeze the company accounts, I could have taken the money out for myself! I've passed over every scrap of evidence to support my claims that his actions have been fraudulent. But no. None of that seems to matter. All that matters is that the debts are in my personal name and, therefore, it's me personally who has full liability. Full stop. No argument. That is the law.

The latest advice I had just a couple of evenings ago is just unbelievable - and grossly unfair to the extreme. I have been exploring the route of obtaining a Protected Trust Deed through scottish law, because I am still registered as living in Edinburgh. Because of the equity I hold in my share of the family home here in France, this deed would mean that I have to pay back every penny of debt that I owe, plus interest. Fair enough, you might say - and yes, I'm perfectly willing to pay back money that I rightfully owe. 

But now here's the rub. Despite the fact that my husband deceived and abandoned me (and my son) and despite the fact that as a result I've been placed in a perilous financial predicament, the courts deem it just and fair that he has a claim over 50% of the family home. Despite the fact that he is currently living the life of riley in our place in Edinburgh. So this is the course of action I've been told I must take.

I have to sell my home - even though I have a child, my son, living with me full time. The proceeds of the sale will be split 50:50, and my estranged husband will receive his lump sum amount in cash. My 50% share, on the other hand, will go immediately to the Trustees, who will pay my creditors. I will then be expected to make arrangements to pay the outstanding balance.

So, my son and I will be left homeless, penniless, and still in debt. While my ex gets to keep the place in Edinburgh and also benefits from a nice bundle of cash from the sale of the house.

Is this justice? Is this fair? Is THIS what we call a civilised and fair society?

No, it is not. And, needless to say, I will NOT be taking their advice. Instead of which I'm now seeking other ways to deal with the problem - but it's hard work. And it's wrong. I've been the victim in all this, and yet I'm the one left holding the baby and being treated like a criminal. 

I have a lot to learn, and as I move forward with this I realise that there ARE other options I can explore. And explore them I will, for I will NOT lose any more to that conniving, soulless shell of a man I once called my husband and soul mate. 

And once I've found another way - I'm going to shout from the rooftops, and find a way to bring this injustice out in to the open. Watch this space.

I'm Back!

It's been a while, I know, so what's prompted my return? Many things. And I'm not sure where to start.The big thing, I guess, is that it's my birthday. 

Yup, friday 18th December 2009 is a huge day for me in so many ways. I'm 45 (which means I've now officially out-lived both my parents), it's my first birthday in over a decade when I can finally say I'm out of "its" clutches, the day is Friday (my day of birth) and, to top it all, it's snowing! For the first time I can remember since I was very small!

So what's been happening since my last post? Well, to start with, I took the blog down for a while after a major move forward. In response to all the messages and encouragement I'd been receiving, I wrote a book proposal - which was accepted by the very first literary agent I approached; very exciting! So that was why I stopped. Added to which I had reason to believe that it had been noticed by my estranged husband. But the book itself is now coming along very nicely, and I have decided that now is a good time to re-start my personal blogging, it being my birthday and all that... 

I'm in a very different place now from the space I was in on my last entry. Lots has happened - many more challenges than I could have begun to anticipate, and I must say there have been times when I've been absolutely on the floor. But now, somehow, I've found my 'mojo' and believe I have the strength to come through everything that has happened, and anything else that is now going to be thrown at me.

My latest and most profound 'ah-ha' moment happened just a few days ago, last weekend in fact. Too many things have happened over the past few months for me to attempt to explain here and now, suffice it to say that at that point I had hit rock bottom after a series of disappointments despite my best efforts to keep strong. Try as I might, even after throwing myself in to new opportunities with all my heart, it seemed that the tables were well and truly turned against me. And I found myself sinking even further down than I had ever been before - and to top it all I'd suffered an ear infection that, had I still been a scuba-diver, would have disallowed me to plummet the physical depths, and in the meantime prevented me from reaching the emotional levels I had to go to in order to purge myself; the irony is not lost on me.

And yet, and yet... out of those depths that I could only imagine, I seem somehow to have found a new strength, a new lust for life (to quote one of my favourite tracks). This is how I found it.

Last Saturday night, 13th December, I'd gone to bed with the now familiar ache in my heart and blind panic in my mind that I'd grown used to over the previous few weeks.  My financial situation was at an all time low - I had nothing left to sell. The business project to which I'd dedicated the previous two months (and which had promised so much) had suddenly fallen over, and finding work this close to Christmas was proving to be an uphill battle for which I was not sufficiently equipped. But that didn't stop the bills. Electricity, telephone, oil, my son's school fees, mortgage - all reasonable bills that I had no way of honouring, and from which I had no place (or desire) to hide. I was embarrassed, frightened, overwhelmed and exhausted from the fight.

That night, I started reading a book that had just been returned to me. It's an old favourite entitled "You Cannot Afford the Luxury of a Negative Thought" and is a book I've given out to numerous friends and colleagues over the years. That night, though, it had come back to me, returned by a dear friend and adopted family member. It's often said that the teacher or book you require turns up at exactly the right time, and this was most certainly the case for me. I was shattered. I'd spent the evening putting on my best smile, but I knew I was fooling nobody with my jolliness - least of all myself. My skin grey,  eyes sunken in to black sockets,  skin itching and sensitive, I'd gingerly maneuvered myself in to my bed, taking care not to jolt my cruciate-less knee. Once I'd settled as best I could, I picked up the book and opened it's well-thumbed and yellowing pages. 

The words instantly took me to a place of familiarity - a "home" that I'd temporarily forgotten about. No wonder I had recommended it so wholeheartedly to so many people! The book was (and is) a godsend. It's designed for people who are suffering from a life threatening illness - including, as it so wisely states, 'life itself' - and I realised that I had indeed been combating a life threatening situation myself. I may not have had the physical symptoms of an illness, per say, but the depths to which I had allowed myself to sink were certainly life-threatening in themselves. And that was brought home to me by a simple question that was posed in the early chapters of the book.

This was the question. "You have a decision to make. A question you need to ask yourself. For until you are clear, you cannot move forward. The question is this - ask yourself from deep within in your soul, do you want to live or do you want to die?"

It's a simple enough and straight forward question. And you'd think that the answer is obvious. But at that moment, when I read those words, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I could NOT answer the question. In my heart of hearts, from the deepest core of my being, I simply didn't know the answer. And that realisation absolutely rocked me - more than any of the experiences over the past few months.

My blood ran cold, and I recognised that I'd been in a place so dark, so soulless, that I was no longer sure that my life was worth living any more. I've had multiple experiences of suicides - my best friend, two of my mother's best friends, the brother of a best friend here in France, my neighbour when I lived in the flat in Brighton, and perhaps (although not proven) my father. It shook me to the core to think that I had allowed myself to sink so low that I was no longer certain whether I wanted to live or die. And the shocking truth that I hadn't even recognised it for myself was abolutely mind-blowing.

At that moment, the breath went from my body, my mind went blank, and I felt myself on the brink of the black and bottomless pit that was beckoning my soul - and I found with frightening clarity that until now I had almost been willing to accept the invitation. And that was the point when I made my choice. I made my commitment to live - more consciously and with more certainty than I can ever remember. And as I made that choice, I could easily have repremanded myself for being so selfish as to allow myself to sink so low. But instead I had the strange and comforting experience of holding myself in my arms, of singing a lullaby to myself, of forgiving myself for falling so far and so deeply.

So is this what the past few months have all been about? Has my lesson been to find a way to forgive myself? I've spent so long finding ways to forgive and accept the people and situations that have caused hurt to me and to Dylan - but perhaps the person I really needed to forgive and accept had been myself all along?I don't yet have the answers for sure, although I sense that this is indeed the case - but I do know for sure that now I am alive. 

Now I choose to live. Not just to survive, not just to be strong and tough and soldier through, but now - possibly for the first time ever - to actually live. To live with joy. With excitement, with passion and energy, and to truly thrive. This is my god-given right, and I have been denying myself this right for more years than I care to remember. So now, in the early hours of my 45th birthday (it's never too late to learn!) I am finally embracing my life with arms wide open. With a heart that is now pumping with joy - and a new-found determination to thrive, not just to survive. For I am sick of that - and, indeed, I was sick. Life-threateningly sick - to the pit of my stomach and the depths of my soul.

Now I believe I am truly on the way to living with peace of mind. Yes, there are still battles to be fought and won, but somehow they've lost their hold over me. They've shrunk. The battle cries are quieter and the scent of fear has all but disappeared. Now I'm here to live. Now I am on my side. Now I understand myself better than before. And now, finally, I don't need the approval of anyone else.

For now I finally love and approve of myself exactly as I am. And I'm grateful for my life. So now, on my 45th birthday, I feel I've been lucky enough to be born again - and this time, I'll take nothing for granted and will look after the one person who can help me. The one person who has been with me all the time. The one person I chose to ignore. Myself.

Happy Birthday, Mel - life has now begun.