Unraveling layer by layer

It’s been quiet over here on my blog. To be honest, I have felt like I had lost my voice. What I have come to realise is, like an ocean has high and low tide, I feel as though that is the perfect way to describe the ‘going on’ inside my head. Mirroring the ocean, the high tide represents my thoughts screaming to be expressed, low tide where they just surface and I wonder if they are worth giving a voice.

For months I have been traveling inward. Listening to the messages I receive and acting upon them even when they are confronting and scary. I wasn’t sure if this space was the place to give my thoughts a voice? After all my pondering, I decided this was the perfect space to let my words soar.

I think it all began when Parker was 6 months old. I was wrestling with the ‘old’ body syndrome. I was no longer my old body and I was in a body that didn’t feel at all like me. Flesh was thick, I was uncomfortable and most of all, I was struggling with the enormous love and gratitude I had for my body giving me another gift (our baby), but I couldn’t get past the thick flesh and all I wanted to do was hide. What if someone noticed the weight I had gained,  and thats when I decided that going out was too hard for me emotionally.

It wasn’t until I embarked seeking a Wellness Coach that beautiful Amelialistened and asked me the question, ‘who is Belinda without all the roles and all the labels?’ It was then I no longer felt shameful for my feelings and I cried. I cried for what seemed like hours. I was once sure of who I was and now I was navigating my way to find myself and it was daunting. A beautiful messy picture. I am imperfect and I am perfectly me. Those months ago I had thicker flesh, sadder eyes but knowing I could return home to me was exciting. All the answers I need to know were within and that’s when the high tide wasn’t as loud and calmer waters followed.

For five months yoga and mediation have been my constant. It was really there on my mat emotions purged when I could not do an upward facing dog and opening my chest hurt and coming through my vinyassa with a heaver body was difficult. I felt like I was suffocating and that was when I fell to my mat and cried. Tears of frustration, tears of suppression and tears of loss. My gorgeous yoga teacher in her soft voice helped me to child’s pose as my body felt paralysed and gently rested her hand on my back saying the words, ‘It’s just a story, it’s not real’. She repeated again and again.

After that class the unraveling really began. I really began honouring me. It became less about the weight and more about self-love. I recall another yoga class when my yoga teacher quoted Kurt Cobain ‘wanting to be someone else is a wast of who you are’. I removed myself from people that I felt I couldn’t be wholeheartedly who I was. It suddenly became less about them and more about me, I became angry at how I have allowed loved ones to treat me, I spoke gentle with myself and the words I expressed started to shift.

A few weeks ago I stepped completely out of my comfort zone, hopped on a plane and went to Melbourne. It was there I really opened up. I opened to a knowing of what I truly deserve.

It began in yoga class. Tam and I rolled out our mats looking at the beautiful serene ocean and I knew I was where I needed to me. On my mat I was excited to share this space with Tam and once it wore off and I was challenged in the class I became unsure? I saw my reflection in the mirror and I was disappointed. I was disappointed that I weighed myself on scales that morning… I never do. I was disappointed that whilst I had lost a lot of weight I told myself it wasn’t enough. It was looking back at my reflection that I saw a glimpse of a girl months ago buried in shame and it was when after class the yoga teacher told me she dedicated the class to me, I smiled politely and when I walked out the door I became angry. Angry that I spoke to myself the way I would speak to no other, and it was during that day that ‘old’ eating habits tried to creep in.  I was incredibly grateful that my darling friend saw right through me, asking me questions and when I requested for her to take me to McDonalds she stopped the car in front of an organic store.

We came home with beautiful nourishing food and I asked Tam to message her yoga teacher for me. When Rita replied with ‘She can handle most of the things (life and yoga) but she needs to believe she can’. I stood there in the kitchen and cried. I gulped through words that have been suppressed for years, Tam held my hand and asked me what I needed and I responded with, ‘a bath’.

It was lying in water, my comfortable that I knew that hiding the parts of me doesn’t serve me or anyone. It was lying in water looking down at my naked body I was actually honouring it. I am honouring all my little releases, I am honouring it every time I practise yoga, I honour it every time I fuel it with whole foods and all those months of struggle, moving forward need to be celebrated. Striving for perfection or caring what other people think is completely irrelevant. I am the only opinion that matters and watching my thoughts, realising when they are serving me for my highest good will always alter my chapter of life. And the beautiful part, it can always be rewritten.

Imperfectly perfect

There are somethings only a best friend understands, especially if your bestie loves film as much as you do.

Last weekend after Liz and I finished shooting a wedding, we walked to our cars and it was there we loaded my first roll of film in my new camera. Oh my goodness, I was giddy with excitement. When I heard the film load I squealed and grabbed Liz’s arms. The unknown would not be revealed in seconds like it is on my DSLR, I would have to be patient, trust the process and enjoy the journey.

I quickly dragged Liz around to the side of the building and asked her to stand in front of the doors. Her love for the number three was there and my love for old wood and textures were present. It was perfect. I pressed click and jumped. It would all be revealed in good time.

When I returned home from work that sunday afternoon, my babes were waiting in our front garden. I didn’t unpack my bags, I just left them by the gate, took out the camera and clicked away. I will admit, I was overly excited and I did not really consider composition etc, I wanted to finish the roll and pray that my camera actually worked.

It took two days for me to finish the roll and immediately I express posted it to Raw Digital & Film Lab . Less than ten days later, I received an email telling me my scans were ready to be downloaded. My heart thumped. I downloaded, saw the thumbnails, gasped and then my eyes filled with tears. I was elated that the camera work, which would allow my to keep shooting film and the images were imperfectly perfect.

My love affair with film continues…

Life Captured

A while ago, that only seems like yesterday, I attended the Life Captured workshop hosted by Trish and Ronnie – two creatives who I admire.

As I was cleaning and sorting today, I can across my notebook from the day and thought I would share the words from the first page. These words were written within the first hour.

‘I chose my life! I want to remember it all. I want my babes to see my images and ignite memories. If they don’t remember they will make up a story to coincide with the image that created an emotional response. I want them to read my handwritten words and fall in love with my writing – words written for them, raw,organic and very real.

My wish is they will feel the indescribable love I have for them and the way I view them and the world we live in. The details and connections and the beauty. Their beauty.

Life captured. Their life capture. My life captured.’

That is why I write my blog, journal my thoughts and capture all the beauty I do behind the lens. Memory keeping is treasure. Our treasure.

Excerpts from my journal: Actions


Photo prints to add to my journal

I have all the words. They swirl. They dart this way and they dart that.

They want to be written. They want to be read. I stare at the lined page but I cannot bring them to life.


Slept in. Headache. Parker slept with us and I am left with his sweet scent on my pillow when Mr.Kypo takes him downstairs, allowing me to sleep. Mr.Kypo needs sleep too. He selflessly gets up. He creeps down the stairs. Not long later, Lotus comes in and kisses me, turns and creeps down following them.


I have longed for Parker to sleep through the night. My body aches and craves for rest. How ironic, this week he has started sleeping through and I am missing our time in the hours of the morning feeding him in his rocking chair, our warm bodies close. I miss when Mr.Kypo would feed him during the night and I lay in our bed on his pillow with inhaling his smell speaking gratitude that I picked him to be the Dada of our babes.


I exploded with pure frustration. I yelled, I was mean, I felt remorse, I felt guilt, I felt shame. Deep shame. It was heavy. Viscous words spoken that could not be erased. I apologised. I reasoned with him why I was so frustrated and how I need him to listen to me. He accepted my apology. Did he accept it because he knew I really meant it or did he accept it because I am his Mama and the unconditional love he has for me?

It is days later and I am still thinking about it. I can see his face when I yelled at him. He is not thinking about it at all. He sees me with the same loving eyes. The first woman he fell in love with and speaks such sweet words. I make another promise with myself that when that fury is in the pit of my stomach, I won’t lash out. I won’t snap at anyone. This time I will recognise and keep.


“Mama, they don’t have the size you are after in that style’, she said to me in front of the change-room door with all her innocence. It is just a number to her with no meaning.

Suddenly, my stomach felt ill. Self-love dissolved and self-hate made a strong appearance. I feel confused. My eyes filled with tears as I saw my reflection in the mirror. I start to loathe my appearance. I wipe the tears, compose myself knowing my daughter is on the other side of the door and I don’t want her to ever have the same relationship with her body as I have with mine.




“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.”

Lotus & Parker: Always close and always near. I love watching him watch her.
Noah & Parker: Always with each other. I love that Parker is completely disarmed with Noah’s touch.


{Tea with me} A loss of rhythm

The kettle has boiled and I am sipping on chamomile tea as I type. Chamomile tea is known for it’s calming effect. I need a need a big pot because; calm is something I have not been. I feel as though I have lost my rhythm.

It doesn’t seem that long ago that my days had a different beat. Days were filled with nursing our baby in our open light-filled lounge-room, where the corner of our large lounge would invite me in and I would close my eyes as the sun hit my face every morning. I had our baby in my arms and I would cuddle him, nurse him, smile at him and swoon as the minutes ticked and the hours past. The only need for us to leave the lounge was for tea and food. Mr.Kypo took care of the rest.

My days now are a fast rhythm and I can’t seem to keep up with the beat. There are some nights I rest my head on my pillow and my body seeks comfort in our bed and I dream of those slow days.

I have returned to work much earlier than I wanted. Rather than fighting the resistance I felt about this, I laid down the armour and surrendered the fight.

Before the surrender there were tears, gulping tears, screams and an outrage of anger and resentment. I didn’t want to leave our baby with Mr.Kypo. I wanted him all to myself. When the resistance past I could see clearly. I could hear reason.

We own our businesses that I run and financially we could not afford to have both Mr.Kypo and I at home.

Since returning to work a few months ago I enjoy them. I am inspired and enthused to be the best Educator I can be, however,  I feel as though I have let my family down.

There are days, I walk through the door without patience and I am exhausted. I wander our home and see mess and unfinished tasks and it consumes me that I cannot manage it all.

I snap at Mr.Kypo and the kidlets when they cannot read my mind and fear is running through my body. When I manage to breathe, I vow I won’t take it out on them again.

Some nights when I cuddle our baby before he drifts off to slumber, I look into his eyes with question and wonder. Does he know think I have left him when I leave and wait for my return? Does he miss me? I know he misses me. They all do. Their faces say all the words when I walk through the door. Their touch. The arms that wrap around my neck, the smothering of kisses and none of us want to let go first.

I am reassured that these thoughts of loss, guilt and lack of rhythm pass. They did with the other kidlets. But, for now I tell myself to continue to push down these feelings and replace them with immense gratitude. Gratitude for the businesses that allows me flexibility and for a rocking husband who is a present devoted husband and dada.

{ tea with me} memories from a cup

The kettle has whistled. Oh, I love our whistling kettle. I listen attentively as the boil gets louder and louder and when it whistles, I am overjoyed thinking about sipping the warm cup of tea.

Today I have peppermint tea in my teapot. The teapot wears a colorful cosy to keep my tea warm incase I get distracted, and this allows me to always have warm tea close by.

I pour my tea into a Peter Rabbit mug. It was purchased for Lotus when she was born. I had the same one growing up. Peter Rabbit was one of my favourite stories from my childhood that my mum read to me.

I regret leaving that mug when I left home. Whenever I drink my tea from Lotus’ mug, parts of my childhood are ignited and the memories are clear.

For today, I am remembering my Peter Rabbit mug belonged to a set and it all lived high up in the pantry, to avoid it being broken. I recall the day I was able to drink from it. To me it affirmed, I was grown up. I graduated from plastic-ware to ceramic-ware. My mum made Vegemite toast and placed in front of me on the table where we ate breakfast, along with the Peter Rabbit mug filled with orange juice. To my surprise as I drank the juice and the mug became empty, there was a little Peter Rabbit on the inside of the mug. What a delight it was for me.

So, here I am sipping my tea with memories of my mum swirling around my head, and I recall her in the kitchen filled with light and the sun against her face, looking out the window to our backyard with the swing set in the far corner, surrounded by the garden that she planted, nurtured and spent a lot of her spare time in sipping her cup of coffee.  All these memories sparked by one little cup and a pot of tea.

What are you thinking about today when you sip your tea?


“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.”

45 degrees here this week which meant only one thing…swim.

Lotus & Noah – Jumping off the jetty.
Parker: Sitting with Mama & Dada watching them in the shade.

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