A spider in my hair

Do share in my joy - in February 2024 I celebrated my platform’s third birthday! I’m deeply grateful for your presence and for my website’s growth, worldwide reach and every heart-to-heart connection. Here’s the story of how it started - with a sizeable challenge (apart from the spider …)

One night in February 2015 I woke up to find a live spider in my hair. I did not take it well; I’m afraid the spider ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor. When I eventually went back to sleep, I had alarming dreams in which other creatures invaded my living space – but instead of harming me, they left me with a sense of their inborn strengths.
By the next day a burning desire had settled in my heart. I just knew I wanted to create a website with emotional health and relationship info for – at that stage - young adults worldwide. I envisioned a laid-back virtual space where they would feel cherished and at home.
I considered how the characteristics of the spider – industry, creativity, tenacity, and patience - could help me spin a web of information and encouragement. I hoped my web would be the beautiful, balanced creation spiders seem to shape so effortlessly.

The web comes undone

Within a week I stumbled upon an online business course. It was expensive, but I couldn’t resist. Turning a blind eye to the Rand Dollar exchange rate I dived into my savings. Fortuitously, the course started the very next week.
For months I spent every free moment crafting my concept. To make it happen, I’d need partners and funds. I created the power point presentation meant to bring interested parties on board, but never took it out into the world. The whole thing just sort of petered out.
To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. Why hadn’t I seen it through? Was I weak? Did I lack the necessary drive? I spoke to a trusted friend who said: “Perhaps it’s not meant to happen at all.” I realised she could be right - sometimes one simply cannot know. Life went back to normal and once again I was consumed by my work at rooi rose, the magazine I adored.
In 2019, rooi rose initiated rrRADIO, a collection of podcast series. I was thrilled to be assigned a weekly mental health and relationship series called Tussen Ons. I loved every minute but dreaded the technical side. Thank goodness for my savvy (and considerate) children who helped me figure it out!

An unexpected gift from the garden

Just before our local Covid-19 lockdown period started in March 2020, I fished an unusual piece of plant material from the swimming pool. It resembled miniature deer antlers, reminding me of a short story I had written years before. If you like fairy tales, you can read it by scrolling down. The story involves a princess with an adventurous streak who, with the help of a mysterious old woman, manages to escape from her confined existence. On her quest “to see, to be free …” she is assisted by other unlikely characters. In the story the antlers are associated with the princess ending up in a place where she literally cannot go forward and cannot go back.
I might just as well admit that I’ve never been able to resist identifying with princesses in fairy tales. When I reached this part of the story, I had the disturbing feeling that, just like her, I was about to find myself in a tight spot with no apparent way out.
Still, it shook me to the core when, barely two months later, the editorial team were told that rooi rose magazine was closing down. What was I to do?
My son, daughter and son in law immediately offered to build me a website and provide everything I’d need to get my own podcast series under way. Their generosity spurred me into action. It also set the tone for the months it took to conceptualise and develop this platform.

Threads of love

Before I knew it I’d lost count of the many kindnesses, loving gestures and synchronicities coming my way. Like the princess, I learnt that angels come in all sorts of guises – even in the form of a spider valiantly making its way through a woman’s hair.

So far, more than 100 wellness experts have helped me weave this web of information. The weekly podcast episodes, wellness articles and Up Close & Personal profiles of therapists, coaches and other professionals are designed to inspire you … and lead to you an expert who’ll resonate with you, should you need one. After all, online therapy and coaching means we can connect across continents!

There once was …

There once was a little girl who grew up in a castle. A fortress, in fact. It had big stone walls and a moat in which swans gracefully swam. It looked beautiful, picturesque, but the moat also kept people out. And the little girl in.
The little girl loved the castle. She explored the grounds, the turrets, the hiding-places and the dungeons. Dragons had once been kept there, they said. But sometimes she looked longingly at the Beyond. At the blue, hazy mountains in the distance, the Unknown.
One day, she vowed, she’d grow up into a knight and go and explore. Silly wish. She was, after all, a girl.
When she was 13, she met an old woman in a little turret where she sometimes went to dream. The old woman wore a brown cloak and, if she’d been a man, might have been a priest.
“Snow-white,” the woman said, “I know that in your heart you want to explore. You want to cross the moat and rivers and mountains and conquer the wide world beyond.”
“I do,” she said. “But they won’t let me.”
“They can’t keep you in,” the woman said with a wicked smile. “Look.” She produced a large key. Or rather, it looked like a key, but it kept changing its form. “Dress yourself like a man and go out under the cover of darkness,” she said. “This key opens all locks.”
“Thank you!” Snow-white said. “How can I repay you?”
The old woman just stared at her. “You will pay your own price,” she said softly. “For freedom.”
That night, under the cover of darkness, Snow-white escaped from the castle. The key fit into the lock of the big gate at the drawbridge and the sleeping guard did not see her escape. She led her horse and made no sound. She was free.
Exhilarated, she sped down the hill, but the horse stumbled and she realised she had to go slow.
Many days she travelled, drinking in the changing scenery. She stopped at lonely houses to buy food. She drank from clear streams. She rested her horse. She was not afraid.

The stranger

One night, she sat at her fire and spoke to the stars. A man appeared by her side. He had a grey beard and twinkling eyes.
“Princess,” he said in greeting.
“I … I’m not …” she stammered.
“Oh, but you are,” he said. “You broke the mould, you escaped. I know how your hair is hidden under the cape of your cloak. It does not matter to me.”
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“To point you to The Way.”
“Which way?” she frowned. “I’m just riding. To the mountains. To see. To be free.”
”Ah, but you’re on a quest,” he said. “Many will follow you.”
“Where?” Now she was bewildered.
“To the most sacred place.”
“The what?” She quite forgot her manners.
“The place of the Heart. Where you are going. Look,” he said softly when she opened her mouth to speak. “I don’t have much time. Listen to me. Follow the seven ridges to your left. Then you cross the seven ravines and then you will come to a cliff. There you must wait.”
“Wait for what?”
”You’ll see.”
The princess was still in shock when he left. Suddenly, he was gone.
She woke at dawn and saw, clearly, the seven ridges. They were high and looked cold. “I don’t have to scale them – just follow them,” she told herself. Bravely, since she was scared.
It was a harrowing journey. It took her many days. But finally, she reached the seventh ridge, always riding or walking in the foothills.

There, where she built her fire that night, she met a little man.

He was strange. Human, yet not. Grumpy, yet mischievous. He looked her up and down.
“The heart searcher,” he grunted.
She did not know what to say.
“Never mind, I know your type,” he said. “You get yourself written into fairy tales. That people actually believe in. Bah!”
“Would you like to share my supper?” she felt a warmth towards him, as if she were a mother.
He did. He sat down and ate with big gulps and much belching. She was amused.
“Tomorrow you’ll come to the ravines,” he said.
“I know.” She sighed. “I have no idea how to cross them.”
“Here.” He shoved a bag her way.
She opened it. Inside were wings. Large ones. For her horse.
“Thank you!” she gasped. “How do I …”
“Just stick them on,” he snorted and disappeared.
She had a good night’s rest, thinking how angels came in all sorts of guises, before she drifted off.
At dawn, she led her horse to the first ravine. Many skulls lay at the bottom. She shuddered, put the wings onto her horse, who looked mildly surprised and then blithely flew across. With her on its back, of course.
And so it went. Each ravine was wider and had more traces of death at its bottom. But she crossed them one by one. Until she stopped before the last one.
It was huge. Wide. She looked at her horse and her horse looked at her. She knew she would have to leave something behind. They’d be too heavy. The small cast-iron pot she used to cook her meals would have to stay. She’d have to live on what she could pick in the woods and eat it raw. No more soups. No more stew. It would have to go – even her tea.

She made an offering of the pot by filling it with flowers and putting it in a beautiful spot close to the ravine. It felt as if she were leaving her hearth behind, the heart of her home.
Then she and her horse flew across the ravine. They made it. Only just.
They were exhausted. She built a fire amidst a clump of trees but had no pot to boil water. Fortunately, her horse could feed. She drank from a nearby stream. There were berries for her. A few. Almost enough.
The next day they rode on. The world opened out into a wide plain.

The end of the world?

Finally, they came to a cliff. Like the old man had said. The view was breath-taking, but there was no way down. She did not know if she felt wonder or fear.
She waited, for what she did not know. One day. Two days. Three, four, five, six. Food was getting scarce.
Then, on the seventh day, all hell broke loose. There was a magnificent storm. She and her horse cowered beneath an overhanging rock and watched the deluge. It poured down as if it were the end of the world.
When she looked up after a lightning flash, she saw a deer standing close to her. A proud male deer with enormous antlers. Muscular. Strong. With glinting eyes. She was unsure, even a bit afraid.
“Come,” he said. She was not surprised that he spoke.
“And my horse?”
He just tossed his antlers. “You’ll be fine,” she said with her hand on her horse’s nose. He softly neighed. He understood.
Next thing she knew, she was on the deer’s back. Surefooted, he found his way down the cliff. Then the path ended in a clear drop. No foothold. No way down. Her eyes wide with fear, she got down from his back.
Before she realised what was happening, the deer had disappeared. Gone as suddenly as he had come.
She could not go back. She could not go forward. What was she to do?
Her heart pounding, she stood in the small space. She needed wings. But she had none.
Then, a strange thing happened. She felt a warmth behind her back. As if she were enfolded by a strong and gentle force. Then her eyes were drawn to her breast. Her whole being became fixed on her heart. It was shining with a light that broke right through her breastbone, her flesh, her clothes, as if she were made of glass.
Her heart radiated. It sang. It shone.
A pathway of light appeared in front of her. It was solid, yet not. It came from her heart.
She touched it, timidly. It felt real. She put one foot on it, then another. It held her weight.
Exhilarated, overcome with joy, she walked in the Light. For minutes, hours, days, she did not know. She did not care. The Light nourished her, energised her, comforted her, sustained her.
She was free.
Then, she found herself before the castle where she grew up. The gate stood open. There were butterflies and birdsong.
In she went. Her people bowed to her. No-one questioned her. They led her to the throne.
This, then, is the story of the little girl who was called Snow-white for a while, then lost her name. Finally, she was home. She belonged.
The story of her quest was immortalised in stained-glass windows, in a passage that led to the chapel.

Here, many people came to join her in devotion and song. They brought flowers and good cheer and love.

For they shared the joy in her heart.

Images: Unsplash

PS: Experts interested in co-creating content for this website or the weekly podcast series Calm, clear & helpful can find more info here.

For a behind-the-scenes peek at my podcast show and how it came about, you can listen to this interview with Chris McDonald, host of The Holistic Counseling Podcast series.