Hello Dearest Readers,
If you have made it to my about page I am ever so happy to assuage your curiosity.
So, why My Red Boots? Because I couldn’t come up with a catchy title that could embody the painful intensity of divorce. The weekly schism caused by the 50/50 custody sharing of my two daughters. The helplessness over having another woman raise your daughters in ways you would never dream. The utter frustration with the needy ex-wife, the heartbreak of not being able to fulfil your daughters wishes of getting back with their Dad and not wanting to, ever. How, even when drowning in all that emotional wreckage it is possible to navigate through the flotsam and the jetsam and reach the surface. To forgive yourself, to accept your part, take responsibility for what’s yours and stop beating yourself up about the stuff that isn’t. To learn to love yourself, to find a love so profound and so true that it makes you catch your breath thinking about it the wonder of it. To be given the honour of raising not just two, but five incredible daughters in a very complex situation remedied only by the most simple of acts, love, compassion, patience and let us not forget humour and bucket loads of organisation.
My Red Boots, to me, is symbolic of rescuing oneself from a soul destroying circumstance to the freedom found in finding the courage to be yourself and honouring your truth. No matter how much that truth hurts. Some times it hurts like hell.
Dr Clarissa Pinkola-Estez has said for her that “wisdom is whatever works”. This is true for me also. I am no expert per se. I have no degree, no letters after my name. My greatest claim to intellectual fame was that I got put up a grade at school only to fail abysmally thanks to the double whammy of those most fatal of teenage girl attractions, boys and surfing. Although that being said when I was suffering a particularly harrowing bout of depression my Mum booked me into a psychiatrist. He tested me as a doctor must, the results indicated that 20 odd years ago my intelligence was in the national top 5% of something or other. His advice to me was to go to university, use my brain, discontinue the new relationship I was currently in as I wasn’t emotionally stable and take this medication. So I did what any semi suicidal lass terrified out of her mind would do. I got an office job, kept the boyfriend but took the meds, for a bit, I didn’t have utter rebellion in me, then. Twelve months later I moved south, took another office job, married the non-prescribed boyfriend, ditched the meds and had two daughters.
After spending almost ten years of marriage, locked in an ivory tower of my own creation and false beliefs I realised the only way I was going to escape the misery and woebegone ways was to rescue myself. I pulled on the metaphoric red boots, journeyed down that long spiral stair case, kicked the door wide open and discovered a whole new world.
I am so glad I did.
Hey readers, I’m Fi Macfarlane an almost 40 year old, Scots born, Australian raised mother to five girls, half of the time. I am an avid lover of books, boots and booze with an aversion to overt domesticity. With a pervasive optimism and vivacity I want to share with you the lessons I learned wading through the divorce, custody, co-parenting and blending quagmire. It ain’t always pretty, but it’s my truth. I sur-thrived it, you can too, so I ask you to pull on your red boots, share your stories and join my clan.
Thanks for reading!
Love, Fi x