The young boy walked into the studio in tears, exclaiming he did not want his father to leave. Just weeks before this, that same boy would virtually push his parents out of the door, eager to have my full attention as we embarked on a creative journey together. The next day, a
I lay on the bed, careful not to move a muscle in case it alerted the intruder to my presence. Breathing was difficult. I wanted to take huge, terrified gulps of air, but that would have made too much noise. The trespasser was right outside the door. My heart was beating so
There it is. That sick feeling in my stomach combined with a kaleidoscope of butterflies reminding me of my terror. On the really bad days, it’s hard to make my legs work, my hands are shaky and I’m sweating. But my children are waiting – tiny infants school kids waiting for mum to
