About bex

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So far bex has created 44 blog entries.



Now you mould me.

Maybe you held the image of my form before conception. I am your clay. Not a soul but born as microscopic elements all for you Dad.


Phagocytosis. Every bit of pain in your solar system will be filled with my microbial being, I will seek out every cell of hurt and engulf them into my membrane. Even if the process kills me in autophagy.


I will fast so long, a whole lifetime, from my own desires, that ketosis will be my constant state.

I will not know homeostasis with God, only co-dependent father daughter stasis. Chained up and bound.


My soil was born with potentialities of singing arias to fill the nights sky and stars.

My hands were born to run across frets, strings, keys, gardens, and my soulmates form.


But instead, my soil became the dirt that you would mix with your chemical water of taking.


My soul does not feel like its from God, instead I feel like dust, dirt and soil dredged from the earth for you.


Instead of a soul I became a clay slab, no shape, no colour, just a mouldable matrix.

So complex and infinite in potential, yet just sitting there waiting to be turned into who you wanted me to be.


And where the fuck were you God? Why did you not show me I was a treble clef and not a slab of clay?

Why didn’t you colour the minerals of my souls soil as Gold and let them shimmer so bright my father dare not ever mould them as he would know they were Holy? Why?

Instead my potentials were invisible, all he saw is the shape, the design, the statue he wanted me to be.

I was there for him, to be who he wanted me to be, never just there to grow into me.


Mould some big breasts and hips, mould some big eyes. Then she will never forget her purpose is sex.

Fawn will be her middle name and she will fawn over you always, never to know herself.

If she ages I don’t care, that’s her problem to deal with. I am moulding what I want from her, the waste is hers to digest.

Mould some long arms to hug and wrap around me, her hugs and touch are all for me.

Mould her personality to pander to my every whim before I have one. Warp and knead her God given warmth into a tendress of my emotions.

Mould her voice to attune to mine so she never knows her own.

Mould so much self doubt that she is pliable and controllable incase she ever wants to leave.

If she grows a desire to leave, squash that bit of clay down and mould it back to fit my sculpt. Squash down that time she left for France, squash down that time she tried to create her own music and band, squash down her opera, squash down her intellect, squash down her love for anyone but me. Those part better not exist, if they do breathe life the threat of my hand is there.


Keep my chemical water wet over this mould so she will always remain pliable and taste my flavour, even while she sleeps, even while with other men.


God, Will I ever know an equal love in this life? Will I ever know happiness in my own body?

Will my body ever feel like mine, a resonant body of music and heart, not a sexual object for men?

Will I ever feel clean. Pure?

Will I ever feel whole?



Lavander. A word so feminine I cannot spell it. Lavender.

I grow up in Provence

It’s warm, I live outside often

My mum is so feminine and beautiful, and the word beautiful doesn’t send my stomach into knots

She encourages soft gentleness

She wears pastels and flower print

Sandals and flowing skirts

She wraps my cheeks in a silk scarf coloured lavender

And I spin and kiss her cheek which has soft blush pressed on


We hold hands

We skip

We dance

We sing

We hug


She reads me poetry

And tells me of foreign lands

She tells me stories of love

And teaches me it’s ok to love a man

I am held and honoured

I am encouraged to be me, softly and fierce fully me


I wake up. Wind and Rain hammers the window so hard it bends. Doors slam, I’m sneered at, sugar bowl flies towards me and I realise I will never know that fantasy.

She sits in the car refusing to come in the house, I clean trying to earn her love.

She lies numbed out on the floor on sugary tea and soaps. She sleeps and silent dread suffocates the air as I feel her resentment. Everything I am, seems to provoke her.

I am motherless, she disappears, I am alone, I am afraid.

Confused and ashamed of my femininity.

It feels innate yet foreign.

Polluted yet pure

Lavender yet bloodied maroon.


Mum I long for you

I weep for you

I don’t know where your pain ends and I begin


When you didn’t recognise me, no poetic words came out of me, no initial tears but to inhale a silent “Fuck Me.” Knowing I was entering this chapter. I give up controlling the pain around me and that feels free. The imagined head scarf ruffles in the wind.

How can I truly become my women if our mother daughter relationship is the source of my deepest pain?


I heard someone talk of how their mum would hold them up and tell them they are beautiful and it shook me awake, knowing my first thoughts of myself have always been turning the lights out at the hospital.

Screaming, eczema, greedy, fat, ringlets, ugly. Was I that or was I shamed?


I think my eyes of innocence were seen as eyes of seduction, and I am left even confused if my eyes are right or not. I was only using them to see the world then.

Sense of self muddied, never lavender.


I will wear lavender hair scarves

I will think of you, a life chained that should have been as free as your scarves and Laura Ashley skirts.

I mourn for your cartwheels that turned into dads laundry maid

I mourn for your stunning artwork turned into soul crushing office jobs that plenished his narcissistic projects.

I mourn for your beauty, never nurtured or seen or held by him.

I mourn for your little girl never mothered either.

It’s all sad but I promise you I will try and end this cycle with God. You gave me a single fire spark in my belly amongst all the shaming and I thank you for that.

I will take it and set a forest fire alight with truth. It will smell of lavender and the hue will be pastels of purple and no shame will exist.

For now I will take some cuttings of the fragrant dark lavender bush from the road towards Glenda’s, the one that I strim a small piece through my fingers, and pluck and crush and smell in my hands to bring me 2 minutes of calm and restoration before diving inside myself. And I will plant it in my kitchen as a sign of the start of the reclamation.




Distracted, Refracted, Collapsing

Looking for ways to survive it

Coffee, tea, starch and carbs

Tv, Instagram, movies and sleep

Fantasy, delusion, denial and out of body


Yet all of that only leads me to feeling so lonely


God help me choose the narrow way

To feel it all


I am not humble to my grief

I am fighting it tooth and nail


Please reach in and help soften me

Please help guide me away from distraction

And into reality


No. matter. how. much. it. hurts.


It is with my mustard grain of faith I pray


The Sun does not ‘help’ anyone, it just is the Sun

The Sun does not ‘help’ anyone, it just is the Sun

These words led me to a full on mini breakdown.

They were spoken to me by someone who reflects to me personally an angel in human form, a kind, gentle woman.

I was stressing SO much about trying to help and caretake everyone. I was/am fucking exhausted. I have no boundaries and I would rather fix others than myself. I have the false belief if I can help those who attack me see more I can manage and control the situation and imminent attack. I believe if I can try and fix everything I wont need to soften to the terror that I caused all their pain and strife. Trust me this doesn’t work, I am  exhausted from trying.

What does seem to work though is using prayer and truth to stir up emotions, then, with God’s helping hand and heart, release the emotions as much as possible, linking them to our childhood, accessing our hurt child where possible.

Softening to the grief of the attack instead of trying to manage and control it is something I simply have not been doing but now want to try, because I have found for certainty that managing and controlling only exacerbates pain, where as surrendering to overwhelming emotions, relieves suffering instantly for my soul and all involved.

adore  this sentence ‘The Sun does not ‘help’ anyone, it just is the Sun.’ The Sun isn’t trying to help anyone or be anything for anyone else, it simply is the sun and by being what it was created to do, it shines. It gives us vitamins, minerals, warmth.

Most importantly it lights up the whole world by just being itself, and that light naturally reaches into every area of darkness in a constant humble cycles of sunrise and dawn. Giving us the opportunity to see vast vistas of beauty and know periods of rest and revival and aliveness. The sun gives us an opportunity to look up to the sky and always see cracks of light through clouds and storms, reminding us perfectly that God is always there trying to love us as much as we let in. 


What is your gift capable of lighting up if you allow yourself to shine, despite it all?

How will your Soul’s sun reflect qualities of our humble and gentle God?

What is your nature? Your gifts God gave specifically to you? What can your Soul’s Sun light up in this world? What parts of your own darkness or earths darkness can your gift or sunshine light up?


We all have a gift of magnitude within us, whyyyyy can’t we help each other shine instead of attack the soft qualities of God that peek out from those brave and vulnerable simply because they stir emotions we are unwilling to feel. Is it not that any emotional pain is better than that pain of doing that to another?

Sometimes I fucking hate being on earth, sometimes I fucking love it. Yet the sun is just chilling being up in the sky and shining. I aspire to that level of both shine and chill hahaha <3


Here is Jesus’ stunning talk on the topic “What is your Treasure”

20121216 The Human Soul – What Is Your Treasure P1 – YouTube


Here is my wee song on the subject to myself and for anyone who may need a reminder like me (on the daily lol)

Stream What did you put inside my soul God? by Fawn_Music | Listen online for free on SoundCloud

2021-09-16T10:23:24+00:00Thoughts, Uncategorized|

Anytime I talk to you, I go to church

I hold my heart up to you God

Fleshy, bruised, damaged and sore.

Sunken and aching.

Hollow and rigid in parts.

Angry and sad, mostly I am sad right now Lord.


I’m terrified of my grief, help me soften into it like the little child you made me to be.

Help me know that my me is:

Sensitive not over dramatic

Expressive not a show off

A Performer not demonstrative

Damaged not a nuisance

Empathetic not pathetic.


Revive me Lord.

Resuscitate me God.


Enliven my flesh so it reflects your love.

Take the charred, bruised and sunken hollow parts of my heart and breathe life back into me.


No matter how much they try and dampen my keys with their foot on the pedal.

No matter how much they try and mute my strings.

They can take away the bow to my hearts violin and yet I will still express my sorrow, despite it all. With you and because of your love.

No matter how much they try and dim my light,

Let it not go out my Lord, my God.


As Sampha said, no one knows me like the piano in my mother’s home.

Help me understand my parents choices and not take it all on as my own fault.


The shame and worry I feel when I express your gift of music you gave to me is an error, help me know that and release it fully my Lord.

Help me embrace my me fully. And see my person as a gift not a problem.

Help me not be bitter about it all, help me stay as soft as a baby.


Help me restore my lost melodies, my hidden caverns, my sorrow and my goodness.

Restore the longings I felt God in Venice’s piazzas, France’s alps, Scotlands purple heather, the lonely apartments I’ve been lost in. The lonely, loud cities.


Restore me.

Restore the unspoken words, the unwritten agreements and the broken hearts from my past relationships.


Restore me God

Revive me God

Resuscitate me my Lord.


In my aching heart I write to you, you who is only feeling and good, you who will not ever chastise my sorrow but instead hold and soothe me through it. This is all so unknown, so scary and I am terrified.



2021-11-04T07:32:01+00:00Poetry, Uncategorized|

Who would I be?

Who would I be God if I had a mother that loved me?

To know love and gentleness over a sneer.

To play music freely with her not watching over me

To embrace my femininity with none of their jealousy.


I have worn baggy black jumper dresses for 15 years and yet I still don’t hide enough

Somehow in my blackness and hiding I am still too much?


God, I saw your petals of love rain down on me

I felt the grace of you and yet it feels too unbearable

How can such contrast exist, and why?

I do not understand why you put me with her?

I am so angry and lost and confused.

I do not understand your plan God, please show me, guide me, direct me so I understand.


I am exhausted from holding in my breath

Always waiting for women to hurt me inside my heart, inside my chest.


I am so angry I couldn’t say no, and just went back for more and more

I cant even blame anyone for this, I seem to want their scorn.


God please show me your mothering touch,

please show me that my me is not too much.


I love you. And my heart breaks to know you




Words from Jesus – Noone has to love you

One of the first things I ever heard in terms of personal feedback from Jesus was the most profound , pertinent and stunning sentences I have ever heard and something I still struggle with. I wanted to share it here in case it helps you too, he said with kindness:

Noone has to love you Bec.”

It may sound so simple but I feel the earth shattering profundity of this sentence, if we were to actually release all our addictions to live it, would change the whole course of the world.

It is such a good truth to hold onto in the back of my mind and heart when trying to release demands or feel through addictions. This simple truth could stir up every addiction if truly examined with our hearts.

The sad fact seems to be, the more enmeshment set up in childhood, the more demands we end up having. Jesus also said to me that because my issues with my father is my primary enmeshment, it will take a concerted effort to break it. Enmeshment certainly ain’t no joke. The addictions that stem from it are all self involved, evil and taking.

I feel I am failing miserable at cementing this into my heart so am also writing it on here in the hopes it will remind me!


More resources on dealing with family enmeshment, incest and family or one parent engulfing

All works by Pia Mellody I am finding great

Pia Mellody

All works by Dr Kenneth Adams

Dr. Kenneth M. Adams – Overcoming Enmeshment


I am really starting to feel what a true assault on the soul it is to be engulfed by the opposite or same gender parent. I often feel unable to focus on myself and instead only feel and want to feel my dads emotions. It feels like taking the purity of birthing a child of God and turning them into a wooden robotic puppet doll only there for your pleasure and resource, in the same way my dog teddy brought me comfort when sad. The hatred and jealousy I experienced from mum for this dynamic meant I lost out on a relationship with my own mother. Emotional incest must be discussed with more seriousness and fervency.

I am creating some youtube videos on this subject as my experience with my father has been an all consuming extreme form of emotional incest and it has poisoned each part of my life. But really Pia and Ken explain this topic so well with decades of clinical experience so I hope you enjoy their work.

2021-08-10T13:13:39+00:00Resources, Uncategorized|
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