Alba is Three


(This is the most recent photo of you, taken by Noël. Your last day as a two year old)

My dearest Alba,

Today you turn three. Three years seems very little, yet somehow you have filled the last three years of my life with so much joy it feels like an eternity.

I remember the first time I held you in the arms. The morning light was coming through the windows of our mountain home and I was so exhausted but so happy. Happier than I have ever been in my entire life. You were here and I was whole. Somehow you’re not a baby any longer, and that is okay. It’s wonderful actually, seeing you blossom into the amazing little girl that you are today.

Alba Joy, you were always with me. I imagined you for a long time before you were born, long before I’d ever met your Papa. Somehow you turned out bigger and brighter than my wildest imaginings. Of the endless things I love about you right now, I will share just ten.

The way you tell me “Mama, you’re so beautiful,” in awe every single time I brush my hair, or have a shower, or put on a dress. And though I may shake my head in reply to anyone else (oh, I know I shouldn’t); with you I always glow with pride, every single time.

The way you run. Every few leaps becomes a skip and it is so ridiculously sweet that strangers pause to watch. You stop to smell flowers and collect feathers and talk to ants every now and then and I am reminded that magic is real after all.

The way you close your eyes smiling when you cuddle me, as though nothing in the whole wide world could make you happier.

The way you burst out in song, even if we’re in a quiet waiting room.

The way you listen. Whether it’s about sugar or road safety or accepting things we cannot change, you take it all in. I don’t know how I got so lucky with you and perhaps I am speaking too soon, but the terrible twos were not so terrible at all.

Your giggle. I swear I could bottle that sound and sell it. You laugh at my jokes even when they’re so lame no one else would. And not even in a pitiful way, you genuinely think I’m hilarious and I genuinely think you’re hilarious right back. Because you are, especially late at night.

Your grumpy face and your grumpy voice. When you cross your arms over your chest and glare at me I am secretly trying not to laugh. I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t think your feelings are valid (I get it, you’re mad that I painted the flower you wanted with the wrong shade of blue and it’s a serious thing) I just can’t help it.

How easy-going and resilient you are. Things haven’t been easy for us this past year, it’s been the hardest year of my life, but you continue to amaze me. We’re still finding our place in the world but in the meantime you embrace it alongside me with that cheeky grin on your face, rich with love.

The way you say “Mmm, this so yummy Mama!” between mouthfuls of my cooking. Whether it’s a green smoothie or an eggplant curry or a random concoction of whatever-is-in-the-fridge. Your opinion is the one I care about most. I’m so happy I get to have a fellow foodie as a daughter and best friend.

The way you forgive me for not always being perfect. Your love is unconditional and I am so blessed to have it. More blessed than I will ever know and endlessly thankful. I will always try to be the best Mama I can for you.

Happy birthday moonflower,
Here’s to your bright and marvellous existence, it has only just begun.
Love, Mama.






















(Pictures by your Mama & Papa.)

  1. Anita

    There is so much love in that post, it is just beautiful. I wish the best for you, your daughter, and everyone you love.

  2. primrose

    This is so beautiful, you have continued to inspire and refresh my outlook on life for years. Having just coming out of my teenage years your subtle influence on me has truly made me into a person I am proud of, because I know I value the small and beautiful things in life. Thank you. Alba is so beautiful!


  3. MARTA

    modern life makes us live faster and faster, and we dont enjoy little moments,
    thank you so much for remind me to enjoy every moment that I spend with my children

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The Darkest Shadows




Sexual abuse has cast a shadow over my family’s life. I was abused as a child and a teenager by three men I am too afraid to list, my mother was abused as a child, my siblings were abused and my young cousin was abused for years by our uncle. And somehow of all the stories, the last one is the story that has held the tightest grip on me. I didn’t think I could talk about it before, but now, with the encouragement from my cousin and my family, I am talking about this openly in hope it can help others. Often the hardest things to say are the things that need to be talked about the most.

This particular story has many parts and this is only mine. Not the most significant part, but nonetheless real.

It was a summer afternoon and I was sitting with my three girl cousins in a circle on my sister’s bedroom floor. I was visiting my hometown and I was so happy to be reunited with them again. Throughout my teen years I had looked after them almost every weekend and it was bittersweet to see how much they’d grown in the short time since I’d left home to chase my dreams.

They had something to tell me and I waited patiently while they gathered courage, whispering secrets in each other’s ears. Then the stories came tumbling out all at once, like nightmares retold in the middle of the night. Stories I can’t repeat. This sweet little girl I have loved and known her entire life had been hurt and raped for years by someone we all deeply trusted.

I felt sick but I calmly urged them to tell their Mother. The youngest of the sisters began crying, “I am scared I am next” and so I took her into my arms as I had so many times before and I promised her she wasn’t, that it wouldn’t ever happen again, that everything would be okay. My words felt empty in my mouth and I didn’t feel nearly as big or as strong as they saw me.

I am ashamed to say I so desperately wanted it not to be true that it took me weeks to call their Mother. I had kept my own abuse secret in the past, under the impression that it was my fault for being a ‘pretty’ girl. I thought the men just couldn’t help what they did and I didn’t want to hurt anyone by telling, besides, I thought it wasn’t such a big deal. But it dawned on me that this was much darker than anything I’d experienced and I needed to help stop it from ever happening again. Under the weight of the knowledge it would tear apart our family, I picked up the phone. When I finished speaking to my auntie I knew it was the right thing to do. They went to the police.

The detective on my cousin’s case sent me email after email begging me to testify and when I never replied she began calling me. I cried to M, that I was being torn apart and I couldn’t do anything about it. My silence was a betrayal to my cousin and my family and my words were a betrayal to my Uncle. My Mother cried to me that she just wanted to invite him around for coffee. In our heads we couldn’t separate the kind, sweet man we knew from the monster he had secretly been, because he was both. But we also felt great aching pain for the girl we loved with all our hearts. A little while later she did invite him around for coffee but the police were waiting for him there.

Then I stayed with Megan and their daughters. Earlier in my life she’d always been in my Uncle’s shadow and so I missed her light. Here was this unbelievably strong woman, who was pregnant with their third child when he was arrested for abusing her niece, now raising three girls on her own. Just by being with her and the girls made me realise I needed to be brave too, I needed to testify. It was the very least I could do. And so I answered the phone and before I knew it I was staying in a bare little hotel room across from the police station, terrified of what was to come.

During those days, memories played like films on repeat in my head. Late night drives with my arm dangling out the window, a cigarette dangling out of his mouth and my favourite songs playing too loudly on the radio. Bleaching one other’s hair bright yellow in the motel bathroom. Him throwing me high into the clouds above the pool, where time stood still for a magic moment. Staying up past midnight eating pizza and too many sweets and watching the movies I’d picked out at the video store. Him sneaking me wine on Christmas day and laughing about inside jokes only we understood.

He truly believed I could be anyone and he told me so. Once he promised if I wasn’t smoking by the time my 18th birthday came around he’d give me $500, but when I was 18 I knew nothing between us would ever be the same again.

He loved me and I loved him. He had been the coolest grown up I knew and here I was standing before a court room numbly reciting my statement to send him to jail. His lawyer asked me questions that confused me and they preyed on my love for him. I felt him watching me and I almost couldn’t go on.

Afterwards I snuck away from my family and found him in the smoking area. The light in his eyes was gone. He was like a hollowed out man, only a shadow of who I knew. As I ran at him a police officer grabbed me by the arm but I tore free and I buried myself in my Uncle’s chest, my arms wrapping around him desperately. I let the tears flood and I said “I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry” and he held me and said “it’s not your fault Roo. Maybe you can come visit me after this and everything will be okay.” But my arms dropped and now I was hollow too, he was acting as though he had done nothing wrong, as though this could all be forgotten.

I wanted to scream at him to stop lying, to apologise for fucking everything up. I thought: my family loved you, I loved you, you have three beautiful daughters, you lied to us all, we really trusted you, you were so important to me, how could you do this to us? At least be sorry. Please, please, please…

I ran away as quickly as I’d come and I found my cousin, her hair golden in the light and her blue eyes bright and wise. I cuddled her and as I cried again, she looked up at me and said gently “it’s okay Nirrimi, don’t cry.” And I was ashamed that I was the one falling apart and she was the strong one, when it was meant to be the other way around.

It was years later that I sat in the courtroom again, biting the inside of my cheek and digging my nails into my arms, waiting for the verdict. I was pregnant and just beginning to understand the intensity and vulnerability of being a Mother. I wanted to hear ‘guilty’ as much as anyone else. For my cousin, for my aunties, for his daughters, for my family and in a very strange way, for my own daughter growing in my womb. And he was guilty, on all counts, and I breathed a sigh of relief weighed down by sadness. Sad that this was the way it had to be.

My auntie, the Mother to his three girls, is one of my closest friends now. Another auntie has quit her job to write books and develop a website with resources on child sexual abuse.

When I was younger I felt completely alone with the weight of my experiences, nobody talked about abuse and so I didn’t either. But I am far from alone in having scars and there is power in uncovering them. Power in saying this is real and it hurts and it is okay to talk about. I hope we can help to create a world where if our children are ever hurt, they have the courage and support to talk about it too.

  1. Anna Singankutti

    hey Nirrimi,
    I’m lucky enough to have never been sexually abused or molested or anything of that sort, at least yet (I of course hope I never will be). But I cannot put into words how much I admire you as a human being and how courageous and loving you are, you did the right thing and I very much appreciate you writing this blog post, as I now, have deeper knowledge on how it feels like to go through something like this. I really hope you’re well and happy, send my love to Alba and M. :)

  2. Malin/ en gul apelsin

    Such an important text. I am very happy that you chose to share this, although I am certain it required a lot of courage. But I really admire how you explain the two-faced and very complicated feelings. As an outsider it is so easy to judge, too easy to wonder WHY people don’t act sooner and contact the police, and I think the answer is here in your text. You cannot erase all the good memories, you cannot take back all the love you have for a person even though you know what they have done is tremendously wrong. You were (are!) brave, you did the right thing, even if it was hard. And you did yet another good deed in writing about it here. The more people talk about hard things, the easier it gets.

  3. Cristina

    I’m so sorry to read this, Nirrini. How can child abuse ever happen so often? It must have been very hard on you to choose between the loyalty and the love you felt towards your cousin and your uncle. One gets fooled because such people are very skilled at hiding their deeds and showing their better side. It must have been very hard on your aunt too. What is wrong with men, can someone explain to us?

  4. Jade

    No one talks about this stuff and they need to, though I have never suffered such abuse i can totally understand the thinking of ‘men can’t control themselves so it’s not their fault’, thank you for being brave and strong enough to share something so personal with a load of strangers xxx

  5. Shari-Lynn Pringle

    Thank you so much for sharing this poignant and emotional story. You’ll never know just how timely this is for many of us who have repressed their experience for far too long. You are so very brave and I wish you well as you continue life’s journey.

  6. Elizabeth

    You know, I look at this blog, along with many others, in dull moments at my dreary office desk for a bit of a distraction. I mostly look at yours for the pretty (gorgeous, really) photos (not always reading the posts). In today’s trawl of my bookmarked blogs, I really wasn’t expecting to read such a candid and vulnerable story. So I was confronted, where normally I am not, with a subject and experience that is so incredibly important to try to better understand and consider in order to support people who do/have experienced sexual abuse and prevent it from continuing.
    Good on you for putting this story out there for others to discover. And good on your cousin and family for their encouragement. It’s incredibly brave. I can only imagine that it’s incredibly hard. I think it’s given me a better understanding of how complicated it can be to take action when necessary. But I like to think that if ever anyone shares the weight of such a terrible burden with me, reading this will have made me that little more understanding, and hopefully supportive.

  7. Marisa

    Hi Nirrimi, I hope you are feeling a little lighter after talking about this, it’s not easy, but sometimes we have to be brave so it won’t happen again. I’ve read an article that might interest you, specially because you said it was so hard to separate the good things and the person that you loved from the abuser and the criminal. I know the interview in the article can have a lot of impact in you because you were also abused, but I think it could be something to clarify your feelings. Here is the link for the article Hope you and Alba are great, xoxo.

  8. Laura

    I find this story a bit confusing but you’ve been so courageous to tell us :-) I know maybe you don’t need any advice… but take care your little Alba, make sure she never never suffer this kind of abuse…don’t trust too much even your own related as , as much as i understood, this abuse were made in your own family.

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