I have an oyster in my hand. It is like I dare not open it to see if I have a pearl inside or not - It is the story of my life.

So, I constantly jeopardise the chance of ever opening that oyster, because then, I will never be proven wrong or right and I can go on being the same; never achieve anything woman. It is safe. But sad. Yet true.

It is the closest I have ever been to opening the oyster in my whole life. I can feel the urgency, anxiety and excitement bubbling rapidly within me - everything is pointing in this direction now.

The part of me that is used to turning away, hiding, staying silent secretly knows her time is up. She also knows she can rear her menacing head anytime if she so wishes, that is the nature of her...grappling for control, to keep the true woman safe, yet drowning in her own sadness of un-realisation.

I can not bear it nor can I contain myself.

It has taken 42 years to know this feeling - too long, not long enough.

What will it bring?

The oyster is in my hand.

And still I do not know if I'll ever open it.