Star Born

By Odette Hoffmann

Star Born is a novel written to help people who have always struggled with loving themselves the way they are, have issues with healthy communication, or dealing with difficult feelings. The story is written by Odette Hoffmann; a psychotherapist who uses the skills and tools described in the book with the clients she sees everyday in her practice. It is centered around a young woman's journey of self development as she works with an herbalist to help unravel her health and other issues. During this process she finds a new way of relating to herself and others and begins to thrive, rather than just survive.

Most of the chapters have a specific workable skill or tool readers can integrate into their own life if they choose but the storyline is compelling even for those who are not interested in applying the learning tools.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Odette Hoffmann
• Release date: Oct 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781991182807

Odette Hoffmann

Odette is a psychotherapist who has worked in a number of clinical settings over the years. She is passionate about helping people understand their emotions and thinking so that they can live their unique potential.Odette resides in rural New Zealand and when not working she can be found tending to her garden or walking at the beach with her husband Bruce and their dog Rose.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The Way is Lost

Nan’s going to die today. Stella announced - squinting in the early morning sunlight. She shuffled her way to the breakfast bar and poured her herself a big bowl of cereal.

What ever happened to good morning? Her father mumbled into his tea half a second before his brain registered what she had actually said. Stella looked at him and noticed that his usually quaffed hair was dishevelled as he’d absent-mindedly run his fingers through it while he read the morning paper. She could smell his aftershave which somehow made her feel safe and cared for - the familiarity of it speaking to the small child she once was.

Stella’s mother looked up from making the school lunches. What did you say? Her voice had a hysterical edge to it. Not waiting for Stella to answer her question she continued I can’t believe you just said that! She loved her firstborn daughter but was exasperated and disturbed by her recent increase in odd behaviour. Clare was a petite woman who was always busy. She was incredibly practical; but it was hard to feel relaxed around her. Stella resented how Clare’s busyness made her feel guilty about taking her time to do things - or even just relax and read a book.

You’ve gone and upset your mother again Stella. her father growled. He only seemed to respond to anything once he’d realised Clare had decided something was a problem.

Scott and Hazel - Stella’s two younger siblings, looked at each other with glances that said "Here we go again!" and made moves to exit before the shit hit the fan.

Stella felt irritated. Why was it that they could never accept anything she said? She was so sick of being misunderstood and treated like a nutcase or a liar.

As she looked down into the cereal bowl where the flakes of corn had started to go soggy, Stella sighed and then spoke slowly; as if speaking to a dim-witted child: I said: Nan. Is. Going. To. Die. Today.

Don’t be smart to your mother!

Look, Dad. I’m only passing on Nan’s message. She came to visit last night and asked me to tell you so you could see her in the rest home before she goes.

Don’t be ridiculous! her mother scoffed, angrily stuffing a sandwich into a bag and not too gently putting it into a lunchbox. Nan certainly didn’t visit here last night! She turned to the sink and tried to manage her rage. This wasn’t the first time Stella had recounted something fanciful at breakfast. Clare had previously put it down to Stella having a vivid dream life; but this was the first time she had come out with something so cruel. She glanced over to Frank and shot him an exasperated look. He returned the eye contact and sensed that Clare needed to talk.

Stella, go to your room. Frank had lowered his voice, which was always a sign of danger. Stella fled the room and moved briskly up the hallway passage. She walked to Scott’s room and found him and Hazel there - just as she suspected she would.

I wish you’d just shut up about your dreams, they’re going to be in a foul mood all morning now. Hazel spat as she walked through the door. Stella expected this response from her; she’d never understood Stella’s knowings.

Stella looked at her younger sister. She was attractive in a cheerleader sort of way, her wavy brown hair tied into a high ponytail, ready for school. Her uniform was crinkled as she had a habit of throwing it onto the floor at night instead of hanging it up.

It wasn’t a dream! Feeling panicky, Stella sensed the increasing isolation paralysing her like a straitjacket.

Gotta leave for school in fifteen minutes anyway, not that big of a deal. Scott, three years younger than Stella, was the pragmatist of the three. He was a sensitive child who hated any kind of conflict. It was often his role to be the mediator between the other two. Although she was a year younger than Stella, Hazel was the spitfire of the family; and Stella was often on the receiving end of her temper.

Yeah, but who’s going back into the kitchen to get the lunches dumbass? Hazel raised an eyebrow at Scott and turned her anger toward him instead.

He shrugged his shoulders. Well, it can’t be Stella. She’ll just piss them off even more. Paper-scissors-rock you for it.

Hazel was irritated that he never got angry at Stella for the conflict she caused their family. She only ever heard her parents fight about two things; Stella (often) and money (occasionally).

Sorry! said Stella defensively, not sounding particularly sorry at all. I’m only passing on Nan’s message. I didn’t want her to get angry at me for not telling them. It’s her last chance to say goodbye to everyone.

Whatever Hazel scowled with contempt and rolled her eyes. She turned back to Scott. Ready?

Scott grinned. At eleven, he loved any opportunity to play paper-scissors-rock. He liked to guess what the others would choose and pick his hand gesture accordingly. When Hazel was mad like this, she always chose rock because it made her feel tough. He held his fist out level with hers.

One, two, three!

As predicted, Scott’s paper beat Hazel’s rock, which infuriated her further. She slid past Stella in the doorway and accidentally-on-purpose barged her shoulder as she went past.

You can get your own. she hissed at Stella as she entered the hallway.

Stella had known that would be coming, too. She looked at Scott.

It’ll be alright, Stella. You know they always get over it. They stopped and looked at each other as the voices in the kitchen grew louder. Trust Hazel to add fuel to the fire Stella thought to herself.

I guess I’ll see you after school. Stella left Scott’s room and walked toward the kitchen door just as Hazel burst through it and tossed Stella her lunchbox.

Just don’t do it again. Hazel almost shouted with frustration before Stella could offer her thanks. Hazel sped past and handed Scott his lunchbox. Come on, let’s just get out of here.

Stella didn’t respond. The kitchen door hadn’t shut properly when Hazel had torn through it like a tornado and Stella could see her parents; heads bent together at the dining table.

I’m at my wit’s end with her, Frank. her mother cried into the tea towel. I swear there’s something wrong with her. I told Father Mulcahey that she’s been asking about Ouija boards and séances; then I found those occult and supernatural books under her bed. She’s becoming obsessed. It’s not natural!

Come on Clare, it’s not that bad. Maybe it’s a stage all teenagers go through.

So why isn’t Hazel interested in it then? She’s only a year younger. Clare was crying now, and Frank seemed awkward as he tried to console her. Stella stood still in the quiet privacy of the flower-papered hallway with its steel blue carpet and hung her head. There were no words for the despondency she felt. It was like the world became a vacuum with all the oxygen sucked out of it. Not for the first time, she wondered how she had ended up living with a group of people who didn’t understand her. She fell into her favourite daydream of being swapped at the hospital and fantasised that her real parents would come any minute to pick her up.

Frank sighed. I don’t know, Clare. I’m sure she’ll grow out of it. His Catholic upbringing also made him uncomfortable with Stella’s increasingly unusual behaviour; but he felt worn down by the conflict between her and Clare.

"I don’t think so. Father Mulcahey wondered whether we should get an exorcism. The teachers at school have noticed her getting more withdrawn; she sits for hours on her own. Her friends are starting to drift away. It’s not right! What if she’s on drugs? I read an article in a Woman’s Weekly about the danger signs." She blew her nose loudly.

Perhaps we should take her to a psychiatrist. Frank offered helpfully. The nuns at school are excellent teachers; but I don’t know how good they are with mental health stuff. He paused for a bit and then said quietly I thought the Church stopped exorcisms years ago."

Stella suddenly came back to reality and started to tiptoe away to her room. She had heard what she always suspected they thought of her, and it hurt. She’d felt on the outer in this family ever since she could remember. Why didn’t they understand that she was not making it up? She felt herself wanting to cry; but pulled herself together.

Slowly, she gathered her tattered school bag and laced up her tan-coloured shoes. Sneaking out of the house before her parents had noticed she’d gone. Stella realised the time and picked up her pace - she’d never cut class. After all, she was a good girl who did what was asked of her - even if the request came from someone who was not with her in the physical world. On the way to school, she made up her mind. Fuck it; I’m going to ignore them all from now on. She didn’t just mean the people she could touch. These spiritual experiences were just becoming a problem. She was going to bury everything from now on. Put it in a nice little box and ignore it.

At 6.43 pm, the phone rang:

Mr Halstead? It’s Matron Jones from the rest home. Your mother has just gone into a coma. I’m afraid she only has a few hours. Could you come right away?

CHAPTER 1

12 years later — The Search Begins

Stella had been at this new job for six months and it was looking as though she had made a grave mistake. On her first day, she’d left the office on time at 5 pm with her desk neatly cleared and organised. Rather than praise her efficiency as an accounts clerk, her boss berated her when she arrived at work the next day.

We don’t work like that here. He said, his fuzzy eyebrows knitted together over his bifocals. Stella looked at him puzzled and noticed that said eyebrows were half grey and half ginger - the same as his beard and head. He was small in stature and had a particularly loud tie that hurt Stella’s eyes as she looked at it.

I’d finished my work for the day, and it was time to go home. Stella wasn’t sure what he was driving at.

We stay until all the work is finished for the day. Graham said in a clipped voice, pushing a piece of paper around his overloaded desk.

Stella blinked back tears and nodded dumbly as he spoke to her, trying to shake the picture she had of herself as a hamster on a wheel. She’d thought her work was finished for the day. After all, they were paying her for forty hours of work a week. She was on salary and wouldn’t get paid overtime. She wondered what she’d got herself in to.

Stella left his opulent corner office with the view of the park she loved to spend time in at lunch; returning to her desk, she reflected on how she got here. Initially, she’d done well to escape the sexual harassment in her previous job; but now she was being taken advantage of at her new one. It appeared that no matter how much work she did, it was never enough. It felt like there was no way to win.

It had become increasingly obvious that although they paid her forty hours per week, they expected her to work at least fifty. Stella was a frequent visitor to the office on weekends and it wasn’t unusual to see her leave at 8.30 pm or later during the week.

After a few months, this new work habit took its toll. She started to overeat to find comfort in her frustration and despair; her figure was changing drastically as she started gaining weight. Her partner Tristan was becoming suspicious; his insecurity had manifested into a recent accusation that she must be having an affair with someone she worked with. That had caused another argument – these were becoming frequent lately. No matter where she turned, life did not work out as she’d imagined.

Anger and frustration long spent; Stella slid into depression. No one seemed to notice this; apart from her boss who gave her a hard time about her slipping dress code when she began to wear baggy jerseys and pants to hide her increasing girth. Her doctor had noticed also; she’d shamed Stella by grabbing a handful of tummy during one visit and given her a directive to lose weight. Stella noticed her doctor’s visits was more frequent of late, with the increase of women’s problems, a re-appearance of acne, chest infections and bouts of ‘flu. Life had become a drag; Stella felt stuck and hopeless.

She often lay awake at night – Is this all there is? Is this as good as my life will get? She read glossy magazines in the doctor’s waiting room full of stories about other people’s lives. She wondered what that must be like; to live a life you enjoyed, have fun, travel, and create things that brought joy to yourself and others. Stella wondered again at the purpose of her life. She felt broken and there didn’t seem to be any way she could fix herself.

One morning, when Stella was feeling particularly down; Kathy - a work colleague - sought her out while she sat at the table in the break room. Kathy was a similar age to Stella and curious about her. There was something about Stella - she thought to herself - some special quality she couldn’t quite put her finger on; but she seemed so sad all the time.

Kathy saw herself as a free spirit who knew people, even though she couldn’t explain exactly how. She was intuitive and had a compassionate heart – her parents had cultivated these things during her childhood. They’d met at some protest about nuclear testing or something back in the early 90s when that was all the rage. They were civic-minded people who cared about the planet and its people; she loved them to bits. Now that she was a bit older, Kathy appreciated how they’d always let her speak her mind and express herself; even when she was a teenager railing against them and the world. As a result - she had a clear idea of who she was and trusted that life would turn out alright, even if the way wasn’t clear at times.

What’s up? She enquired as she sat down with a delicious-looking blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee.

What do you mean what’s up? asked Stella, smelling the aroma of the muffin and enviously picturing herself grabbing it off Kathy’s plate. Shocked at this unbidden thought, she looked at Kathy with barely concealed guilt. She wasn’t sure what Kathy wanted - people only talked to her if they wanted something these days. She’d noticed Kathy around the office and envied her easy self-confidence and casually relaxed manner with others. Her wavy strawberry blonde hair and the tiny freckles on her face made her look younger than she was; and she was always dressed in some fabulous boho outfit. Stella knew she must be on a similar pay scale and wondered how she could always afford to look so good. She returned to the present moment and tried cultivating a look of disinterest and cynicism.

Kathy was unsure how to respond; she could sense the quiet insecurity behind Stella’s practised façade. If she told Stella the truth – that she was curious about why she looked so sad all the time and felt that there was something really special about her - she might freak her out.

Kathy decided to take a risk. Don’t take this the wrong way; but I’ve got the feeling we could be really good friends.

Stella almost choked on her chocolate chip biscuit. She wasn’t expecting that in a million years. What makes you say that? We don’t even really know each other. She couldn’t believe that this goddess that swanned around the office would go out of her way to get to know her. No; she definitely wanted something. Stella wondered what she had that Kathy could possibly need. A babysitter, maybe? Someone to house sit and look after her pets every weekend while she travelled around the country to hippie festivals? Stella broke eye contact and looked down at her coffee.

What if she really does want to be friends? The thought snuck out of her subconscious before she had a chance to edit it. It shocked Stella to think that after all the ways people had used and abused her, there was this part of her that still wanted to connect with others. She shook her head slightly and returned the thought to where it came from.

Call it a hunch.’ Kathy studied the plump brown-haired woman in baggy clothes sitting opposite her. She was attractive with amazing energy but didn’t seem to know it. Her heart reached out to her. Suddenly she saw the flicker of genuine curiosity and took the chance.

Do you want to catch up for a coffee on Saturday morning? I know a great little café down near the waterfront. It’s actually one street back from the wharf, near where the second-hand shops are. Maybe we could do a bit of op shopping after? What do you think? Are you free?" She smiled invitingly and looked so friendly that, despite herself, Stella agreed. Tristan would be focused on his afternoon football match anyway. He never usually spoke to her much on a Saturday morning, beside asking her where his lucky undies were. It would be good to get out of the house and do her own thing for once. She only hoped he wouldn’t get angry with her for going out on her own.

Right. Here’s my phone, put in your details and I’ll pick you up from your place. What time suits?

Tristan’s playing football on Saturday so maybe we could go when he is busy with that. I’ll find out what time he’s playing and let you know.

Is Tristan your partner? she asked.

Stella nodded. I usually go and see him play. I don’t really like football - I don’t have that much in common with the people there - but I think it’s good to support your man.

Kathy was surprised. Stella had never mentioned a boyfriend in their previous brief chats at the water cooler. Strange that she felt the need to check in with his movements before she could commit to an outing with Kathy. Kathy tried to imagine spending every weekend standing on the side of a football or rugby field rooting for her partner; she shook her head to remove the image.

I can’t imagine doing that every weekend; I’d go nuts. Tom plays rugby and I only go to watch him if it’s a nice sunny day and I’m in the mood.

Doesn’t he get upset? Stella asked, curiously.

Nope. He understands that rugby is his interest, and that gardening and crafts are mine. We mostly do our own stuff on a Saturday. I catch up with him at the clubrooms later if I feel like going; but half the time they’re just re-hashing the game and I find that pretty tedious. The other partners are nice, so I’ll catch up with them sometimes, but I pretty much do my own thing.

It was Stella’s turn to be surprised. She couldn’t imagine taking a Saturday to do her own thing. She felt nervous about asking Tristan about not coming to football on Saturday. She wondered whether Kathy actually loved Tom if she didn’t go to see him play that often. For her part, Kathy was wondering how needy Stella was that she couldn’t leave her guy for a day without having to get his permission. It was the first inkling of a difference between them.

Stella broached the subject with Tristan that night after dinner. She had cooked his favourite spaghetti bolognese so he’d be in a good mood when she talked with him.

Babe, how would you feel about me going shopping with Kathy on Saturday while you’re at football? she asked tentatively while clearing the plates of the sticky tomato sauce and remnants of minced beef.

Sure. Tristan didn’t even take his eyes