Raise Your White Flag in the Body War

It was recently made very clear to me how far I have come in the body image war I have succumbed to for decades. It became clear when I was exposed to judgements, harsh and directed solely at me judgements, about my body not being the size it was pre-baby number five. For it not being slim enough. For it being not as attractive as it used to be… yes seriously. I was told that I wasn’t trying hard enough to “get it back” and that I needed to eat less (*hint* one meal a day) and exercise more (*hint* up to a couple of hours a day). *Hand slaps forehead* Really?! And all this from a man!

I sat and listened for 45 minutes to a mans attitude about my body. It was painful and it actually really hurt my feelings… Yes I have feelings. To think their opinions towards my body was more important than my own opinions of my body left me flabbergasted. It pissed me off because I had to defend my body like it was an object up for discussion and it gutted me because I have finally, FINALLY, embraced what I have in all of its womanly glory and yet that doubt, that ugliness of body hate still managed to creep its way back in, briefly.

I am not going to lie to you and tell you how fierce I was during this discussion. How strong or how awesome the comeback I had was. No. I am going to tell you the truth. I went to bed and I cried. Not a lot but a little. I cried silently to myself because I felt humiliated and angry that my body could be put under a microscope like that. I cried because it brought up instant dread of being stuck as me, in this body, even though I no longer despised it.

My body was not only scrutinised but it was also measured against my husbands. My body that is nourished with healthy food, rarely has toxic drinks poured down its throat, never faces internal rotting and decay with cool drink and is regularly nurtured through physical exercise was compared against a males. A man whose body, which obviously appears slimmer to the judiciary, is exposed to litres of cool drink, buckets of lollies and rarely sees any exercise – unless it is his annual 56km charity walk. I am not husband bashing here either because my husband is a very physically active man but to compare us, to compare our bodies is absurd.

My body has housed five babies, lived through over 200 weeks of pregnancy, suffered depression, been tortured with diet after diet, its been starved and then stuffed full for emotional protection. It has been through grief and stress and yet it is curvaceous, it is healthy, it is nourished with goodness and it can walk, stand, jump, hug, hold and move without much fuss (or pelvic floor stability – lol). It is pretty fucking amazing.

My body should not be up for discussion, yet I was body shamed pure and simple. I sat and listened to how huge an Australian size 12 was. I watched those words roll off the tongue with facial expression like they’d just swallowed a fly. A fly encrusted with maggots and then rolled and toasted in shit. But being a size 12 I guess I would still eat that coz thats what we ‘big’ people do – we eat anything and everything.

The whole 45 minutes was awful, it was embarrassing and it made me feel very self conscious about every move I made thereon in. BUT and this is a big but – I overcame it. A few years ago that kind of conversation would have destroyed me. I would have starved myself for a few days and then binged for a few more. I would have beaten myself up til I was black and blue with nasty self talk, daily mirror bashing and thrice daily body weighing – followed by uncontrollable crying. My anxiety would have been through the roof leaving me with panic attacks unable to leave the house without hours of trying on clothes that would cover up all my unsightliness. I would have retired all my shorts, figure hugging dresses, skirts and sleeveless shirts in the “I can never wear these again pile” and I would have cried for days upon days.

BUT I only cried a little. Then I put on my mum-of-five-appropriate short shorts and I got on with my life. I ate as I normally would which for those of you judgement focused people out there is actually balanced. My anxiety remained level and there was no beating up on myself at all. I’d like to even go as far as to say that this 45 minutes was actually a blessing because it taught me so much about myself. It taught me that I actually do love my body enough to accept it in times of examination. To accept it regardless of anyone else’s opinion of it and it taught me that I am miles ahead of the body hater I once was and this is good news! No fuck it it is GREAT news!

I’ve surrendered to the image focused world I live in and to the people who feel they have the right to make decisions about me based on my body. But my surrender doesn’t come feebly, it comes from power. A powerful position that I have long awaited to stand in. This is me. This is my body. This is what I am most proud of. It’s done me good. It will continue to do so and I know without a shadow of a doubt that when I die I will NOT ever question, care or have any concern for that kilo or ten I thought I had to lose just because society told me so.

I’ve surrendered because somebody else’s opinion of my body doesn’t matter. I’ve surrendered because I know how I care for my body. I know that I am healthy and I know that for some reason this weight is just where my body whats to hang out at regardless of what I am doing for it right now. I own this. I own this body I am in and there is no shame in my body what-so-ever.

Sadly I know I am not alone. I know there are so many people out there that are body shamed daily who are still where I was a few years ago and so I want to say this to you…

If you don’t stick up for yourself who will? If you don’t support your body and all of its amazing physically capabilities and glory than who will?! Who will have your back (and front and cellulite and butt)? Nobody can have it better than you! Only you can pull those shoulders back . Only you know that your body is nurtured, looked after and loved. There is only one person in your bodys’ world that has any importance – YOU. You and you alone have the power to surrender to the ridiculousness of this image focused world and truly shine as your unique self.

Find the love within. Your body can do amazing things – and it does them without you even having to think about them every single day. How fucking lucky are we!

One Love. Body Love.

DRK xxx

Egos at War

A little while ago I did something. Something that I wanted to do for myself but also to help others. Women in particular. I was so excited to be a part of a something bigger than my little world and to share a valuable message with as many people as I could. Just registering to do, for me, was life changing because it took so much courage to even get it rolling and once I had stepped over through the fear boundary I felt so empowered.

And then it all went to shit.

I was hit with obstacle after obstacle by someone willing to do anything to get their own way. But what hurt most was she came out looking like a goddess and I, a second rate try-hard. In truth I was completely cast to the side and forgotten about. She lied to me and to others, embellished her ‘story’ and bullied me into a corner. She was spiteful and used others against me. I sound resentful don’t I? That’s because I am.

I know if I was the person then that I am today then I would have stood up for myself a lot better. And this makes me feel so incredibly frustrated at myself.

Today all the disappointment and anxiety I felt during that time came flooding back because I found out she received recognition for her efforts. That she received a personal call and a huge pat on the back. Yet me, who never kicked up a fuss, who never stepped on anyones toes, who never wanted to take away from the message I wanted to share so I kept my mouth shut got sweet fuck all.

Don’t get me wrong I didn’t do it for the self promotion like she did but to be shafted, bullied and disempowered and then for the shafter, bully and disempowerer to receive all the credit hurts… A lot. I feel resentment that I was the nice girl and I walked away unacknowledged. She even took credit for my hard work and claimed it as her own!

But yesterday after I allowed the crap feelings to build to an extreme level I decided to do something about it because I sure as shit am NOT going to let this “inspiring woman” have any more of my energy and it starts right here… Right now.

It all starts with forgiveness and retiring the ego.

I am going to forgive her. I am going to forgive her underhanded ways. Forgive that her drive was more important than another womans feelings. Forgive her ego for feeling superior and mine for acting inferior.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean we are going to be best friends or that she is off the hook for the trouble she caused. Forgiveness just means that I will no longer carry the feelings of hurt and disempowerment around with me. I know my part. I know what really happened and shouting the truth from the roof tops will only make me look like a cunt.

It is our egos at war here and at the end of the day it is my hurt ego that is driving these feelings. It is my ego that wants people to know the truth but someone once said you can be happy or you can be right.

I choose happy.

One Love

DRK xxx

Gender Weight Loss Wars

Seriously this subject is probably one of the most annoying things in my life besides my husbands loud chewing and the kids toe nail/boogie picking. Don’t get me wrong I’ve come a long way in my weight issues and nowadays I actually don’t care about “the number” and I don’t even hate my body anymore. In fact I totally accept it and most days I quite like it. Sure it’s not a Ferrari but it’s a pretty economical and reliable station wagon and for that I am grateful.

BUT…. But. But. But.

How is it that a man says “I’m going on a diet!” To then not only have his food served, his meals planned, his shopping done for him BUT he also only quits one or two things – like beer or Coke (and instead takes up Vodka and Red Creaming Soda), eats pretty much as he usually does after the healthy food thing wears off a few days in, then does a gigantic crap one morning and magically loses 6kg! Boom! Goal weight in well under a fortnight motherfucker!

Yet…

A woman says “I’m eating healthy and changing my lifestyle!” It is a serious declaration. She gives up coffee, she gives up wine, she gives up sugar and flour and starchy carbs. She takes up green drinks that taste like cold vegetable soup mixed with the grass out the back, in fact she increases her intake of everything remotely green grass looking. She limits her portion sizes at meal times using a side plate to trick her brain, she drinks 2lt of filtered water and exercises for a minimum of 30 minutes every day. She meditates and cleanses her soul, keeps a food journal and dedicates most of her day in the kitchen preparing and cleaning up healthy meals for her and her family. She has never been ‘healthier’ yet she is constipated for 6 out of 7 days and when she’s not in the kitchen prepping/cooking/cleaning she is on the toilet urinating like some kind of wee God. She resists the urge to weigh in because it is about a lifestyle choice and not a number but surely 18 days of pure good health will harbour some results that are worth seeing….

Am I right?

Arrrr.. Nup! A measly 300g gone! How can that be! Lucky for him that I feel good about myself anyway. I’m not hangry which means he gets to live and I am ok with not losing a single kilo which is good because otherwise I might just have to lace his food with laxatives BUT then he would gloat even more over the diarrhoea weight loss. He actually would.

So what the fuck is happening here?

Well this is what it FEELS like is happening…

The Man body says, “Lets not fuck around mate! We got a piss up next week and we ain’t telling the boys we can’t drink coz we are on a diet. So process every fat cell in sight at lightening speed and drop an ungodly 2kg log on day 6! Job done!” Cue the naked mirror happy helicopter dance and bicep pashing…

The Woman body says, “Huh? What? We are trying to lose weight? Oh I thought you said wait! Wait and hold on to every fat cell and digested green bit until it is safe to let it go… Let it go.. Let it goooo… Oh but I can’t. Yes you can! Let’s do this! This is your time! No.. No.. I’m not ready… Oh but you are… But what if we need to reserve our fat cells for possible starvation? What the fuck are you on about?” and on and so forth…

What is ACTUALLY happening…

Simply put men have more muscle than women and the more muscle you have the more fat you burn. Hence the reason they shed it quicker.

Men also have 10 times more testosterone than women which increases their metabolism at a rate of 5-10% faster than women.

Women have oestrogen – which helps with the obvious procreation thing – but this funny little word makes it harder for us to burn fat after a meal. Yes it makes us hold onto it! Which is great if we are in the dark ages and food is scarce then hell we are going to be ok.

Women also have more cravings – I don’t know why but the research says so. Research also says we are more likely to turn to emotional eating – yay for us!

And this all must be true because I Googled it! So blame the testosterone/oestrogen you don’t have/have. Men may have the weight loss edge over us but we can do so much more than they can – like get aroused without anyone noticing, have multiple orgasms, wear mens clothes without anyone raising an eyebrow, multi-task and (for some of us blessed ones) we can push a gigantic baby out of our vagina.

So fuck the testosterone and their fast weight loss. Feel good inside and outside because that is all that really matters!

One love

DRK xxx

boob-tribute

Ain’t this the truth!

fitness-dog

I had to share this one – too funny!

 

Part 1: My Story | Part 2: Grieving

Part #1 My Story

My brother passed away from cancer at age 27 in 2003. It was a long time ago. I get it. Why would I bring it up now all these years later? Why drag shit up from the past. Well because I have to. I have to because I have never actually moved very far forward. I have carried this hard and awkward grieving process with me this entire time which, I realise, is too long and to move on I need to let go. Not of my brother but of my grief story.

The final stage of my brothers life was during a time that I was facing difficulties in my first marriage. We were partying too hard, hating each other too much and trying to raise two and a half kids on a very tight budget and in a house that was falling apart. Life was, to say the very least, shit. 

But my brother was dying and there was nothing harder and nothing that could prepare me for it. He was dying but he had overcome his first cancer diagnosis at age 14 so I kept telling myself that he would be fine, that he would bounce back, that I had more time to be better. In his final days, watching his shallow, slow breathing, I remember thinking that he would, still at some stage, jump out of bed and say “Just joking!” He was the family jokester after all. But he didn’t.

When he finally passed away in the early hours of the morning of the 28th September I wasn’t there. I had gone home to have a shower. I was 28 weeks pregnant. I had, that very same week that he’d been placed into palliative care, gone into early labour and been admitted to hospital. I was embarrassed that my body let me down and had made this traumatic time in my families life all about me and so after my shower I remember sitting on the edge of my bed. It was 5am. I just sat there and cried. I cried for my family. I cried for my brother. I cried for my baby who was hanging in there and I cried because I didn’t no what else to do with all these emotions I had. I remember, after allowing the tears to flow for awhile, that I took the deepest breath in and pulled my shoulders back. It was a very deliberate move physically to get myself prepared for the next part of the day. It was time to get back to the hospital. Look strong. Be ok. Be supportive. Be good for once in my fucking life. It was time to get back to the hospital because I didn’t want to miss his last breath.

But I did.

He died a few minutes before I arrived. My other brothers face said it all as he stood on the other side of the hospitals palliative glass door to let me in. His red blood shot eyes. His head slightly shaking. The look of despair on his face. I had missed my dying brothers final moment and to me this was the catalyst into my guilt. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t a good sister, a good daughter, a good person. I left at the most significant moment in my families life – the last breath of our brother, their son. Our family, the only one I’d ever known, was no longer six, well at least not on Earth together and the realisation of this was soul destroying.

My story began to unravel from here. Guilt ridden for not being there, for not being a better sister, for being admitted to hospital the same week as him – like an attention seeker would – guilt ridden because I didn’t actually, at any point really think he would die. But he did.

At the time I really did expect the world to stop. I expected my friends lives to stop. I expected people to understand what was happening to me when most around me had never been through anything like this before. But their lives continued on as normal. Which to me, back then, told me I was shit. I was nobody worth caring about.

And so the spiralling of my story continued. I remember at my brothers graveside funeral that I chose to move as far away as I could once the ceremony was done. I stood in the corner of the garden bed because deep down I didn’t want anyone to hug me. To say they were sorry for me. To give me any comfort. I didn’t want it because I felt I didn’t deserve it.

At his wake my friends asked me if I would like to join them in giving Reiki to a girlfriend going through a hard time – a nasty marriage separation. I was so hurt and it reaffirmed to me that my pain was insignificant. I remember thinking that this friends pain was more momentous than mine because those I loved only saw the importance of healing her wounds whereas my pain wasn’t worth healing.

I began to withdraw from here on in and then the final nail on my grief stricken coffin was two weeks after my brothers death. A friend came to give me a “talk” and told me that I needed to make more of an effort in the friendship, that it was time to get over it and that I wasn’t the only one grieving and that she, too, was grieving him. Again, I didn’t understand. Was I supposed to help her through this difficult time when he was my brother and she had only spent a short amount of time knowing him. Was I doing this grieving thing wrong? Was I selfish and unworthy of these feelings I was having because I hadn’t been a good enough sister? Were these feelings even real? Didn’t I have any right to be sad?

It was all a very confusing time for me. So confusing that it has stuck with me for over a decade. There were so many other moments to my story that confirmed my feelings of guilt, unworthiness and shame over the months and now years. I’ve become like a snow globe where the confused feelings would settle for awhile yet they are always there and it only takes something minor to shake all those feelings up again. Something big gets them going real crazy and crazy is the only word that can describe it. It makes me feel like I did something wrong in my grieving. That I am going crazy to think that I actually had the right to be upset during that time of my life.

But this has just been my story. A story that hasn’t served me well at all. It is a story that has extended my grief beyond belief and one that holds me back in life and relationships because of the anger, guilt and confusion. Letting go of my story is not easy when I feel so much injustice was done to me at the time. Then I feel guilt for having had any expectations on other people. Then I feel stupid and unworthy for being all high and mighty thinking others might care the way that I do.

As I come through a challenging year now, I feel that it is time to let go of my story. It is time to let go so I can heal. It doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen or that I didn’t have the right to feel the way I did at that time in my life but at some point you have to grow and move forward – don’t you? I’m really unsure of the process but by acknowledging that I’ve had enough of the pain I carry, the guilt I burden myself with and the frustration I feel towards it may just be the first steps in my own healing.

Part #2 Grieving

In telling my story I want to finish with something useful. Something that may help others when someone they know is grieving. There are so many cliches that people say. Most come across as hollow and insensitive. So I want to share, from my experience, what you should refrain from saying and of course what you could say – but it is really all about how you say it. The words won’t always be right because for everyone the grieving process is different but I can guarantee if you come from a place of love and a place where you aren’t trying to fix them then you are in the right place to be there for them.

Things you don’t need to say to someone grieving…

* What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger: no this is not true and is genuinely insensitive. When your heart is breaking into a million little pieces you are already dying on the inside and being stronger because your loved one has died is not a comfort nor a support.

* Everything happens for a reason: whether it does or it doesn’t this is not the time to tell someone that the death of their loved one is for a higher or greater good because right now in their pain all they feel is … oh yes that’s it pain!

* Only the good die young: well bring him back then! We’d rather he be ‘bad’ and still alive then good and dead! Someone grieving is missing their loved one – good or bad. The good die at any age. My Nana died in her 80’s which is, to me, a ripe old age but she was good… It’s a cliche don’t say it.

* Cheer up. He/she wouldn’t want to see you sad: we know, or at least we hope, they are up there somewhere looking down on us but for right now, in our pain, the last thing we need is a guilt trip. We miss them, we are heartbroken and we are entitled to feel sad.

* They are in a better place: Really? Because last we checked that better place was here in our arms. We have no idea what Heaven or the afterlife is like but don’t tell me at this stage of my grieving that there is a better place than on earth with us.

* At least they are no longer suffering: yes we are aware of that but please don’t place that heavy weight on our shoulders. Seeing a loved one suffer for years is painful enough. All the “what if’s”, “if only I’s” has placed enough guilt in our hearts. The younger they are the more questions you have and the unfairness of suffering and death.

* Be strong: we can’t. We do not feel strong and why do we need to be. Our insides are crumbling, every core of our being misses them and being strong is not high on our list right now. These are people who we’ve known all our lives who are no longer walking through our front door, sitting at the dinner table at Christmas and celebrating another birthday. When someone passes away we always feel like something is missing… because there is.

* You need to move on: no. No we don’t. Our grief does not have a time frame. It does not say 2 weeks, 2 months, 2 years. It says there is a hole in your heart where a person once lived. A person you miss with every fibre of your being. A person whose memory will have you heartbroken and crying one minute and laughing like a crazy woman the next. Grief has no rules, timeframes or explanations and you have no right to place them on someone.

Well then Superwoman what can I say? Why are you creating a dictatorship on what’s right or wrong? I’m not and there isn’t. This is just advice from someone whose been there. Who has felt additional pain from insensitive moments and I’m just giving a heads up.

Things you could say instead…

* I’m so sorry for your loss: yes it’s not much when you want to say more and it is also said a lot but there is a difference when it is just words said and when it is FELT. So feel it when you say it. Hand on your heart feel it.

* I am here for you: Like, right here for you any time of the day or night… BUT only say it if you really mean it because when you try to reach out to someone and that first person you try isn’t there then you rarely try someone else.

* I am here to listen: And then listen! Listen with ears and hearts open. Laugh at the funny memories, grieve with them during the painful ones, hold their hand, pass them a tissue and hug them when that moment is all over. Listening is the greatest skill human beings can acquire and we all can do it better.

* I wish I had the right words. Just know that I love you. Own it. We know you aren’t mind readers to be able to deliver the right words but the pain you go through when someone dies is immeasurable and love is the only thing that gets us through. So love us through it ok?!

* I remember when…: share your favourite memory of their loved one. A happy one. One that will remind them of love, laughter, happiness. Don’t force it. Don’t pretend. Just remember their loved one with tenderness so that moment of happiness fills their heart with joy for a little while.

* Say nothing. It is golden. Saying nothing but a gentle squeeze, a loving touch. But saying nothing doesn’t mean avoid at all costs. Saying nothing doesn’t mean pretending it never happened. There is a difference between a heart felt nothing and a I-can’t-deal-with-this nothing. Always lead from your heart.

REMEMBER: You can’t fix it. You cannot take away their grief or put a timeline on it. Everyone grieves differently and just because you see them laughing, momentarily, a week from death doesn’t mean they aren’t crying, in solitude, for the next 12 months. You cannot put your own grief on top of someone elses. You do not have the right. And remember… Grief is a process. There are many stages of grief and none of them can be solved with a cliche life quote from Pinterest.

Only support can help the process.

Only love can help heal the pain.

Much love.

DRK xxx

*** Aside from some editing this was written in 2013. It has sat unpublished because I wasn’t ready to let go of it. I wanted to so bad but I didn’t understand how to or even why I should have to. But I understand now. I understand that holding on and not forgiving people only hurts me. Only holds ME back and only makes my pain last longer and feel harder than it needs to – than it needed to be. 

I post it today not to cause trouble. Not to make people feel bad. Not to get responses. I post it because after much growth and self awareness I realise my story is just that. I’ve carried guilt and shame around with me for so long and it has affected me in ways that you can not believe. My Mum has her own guilt as I found out yesterday. My Dad, I’m sure has his too. But I don’t  know why because to me they were amazing parents who did everything in their power to help him. To prolong his life and to make the life he had safe, fun and as carefree as possible. It is clear that we all have our own versions of guilt and who hurt us during this time. 

I post my experience for others who feel the same because if I could just help one person grieving let go of the guilt, the injustice, the anger. To forgive quicker, to feel normal and comforted in their grief and to not allow these parts of our stories to hold them back for as long as I have then I’ve done something good with my life ~ one love, DRK xxx *** 

img_1132

two thousand and sixteen – a year of goodbyes

two thousand and sixteen has been a challenging year for so many of us. Obviously there has been a shift in The Universe’s energy or something ‘out there’ but I’m not here to speculate on that.

This year has seen so many ‘greats’ of our lifetime die. Carrie Fisher, George Michael, Prince, David Bowie and more. This year many family members and friends, our very own ‘greats’, have also left this earth. I’ve seen myself at six funerals this year… Most of them cancer related. Most too young to be gone already.

A year like two thousand and sixteen makes us reflect on life and death. It makes us realise that people can never die when they leave behind so much of themselves for us to remember. Their memories, their life walk beside us, every day, in our thoughts and in our hearts until we are face to face again. And we will be, this is my whole hearted belief.

two thousand and sixteen makes us question the things we’ve been taught all our lives. Things that society place importance on. It makes you question why we place significance on living in a mansion over a caravan when loneliness is the same. Why, if we still arrive at the same destination, does it matter if we drive a Lamborghini or a 1970 VW there. Why wear a Rolex watch over a Target watch if they both will tell you the same time.

A year like two thousand and sixteen makes you grow up and teaches you to let go. Let go of the importance placed on material possessions. Let go of the pain from friendships that hurt you. Let go of patterns of behaviour that keep you stuck in a rut because being stuck in a rut over small things keeps you living in the past and if my past is two thousand and sixteen then I will do anything to let that go.

A year like this makes you honour your true friendships, love your beautiful neighbours, embrace your wacky family and look forward to new beginnings. It makes you grateful of good times and learn lessons from the bad. It teaches you what is important, really, in the life we live and reminds you that life is too short to fuck around being self-absorbed.

two thousand and sixteen has taught me to be kinder, more aware of others feelings, to listen harder, to worry less about material things, to let the judgement of others be their burden not mine and to laugh harder with the ones I truly fucken love. It taught me that the only person I need to be better than is the person that I was yesterday.

This year was challenging. For others I know it was way more devastating than that. Challenging is simply a way to test one’s abilities. An opportunity to rise and to learn. That moment when you feel defeated but choose to stand up again. Challenging means we’ve been blessed with difficult times for how can we know the real beauty of fun times without them.

None of us have to wait for a New Year to start again when every day we wake up is brand new. But on the first of January two thousand and seventeen we get to start a new year. A year beginning with hope of good things and in gratitude for getting the opportunity to see it in when so many others around us haven’t. For most of us it’s where we can shake off the two thousand and sixteen dirt, step over the threshold and welcome a fresh, new beginning.

As two thousand and sixteen ends and two thousand and seventeen begins just be kinder. Kinder to every one you meet. Kinder to yourself. Kinder to the expectations you would normally put on yourself. I don’t believe it is the time for resolutions. Why set yourself up for failure? Why enter a new year with demands placed upon your days? Why weigh yourself down with a whole lot of pointless things when you can simple choose two thousand and seventeen to just be.

Be in the moment.

Be a part of life and living.

Be a part of your journey and in moving forward.

Happy New Year xxx

One Love
DRK xxx

When Bigger IS Better

Bigger is better when your first glass of wine was served by some tigharse douche canoe in a standardised sippy cup BUT thankfully on your next trek to the bar, a mouthful later, you get the cute little bar man who gives it to you with a wink and in a pint. #dontcarehowidrinkmywine

Bigger is better when you go to the ATM expecting to only see $25.00 but on the balance on the screeen shows $250! Woohoo! #hitthejackpot

Bigger is better when you are in a weight loss competition… Seriously the bigger guys always win! #moretolose

But bigger is not better if “it’s” as big as this guys forearm coz then that pounding he’s about to unleash isn’t going to be fun for us… And that’s coming from a mother of five watermelons… Ahem I mean children. #itcantfitinthere

massive-forearms-articles

My husband would definitely say bigger boobs and a bigger arse are better but that’s no surprise coz he is a boob and arse man after all … #arenttheyall

My girlfriends and I would agree a bigger coffee is better than a teeny tiny cup of espresso… I mean did someone invite Barbie?! #dontmakemekillyou

Bigger is certainly better when you are on your free-eating day and you order cake. Sorry I said I wanted cake, as in a whole cake not a lady sized slice! #mmmmcake

Bigger is better when you are signing up for the internet – coz seriously being slowed to dial up speed is up there with the old telephone rotary dials #dialupisso90s

Bigger is better when you need space to be alone #ahhhh #air

Bigger is better when you open your parachute after jumping out of a perfectly good plane because those small emergency fuckers can’t be good for much. #saynotosmallfuckers

Bigger is better for carting shit across the seas and by shit I mean my online shopping. Imagine not having those big cargo ships?! It would take a decade for me to swim over and get them and then it would have been in and out of fashion twice already! #onlineshoppinggonebad

A bigger table is better for sharing stories at. A bigger car is better for my monstrous family. A bigger bag is great for all the crap I have to carry and a bigger slice of pepperoni pizza when you can only have one is, well, it’s a fucking free-food-day god send!

A bigger day time nap for my three year means a better quality of life – quality for me and life for him. A bigger hug from friends when you’re down is better than the kind of hug hugaphobic people give you… You know the ones? When that hugaphobe barely embraces you just in case your love is infectious… a slight tilt forward and slap on the back is all you get. #imnotchokingfucktard #hugsaregood

And bigger is better when we are talking all that lovey dovey and mushy stuff. The bigger the love, the bigger the heart then the better all our lives will be. #someonegetmeabucket #butimeanit

#biggerisbetter

One love

DRK xxx

How Not to be the ADULT Mean Girls Prey

Yes they actually exist in 2016! Believe it or not.

Truth be told I thought they had been eradicated in high school like most of the other self obsessed childish behaviour and small pox.

But I’m lucky. Or naive. One of the two.

I’m lucky because I am surrounded by beautiful, loving, caring women in my life. Apart from the occasionally mean girl here and there that pop up in my life most of the time I am not involved with people like that. Yeah sure I am fully aware of the sniggers some girls make at the gym while being all sweet to my face. I’m aware of the fake “Hi!!! You look sooooo good!” from ‘friends’ I bump into in the the street only to catch them wide eyed talking to their friends behind my back about how big I’ve got.

I am aware. But do I care?

Once upon a time I would have. It would have caused me huge anxiety and brought up all the old insecurities of not being good enough, pretty enough, slim enough. Now? I really don’t care. I don’t care because I will not donate my time concerned about another persons physical interpretation of my body. Of the way I look. Of what I wear. How I wear it. I will, however, care if my personality, my realness is called into dispute. I will care if they question my intentions or my honesty because they are the things that matter to me.

I am not interested in the falsities that come with being a mean girl. I find it pitiful that someone can live in a world so full of themselves nobody else gets a look in… It must be exhausting! It’s so sad that these mean girls have to continually pretend and promote how wonderful their lives/husbands/bank balances/children/holidays/arses are to validate their existence. Facades are deceptive outward appearances – that is the dictionary definition. Facades don’t advertise that their husbands are cheating on them, they’re up to their eyeballs in debt to maintain appearances and that their children are entitled unnurtured little shits. Which is fine. That is their business, it doesn’t need to be broadcast for the whole world to see but surely they have a heart full of pain worth more than any disguise they wear.

bitch3

If you are surrounded by mean girls you need to remove yourself from their super evil manicured grasp and this is how…

Nine tips to not be the mean girls prey

  1. Be confident! In yourself!  “Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” Dr Suess was right! Be yourself and be proud of that because there is nobody in the world who is like you. Confidence and a smile, it goes a long way when dealing with bitches.
  2. Be grateful! In your real girlfriends. Those ones who love you in your $2 op shop trackies, tear stained sleep in your eyes and with a bat in the cave. Love them. Appreciate them and mend any bridges that your premenstrual psycho tried to burn down during a I-don’t-deserve-awesome-friends moment. If you don’t have these kinds of friends then find some, ASAP! You’ll find them in aisle 4 at the supermarket, you’ll find them at the school cross walk picking up their kids; you’ll find them under a rock if you are ready to be loved and treated right.
  3. Stand up for yourself! How? By standing. Up! Do not let self endorsed pedestals that mean girls put themselves on make you believe for a second that they actually exist. Nobody… NOBODY is better than you regardless of money, lifestyle or social popularity. There are no pedestals that give anyone else the right to treat you like shit or make you bow down to theirs. Stand the fuck up girl you weren’t made to kneel before anybody!
  4. Own your bit! Yes! Sorry but we all play our own part in the mean girl game. Are you seeking validation from her? Why? Be honest. Have a look around you and see all the people who love your contribution to the world. Validate yourself. Are you playing the victim? If you are and continue to do so you are an easy target and mean girls like it easy. So don’t be easy. Life can be a game and sometimes it gets rough but let me forewarn you there isn’t a referee. Nobody is going to call foul play for you because you put yourself in the game and the only way out of this chicks grasp is by changing your position. Change your position!
  5. Find a way to cope! Start writing. Deep breathe. Laugh til you pee yourself. Namaste motherfucker. Whatever you need to do to cope with the stress then do it. You deserve respect but it has got to start with you. Respect yourself and give yourself the time and space to breath.
  6. Be direct! And when that doesn’t work smile and walk away. Remove yourself from her mean girl embrace. Say it like it is and never apologise for standing up for yourself because when you speak your truth you will always be genuine. They won’t get it but that’s not your problem.
  7. It’s their shit! It really is. Mean girls were either brought up this way, grew to be this way or are stuck trying to be this way. They have their own first world problems which make them the way they are and they are their own worst enemies. You cannot save them and you cannot change them. That journey is up to them.
  8. Let go! Let go of the control. You cannot control what another person thinks about you. You cannot even control what they say about you. Head held high you know who the fuck you are let them waste their 20,000 words a day of hollow gossipy bullshit. You know the truth.
  9. Start! Like right now. Start to change the way this unfolds for you. Become aware of  when it is happening and when you are in that situation with those sorts of people. Become aware and start at number 1. Small changes. Small movements. Each time you will feel stronger. Braver. More confident. You will get there.

It sounds simple enough and I know that it’s not. But don’t kid yourself you can and you will wake up one day like me and not care. You will find it laughable. You will even feel empathy for them. But you will not care to be their puppet, their toy thing, anymore.

You got this. I believe in you.

One love

DRK xxx