How to be Authentic in 2017

*LANGUAGE WARNING*

Inauthenticity by definition is: not authentic

Pretty simple really. I don’t think you could get a simpler definition. So here let me complicate it for you. If you are not being authentically you, you are being inauthentically you by trying to be someone else. If you go from being YOU to being a new inauthentic YOU then you are still not being you at all. People are pretty good at ready between the lines and smelling the bullshit. It’s a thing called “gut instincts”.

Being a new inauthentic you is not to be confused with being a new version of you because change is something we all do. We grow. We change. We become different, hopefully better, interpretations of ourselves. We go through dark phases, light phases and full on neon motherfucking bright phases. It’s an ebb and flow. But if you try to fill those spaces with something that is not in alignment with who you really are then you can expect not much to change. You can expect people to withdraw from you. People to question you. To feel a little unsure around you. Trust me. I’ve been there. Being inauthentic is a turn-off and not just for some rolling in the hay loving but for relationships in general. So…

How to be authentic, trustworthy, credible and legitimately you?

  1. Become more aware of your actions. Your voice. Your persona. Don’t be too hard on yourself but if you notice you are speaking with an accent even though you haven’t left the country for an extended period of time or you’ve suddenly woken with a plum in your mouth then you are probably being inauthentic. The people who know you, deeply, will know this is not who you truly are. If you sense they are beginning to feel uncomfortable around you ask yourself “WHO AM I RIGHT NOW?”
  2. Stop pretending that perfectionism exists. None of us are perfect. There are no perfect parents. No perfect life. No perfect human. No perfect holiday with kids, now ain’t that the truth! But imagine the boring life we would all lead if we were all perfect. *Yawn* Give me imperfect any day.
  3. Find what resonates with you. It is different for everyone. Some people like to blend in. Some like to stand out. Some can do the jig in both of those worlds. There is nothing wrong with any of these as long as they are authentically you. Sometimes being able to do both, or being a chameleon, is a gift. It means you can walk into any situation and fit in like you are made for the space you are standing in. It’s not a mask, for some of us it’s a skill. But if you have to adjust your soul to feel accepted by others than you are not being authentic. If they don’t like the real you than they are not worth your time.
  4. Forgive. Yep, fuck it, I know it’s hard but you have got to forgive because holding grudges isn’t you being true and authentic to yourself. Plus it’s like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die – something Buddha or Carrie Fisher said depends on the Google search. It’s a cute little hardcore quote but I love its analogy all the same.
  5. Keep growing. Learn from the past. I know people say don’t look back but I think looking back is empowering. Looking back and saying “Holy Shit! Look how far I’ve come!” Here I was, for 20 years, TRYING SO HARD to fit in when I was BORN to stand out! Don’t think this doesn’t apply to you because it does. Stand out by being unique. Not being a follower. Not being someone who is constantly looking at others and wanting what they have but looking within and thinking, FEELING, what it is that YOU NEED to be authentically you.
  6. Stop being agreeable. Stop saying yes when you really want to say no. My god I spent years, YEARS, doing this and the resentment I felt was, at times, unbearable. Then when I started saying no people became offended because it wasn’t something I normally said. So don’t be like me. SAY NO. You don’t always have to be the yes-man or yes-woman or yes-gender-neutral. The word no, when it is authentically said, is empowering because it puts YOU in the drivers seat. Don’t be scared of being in control of your vehicle because it is a bit fucken crazy if you’re not at the wheel. Oh and honour your boundaries they are like the lines that keep you on your track.
  7. Practise what you preach. If you are going to preach something then make sure you are living it. It doesn’t mean you have to be perfect at it but it does mean that it should be a part of your conscious actions. In fact if it is something you truly believe in then it will also be a part of your subconscious actions. Preach away but keep it real. And finally….. Mum cover your ears… or better still close your eyes…
  8. Don’t be a cunt. Sorry I know this is a very unladylike word and I actually really dislike it but it’s a beauty. Being a cunt isn’t anybody’s authentic self. Being a cunt means you are being totally inauthentic and that nobody is going to like you, even probably yourself. Just be nice. Be real. Be kind. Less cunty. Be authentic. Be in the natural state of you. It’s a beautiful state to be in.

One love,

DRK xxx

 

 

Before & After – A Mental Transformation

Well this is going to be confronting & long. It’s going to be a case of personal oversharing including photos of me – yep, I’m totally freaking out here – but it has got to be said and it has got to be shared for clarification.


The photo on the right is me 4 years ago. Eating crap, exercising little (unless waddling is a recognised sport nowadays) and weighing the heaviest I have ever done in my entire life. Clearly I am also very pregnant, in fact I am 3 days overdue with my fifth devil spawn … and by devil spawn I mean my darling children. I was told during this pregnancy, around the halfway mark, by my doctor, that I was not to gain anymore weight. At that point in time I had only gained 5kg. By the time this photo was taken I had gained 10 in total. I’m such an over achiever … Actually thats a lie – I’ve never overachieved at anything. Let me tell you though that being told not to gain weight or even to consider losing some while pregnant by a professional really fucks with your head. Like really. Fucks. With. Your. Head.

The middle photo is of me at my slimmest – as an adult at least. Or as someone trying to be all adulty and stuff. This was me 6 months after giving birth to my fifth child and 6 weeks into a gruelling 500 calories a day supplement supported “detox”. I wasn’t allowed to exercise on this diet which is clear because there were no calories to spare. I cried many of those 42 days and would beat myself up when I ate an extra cracker or didn’t lose some gram of weight daily. Then at the end of all that, 10kg lighter, I still saw a fat, disfigured, heavy set woman. Although that is me smiling in the photo – posing even – in all honestly I had my daughter take at least 20 photos before I decided none of them were good enough to share and went into the bathroom to cry because I was just so fucking hideous. Which cracks me up now because I’d give my fifth child up (I’m kidding!) to look like that again but I wouldn’t ever want to go back to the way I felt emotionally and mentally at that moment in my life.

The photo on the left was taken 3 months ago. It’s a flattering photo of my current body & this is obvious to me because it’s the only full length photo I can find of myself recently. Which means that perhaps I don’t look like that in real life. Perhaps I am bigger and realistically I know I am. I know I am because I am pretty close to the weight I was in my pregnant photo. Yes the pregnant heifer on the right. The one who was warned to lose weight or face diabetes. I also know I am heavyset because categorically the BMI (or as I prefer to call it Bad Mother-fucking-mental-image Indicator) says I am either close to being obese or I’m too short for my weight.

BUT what it doesn’t tell you is that in the here and now I eat a well balanced diet including eating some form of crap once or twice a week because I love food that is sometimes not classified as “good” food. It doesn’t tell you that I’ve given up the torturous yo-yo dieting, self sabotaging and body hating. I no longer drink coffee because of the horrible reflux, the side-effect-city medication I took for it and the anxiety those little brown beans caused me. I seldom drink more than one or two glasses of alcohol a week, though if I do it’s more like 6 or 7 in one quick sitting as I’m a irregular try-hard party girl who prefers her jarmies, a good book and her bed. But most importantly what it doesn’t tell you is that I am mentally stronger than I have ever been in my entire I-feel-not-good-enough life.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not “cured” of this mental torture so many of us have and in all honesty I can say sometimes when I look in the mirror I don’t love what I see. Sometimes I look at photos and it looks as though I am smuggling food in my mouth. But I’m not. My cheeks are just chubbier than they once were which would have been cute 30-something years ago. What’s more confronting is that I know you guys see it too. You see the extra chin, the bigger belly, the fatter arms. And it’s there for all to see. I get it I see it too. But whats more important is what you don’t see. You don’t see the real difference between those three photos, those fragmented stages of my life. The difference that actually matters. And that is my mental state. My happiness.


I can now honestly say that 97% of my time is spent with me accepting my body. But don’t you dare confuse acceptance with defeat. I haven’t given up on my health. I am not “letting myself go”. My health is top of my priority list as I get to the halfway point of my life – assuming I live to 70-something. I don’t want to hear the “no excuses” tag line anymore because I do actually have them. I have a few of them. But I will not justify any of them to you because this is my body. My life. My mental state in question. My excuses. My reasons. My body. My life.

Mental health issues are torture. Be kind to others – you do not know their insides and if you did you would be a really valued member in the X-ray department. Stay focused… on yourself. Your own life. Your own happiness.

One love
DRK xxx

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!

 

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