A Note To My Teenage Self

Don’t hurry. Life is longer than your young 14 years – if you’re lucky. And you are lucky because the time travelling ‘you’ knows this to be true.

Don’t worry. You are beautiful just as you are. There is only one you. Be proud of that and make the most of her.

Don’t regret. Choices are made and mistakes happen. Put the perfection bat away you are not a failure – you’re still standing right? Well then, walk on.

Don’t hurt. The self inflicted pain must stop. You would never hurt someone else the way you hurt yourself, would you? Be your own best friend and stop the physical pain.

Don’t give so much. You give yourself away so easily. Trust me if they love you they will wait. And while they wait love yourself it’s the most rewarding love you will ever find.

Find peace. Peace in your moments. Peace in your days. Peace will always bring you back to yourself. Stay centred. Stay grounded. Find peace.

Find faith. Not in a godly sense but in your own capabilities. Believe in your goodness. Believe in your future. Believe in who you are, right her right now, no matter what the situation.

Find joy. Breath it in. Swim in its innocence. Dance with it. There is a lot more joy than you can ever possibly imagine and once you find it treasure every second with it.

Find love. Not from a man, not from anybody else but from within. Nobody will ever truly love you until you fall in love with yourself first.

Be authentic. You are the one and only you. This is the most fucking magical thing ever! When you are authentic you never need validation. You never need someone else to make you feel like you are a good person. When you’re authentic you are 100% the most beautiful version you can be and that type of beauty cannot be measured, compared or captured! It just is.

One love

The Older Version of You xxx

The Fat, Mean Mum

I woke up this morning and consciously decided to speak nicely to myself. You know, manifesting good things by thinking good things. Tapping into that kind and forgiving inner voice that I know is in there somewhere. Turning the volume of my Devil down and telling my Angel to speak up. Flipping the negative talk into positive language. Slapping the bitch in me to give the belle of the ball a second to stand up and curtsy… You get what I mean.

So I showered and let positivity rain down on me. Cleansing the negative thoughts away as well as showering to be all hygiene and shit – seems as though some people skipped that memo from The Universe. I let the water warm my body and my soul on the cold autumn morning but of course, I’m a mother so I’m doing the whole showering thing while parenting at the same time. I call it Shower-Parenting.

Shower-Parentingbetter known as yelling from the shower to a bunch of minors who know you’re not really going to get out of your nice warm shower to follow through with any of your threats so they continue to completely ignore you. Arseholes! Just wait til I’m outta here!

So I’m yelling and I’m showering and I’m washing negativity away. I know, I know I’ve totally got this shit sorted, huh? I’m just about done when my six-year-old son wanders into the bathroom because mothers, as we all know, never shower or shit in peace. He plonks himself on the toilet and begins his morning cleansing process. First, the passing of gas, then the smile and then me screeching “Are you doing a poo?!” To which he sleepily replies “Mm-hmm.” Affirmative confirmation. I try to stay in my positive state while the hot air and gases combine.

Eventually, I admit defeat with the hot stench being too much to bear. I drag myself out of the shower and begin the drying process. Continuing with the positivity I thank each body part as I go. I dry my legs and thank them for doing their job. Thank them for functioning properly. How lucky am I to have legs that work, I say to myself. I wipe my rounded tummy and my voluptuous hips and thank them for carrying five children into the world. I thank my gluteus maximus for all the jobs that it does which I don’t even know about. Then in between my positive self-talk and my six-year-olds stinking plops he sweetly says….

You’re fat Mum.”

It was matter of fact.

The truth.

A bomb.

Slightly harsh.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Three words from a child who doesn’t have a filter but he doesn’t need one because he’s just calling a spade a spade.

I felt the need to clarify, or maybe for further punishment, his judgement so I asked, “What makes you say that?” While thinking, praying, it must have been the way I bent over? Maybe the angle I was standing at? It definitely wasn’t my outfit – well actually thinking about it now I guess it was because there’s nothing more honest than a birthday suit.

He looks me up and down confused by my confusion and reaffirms, “‘Cause you are. You’re just fat Mum.

Bam! Right next to my reflux pain I feel something … Oh, yep that would be my heart shattering into tiny pieces. 

I’m fat. 

My kid thinks I’m fat. 

He’s being honest not mean. He’s using a word I hate to hear as a description of how he sees my physical body. It’s a word he knows and understands that he can relate in describing me. Yes, I know I’ve put on weight and yes, I confidently tell everyone that I have while really hoping people don’t actually notice that it’s there and all the while praying to the Universe, God, the Weightloss Fairies that it will just disappear overnight. But it won’t because it’s not bloating or fluid retention or ‘just a good shit’ it is actual fat caused by over-eating.

Clever clothes may hide my rolls, I can paint my face pretty and I can do positive affirmations the fuck to death but underneath it all the Pope is still Catholic and I am still fat. It is what it is. I get to either be ok with it or do something about it. But first of all I’ll cry. That’ll help. Foetal position, on the floor and cry.

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Really?! Aww hell no! You ain’t gonna to let a little three letter word bring you to your knees?! Bitch really?!

While temporarily in the foetal position, memories from only a few days before of my teenager informing me that I’m known as the ‘mean mum’ to his mates came to mind. So with these flashbacks rolling and from the comfort of the floor I define myself as the fat, mean mum. Damn girl! You used to be the hot, fun mum. What the fuck happened to you?!

Seriously! What the fuck happened to me, my body, my care factor?! And more importantly, what am I going to do about it? I took myself off the rollercoaster – or so I’ve said. The cycle of diet-eat-starve-eat-diet-eat-starve-eat … Oh, fuck it you know what I mean. I’m out of that cycle, aren’t I? I’m happy with who I am? So why did those 3 little letters bring me to my knees?

In all honesty and with a little bit of dignity remaining I can say that I actually didn’t curl up in the foetal position. I just said that for the benefit of my internal breakdown. I didn’t even cry. Almost, but I didn’t. Why? Because of two things.

1) Fat doesn’t define me. I know that. I am not less of a person, mother, friend, stylist, lover, life-giver just because I carry 10kg more than I should and,

2) I do not want to teach my son that the word ‘fat’ is another f-word that he can’t say. You have fat and sometimes too much of it but you are not defined by fat and no this isn’t an excuse to be carrying extra fat either – maybe I will pull my finger out, maybe I won’t. It just doesn’t define the person I am – unless I let it.

b8e9d3875bd6239dafe0db0c08165db7I did give my six-year-old some life advice though about using that f -word because let’s be realistic, he is going to be somebody’s husband one day and I’d like my son to live beyond their first year of marriage. Honesty here can take a back seat. I really tried to make sure he didn’t feel bad about saying it but unfortunately either my face gave it away or he can read me well energetically because for the rest of the morning he was all like, “Hey Mum can you help me put the toothpaste on my brush because you’re so strong.” And “Can you help me put my shoes on because you’re so clever.” So he may see me as fat but he also sees me as strong and clever. I’m happy to take that on.

One love

DRK xxx

Life is Short

“Life is Short”

I say this often, mostly to myself, but I’m not sure if I’m living it in the right context.

This saying first came about for me, cementing itself into my world when my brother passed away from cancer. I was around the age of 24 with two children, a third on the way and in a complicated marriage. I don’t remember being particularly mature for my age even with 2-point-5 children and a marriage under my belt. I was still making bad decisions and still very unhappy within myself for many different reasons.

When my brother died of cancer I was shattered. I was full of grief but also full of guilt and regret. Why hadn’t I told him I loved him? Why didn’t I spend more time with him? Why didn’t I realise how short life was. Especially once it’s up. Once it’s up that’s it. There’s no more of that person in your life. No more chances to say “I love you”. To hug them. To tell them who they are to you. I regretted not telling my brother I loved him for a long time. I know now that I was scared to tell him because I thought if I did then it would be an admission that things weren’t good. That he wasn’t going to make it. I honestly believed he would just jump out of bed one day and yell “Just joking! I’m all good! Tricked you all!”

I was wrong.

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Recently, in November 2015 my Pop became ill. I made a pact with myself to spend as much time with him as possible. I didn’t want him to feel alone. I wanted him to feel safe in the last few weeks/days of his life here on Earth. I told him I loved him. I said goodbye. I was there as he passed. I have no regrets.

7 weeks later as my Nana quickly deteriorated. I made sure I stroked her hair, held her hand, put my hand on her heart to immerse its beating in my own and looked her in the eyes when telling her I loved her. I loved that she still managed to say it back to me, I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget the sparkle in her eyes. She wasn’t scared. I hadn’t frightened her with my words. She just felt loved. A few days later she passed away too. My heart broke but I have no regrets – she knew I loved her.

Then only a few weeks later we lost our neighbour to cancer. Our neighbourhood isn’t just a regular neighbourhood we are all close and his loss is deafening. When I’m hanging out my washing or playing with my kids he is no longer in his backyard talking to his “girls” (his chickens) or fluffing about in the garden. He is no longer climbing over the fence to have a beer with my parents. He is no longer on the other end of the computer two doors up asking me for help on some internet issues always with his bad grammar and no use of capitals. I was going to see him the night before he died but he was already in bed so I didn’t. He was gone from this life the next day. On my daughters 18th birthday. I told him in one of our last Facebook messages that I loved him. No regrets.

I started writing this blog a few days ago but I was struggling to find the words. Then I’ve been hit today, like a slap of pin-pricked realities in the face, by two friends. One on a fucked up cancer journey and the other just about to have her 11th wedding anniversary except without her husband by her earthly side as he died 5 years ago. Both of their status’s to the world were different and unique to them but both of them had the same underlining content. Gratitude.

BE FUCKING GRATEFUL PEOPLE.

Grateful you have a partner to annoy you and leave his socks at the front door. Grateful that you have a headache you can fix with a glass of water and some panadol. Grateful that even though the kids are driving you crazy and the clean house is now a mess that you have healthy, active kids who love your love and presence… And fuck the house. This gratitude doesn’t mean guilt either. It doesn’t mean you should feel guilty for being frustrated or pissed off at these things from time to time. This is life and this is living after all but we should be grateful more of the time than we are pissed.

“Life is Short” can be summarised just with this one word. Gratitude. Being grateful. Being thankful. Looking for the good in what you have in your life and being thankful for it. Showing those you love in your life that you actually do love them. That they are your living, breathing world. Life is short because once it’s over it’s over. There are no second chances. But there can be regrets, which will for some turn into lessons. I spent 10 years regretting my brothers passing – regretting the lack of love I showed him. But I learnt from that never to do it again.

“Life is Short” has a new meaning for me today because when I first adopted the popular quote into my life I did so in a negative way but today it means gratitude. Happiness. Laughter. Love. Presence. It means saying it and feeling it and not being scared of it. It means showing my kids more presence and honesty. It means listening to my husband and learning more about him and what he needs. It’s about being there for people who need a part of me that I am capable of giving – love translated in any way, shape or form. I’m not perfect and I’m not going to ride the perfect bandwagon from here on in but I am going to give more of myself. More of the ‘me’ that is truly me. The heartfelt, sensitive me who loves deeply but has always carried a barrier for protection.

My protection is removed but perfection is not my status either.

To my family and my friends – I LOVE YOU! To all the people who have come into my life in a positive way, I love each and every one of you. You have touched me. You have honoured who I am. You have left an imprint on my life and in my heart and I am forever grateful for that. I love you. I really, really do.

My heart hurts today and my tears are flowing. Sadness? Still some regret? Missing those I love? Guilt? I’m not sure. Maybe just a heartache.

One love,

DRK xxx

Please don’t forget to tell those you love just how much they mean to you. Show them. This is the message my friend wants you to hear. To really hear. The message we all need to hear. Often.

Read her amazing, raw and honest post here on her Facebook page…. You’ll need to find the post “Water your own F**king Lawn!” Thank you Kym xx

 

Joie de Vivre

I had this tattoo imprinted on my right arm to always remind me of my mortality. It was a tattoo in honour of my brother. I have had it a few years now and become ‘used’ to it rather than moved by it. But it will now again remind me. “Joie de Vivre” ~ French; exuberant enjoyment of life

 

 

How not to say sorry

No more sorry’s….


I won’t say sorry for a messy house anymore. I’m doing my best trying to keep it clean but then it gets undone. Every. Fucking. Time… Three. Times. A. Day… #sorrynotsorry

I won’t say sorry for my body when you fake tan me, see me in a bikini or give me a Pap smear. My body is my temple and sometimes that temple eats cake and fries… #loveroffries #sorrynotsorry

Saying sorry for my creased up clothes is a thing of the past. My iron was faulty – faulty as in I didn’t have fucking time this morning to care about my outfit but the kids are done. #ironingsucksballs #sorrynopenotsorry

I won’t say sorry for being a little bit cranky this morning. My smile and my charm was smashed through the window during one of the eightieth times I got up to my child. I can hardly see through the sandpaper in my eyes let alone care about making sure a fake smile is plastered on my face. Plus I haven’t had my coffee yet. #gothefucktosleepsorrynotsorry #coffeestat

I won’t say sorry for being on my phone while my child plays in the sandpit. He’s happy. I’m happy. What more do you fucking want. #stopjudging #sorrynotsorry

I won’t say sorry when we are in each other’s way at the supermarket. Stay left dickhead! #roadrulesapply #stopsayingsorry

You won’t be hearing me say sorry for saying how challenging things feel at times. It’s called venting. It’s called getting it off your chest. It’s called getting over it and moving on. I know that things could be worse. Trust me I know. I’ll pull my big girl panties up once I’ve unloaded. #whinger #sorrynotsorry

Sorry. Nope not sorry at all.

One love

DRK xxx

Marriage, Sex and a Genie: Part 2

I recently blogged about sex and how it’s not always what it’s cracked up to be, especially in long term relationships. There is not always passionate sex and equal libidos…

Not all of the time.

Not for all couples. 

The original post came with a warning to NOT read it if you were sensitive to dirty words or lacked a sense of humour… But sometimes people, lovely special people, don’t heed the warnings. And so these people – after reading my sarcastic, crude, tongue-in-cheek and well-warned post – decided to offer their advice to me about me and my “bratty western woman” behaviour.

I really, truly value their opinion. Honestly, truly valued – thank you xx.

In their opinions, I shouldn’t be married to anyone … ever, I really don’t deserve my husband, I’m a terrible, terrible wife and that, well, that I’m a disgusting human being … simply because I don’t want sex every day – sheesh I thought my average of twice a week was quite sufficient.

I’m smart enough to know that “some people” (you know who you are) get all defensive about these types of things (hmmm again the warning was there people) and it seems everyone takes everything personally these days. But all that really concerned me before I hit the “publish” button were the thoughts and feelings of the people who I actually have real feelings towards like my husband, my immediate family members and my good friends. So with this is the forefront of my mind I aired my naughtiest post ever! But in baby steps.

Step 1: I let my husband read it. Verdict: he has a sense of humour. He didn’t take it personally because he knew it was a collaboration of conversations with girlfriends over many years. His only concern was that our 18-year-old daughter might read it. She hasn’t and she doesn’t want to but she also wanted me to go ahead with Step 5 coz she, like me, was also born with a sense of humour. Gifted, all of us I tell you!

Step 2: I posted it privately and sent the link and password (it was ‘headache’ by the way which I thought was a nice touch) to a few of my closest friends. I sent it to them because we actually talk about this stuff – hell this is where I get most of my crude material from? Also, I wanted to gauge their reactions. Their reactions: Laughter, agreeability and support. Agreeability is such a nice word isn’t it but what they really said was “Fuck yeah!!! That is hilarious!! I totally get it! You need to share this!!!!” Yes, they said all that with all those exclamation marks too!

Step 3: I posted it publicly to my few hundred followers who initially at whatever stage followed me coz they ‘got’ me to a certain extent. They ‘got’ my dry and dirty sense of humour and could relate to my stories to some degree BUT I was prepared to delete if necessary. Their reactions: Again laughter, agreeability and support. In fact, I received many private messages and emails saying ‘thank you’. Thank you because nobody ever talks about this stuff and we feel we must pretend everything is perfect all of the time because our marriages are doomed, apparently, if we don’t feel like bonking our partners all day every day. If we don’t enjoy it, desire it, initiate it.

Step 4: I gave myself a pep talk… Well, actually I listened to an audible book by a successful writer who speaks about writing simply because you love to write. She speaks about writing for yourself not for others. She says when you write you have to do it with the realisation that you cannot, you will not be able to control anybody’s reaction to what you have written. That reaction belongs to them. My reaction to her talking about reactions: was to be brave. Marriage, Sex & a Genie was written lightheartedly and exaggeration was obvious (wasn’t it). My husband didn’t take it personally because a) it wasn’t and b) he’s married to me so he knows the truth about our sex sessions AND c) again … he has a sense of humour – which kinda seems to be an important missing ingredient here for some of you.

Step 5: Accept a ‘viral’ opportunity from a big blogging site (aka Huff Post <3) who are happy to post the risky but honest, albeit sarcastic-for-humour-purposes, post. Wow, thank god someone has a sense of humour in this world! Reaction: some crazy, aggressive, mother-fuckers!

For people who don’t know me, my husband or our relationship they’ve certainly been quick to judge which is fair game I suppose. But is it necessary to label me and call me names? They have even given my husband a permanent hall pass – he’s stoked thanks guys – and I was told by some lovely fellow, who is probably very single, that I should stop breathing…. Yeow, that was a bit harsh buddy – is Mrs Palmer cramping up? Oh and here’s a personal message just for you from me and the gorgeous Megan Fox…

While to me this all seems a little bit of an overreaction (or to those that wrote the comments, fair) there is a choice here for me. I can dwell on it, cry, beat myself up coz people don’t like me which, if I’m honest, I was tempted to do because that’s been ‘my thing’ all my life. You know, live in fear of not being liked and trying to keep everyone happy OR my other option is that I can take it and leave it. This is what I have chosen to do. It’s that simple really. Read, delete, repeat.

I’ve learnt five things in this critical process:

1) a dry sense of humour is not shared by all.

2) people take shit really, really personally.

3) from a 980+ word “story” people think they know all there is to know about you and your relationship and whether you should live and breath or not.

4) you cannot control how other people react.

5) you are braver than you think. Even if it hurts.

I’m not going to apologise to the keyboard judge and jury – again you were warned not to continue reading. This type of shaming is why women or men – remember all relationships will suffer from some kind of libido imbalance at times, feel like they can’t talk about ‘it’. That they can’t talk about their low libidos or heavens-to-Betsy have a joke about their husbands persistently high libido. Shamed because people are quick to label us selfish, dud roots (yes someone actually called me that – someone who has never actually rooted me), terrible wives and to tell us our marriages are doomed. But that’s their opinion.

We are always, always on demand whether it’s the five hundred kids we have (see how I exaggerated there?), their billion teachers and sports coach appointments (and again), our never-ending household needs (dramatising), and most importantly our husbands. Sometimes we feel like we are always on demand. Kissing sore knees, wiping away sad tears, fixing, cleaning, sucking dick… So for us to want our bodies, our minds to ourselves for an hour a day we are seen as selfish, spoilt brats and should die? Really?!

Well to those on the same wavelength as me (I think there are a couple of you out there … Oh yes I see you.. Hi there!), to those that feel like they’d like a little “this-is-my-body-and-I’d-like-no-invasion-of-a-peen-today” let me support you. Ignore my hateful commentators (I have – they’ve been deleted) that try to make us feel ashamed for not feeling like getting down and dirty with sexy time all the time.

Here’s to not feeling like a ‘happy ending’ each and every night – oh unless that happy ending is watching your own TV show in peace while snacking on chocolate.

Here’s to the effort that we do make even when we don’t feel like it.

Here’s to “obligation sex” when hubbies flying out to his week-on shift, or flying in.

Here’s to being able to laugh about it with your girlfriends and to people with a sense of humour.

Here’s to feeling normal and not awful for having a headache, occasionally. And no aspirin will not fix it but a cuddle will. Just don’t poke me in the back with that ‘thing’, ok?

And here’s to loving our husbands and jumping them on the rare occasions when we are not covered in baby vomited and finally, FINALLY are feeling a little bit sexy!

#findyoursenseofhumourdotcom #nexttimereadthewarning #yourreactionsucksdicks #hallpassesallround

One love,

DRK xxx

 

Superwoman Reincarnated

What happens when you finally sort your mental shit out? Well not much apparently. The earth doesn’t explode into a billion delicious oreo cookie pieces. You don’t magically look any different. People don’t fall over each other to be around the new you. But blogging does become more difficult. Or perhaps just different.

My gripes, my vents, my deep personal and over shared thoughts are now silenced. I’ve dealt with them. I guess in a way they are still there, they always will be so the skeptics say but they are fainter than before and I can laugh way louder than them now. And so I do. I laugh louder. I laugh more. Which is nice and I’m proud of that.

Here have a 9 minute laugh on me…

I never thought I’d ever be able to say this but when I occasionally weigh myself these days I feel … Nothing. Nothing at all. Not even when I had to weigh myself at the hospital on Sunday in front of a complete stranger and in fact the worst kind of stranger – a woman stranger. This would have given me sweaty palms and high blood pressure if I had of been standing there as the old me. I would have begun to make excuses about having fallen off the wagon recently, having had a big night of pizza loving the night before, or the best and most used excuse of all time – having five kids! This particular excuse has always been used as a distraction and it’s worked every time. Ok so it was a little bit of an excuse too but that’s got to wearing thin considering my youngest is nearly 2.5! It definitely distracts people momentarily though as I apparently look way too young to have five kids. Not sure how I’m supposed to look – haggard or whore-ish perhaps?

Anyway…..

I proudly stood there on the scales with this complete female stranger hovering beside me, a nurse who ‘The New Me’ knew had seen much worse in her career like blood and guts and things stuck up peoples anal passages. Things way more exciting than the numbers the scale was about to announce. Finally the numbers stopped going up (and up and up) and I noticed I weighed +3kg more than I have EVER done before. I didn’t even get the chance to freak out before ‘The New Me’ rationalised this weight gain instantly clarifying that my body was wearing shoes, socks, jeans, singlet, bra, top, jumper and a puffer vest, yes a puffer vest! That’s a fair bit of extra kaygees right there. Best of all though, I didn’t feel ashamed of me or that number. I didn’t go home and cry. I didn’t go home and start a new diet – aka starvation-slash-binge-slash-newest-fad-diet-slash-starvation-again. I didn’t go home and look in the mirror so I could personally curse the ugly, fat reflection staring back at me. No. No I didn’t. I took my sick not-so-little baby home with my healthy and able body. I held him the entire five hours I was there in the hospital ED and I did that with my strong capable arms. I kissed his head. I wiped his tears. I lifted him in and out of his car seat and I carried him up our 9 stairs to get home. I cuddled him. I loved him. And not once did I think about that number again that day.

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I love this about ‘The New Me’. I love that there is more liberation in my head. There’s more room for things to float freely. To be able to feel the real stuff without the added anxieties that a compacted thought system can make you feel. There’s more space to rationalise, to breathe, to just be in and enjoy the moment. Even if it’s a shitty moment. A moment where you worry about your sick kid. But let me break this down for you too – I am not a miracle. I am not magically cured and now living the perfect life in the perfect body of the perfect wife/mother/woman. My kids still drive me crazy and I am still known for yelling like a banshee. I argue with my non-perfect husband, I cry at silly ads on TV and wouldn’t you know it I bleed just like every human on this Earth. But now I don’t care what others think of me. I don’t care if they notice my spare tyre once carefully hidden beneath my top. I don’t care if they hate freckles, my nose stud, my tattoos. I don’t care if they like me or if they don’t. I only care about being me.

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With my new found freedom of mind and with all that extra air in there I didn’t think I could blog again. I’m not sure how I can go from sharing all this crazy head stuff to not having anything mental left to share. I could use this blog to vent about my messy, noisy children, my frustrating yet totally loved husband, my treadmillish routined life BUT I think I’m going to offer more of myself to you than that. I’m feeling naughty and not afraid of the possibilities. I’m feeling brave! And I’m scared where this empty wild head leaves my blogging now but I know I will find my new groove, I can feel it feathering away inside me – like an internal tickle but not like an anal itch. It’s exciting, frightening and frustrating. It may take some time and we are all well aware of my patience (yep – zilch, nada, zip) but I’m one of the lucky ones who has time. So be patient my little super heroes, my fans, my followers, my friends and in the words of The Terminator, I’ll be back! And better than ever too!

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One love,
DRK xxx

Losing a Sh!t Load of Weight

I recently blogged about “passengers in the bus” or #voicesinmyhead that I have slowly but surely started to drown out. I got tired of hearing their daily hourly fat, ugly taunts and I finally got the courage up to just drive that bus, #myself, toward my destination warning those demons (or as I affectionately call them, fucktards) along the way that if they didn’t shut up they would be booted out at #itsnotmeitsdefinitelyyou and #hellwasbacktherefucktards. Surprisingly my firm tone of voice, my confidence in my decisions and my ability to ignore them most of all has actually started working. They have been relatively quieter lately and I can see my journey ahead, my headspace is becoming a lot more peaceful. A lot happier. A hell of a lot more satisfied with me, as I am, right now!

With those demons sitting a little quieter on the bus things have obviously changed for me. The major thing is my scales no longer dictate my day. They don’t tell me to be happy or sad. That I am a good or unworthy person and they certainly don’t say if I am a success or a failure in this world. I’ve also been given the freedom of food. I can now eat what I want, when I want and however much of it I want to eat without feeling guilty. Without beating myself up and claiming to the world what an awful person I must be. The emotionally painful connection I have with food has almost completely ceased and so instead of eating and eating and eating to feed my demons, to satisfy their negative judgements on me and to starve myself of acceptance and love I now eat when I’m hungry.

In the mornings I wake up starving and my belly grumbles louder than my head ever did. So I eat. My favourite for the past month has been honey on toast. Ok, more so, it’s butter on toast with a small drizzle of honey…. Ok, ok it is actually just butter with a small serve of toast and an even smaller drizzle of honey! But I eat it lovingly and I enjoy it deeply and I don’t feel bad about it … at all! The other night my husband took me out for dinner. It was a surprise dinner. An early birthday present. I ate three courses. Yes, an entree, a main AND sweets – unheard of normally in my world! I didn’t finish every bite but I ordered and I ate each course til I felt satisfied. My demons didn’t say a word. This is a huge deal for me! I eat salad, I eat rice, I eat lean protein, I eat pasta. I eat a balanced diet and I am not stick thin or at the gym working my arse off and I am totally ok with it because there is so much more to me than what size I am. There is so much I have to give to this world and it has nothing to do with the number on the scales, a long awaited/yearned for flat stomach, a bullet repellant arse or a body that other women are secretly jealous of. My calling is much deeper than that. My health starts with my mind.

I weighed myself the other day, for the first time in ages, this is also a huge deal for me – I was a ‘three times a day’ weigher once upon a very short time ago!! With all this eating and enjoying I have been doing I was surprised to see I haven’t put on any weight, in fact I’ve lost a couple of Kay Gees. But I really, honestly, don’t care because the greatest loss I have made is the huge weight, crazy huge burden that I have been carrying on my shoulders. The pressure. The judgement. The harsh critic. The meanness. The constant battery of thy mirror self. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to look like the women in the magazines. I don’t have to look like my neighbour, my best friend, my frenemy. I can just be. I choose to just be. I choose to eat to survive. Eat to enjoy. Eat to live. I chose to wear what makes me happy. Wear my size, proudly, confidently, whatever size that is and you never know from one brand to the next! I can wear whatever I damn well please including a bathing suit when the sun starts shining warmth again. I can smile with happiness. Smile with confidence. Smile because I know who I am and I don’t have to struggle to be someone I’m not. My head sits high on my shoulders. My happy, smiley head.

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I now know that chasing the better version of yourself doesn’t always have to mean being buff, being skinny, being thinner than what you are. That’s a sales tool that is used in the fitness and health industry – and that’s ok. For some. Not for all of us. Being the better version of yourself is being happy with who you are … Right Now! Because every day that you are living and breathing is a bloody successful day! Every day you get to learn something new about yourself and your body. It’s functions, capabilities, it’s fucken awesomeness! Every day you can choose happiness and acceptance over those fucktardish demons. Body love, body acceptance, body embracing is a choice, every day, all day. This is the best version of yourself. Body hating, body judging, body shaming should be left on the bus, sitting quietly, in time out until they learn the value of love and acceptance.

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Now give your body a hug! It works hard to take you through each day – especially if you treat it as badly as I have treated mine over the last two decades! Speak kindly to yourself because you are listening!

One love

DRK xxx

Mud Thy Saviour

I signed up for a ‘weight loss‘ course quite a few months ago.

…………………………..*sigh* ………………………………

Don’t worry this is not another ‘I’m-not-eating-for-21-days-to-lose-10kg‘ post …

I promise!

My initial intention (as usual) was to lose a shitload of weight, get to that ‘perfect’ and ‘ideal’ number on those very judgemental scales, to, hopefully, eradicate all my mental issues surrounding my body and to, finally, transform myself to look like a completely different person coz quite simply I’m not good enough as is, right?! I was thinking possibly like Scarlett Johansen or skinnier to be more socially awesome? Ok how about Angelina – I’d fit in then, I’d be an inspiration right? Because dramatic weight losses and hard bodies are more inspirational than women who love their lives, their children and god forbid their curvy/skinny/slim/lumpy/whatever shaped bodies.

Since my sign up I’ve been surprised by what has really happened and it focuses around myself mentally more so then physically. If I could do a “Before & After” shot of my insides then apart from being a little grossed out you would be super impressed to see the massive changes I have made. The course set the wheels in motion by creating opportunities and opening doors that have significantly helped me to evolve into a better version of myself. Deep huh?! I feel it internally but trust me when I say it’s been slow going – think of like a turtle on tranquillisers kinda slow. Although I look pretty much the same on the outside I am a completely different version of myself on the inside and still changing.

The biggest catalyst for my internal modifications came just over halfway through this ‘mental weightloss’ course when I bravely signed up for something that I would never EVER have considered before. I signed up for a challenge called the Tough Mudder! Admist the *eye rolls* from my dear friends who have heard nothing more than this for the past 6+ months I am proud to shout it from the rooftops – the internet-blog-style-rooftop that is. Why? Because this stinky, muddy event has changed my life FOREVER! I have gone from someone who can’t even stand the idea of having a bath (yes, even with myself) for the fear of germs, contagious floaty things touching me or perhaps even a shark being unleashed through a hidden trap door (yes really) – TO NOW a full-blown dirty, sloppy, stinky mud loving chick ….. Ok I still have issues with baths and pools and water filled stuff.

They don’t call it Tough Mudder just for fun – that mud went into every crevice of my body, covered every inch of my exposed skin and stuck to every thread of the micro fibre technology Lorna Jane tights that I wore. Yes I am one of ‘those’ LJ girls and yes I wore my Lorna Jane in the mud and she still came out just as good as she went in! Yep, LJ and I crawled in that mud, jumped in that mud, hell we even swam-head-under in that mud. Why? Well, why the hell not?!!

My hubbie and I after completing the Tough Mudder Perth 2014 …..

What this mud did for me was more then just adding a natural, long lasting dynamic-lifter-type-odour to my body for a full few weeks and almost, yes only almost eradicated my fear of clean dirty bath water – it actually changed my thought processor. Yes MY negative, self-critical, self-loathing, I-can’t-do-it central core processor got an overhaul!! I know, it’s a big statement right?! Some people need years of counselling, very expensive personal power courses or a decapitation to break through mental issues and I am not taking away from those avenues I’ve taken up many of them myself – actually I really don’t advocate decapitation – BUT I went from a girl bordering on taking anti-depressants for severe anxiety, depression and feeling completely overwhelmed with too many kids and her all encompassing life, to a girl who says; “Ok bitch,” (yes this is me pep talking my negative side) “you did the Tough Mudder right?” Negative bitch answers “Yeah so what motherfucker?” – “Well, sweetie, if you can do a Tough Mudder with no training, no roids and weighing that weight you say that stops you from wearing or doing what you want, well you can do anything!! Now get your sorry arse up and start moving forward. One step at a time, that’s all it is!”

And thats exactly what I did throughout the whole Mudder obstacle course and I have been doing it ever since. Just one foot in front of the other, one step at a time and you know what? I’ve made progress! Real, fucking progress! There’s been no turning around to look at the past and all its sloppy stinkin’ mud just so I can feel bad and beat myself up. I am looking forward and am now being proactive – not in just one area of my life but in all of them! I am making changes, I am choosing to move ahead and along the way I am embracing who I am (thanks to Taryn Brumfitt’s Embrace book – #ihaveembraced)….

So what does this all mean? Well my first major change was hiring a sleep consultant! Yeah I did, I employed a damn good sleep angel who helped me to get my 20 month old (now 2 year old) to sleep through the night and sleep 2-3hrs during the day!  The 1.5 to 3hr blocks of sleep I was getting, I knew, was paramount to some of my mental health issues. I then started an online course to help me to manifest stuff (aka be positive) in a very exciting way – one that had results as soon as I started it.  I also changed simple things in my life like starting a gratitude journal, I now say ‘no’ more often then ‘yes’ to things that I really don’t want to do/have/eat, I also started saying ‘yes’ to things that I really did want but was to chicken to do before! I quit Facebook even though at first I thought FOMO might take me out. I stand up to people without fear of them not liking me (or divorcing me), I’ve taken more chances by putting myself out there in the big wide world (aka this blog) with far less fear of rejection and with not much concern about what others think about me, I retired my 10 year old business – for now but not forever – even though it is something I love and am passionate about the timing is not right at the moment and for me, well, all of those things are MASSIVE changes!

So what looks on paper (your screen) to be rather lame, for me, in my life, is huge! It’s different for me, it’s progress, it’s something that makes me proud of myself. So sing it with me Superwomen – “What have you done today to make you feel proud?”

One Love

DRK xxx

The Magic 6

I did it! My first major goal on Day 9 (yesterday) of my weightloss journey to get back into the 60’s. I’m only just BUT most importantly I am there and that is freaking awesome!! I felt a shift in my hunger yesterday also and my muscle weakness was relatively minor. It could have been psychosomatic but I was feeling better even before I stepped on the scales.

I packed my meals (and hubbies too) for the trip and our two days away so even if my weight goes back up today from last nights dinner – which was the most amazing food I’ve ever tasted by the way but I’m not sure if that’s because it sent my tastebuds into overdrive after them being sent on holidays for the past week or because it actually was the most amazing food ever! Who cares really I tots enjoyed it, every little mouthful!

So I’m confident (not a phrase I use often) that with my packed meals I have done my absolute best to keep any gain as low as possible. But I will be skipping the scales for a few days just to give myself time to readjust some grams and reduce the risk of the perfection bat coming out and whacking me one!

My advice for other dieters out there: goals should be broken down into baby steps and each milestone should be celebrated – and not with food! I celebrated my first of many goals – a double whammy actually – of getting out of the 70’s and making it through one week and I celebrated by spending the day with my friend in hospital. She felt lucky to have a visitor but I felt luckier to be with a woman whom I love and admire who encourages me and inspires me and who has strength galore! I love the shit out of her!!

Next goal, next baby step is to be back under 70 -this is assuming I’m over – in 3 days time when I weigh in next. Anything more is a bonus!! How are you going? Got those goals in sight?? More importantly, are you being kind to yourself if something’s got in the way and you’ve fallen off the wagon??? Well don’t worry about the fucken wagon jump on the horse and get your arse to goal anyway you can – with your head held high coz you’re doing this!!!

One love
DRK xxx

Day 5 – I’m still at it

Day 5 is almost over and I did promise you that I wouldn’t turn this into a weightloss blog but how about we hang out til my first week is up – it’s kinda helping knowing that I am reporting in.

Then I’ll do weekly updates from there on in and once I’m brave enough – I’ll post photos!!!

Here’s the G.O ….

I woke up starving this morning … Again. I had muscle weakness (sounds pathetic I know but I seriously couldn’t hang out my washing or dry my hair) and I was nauseous BUT it didn’t last all day – which is a big YAY from me! So it turns out I’m less of a starvin’-marvin and more of a content-kent today which is a nice change. I’m almost a week through and over a third of my way to goal already – I think – I’m not to bright when it comes to mathematics. I know it’ll fall off more slowly from now on and the rest of the of the chubba-woombah woman that is me will take longer to fuck off but I’m ok with that. Me in skinny jeans – it won’t happen overnight but it will happen!

What I know for sure with dieting is you need to have leverage. There really is no miracle pill or diet but once you have leverage most diets will work. The first time I had a shitload of leverage was after I had my fifth child and was going to P!NK’s concert soon after. Now most people know my love for P!NK so the possibility, however slim, of meeting her, which I didn’t, was enough motivation for me to lose 9kgs and get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. I was pretty stoked that 16 weeks after D was born I was back to “normal” – which, of course, was a weight I was never happy with before D.

Then over the next 6 months, some health issues and a back injury I gained those 9kgs back plus a couple more. I can tell you with absolute honesty now though that I will be so grateful for my healthy slimmer body when I get back to that “normal” weight.

So what’s my leverage now? A girls trip to Melbourne in May! I don’t fit into my clothes, especially my jeans, and I refuse to buy a whole new wardrobe of a bigger size or two – but I’m totally ok to buy a whole new wardrobe when I get to my new slimmer self! I also have a goal dress that I wore 4 years ago – once – that I plan to wear to my birthday in June no matter how cold the weather is. Looking at it now I can’t imagine (although I’m also trying the visualization/manifesting techniques) that I ever even fit into it but I did and I have the photos to prove it. Well I actually have a photo of my back end in the dress courtesy of my husband who snuck a photo opportunity when I wasn’t looking and a top half photo of me and my hubbie who looks drunk but he wasn’t coz he doesn’t drink much, ever.

So there you have it. I’m feeling better, I’m still focused and my leverage is a four hour flight with good friends to a city best known for its art, food and shopping (unless you’re into horse racing then I guess The Melbourne Cup would be up there too).

Here’s the maths – 3.6 down 5.5 to go… Victory is on the horizon!

One love,
DRK xxx