Women’s Greatest War

Today I feel sad. Deeply sad, not in a depressing way but sad in a connected way. I feel sad for the women in the world who spend their time being mean to other women. I feel sad that there is constant verbal abuse towards women about women by women and behind other women’s backs. I don’t understand this. This is not a life designed to keep women at war. This is a life – our own – and we all have our own shit to fight for, within ourselves not amongst ourselves.

Is this war we insist on something built-in inside us? Something we can’t control? I’m calling bullshit. Bull-fucken-shit it’s out of our control! We own the rights to our thoughts, to our filters and to our trashy potty mouths! What’s even more disturbing is listening to our beautiful daughters doing the same thing in the playground. The playground at Kindy where the four year old girls tell another little girl that she cant play with them because she’s not pretty like them. You wonder how they can be so mean and judgmental but then you turn to listen to the mirrored conversations of their thirty something mothers under the verandah…

So is it built-in or do we learn this behaviour from our own mothers and the women around us? The distasteful looks, the judgements, the comparisons. The nastiness about other women while they are not even there only to smile and be polite when they walk through the door. The lack of compassion they show for what other women may be going through. The lack of sincerity when they speak. The falsity in their voices. The judgement on bodies, wardrobes and choices in life. Do we consider this the norm? This is how you be a woman? Is this all the substance we have, that we are?

I find it terribly sad that women degrade other women so easily. That they put other women down. But isn’t it a reflection of their own insecurities? Isn’t it an ego boosting statement while the insecure sheep nod and smile? Isn’t it the narcissist polishing their perfection knob? And I feel sad knowing at times in my life I have participated. Deeply participated… I feel sad that I know that it was my insecurities, the driving force, behind my own cruelty. I feel sad that I didn’t change my filter sooner.


It’s like so many women are looking for a fight but avoiding confrontation at all costs. It’s like engaging in war, a war without a cause and the fight only involves trying to get people on your side but you can’t remember the reason why you starting warring in the first place. What are we fighting for? What does the winner receive besides an ego that is bigger, an ego that is placed on a pedestal, an ego that is worshipped but truly unloved. You can’t love a faked ego like you can love a real woman. Women against women is the ugliest war I have ever seen. It is based on nastiness, judgement and as many casualties as possible.

I don’t believe we should all live in harmony, hold hands and dance in koombahya but I do believe we can acknowledge when someone is not in tune with our song and just leave it at that. There is a woman in my life who drives me completely nuts and I am now fine with that. We have a history that I used to draw upon when I choose to feel a need to justify my disconnect towards her. But our history is just a story. A story that has been told for so long that I (and my therapist) have decided it is now finished. End of the final chapter. Book closed. She is, realistically, just not my cup of tea and that is totally OK. We don’t have to get along with everyone but we don’t have to bring those who we don’t ‘get’ down. If they are on a pedestal whether you put them there or not is no concern to you. The pedestal is imaginary. We are all born equal – society differentiates us.

So I do feel sad. A sadness that is connected to other women’s sadness. The victims and the narcissists. I feel sad that we can’t just all get along or be ok not to get along and agree on what is best for ourselves. That we can’t just accept, support, stop trying so hard and be real. Be open heartedly really fucken real.

Being real is awesome. Being real is authentic. Being real gives you clarity. Being real means being you and fuck me but there isn’t anybody else out there like YOU! Celebrate that! Celebrate that we are all different and that we don’t have to conform to fashion, size, success. We don’t have to be like any other woman but we can certainly pat them on the back and say “Well done Sista!”

Some of us are business entrepreneurs, working hard to climb a corporate ladder – I fucking salute your dedication, sacrifices and hard work. Some of us are successful mothers who keep our kids alive, in fact we breed the next generation, we feed them occasionally, maintain the house they trash and drink shitloads of coffee to keep up with it all – hey that’s me, I’m a fucken successful mother! Some of us are health freaks and live for raw food, wheatgrass shots and naked yoga – bless you thats great but vaginal discharge scares me! Some of us grow armpit hair, colour it and plait it all pretty like – not my thing but hey whatever floats your boat and yay for you being al-natural! We are all superbly different, seeking different things in our lives, defining successful via different means. We live and breathe for our own unique reasons and guess what??



One Love DRK xxx

10 Cheeky Comebacks For When Someone Asks If You’re Pregnant BUT You’re not!

In the light of recent pregnancy comments about Princess Zara I was reminded of a lifetime of my own. As a mere ‘normal’ mortal, though, I am lucky not to have had my “is-she?-isn’t-she?” splashed across the internet and news feeds but I do wonder why there is this obsession with the woman body. I believe just like being “on a period” you should never ask a woman if she is pregnant. You should never ask when she is due and definitely never EVER have an opinion on her “baby” weight! We are women and weight is a very sensitive subject. It’s not hard though. Just keep your mouth shut.


I’m generally two from left – except my boobs are bigger – unless it’s been a few days since visiting the toilet then I am definitely more a three or four.

If you, like me, have ever been asked these questions, if you have ever been in that mortifying and uncomfortable situation don’t hide yourself away. Don’t feel ashamed. Don’t visualise punching them in the face – and please don’t actually punch them in the face! Instead have a comeback. A fucking witty comeback topped up with good dose of sarcasm so people learn that it is NOT ok to assess a womans body or to make assumptions that we can’t simply be a little voluptuous or god-forbid bloated without having to be up-the-duff. Lets face it for those of us who can conceive it is an awkward situation and, at worst, it’s a throw-the-outfit-in-the-bin-and-never-wear-it-again embarrassment but for those who can’t have babies then it is just a heartbreaking moment in their life… A question they would give anything to answer “YES!” to …  A question and answer scenario they dream of, even when they are awake.

Lets raise the bar (or our eye level) and look at each other when talking together instead of analysing bumps and lumps. If you do feel the need to analyse bumps and lumps then do a breast check and by that I mean your own! Now doesn’t that seem much more important than insulting an unsuspecting and definitely not pregnant woman?!

OK so let’s talk about comebacks to particular questions. They must be delivered with shoulders back, head held high and a smirk on your face. No one needs to feel embarrassed in the skin they are in and typically, these questions come from people who mean well but lack any type of filter from brain to judgement to mouth.

Here we go………

Q1: How long have you got to go?

A: Well, I dropped a couple of laxatives a few of hours ago now so ummm any minute now I guess and then my five day old shit will be ready to explode!


Q2: Wow you must be ready to pop – how long now? 

A: Oh no I’m not pregnant but hey looks like your arse is about to have twins – congrats!

Q3: Oh my god you’re pregnant… Congrats!

A: Yes but don’t tell my husband – it’s not his!

Q4: OMG so-and-so told me you were pregnant – congrats!!

A: Shit! Am I? I better lay off the tequila shots and cigars!

Q5: When’s this one due?

A: I was just about to ask you the same question!

Q6: OMG! Are you preggas?

A: No but the night is still young!

Q7: Look at that belly! How far along are you?

A: Well I’ve been brewing this massive fart all morning but unfortunately you’ll need more than gas to help that mouth of yours!

Q8: Are you up the duff?

A: No. My boobs are always this awesome!

Q9: Oooohhh (points to belly) what are you hoping for?

A: A puppy that can burp the alphabet

Q10: I can’t believe you’re pregnant again!

A: Actually I’m not. I have a condition called “Fuck-You” – Google it.


Only ever assume a women is pregnant if a) you have x-ray vision (which you should be careful with as it can be harmful to the baby) or b) you physically see that baby emerging from her body! Otherwise shove that foot firmly back into your mouth and never utter those words again to any woman ever?! Got it? Get it? Good!

Now some wise words from the always effervescent P!NK, the woman I adore and may even consider leaving my husband and children for….

Pinks statement

Ahhhhh god I love her……

One love,

DRK xxx

Social Media – Ruining One Relationship At A Time

Never write a message when there are feelings attached because, as I have just learnt, things get misconstrued. You may deliver a message from your heart but the tone of it can be read in a very different way and then, well then shit really hits the fan.  I’m not one for confrontation and I certainly would never intentionally hurt another human beings feelings but today I did. I did, unintentionally, all because my “worries” and my “concerns” weren’t translated as I had intended and were interpreted as accusing, mean and angry. 

Making someone “see” something you see is hard at the best of times but when they are in an armoured fuck-you vehicle then you stand no chance at all and it’s best to just walk away, nah fuck it you better run! No matter how much it hurts! No matter how many years of friendship that are about to be tossed to the curb awaiting rubbish collection.

Today I’ve learnt to buffer the whole truth and nothing but the truth coz so help me God it doesn’t lead to anywhere I ever want to be again. Today I’ve learnt to keep my stupid mouth shut and continue to avoid confrontations at all costs even if it means not being true to what I’m really thinking. I am shaking and I am in shock. I feel like I’ve just witnessed myself and my friend in a car accident, all unfolding before my eyes in slow motion. I’m in shock because I have never, ever been spoken to by anyone, ever in my life like I was today. I have never been so misinterpreted, so misunderstood. I have never been told that someone regrets having had a friendship with me. I have never been told I am a nasty piece of work. And I don’t believe it for a second. I’ve spent my life caring for others, in fact I care for others more than myself most of the time. Sure I’ve bitched and whinged about people throughout my lifetime. I’ve vented to my friends about my friends or my kids or my husband and all back around again. Hell I’ve blogged about it numerous times. Sometimes I’ve been a shitty absent friend when caught up in my own crap but I’m not vengeful, spiteful or nasty. I am not a piece of shit and I would never, intentionally, hurt someone I care about. I hope she’s ok.

So today I learnt a lesson. In fact, I learnt many. Firstly, never, ever ask a friend if they unfriended you even if you know you were friends before and now suddenly you’re not – it may be a technological-fuck-up and not a human-decision-error. Never ask them that question because what happens from there is a series of reactions that don’t lead to a very good outcome. A simple question but not a simple outcome. I also learnt never to rely on social media to keep friendships safe because social media is the most unsocial way to connect with anyone ever. I learnt when being honest, filter at all costs! Honesty is not always well received especially if it’s not asked for. And finally I learnt if in doubt pick up the phone and talk. Get in your car, drive around, knock on their door and ask face to face. Never, ever rely on social media to relay a message especially when there are feelings attached to it, ever!

One love

DRK xxx

“Never, EVER, rely on a message to convey the emotions of the words it carries… Ever.” ~ Cristy O’Brien

Saying Goodbye Every Year


It happens at this time every year. Every time without fail and without me even realising it is happening. Well that was until last year in the midst of all these crazy feelings of despair I finally realised why I get like this, why I cry and feel sad know matter what my day brings. So this year as the tears began to roll and after a brief moment of thinking ‘what the hell is wrong with?‘ I quickly remembered. I now know why.

This realisation makes it easier to accept the tears and with acceptance I am being kinder to myself during this process then I have in previous years. This is the week of my life that my sub-conscious goes back to his final week here. The last week that I had the opportunity to spend time with him. The last week to show him I cared and to nurture him. The last week and last chance I had to have told him I loved him. But I never did. I never said it out loud, just over and over in my head a thousand times. I was too scared to say it, my voice wouldn’t own it. I was scared to say it out loud because saying I love you was like telling him that this was it. His life was ending, it was over and I was giving up on him.

So as the tears roll now and my heart hurts, this time I know why. I know that it is the distant memory, the unforgettable pain and the sadness that we had to say goodbye that is making me cry.

I also know that I am ok. I am not sad to get sympathy from others. I am not sad because I think I am the only one to have dealt with death. My sadness isn’t forced or unnatural it just is. I am sad because I miss him. I am sad because this time will always be the last few days of his life – no matter how many years pass.

I feel sad without realising until I remember.

Today and in the days leading to the anniversary of the last time I saw him, through the tears, I try to focus on happy memories and not on the last image of his face. I like to remember his positive attitude towards life and towards his fight with cancer. I remember the mark he left on this world and I remember that even though I am sad I am also very blessed. Blessed to have been his sister, to have known him and to have him watching over us as I continue to live my life – something I felt guilty about for such a long time but try to no longer dwell on.

So as his anniversary draws near and maybe it’s his presence I can feel more during this time I just wanted to acknowledge him. To acknowledge the feelings, the journey and the ride of missing someone. And I do. I miss him and the future he should of had with us.

“Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some people move our souls to dance. They awaken us to new understandings with the passing whisper of their wisdom. Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon. They stay in our lives for awhile, leave footprints in our heart, and we are never ever the same” ~ Chicken Soup for the Soul

One Love,

DRK xxx

This is a short story below is from two peoples points of view that I wrote not long after my brother passed away. It’s not the true story of Jeremy or his relationship with my Mum but just some words that I wrote for them both, with the hope and intention that the end part is true.

Ivory Tower

14 April

For the fourth time that morning I have my head down the toilet. There is nothing left to come up but my body doesn’t seem to know that. I’m so drained of all energy but I’ve made a promise to beat this thing, again. They haven’t given me a time frame, which is good, right?

“You alright?” asks my concerned mother. She looks tired too but she smiles at me and gently touches my back.

“Yeah, just great.” I reply sarcastically. I don’t mean to sound so harsh but sometimes it just comes out that way. I guess deep down I know she is the only person who will put up with me. The only one who will never leave, no matter how I treat her or how hard things become. Mothers have that special role, sometimes a gift but in this case, for her, a curse. Sadly I only ever tell her how much she means to me in cards on Mother’s day and her birthday. That’s just twice a year but I hope she knows that’s how I feel towards her every day.

“You alright?” I ask with concern for my only child, Andrew. I force a smile on my face as he turns his head away from the toilet bowl to look at me.

“Yeah, just great.” He looks drained and I forgive his harsh tone. I touch him gently on the back to acknowledge his suffering. I appreciate that we, as human beings, usually take our anger out on the ones we love the most. So I guess he loves me lots.

I help him to stand and I look him in the eye. We connect and I have the urge to tell him that everything is going to be all right but deep down I know it’s not. So instead I help him walk to his bed in which he has laid for weeks now as the cancer has a deeper and much more powerful control of his body but not his will to live.

“Can I get you anything? Should I make you some lunch?” I’m fussing with his sheets and I know he hates that but I just don’t know what else I can do to help him. I want to take care of him, I want to save him from the disease that is eating away at his life, and all I can do for him is cook his meals – which he can hardly stand to eat; wipe his chin after he violently vomits, sometimes for hours at a time, and fluff his pillows to stop his neck from becoming stiff, just another ache to his pained body.

“No.” He abruptly replies.

“OK. I’ll leave you be. Just call out if you change your mind.” I know he won’t. He’s stubborn like that. I sigh heavily and walk out. I turn as I reach his doorway to take a glimpse of my boy, so fragile and weak. Not the healthy 20 year old that he should be. What was it that I did wrong? He doesn’t deserve to suffer like this. He sees me looking at him and he turns his back to me. I want to tell him I love him but I’m scared that if I do that will mean this is the end.

I’m not hungry why doesn’t she understand that? No matter what food I eat my body will not heal. I am riddled with a disease that her love cannot cure, my will to live cannot beat and I hate it. I can see her in the corner of my eye standing in the doorway, looking at me with sadness and pain. I am ashamed that it is me that causes her this despair. I turn away from her so she cannot see the tears that well within my eyes. I am crying for her. I want to tell her I love her but I’m scared that if I do she’ll think I’m giving up.

28 April

I can’t walk or talk as the cancer has control of me. The pain in her eyes I can see and I don’t want to leave her so sad. How do I tell her I love her now that I cannot speak? How can she know that I am ok and I will meet her again someday? How can I tell her that the pain she feels is within me too because I am going to miss her so damn much? She’s taking me to the hospital today and I know my days are coming to an end. I am so scared of the sorrow I am leaving behind.

30 April

“We’ll just give him some morphine to ease his pain.” The nurse gently speaks to me. I nod my head although I want to scream and shout at them all to go away, to not touch my son, to help him, to bring him some life and not make him lifeless. I am at his beside as I have been for days. He no longer talks, he cannot get out of bed, and he is motionless. His breathing is shallow and I hang on to every breath he takes. I’m so scared that at any moment he will stop. I stroke his arm and I whisper over and over
again how much I love him. Please God let him hear me.

I feel so peaceful and safe. I can feel her stroking my arm and hear her soft and desperate cries. I can feel her silken tears touch my skin as she leans in to me whispering that she loves me over and over again. I feel lightness within and around me. I open my eyes to see what the warm glow is and it’s a beautiful ivory tower shining happiness and peace. I am going to be happy here, I think to myself. I will wait here for you to come and be with me. I’ll be at the top, I want to tell her. I look down at my mother with tears in her eyes and I whisper into her ear.

I cannot stop touching his skin. I want to warm him up and I am fussing over his sheets. I touch his head softly and I feel a lightness descend upon the room. I look up as he takes his last breath and in the silence of my pain I am sure I hear him say…

“I love you too.”


Copyright 2004