I Thought We Were Done With This!

I know this is going to sound ludicrous to some people and then, some people will totally get what I mean when I say, every day, I fight an addiction to food. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it is 100% true for me. As a food lover I am addicted to carbs, sugar and eating because I am bored/tired/sad/lonely/happy/celebrating/whatever really. I have never been the kind of person who eats to live. I have never forgotten to have lunch or dinner. Instead I have always been that girl who lives to eat. It is a hard cycle to break because it is not like you can just “give up” food. Life revolves around food. Celebrations revolve around food. Sad events revolve around food. Life = food.

 

I have never been one of those people who could eat what they like without gaining a pound. I gain very easily. I gain too easily. Call it genetics. Call it “I fucked up my body with all my dieting”. Call it whatever you want but the truth is when I eat more then a very small amount I gain or at least sit at my overweight weight. But for the past 4 weeks I have been on the F45 Challenge with 4 weeks to go (but it doesn’t really end there you and I both know that). Usually I would have given up by now so I will give myself some credit for that. I have also lost 6kg (13 pounds) in that four weeks which I know is good, great even, but I am hard on myself. I’ve lost 6kg even though I am only doing the food part of the challenge due to existing physical issues and another one I decided to add the first weekend of the challenge. Six kilos is a good amount but it could have been better coz I have not been perfect.

 

I question myself and my motives every day more than once, in fact every passing minute. On one hand I have this voice saying why are you doing this, love yourself as you are, you’ve had five kids, life is short, you only live once, it is ok to love food, to be slim means giving everything up, to be slim means you will be miserable, I thought we were done with this battle, if you give this food up now the next time you try it you are going to gain every kilo back so why even bother… On and on.

 

I get slammed.

 

Then faintly in the background I hear… this will pass, you are on your way, imagine how great you are going to feel, drink more water, you aren’t hungry you are bored/tired/procrastinating, you are doing this BECAUSE you love yourself, think of all the clothes you will be able to wear again, imagine feeling good every day, imagine feeling like you again…

 

The talking in my head is a cataclysmic royal pain in my arse.

 

But onward I march. I will quieten those voices. I will reach my goals. I will look back briefly only to see how far that I have come. I will keep moving forward because even if the progress is slow it is still progress and for that I will keep on keeping on and when that fails I will read back over this blog and another blog I wrote last year “Five Tips to Stop Over Eating and Start Losing Weight”. I should really listen to the words I give to others – it makes sense + would be so much more powerful if I actually lived it instead of preached it.

 

My top six goals:

  1. To be able to take my wedding rings off to get cleaned (they’ve been stuck on for the past 3 years)
  2. To fit into my jeans again without having to have the top button undone AND ending up with terrible tummy pains from squishing everything in so tight.
  3. To eat only when actually hungry and be satisfied with a balanced diet
  4. To have a waist line of under 80cm
  5. To have a body fat of under 29%

 

It will take me longer than the eight weeks but progress is still progress. Wish me luck!

Quitter

Oh and P.S I am baaaaccckkkk… ❤ SAHDRK xox

Living With Regrets

We’re not supposed to have regrets or at least we shouldn’t admit to having them. “No regrets” is the life motto of so many and it’s honourable. Admirable. Dare I say it – inspirational?! But I’m all about being different and real so let me do those two things for you for a second here…

Do I have regrets?

Hell to the yes I fucking do!

I regret wasting 20 years of my life hating my body. Not swimming because of my body. Missing good times and parties because of my body. Not allowing myself to talk to that super funny chick and making a new friend because of my body. My hideous, unlikable body – I regret feeling that way about myself for so long.

I regret not being a better sister. I really fucking do. My brother was dying and I was thinking of myself, constantly. I really regret that selfish phase of my life and I’m sure he is ok up there with it all but I missed out on more memories because of my selfishness. And there I go being selfish again – but that I don’t regret.

I totally really regret sleeping with so many boys as a youngster. Yes, I would call myself a slut – but hey had I been a boy I would have been a total stud. I regret it because they mostly treated me like shit and I regret so badly that I didn’t stand up to them and tell them not to treat a desperate, low self-esteemed girl like that. Warn them that one day they would have daughters of their own and most of them do which makes me laugh like a super-villian-evil-bitch. I would warn them that it would kill them to see their insecure child being treated like a piece of meat. I regret not mastering that super-attitude-finger-waving-head-tilting thing that women do. I regret not having enough self worth to treat myself better and to tell those boys to go fuck themselves. I don’t look back at those times and think to myself “Yeah, that sure was fun!” Honestly I cringe and I think how desperate and ugly I felt back then – it wasn’t fun at all.

I have spent twenty plus years, regretfully wasting my precious life on being something or someone that I thought would please others yet I hated everything about the wannabe that was me. Always seeking external gratification, external recognition, external la-di-fucking-da’s. I wish I had been taught at a much younger age that all of those things were inside me all along.

Over those two decades I’ve shed a few of the try-hard-qualities as I have grown, lived and learned (eventually) but it’s been the last three years where I’ve picked up the speed on that shedding and all those things I thought I had to be or couldn’t be no longer exist or matter as of today in my dirty thirties. It is liberating and soul freeing. I’ve un-become so I can be exactly who I am. And my regrets aren’t filled with anger or sadness they are simply regrets. Which is my point. That it is ok to have regrets. The point is not to dwell on them. The point is to learn from them and the most monumental point is to embrace them as part of your life story. I wouldn’t have, be or understand life as I do now if I didn’t do all those shitty things I regret.

What’s most important of all is that you stop being somebody else and be yourself instead! Become you because you are living a life nobody else can. You are in control and all the choices are yours for your present and future. Sometimes the past sucks big hairy sweaty balls and those things sure do taste like shit but RIGHT NOW you are in a completely different moment and you get to CHOOSE whatever it is you want. Happiness. Gratitude. Weirdness. Whatever. Open those big fucking eyes of yours and look in that mirror. You don’t have to make love to yourself to love yourself but you can if you want. You don’t have to tell the whole world how a-fucking-mazing you are. You don’t have to do a single damn thing to live with your regrets. You just live. You just choose to live as you. Which is not always easy but shake off the shit you’ve pretended to be for so long and just be you.

Now go. Go and live in the present moment, which will soon be your past, and live it as YOU. Because, trust me, when you actually make decisions in life based on being you they can’t become regrets. They are instead whoopsies. When you make moves in life, as you, and you are being real and honest with yourself any fuck-ups simply become good memories… Eventually … One day … And you will laugh about them because you will know you were just being yourself. Your adorable, imperfect self.

One love

DRK xxx

How To Love Your Body

Loving and accepting yourself, especially as a woman, is not always as easy as it sounds. In fact for most of us it feels near on impossible. We spend a huge amount of our lives obsessed by our bodies and by the numbers that we allow to control our worth in society. Like the numbers on the scales and by god those damn scales never get it right do they. The numbers labelled onto our clothes which dictate our ‘size’ and categorise us into petite, average, plus-size. Numbers ‘scientifically’ extracted from foods and then labelled as calories – good calories, bad calories – don’t eat that, do eat that. Success. Failure.

It’s like a never ending rollercoaster ride that you never wanted to get on in the first place.

STOP I WANT TO GET OFF. Yes, I know, you’ve also been begging this for years.

These numbers consume us and torture us. Yet they really mean nothing. They are just numbers. They hold no power. We give them power and then we compound those numbers by surrounding ourselves with images of what we ‘should’ look like. Reading articles about other womens bodies. Being financially and emotionally invested in the toxic magazines that decide if someone is too fat or too skinny. Constantly our bodies, bodies of all women, are picked apart. Judged. Treated like ornaments. Why have we, why do we, allow womens bodies to be up for discussion? Why do we enrol ourselves in this way of living? And why the fuck do we become our worst critics when we should be protecting and nurturing the only body we have!

For decades I had decided my freckles were ugly. My nose was too big, my legs too chunky and my tummy… OMG my tummy was fucking hideous. All these things combined made me disgusting. Gross. Unlovable and unable to succeed at anything. Everything bad that happened to me was always because of these physical things. I decided from a very young age that only the pretty girls were successful and I was never going to be one of them. My life was a hate-fest – directed purely at myself.

Today I see me differently. Today I know a lot of women and young girls are also seeing themselves differently.

Why do they? How could this happen? Where’s the magic pill? You ask.

There is no pill. You do not need to put anything in your body or take anything out of it to make it loveable. To make it worthy. To make it beautiful.

It already is.

Seriously.

So how can you believe this to be true? How can this happen?

Embrace.

Embrace happened.

If you want to love your body you need to see the film Embrace by Taryn Brumfitt. You need to see it. Your mother needs to see it. Your daughter needs to see it. In fact your son needs to see this too. I saw this last night and I witnessed the transformation of so many women. The break throughs. The acceptance. The tears. The conversations. Oh my god the conversations! It absolutely breaks your heart to hear so many women have suffered the same thoughts and feelings for so long. So many have suffered in silence with nobody to talk to. Last night the flood gates opened. Last night body love and acceptance became a topic of conversation.

The message is constant throughout the film which is uniquely delivered by every size, shape and skin coloured woman. The message being that we waste so much of our time, so much of our lives thinking about our bodies. Critising them, wishing they were different, punishing them for being the way they are. Yet we should shift our focus to our psychological health because self acceptance has nothing to do with how we look. Self acceptance starts and finishes with our mind. Acceptance of where you are right now. Acceptance of your body as is.

Body love and acceptance starts with us!

We are blessed to be able to teach our daughters to love their bodies any which way they come. We are so lucky to be the generation in history that starts this movement to educates girls that their bodies are not items up for discussion and nor should they compare themselves to anybody else. We are the privileged generation that gets to teach them that gossip magazines and social media sites do not represent all the unique and fabulous body shapes the world has to offer and that photoshopping is wrong on so many levels and that realness is right!

The body image movement and body loving starts with us. Right now.

Watch the film. Take action. And one day in years to come our kids kids will be wondering what the hell this body image movement is all about because body loathing just won’t exist any more. Imagine that.

Seriously. Imagine that!

All my love,

DRK xxx

Are you still doubting? Well let me reaffirm that you, yes YOU, are beautiful just as you are. This means that you now have the right (as you always did) to be present in your life. You also get to be happy. To feel loved. To put on a swimsuit and splash around in the water with your three year old. You are fully entitled to buy that dress in the fabulous size 14 that you are right now and NOT in the size 10 to motive you to lose weight.

DO NOT waste a single day of your life from here on in thinking that you aren’t good enough, pretty enough, slim enough. There is no definition of the perfect body… NONE. You define it just by being YOU! Now go and love yourself! xxx

Click here to TAKE ACTION

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Embrace 2016 – You changed the way of thinking for a room full of women and young girls. Taryn Brumfitt, this movement is a gift that will be shared over and over again. Your sacrifices and your commitment to this film is deeply appreciated. #ihaveembraced

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

Burn Those Mo-Fo Scales

A few years ago my weight made my day, literally.

If my weight was up my mood was down and by down I mean down in the fiery pits of sooky-la-la-hell. Picture hyperventilating, tragic tears, snot everywhere, kicking stuff like a tempered two-year-old and eventually a hurt toe or two, it’s a pretty sight huh?!

On the other end of the scale (pun intended) if my weight was down I was up. Up in the clouds, high on happiness and full of confidence. Seriously though the only difference between a good and bad weigh day was a cheat meal and a decent shit.

One particular down day, of which there were many as it seemed just breathing my own farts could make me gain, my husband threatened the life of my scales. So when my tears didn’t dry up after the umpteenth time of him describing how he saw me and that the scales couldn’t rate sexy or awesome he honoured that threat by taking it to the next level.

He kidnapped my scales!

Yep, kidnapped that silver-tongued weighing machine without so much as a ransom note and he threw it powerfully over his head and directly at the driveway beneath our first floor balcony. He then pulled out his keys, threw himself frustratedly into his car, turned the ignition and proceeded to drive over them. Not satisfied with the crunch he ripped it into reverse, drive, reverse – you get what I’m saying? And then when he felt sure the scales were unusable he parked his ute on it as a final triumphant winning move.

I was devastated. Silly I know but I really was! How was I going to judge my day from now on if I didn’t know how fat or not-too-fat I was? Did I really have to wake up and just be happy? Is that what the rest of the world did?

I’ve told this husband-car-smashing-scales story before but now I’m out the other side, not completely cured but living better than I have before, I see this story differently. I also see it as a must for all women, everywhere, who choose their mood in a negative way because they listened to this mean girl machine! She is a mean girl compacted, digitalised and she doesn’t even have to speak to make you feel shit about yourself. Who are you giving your power away to?!!! If you must give your wonderful womanly power away at least make them living breathing humans! And by ‘if you must give away your power” I mean DON’T FUCKING GIVE ANYONE YOUR POWER EVER! Living, breathing or machining.

It does not matter how much you paid for those scales. It does not matter what excuses you come up with. If you weigh yourself every day or as in my case back then three times a day then you go NOW and you get that mother-fucking number thingy and throw them at the driveway and reverse, drive, reserve, drive, repeat and park on them! And no I won’t pay for your punctured tyres be smart about it ladies cover it in cardboard if you have to. If you don’t have a car, get a hammer, don’t have a hammer, get a bat – but not the perfection bat because that’s imaginary. Throw them in a bonfire if you can’t beat them to death and stand there triumphantly watching them burn! DO something significant to those little gravity defining mofos!

Was my pep talk not enough? What are you still doing here? Can’t let go? You want more?

Well, here’s ten reasons why you should amputate those fuckers from your life:

1. The scales WILL NOT tell you who you really are! That bitch will never give you the answers you are looking for! No. NOT. EVER.

2. The scales will not tell you how your genetics influence your weight/height/body shape. They will not tell you whether you are a petite dainty babe or a complete glamazon or some beautiful specimen in between. It only gives you a number. JUST A NUMBER! Like this – 67 – or this – 84 – or this – 72.47567296 – …. Numbers! NOT genetic make-up. You’ve got your Dad’s legs, your Mums waistline and apparently your Great-Aunties nose … A scale can’t calculate that whole bundle of gloriousness!

3. The scales will not tell you how funny/smart/creative you are. They can’t tell you that you have a killer backhand in tennis, that your kids/husband/dogs think your laugh is the one of the best sounds to hear ever in this world or that, if there was such a thing, you would have earned a Masters Degree in parenting/kicking arse by now.

4. The scales just stress you the fuck out … Don’t they? Then why do it to yourself? We are smarter than that. We are worth more than that! Life CANNOT be defined by that!

5. The scales cannot tell you your ‘correct’ or your ‘ideal’ weight. Why? Because it’s a stupid fucking machine! A stupid fucking machine that someone invented to make you feel bad about yourself! And they continue to do so and they win! Why let them win?!

6. The scales tell you nothing about your actual state of health. Nothing! It may give you your body fat percentage or your hydration level but can it really? It doesn’t take your blood and then calculate your cholesterol. It doesn’t evaluate the arteries in your heart, your pancreas function or tell you that you have a fatty liver. Other machines do that. Let them make you feel bad – but only to make you do something positive about it!

7. The scales can actually hinder your efforts! How? Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the statement, and probably, like me, scoffed at it too, that “muscle weighs more than fat”…. It actually really does! So if you are exercising and eating well and your weight is not shifting (or it is going up) then could it be possible your shifting fat and building muscle? Could it!?! But no you see you’re weight has gone in the wrong direction and you throw in the towel, sit on the couch, crying into a bag of caramel popcorn and chocolate. Don’t worry I’ve done that too a billion times over!

8. The scales can’t and won’t tell you that you’re due for your period, if you ate a cheat meal last night or if you haven’t been to the toilet in a few days. It cannot tell you that you are retaining fluid or if you’ve lost centimetres off your waistline. A tape measure can, your clothes can but not that mean girl machine.

9. Weight is your gravitational pull. Your mass is your matter. But none of it matters if you’re healthy and balanced in life. Your scales will only tell you your physical earthly mass. Not the depth, the intensity or the worthiness of your mass. It cannot tell you that your laughter is contagious, your smile lights up the room like sunshine or that you look totally fucken hot right now even though the scale says a number that isn’t socially acceptable to you.

10. The scales will only confuse you, haunt you and give you reasons to whip out your perfection bat. It’s a mean girl disguised as a helpful health machine and it will take away your power – if you let it.

Who’s the one in charge of your health? 

Who’s the one in control of your body? 

Who is the only one who can change who tells who what to do?

I’ll give you a clue: it’s not the scales!

Wear it. Own it. Be it….. And by ‘it’ I mean YOU!

One love,
DRK xxx

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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

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.

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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!

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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.

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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

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

Designated Ugly Fat Friend

Revelations are coming thick and fast lately. My latest? Well, it starts with a story – or a few moments that I’ve entwined to make up my “life story”…

When I was a teenager two of my friends were known to me and the school as the cool girls. Pretty, funny and full of charisma. If you couldn’t be them you wanted to be around them just so, perhaps, a little bit of pretty would rub off on me. We spent our high school years as friends and are still friends today, except now it is not based on coolness just comfort and love. Today I was hanging with one of them and we were talking about the new movie that is out called The DUFF. I haven’t seen it and haven’t heard anything about it so it was today that I learnt what DUFF stood for. Designated ugly fat friend. That was me! That is who I have always thought of myself as! No matter who I am with or where I am in my life. I look in the mirror and that is who I see, DUFF.

Part of my “life story” to confirm this was a night the three of us went out in the city, just 19 years old or so. I was a teen mum so I had already had a child and this was a little weekend getaway to the big smoke. My two gorgeous friends were childless, successful and still… well gorgeous, funny and charismatic. I didn’t have any nice clothes so my friend let me borrow a denim skirt and a blue and white floralish top (yes I remember exactly what I was wearing). I also remember I had trouble fitting into her clothes even though back then I was only a size 8. Once dressed we headed out. We were walking down the street moving towards a pub when ‘we’ were wolf whistled at by a group of men. They also made some comment to us and with my friends’ quick wit and confidence she replied “How does get fucked sound brother?” You could see their testicles ride up into their throats, they’d been put in their place! It was awesome. I remember thinking that if, on the odd chance I’d ever be clever enough for a quick witted comment like that I’d probably end up with my head punched in! You know how some people can just say shit and get away with it and some people just can’t? I am one of those people who can’t. It was the same in the classroom at school they could do or say anything and the teachers would just laugh along…. If the same things came out my mouth I would have been suspended for sure. I put this down to me being ugly and them pretty. Another additional affirmative part of my ‘story’.

Anyway … we go into this pub and we are not even there 5 minutes before they are both getting chatted up and they are blowing off the advances like smooth criminals. Then finally this guy comes up to me and I am thinking “Oh yay, I am worthy” until he opens his mouth and this comes out …. “So, you’re the ugly friend huh?

Open up the ground and swallow me now. I wanted to die. I was gobsmacked and worst of all I didn’t have a smart arse reply. I was so embarrassed that I didn’t even want to tell my friends thinking that maybe they would look at me and think “Fuck yeah, why do we even hang out with this fugly chick?” Luckily, they had substance no matter how ‘cool’ they were and they loved me and my ugly fat arse anyway. To this day I hate telling that story just in case people would then be embarrassed to hang out with me …. Lucky my blog isn’t highly trafficked!

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It was this one moment, this brief few seconds of my life, that firmly cemented my ugly belief into the deepest part of my core. From years of schooling where I’d like a boy, he’d be kind of interested or worse still dating me, then he’d meet my ‘gorgeous’ friends and I, then, became the dogs breakfast. Thinking about all of it now, I’m not gonna lie, it hurts a little, embrrasses me a lot. BUT it’s all my shit. I see other women getting around who are not typically attractive but yet have this confidence and think their shit doesn’t stink and you know what? It pays off!

But the real revelation came later today when my 17 year old daughter came up to me and told me about this new female in her life that was messaging her and being nice to her and asking her for advice. I was waiting for her to say something ‘gossipy’ or that this girl had suddenly turned on her but instead she came out with “Why would she?” and I was like “Why would she what?” – sincerely confused. Her question? Why would this chick who is gorgeous, ‘you know like model material and really cool,’ want to talk to her. Was there a hidden agenda? Did she really like her? Well, I am standing there with my hot iron in hand completely dumbfounded and looking at my daughter and thinking… “WTF! Since when are you not worthy enough to have someone pretty, in fact, anyone of any look or style, talk to you! You are gorgeous and ‘model material’ yourself!” Then it dawned on me, she is more like me then I’d ever dare admit. I have taught her to believe that. I have taught her to give and give and give and to always try to make other people happy. To buy people nice stuff, to put in all your best efforts because how could they ever like someone like me. Someone so ugly, so fat, so unattractive, so stupid and what’s the word for not funny? … I don’t even know but anyway just not funny.

I cannot believe it! What have I done?! My daughter, and I am not being biased, is gorgeous and beyond her external beauty is a young woman who is also smart, funny and kind. She is the whole package! Yet, my ugly beliefs that I have held onto since I was 6, starting a new school and a girl came up to me with a scrunched up face said accusingly “You’ve got freckles.” What I heard her say was “Damn bitch” (yes I know she was only 6) “you are ugggggglly!” From that moment on I was convinced of my ugliness, everything else from there on in just set it in stone. I’ve allowed my beliefs to transfer onto a young woman. A child. MY child! And what is comical now that I look back is that same child had freckles! Maybe, just maybe, she was stating the bleeding obvious not because she thought it was ugly but because she had found someone just like her! Doh!

Well, what the hell do you do with information like that? I now know that being a DUFF is really just a state of mind but where do I go from here? How do I change this awful belief? I’m honestly not sure but I am going to figure it out! Stay tuned!

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One love

DRK xxx

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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