Before & After – A Mental Transformation

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

One love
DRK xxx

Knight In Shining Armour AKA Superwoman Cape & Trackies

I haven’t had the best week of my life.

I have been an absolute mess actually. Not because of one major life changing ‘thing’. Not because of something big enough that changes a life in an instant. No cancer diagnosis. No major car accident. No loss of life.

Just lots and lots of small things all stacked up. All precariously sitting on top of each other swaying. Threatening to tumble. Competing with gravity.

And gravity won.

Gravity always wins. I should know that by now.

And so, predictably, with gravity they all came crashing down. And by ‘they’ I mean me.

I haven’t cried like that in a long time. I haven’t prayed so hard to whoever it is out there since I was a young confused teen. I haven’t felt so desperate for a reprieve since … well since I can ever remember.

It was a deep, sobbing crying. Not a self pity cry.

A cry of really truly having had enough. A cry that was possibly a pivotal moment in my life … But I’m not sure on that one – it’s too early to tell.

On Sunday my Mum found me hiding out in the laundry deeply sobbing to myself. Hiding in the laundry to keep my sobbing from my two little boys a secret.

“What’s wrong?” She asked before all the words started tumbling out of my mouth. Short, sharp statements that weren’t really the reason for the intensity I was exhibiting.

She took me and wrapped me in a cuddle. Like my knight in shining armour. Except she was in trackies – which she totally pulls off by the way.

We talked. I cried. She advised. I cried some more. Then she took control. She put her foot down and gave me firm directions for how the rest of my day was about to play out. I was to 1) Call a friend. 2) Make a dinner date. 3) Let her take the kids. 4) Go out, drink some wine and feel like an adult.

And so I did. I took my swollen leaky nose, puffy red rimmed eyes out on a Sunday night with my friend.

My friend, who also jumped at the chance to get out on a Sunday night for some adulting, is someone who makes me laugh. She’s relaxed and calm and she’s pretty bloody good at being genuine too. I chose her because I knew she’d accept me in my state and be happy to be seen with my puffy eyes in public too.

I don’t know how to explain how lucky I am to have lost it like that and had someone there for me. I know how lucky I am and that alone should bring me out of my state. I am surrounded by these supportive people on a daily basis and if they are not beside me they are only ever a phone call away.

I have the kind of mother so many people would dream about. I have the kind of mother I hope to be one day. But for now she has her shit sorted while I’m still trying to put all my shit together.  And for this I am so thankful.

I love you Mum xx

One love

DRK xxx

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