#MeToo

In the wake of the Harvey Weinstein sexual allegations that have recently come out, a recurring thread has been popping up on social media.

#MeToo

It stands to encourage and empower women, by providing them with a voice to speak up now amidst the majority of women speaking out everywhere. This two-word hashtag is giving woman a platform to say “enough is enough.” A platform that is supposedly safe. A platform where supposedly judgment does not live.

 

I read an online comment the other day, posted by a male, who wrote that 50% of the blame lies with sexual harassment victims – basically if you dress provocatively, you need to be accountable for what will happen to you.

I cannot tell you how much I was infuriated by that bastard. He deserves all the Hate, Karma and horrible consequences of his unsightly accusations, and I hope he gets it three-fold. A woman can wear WHATEVER she chooses. She can do and go and be seen however she likes, because at the end of the day, if she says “no” to sexual advances, her opinions and choices need to be respected.

No buts. No excuses. No ‘get-out-of-jail-free’ cards.

She has red nailpolish? No means No.

She has blonde hair? No means No.

She has a tight dress? No means No.

She is flirty? No means No.

She fell asleep? No means No.

She is unconscious? No means No.

She said Yes before, but now she’s changed her mind? No means No.

Having the immature excuse of “she is teasing him in that dress,” is the most incomprehensibly weak excuse. It paints men as an immature, childish race, a race that cannot be held accountable for their actions since they apparently ‘can’t help themselves.’

(The female race has been dealt with the word ‘No’ for centuries now for not being as ‘strong’ as their male counterparts, and we’re still somehow surviving).

It paints men out to be like children. We say “they are learning” when our children draw on the walls, accidentally spill drink on the floor, and drop that ornament that has been in the family for years. They are learning, because they don’t know better. They are making accidents as they grow, and as they make their way through life. They are learning action leads to consequences, and so on.

A man forcing himself onto a woman, is not a lesson to be learnt. A man forcing himself onto a woman is NOT an accident.

NO means NO.

It is sad that despite years and years of sexual harassment, only now are women in the entertainment industry coming out and sharing their story. It is sad that there are other women in this field, saying it happens EVERYWHERE.

It is sad that women are expected to endure sexual harassment, and have to turn a blind eye, because ‘guys are just being guys.’

Like, No, these aggressors are not just ‘being guys,’ they are being DICKHEADS.

In the past week or so, as I started to see people I know posting the above hashtag on social media, some even commenting on scenarios they have been in, I started to think of myself and my life, and any incident of a sexual harassment nature that had made me upset, or scared to speak up.

I had to think for a while. Not because some incident happened years ago and it was something I had pushed to the back of my mind. No, I had to think, because I didn’t know where to start.

It’s a continual never-ending blur, the stuff we women must put up with. Incidences that occur in our day-to day-lives, the way we feel when we step out of the house alone, the thoughts that run through our minds, the scenarios of possible threatening situations, and the way we as women have been programmed to think, to be wary of all men, has now become an everyday normal thought process, something we don’t think twice about, and yet something that has merged all our unfortunate nightmares into one to make the opposite sex a feared one.

I have memories of dancing with my friends out at the nightclubs, and having guys tap you on the shoulder, push into your dancing space, or try to grab you not-so-conspicuously on the dancefloor. And when you tell them “stop” or show no interest, or turn away… they would get upset. A guy who I have never met before in my life, got upset I didn’t let him touch me, and he didn’t even know my name.

And knowing my name does not give him a reason to do it either.

Rule 1: why do you think girls go to the toilet together? Safety in numbers.

Sorry dude. Apparently me dancing with my girlfriends means I OWE YOU MY BODY.

There are the stares. The leers and the whistles. The way you walk past a group of guys, and their quiet lingering is unsettling as you pass them by. The deafening silence as they stare you down, their heads following as you disappear behind them, screams in your ears.

It is the day-to-day uncomfortableness. It is there ALL the time.

2. Don’t look a male stranger in the eye. It ‘encourages’ them. 

Do you know what I read today? An Egyptian lawyer has come out to say that women who wear ripped jeans deserve to be raped. In fact, it is a man’s cultural obligation to do so to women, because they are teaching them ‘self-respect.’

This is what is being said in this day, in this age. A man is publicly speaking and encouraging other men to do their duty and ‘take care’ of the women, who by wearing slits in their jeans as a fashion statement, are apparently not looking after themselves.

Rule 3: Do not live life freely. Do not for one second think you can live like a man and not get in trouble for it. Your sex will catch up to you.

I was followed once. I was followed after departing from a train station on a Friday night. The guy was breathing down my back, following me back to the car park until he realised Hubbie was waiting for me there – he then abruptly veered off and stood amongst some trees before back-tracking and making his way to the train station, undoubtedly to look for his next victim.

I can’t imagine what would have eventuated if I had not had someone there waiting for me. I shudder to think of all those girls who make their way home from work, from school, from being out with their friends, and DON’T have the luxury of someone waiting for them on the other side.

This makes me so sick.

There are not only 3 rules. The ongoing rules of life as a woman, are to avoid all kinds of male interaction EVER, in all of your day-to day activities, and ensure you avoid at all costs any alone time with a stranger man. With a man. Because you NEVER KNOW.

It’s the disparaging remarks in the workplace. Men can get away with making fun of the female form, vagina jokes and lesser-sex putdowns, but can you imagine if a woman poked fun at a man’s temperamental dick? At his sensitive testicles? About how at the beach, all of his manhood is on show?

Do you think us as women, would get the sack? Of course we would. And yet men are getting away with sexual discrimination of all kinds, of favouring one sex for promotions and jobs and opportunity, and let’s not forget the never-ending equal-pay dispute, the constant reminder that a woman still IS lesser than a man while at work, doing the exact same job.

It’s telling your Hubbie not to get odd-job house quotes when he is at work. It’s the unease about being in a house alone with a man you have never met before and having that nagging thought in the back of your head “what if?”

It is choosing to wear ‘safe’ clothing, because you will not be noticed.

It is bowing your head down low as you walk so as to not meet any lingering eyes.

It’s the world-wide excuse of acceptance, normalising the behaviour, and enabling it from incompetents such as the Egyptian lawyer, who added that his own daughter should be raped if she too, wore ripped jeans.

And after all of this, and so many more incidences that fail to come to mind because I have been programmed like the rest of women in society to ‘get used to it,’ I also say

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#MeToo.

Me Too. This has to stop.

 

Photo by Mihai Surdu on Unsplash

 

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Something else out there

I can’t remember the correct timeframe, or how old she was. Everything is such a blur when you’re a new Mum.

But I had just come back home from one of baby girl’s Maternal Child Health Nurse check-ups. They are so frequent at the beginning – they visit you at home a couple of times, then there are weekly visits, they go to 2 weeks and 4 weeks and 8 weeks… maybe it was even MORE frequent. I can’t remember.

I think some things you choose not to.

I had been trying to breastfeed her for so long. She was just so little, and still learning. She was soooo little. Born at just under 2.5 kilos, she truly was a doll.

I had been told at the previous visit, based on her good weight gain with the formula milk I had been giving her, that I could try to wean her onto the breast, and rely less on the formula.

Which is what I did. It was really hard, and that is a whole other story, but I did it.

So when I came for my next MCHN check-up, the nurse was surprised to find… she had actually dropped in weight.

A couple of hundred grams is a lot when your baby is only weeks old. The nurse was actually quite nice, not judgmental, and didn’t question my tactics… yet I saw the concern on her face.

She suggested perhaps my breast milk wasn’t strong enough. Try some cheese, a handful of almonds before you breastfeed, she said.

She looked at the previous record and this current one, repeatedly, comparing the two and wondering if there had been a weighing error the last time.

She tapped her finger against her chin, thinking of what to do, wondering what was going on, and scheduled me to come in and see her again sooner than was necessary.

Through my haze of confusion and intense worry, I could see the answer, and yet it couldn’t come forth for me to speak up. It was too far away to catch, distant amidst all my sleep deprivation, anxiety, intense mood swings, and adjustment to life that I had not been prepared for at all.

I had only been somewhat prepared for the labour. That was it. None of the BEYOND. None of the important stuff.

I thought I had turned a corner in my breastfeeding, and that finally, I had succeeded at something. To have all of that questioned, to hear that my little baby girl was losing weight, NOT gaining weight as needed, especially as she was so petite, was the tipping point.

I don’t know how I drove. A friend was desperate for a group catch-up. I hastily wrote “it’s not a good time at the moment.” And I went home and bawled my eyes out.

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Photo by Jordan Whitt on Unsplash

Baby girl was asleep. I remember sitting on the table near the kitchen, feeling so alone. Those first few days, weeks, months, ARE LONG. You are waiting for your husband to come home, to help you, relieve you, hug you, love you, and tell you it’s going to be ok.

They go to work every day. Oh how lucky they are to leave those walls. To walk out the door and go back to some sense of normalcy, to speak in proper conversations with actual adults, when all the while you are dying at home and wondering when it will all end.

I was sitting there, and actually begging. I was begging God to send me someone to save me. I sat there crying, feeling so alone, and yet unable to reach out and call anyone.

It’s awful that in our worst moments, we are unable to reach out. To ask for help. To seek advice, a shoulder to cry on, and a listening ear when it is most dire to our wellbeing.

I was an absolute mess for what felt like the longest time… but maybe, it was really about an hour. Watching the clock, crunching on almonds, hoping someone would call, or Hubbie would come home early.

Soon, the phone rang.

Help had been sent. It was my sister.

She listened to my tears. We worked out what I had tried to grasp earlier, but couldn’t amidst the shock of the news. The formula was heavier than the breastmilk. She naturally dropped in weight as I went to exclusively breastfeed her, and within time, it would go up again.

She would regain it all.

And she DID. Being at one of the lowest percentiles at birth, can you believe this petite angel of mine is now in about the 90-95th percentile in height and weight?

People constantly tell me how tall she is for a 4 year old.

I never would have imagined.

But this is not the moral of the story. It’s got nothing to do with the breastmilk, early Motherhood or even how much you should listen to nurses…

It’s all about the sign. The help. The call out.

I had called out, and I had received help.

I’ve always believed in something greater out there… and this to me was further proof.

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Photo by Maranatha Pizarras on Unsplash

I don’t know what has gotten into me lately. Something is not right. I can’t get excited. I don’t know what it is, or why or how this has come, because I didn’t think, other than the normal crap that life sometimes throws at us, that I had anything that was weighing me down.

All of a sudden, I was DOWN. Not in the gravitational pull sense.

I mean FLAT. Uninspired. Losing interest. NO focus.

I don’t like to use this term casually, but even… DEPRESSED.

I started to worry. Was this a hormonal cycle thing? Was I just having a bad day?

I woke up after my first bad day, my DOWN day, and… was still DOWN.

Day 2…

Day 3…

Day 4…

No interest. Lacking motivation. Feeling hopeless, for no apparent reason at all.

When I realised I wasn’t looking forward to anything, I started to worry.

Because this wasn’t like me. I always had something to look forward to. Even when I was sick I’d be looking forward to getting better. I would even look forward to work, believe it or not. I had many things to look forward to, and even amidst shit people and events and spanners thrown into the mix, I would find a way to look past all that and look forward to something bigger and brighter in the future.

I think of things now, and my mind goes blank.

I actually have no reason to feel this way… that concerns me too. Nothing notable or significant has happened to make me feel this way, and yet there is this niggly, annoying feeling at the back of my mind, there is something weighing me down, making me feel moody and lowly and telling me that all is not right.

It is a scary place to be.

I didn’t ask for ‘help’ while I was at work yesterday. But I was thinking a lot about the state I was in, and getting upset and emotional within myself. Because each time I spoke to someone, and they asked me how I was, I felt like I was trying to convince myself, more than I was trying to respond to them. 

“Yeah,” I replied nodding, thinking. “Good.”

No, I was not GOOD.

I went through these emotions, this thinking, ALL DAY, trying to get myself out of the funk, to no avail.

And then without any kind of request, other than me asking myself “WHY?” a series of small interactions occurred.

Because within a 5 minute period, as I packed up my belongings for the day, I came across three women. Not necessarily women I see or talk to often at work either. And all three of them expressed great interest in me, in how my life was going, and they had such big smiles as we spoke, that it was hard to not get affected.

Now don’t get me wrong, a simple chat wasn’t enough to take me out my funk. I was still a bit helpless. But I had gained a bit of something that I talk about often here.

HOPE.

I don’t know why, but that series of small chats made me feel like there was something, or someone, trying to get through to me and lift me up. Those three women were thrown at me, so unusually, and with such force, that it was difficult to deny that there was something other than divinity at work here.

Someone or something, had responded to my unanswered question.

Life can be hard. No, Life IS hard. We are fortunate when we call out and receive a response to our cry for help.

Other times we may not ask, but we get assistance in unspoken form.

And then there are times, when we need to seek it out ourselves.

There is no shame in asking for help, or telling people we feel like shit. It actually takes all the courage in the world.

And whether you believe in a higher power, a greater good, or NOT, that is also ok… as long as you seek what you need when your soul is crying out for it, because every now and then, we all need a lending hand.

And maybe, just maybe, you have somehow been led to this post, and I am lending my words of advice, my experiences, and my Hopes for something greater, to YOU.

If you or someone you care for needs help, you can call Lifeline on 13 11 14, or click here.

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Photo by Paola Chaaya on Unsplash

 

 

 

My own worst enemy

There is someone close to me. This person, I love very dearly.

And yet this person, frustrates me with their immaturity. Because when life doesn’t go to plan, they sulk.

It’s a tad annoying. I mean, Life… ups and downs, right?

This person, as wonderful as they are, gets really down and out about themselves and everything when things aren’t happening to them. Other people may be moving house, buying a car, going on a holiday, or even just going out to brunch every weekend, and this person, just can’t take the joy of it, because something positive isn’t also consequently happening to them.

This person, who I shall name X (to reduce the incidence of constantly repeating ‘this person,’ and also avoid accidentally giving away the gender) was in a fairly stagnant and stationary period for a while. They had gone through a wonderful time before that, where ALL the attention was on them. But then came upon that ‘desert phase,’ you know the one –  where the wind blows the tumbleweeds around them, and they watch idly while others are on horses playing cowboys and Indians and going to bars to drink or shoot people, or meet Clint Eastwood or even John Wayne. Yep, even John Wayne.

And they are standing there idly. It’s a stage that happens to us ALL.

It was a bit difficult to watch. I really wanted to put my two cents in and offer some words of comfort. We had been in that very same phase before moving house. We were standing there at parties, all the while people were all excited and super-interesting in their life plans and goals, and meanwhile –

  • we had bought a new car which had just been hit
  • we wanted to Sea change and had no idea if we could do it (or afford it)
  • toddler stages were FUN! (super-sarcastic here)
  • and I was still, for the 4th year in a row, top-secret on my writing projects. So when people asked me/us “what’s new?”

We were all tight-lipped with that face-planted smile of “nothing much.”

Life goes up, Life goes down. Sometimes, things don’t go to plan. Sometimes, you are embarrassed with events that have occurred. Other times, it is boring as batshit.

A lot of the time, in any of the above circumstances, you don’t want to say a thing, because you are frustrated.

But we are adults here. We don’t sulk.

So on one night, when I offered up this piece of enlightening advice to X “I know, I’ve been there, everything is happening to everyone except you,” I got the most sullen of stares.

I felt like gently saying “Grow up.”

We don’t always have things happening to us.

We don’t always have the attention on us.

We aren’t always the star of the show.

Up and down, up and down.

And now to Me. The last few months I’ve been stressed for a manner of things. I’ve come to grow accepting of many of these annoying issues, or find ways around my stress, but it has been trying. When many facets of your life bring you down at once, it is hard to practice at positivity…

I was trying really hard to get into a regular exercise routine. I was seeing all these perfect bodies on facebook, these Mums who have gone from pregnancy flab to post baby FABULOUS, and looking all trim and taut with their sculpted tummies, while I just felt like a pile of shit. Lack of time to exercise properly, with a girl that constantly demands attention of me, made me feel worse about the situation. I can only manage what I can, and even that isn’t too much.

I was falling very behind in my writings. I started to question how beneficial my blogs were, when the main reason for starting these, creating an online Writing presence… well it didn’t mean squat when I had completely stalled on my creative endeavour to get published with my young adult book which I hadn’t added to in months and months! I was taking on and writing more than I could keep up with, and I started to wonder whether any of these writing tasks, I just had to give up on.

You know it’s a bleak day when you consider giving up a passion of yours. When you ask yourself “what is the point?”

And then there were the comparisons. Here I was, all this time, quietly plugging away at my passion, and then boom! This person has their work published! boom! And this person gets recognised with a new blog (and I didn’t even know they were inclined to write)… boom! more literary success from yet another person!

And then there I was, grinning… in stupefied shock.

What about me?

Don’t get me wrong, I am all about abundance. I am ABUNDANCE-CITY. I know there is enough love, and success, and happiness and all that wonderful jazz, for everyone in this entire world. I truly believe that. And yet, when I heard all these people, both who I had known wrote, and others who I had no idea were even interested in the task, were experiencing success both on small and large scales, a little part of me went

“When will it be my turn?”

It was really hard to swallow.

And now, the clincher… where I expose more than I ever planned to. Because I’m super secretive about some things, where with others I blab for the world to see.

Because I’m a contradiction that way. But I feel like I need to write this down, for some unknown, possibly therapeutic reason, and then I may never repeat it again…

Because I just found out that Wills and Kate are expecting their third child… and I was downright devastated.

And I don’t think I need to clarify why.

And in all of these cases, I have found it really hard. Really hard to just move on. Really hard to just be accepting of the hardships that life throws at us. Really hard to stay positive.

Really hard to NOT SULK. Because I have. On a zillion occasions. Including right now in fact.

I may not do it outwardly, but boy oh boy have I sulked. And pouted my lips. Asked “why?” a million times. And now I just might cry again, and I think, that’s ok.

Because I realised that I am my own worst enemy. Here I was, judging X for being all sulky and cranky-pants over life not going to plan, and once I started to get the same, I reverted to the same old behaviours.

X and I might as well be the same person. Maybe we are all the same people.

I have no answers, I have no solutions. Sure I should stay positive, or keep on moving on, as I always say. I should toughen up, yet also I think unless you are in something, you don’t really know how crap or annoying it feels to be in it.

And as for X? Xs ‘down time’ has since passed, and they are currently in the midst of a great, great high…

I guess X is proof of things going up and down. I should hold out, and Hope my luck turns soon too.

 

Why we do what we do

Writing.

Why do we do it? We feel that we need an expressive, emotional outlet.

We have a story to tell.

We want to engage with others.

We want people to feel, how we have, when we have read a life-changing book.

We just have to. We just have to get it down, and out of our heads.

That’s some of the reasons why we write.

Have you ever questioned though, what you write?

I did. Yesterday, and quite a few times last week.

Because yesterday, I was at a funeral. It was heartbreaking. There is nothing as humbling and life prioritising, as when you are seeing somebody laid to rest, long before they are due.

Leaving a wife behind. Leaving young children behind.

Just days ago a family member of Hubbie’s recounted how her own Dad lost his Father, when he was only 10.

I remember thinking “shit. Death has been unfairly happening for centuries. It has been unfairly happening FOREVER.”

And it will continue to. UNFAIRLY. HAPPEN. FOREVER.

It’s something we can’t escape. And when faced with questions of life and death, with our subsequent inevitable mortality, and how we should spend our life, making the absolute most of it, I kept thinking of what I love doing, and how I like spending my time…

Where I put my energies, and how I am making a difference.

And that’s where the insecurities began.

Maybe I should be writing about incurable terminal illnesses. Maybe I should be promoting the lack of funding, and urging people to donate, for medical authorities to put more money into research and funding and preventative measures.

Maybe I should be exploiting the child sex trafficking trade, highlighting to the world how absolutely disgusting and soul-wrenching this inexplicable market is. Maybe I should be going to these places and trying to take the kids off the street, shaming the dealers and screaming abuse at them for all to hear, and all to see.

Maybe I should be writing about violence against women. I sure as hell have mentioned it before, but maybe I need to write a book about it. Maybe I need to track down victims and gain statements in order to name and shame the perpetrators, and expose it for the world to see, so the instigators are prevented from repeating their offences, and so that future perpetrators can gain some kind of insight into why it is NOT OKAY TO ABUSE WOMEN.

Or maybe I need to be writing about politics. I mean, Trump. Australian issues. Refugees. Supporting our own farmers and flood victims, versus supporting the unfortunate in disadvantaged countries. I mean, who should be helped? Our own, or people in other countries? Aren’t those abroad also, our own? Isn’t that our human privilege, to be able to help others less fortunate? Or do we just worry about our own backyard?

And yet, what have I been writing about? What have I been pouring all my energies into the last several years?

Why, young adult fiction. Teenage fun, teenage issues. Coming of age stuff. Also, a blog or two, about food, books, and life as we move through it.

Not very life-changing is it?

I stood there in the freezing cold yesterday, pondering all this as a man’s body was lowered into the ground. His life was over. We had seen him only months ago, and there appeared to be so much promise, so much hope for his future. He would beat the bastard disease.

But instead, now, there was nothing. Just memories and a hyphen.

Nothing makes you question life and what you do with it, quite like the death of someone. It provides a warning, an alarm bell, for all those still around to witness it.

No one knows why death happens unfairly. Is it the absence of luck? Is it fate? Is it God? Or is it something greater, or comparatively, something worse… in fact, NOTHING AT ALL?

Could it be just nothing? We’re all just a step away from death, and if we are lucky enough to avoid it all our lives, we have done well???

I don’t know. I spent my time yesterday thinking of why I do, what I do, and I came to this conclusion…

I love to do, what I do. I do it because it makes me happy. I don’t spend hours researching and analysing, trying to change the minds of the authorities and the mass media, trying to sway them to change.

Sometimes an issue will grab me, and I WILL speak out. But my writing is done for my own enjoyment. It’s my own personal brand of therapy. I have to get the words out, the thoughts that stew in me. Whether it is my personal words for my blogs, all the things I like and dislike, what I am appreciate of, and what foods I like to eat and books I like to read, I do it for ME.

If anyone else gains anything from my writings, from my insights, then that is GREAT. That is something special.

As for my fiction… that is also done for my own purposes. My own entertainment. I like the story I see in my head, and I just have to get it out. If the only person who ever reads it are my kids, and they go “Mum that was pretty cool” well, WOO HOO. That is awesome. Of course I will try over the years to try get other people to see it… but at the end of the day, if the only people who see it are me, myself and I, and even if my kids never ever read a word I write… well I don’t deny, I might be a bit sad about that. But it won’t stop me doing what I’m doing. Because what I’m doing is for me and me alone, and no one else. I will gain the satisfaction of knowing that I produced that… and I will be pretty darn happy.

I don’t do it for others. That’s the key. That’s not to say I don’t help, or want to help others or other causes, and try to make a difference elsewhere when my heart cries out for it… but what I mean is I listen to the voice within me, and answer to that voice, that need, alone.

I don’t do things to make other people happy. I do it for me, first and foremost. And when you think about it, that’s the only person in this world you have to keep happy, right? Yourself. You have to keep yourself happy, yourself enriched, because YOU are the only person YOU have to answer to. You and You alone.

And if I’m doing these things, and they’re enriching my life, and making me happy, and filling me with joy – that’s enough, isn’t it? That’s a happy and fulfilled life. Writing about things that aren’t me… what is even the point of it? Who are you doing it for? Why are you doing it for others? It just doesn’t make sense.

Note that the above applies to EVERYTHING in life. If it’s not making you happy… well then find the thing that does, and do it RIGHT NOW.

Start today. We only have one life to live, and nothing is a guarantee. A quote from the author Elizabeth Gilbert in her book Big Magic is relevant now:

“You are worthy, dear one, regardless of the outcome. You will keep making your work, regardless of the outcome. You will keep sharing your work, regardless of the outcome. You were born to create, regardless of the outcome. You will never lose trust in the creative process, even when you don’t understand the outcome.”

And that says it all.

 

What’s the Big Deal about 2016 anyway?

It first started as a few funny online photos and memes.

‘2016, bleh,’

‘This is how my 2016 has been,’ – a man getting run over by a getaway trolley,

and then there was the one that showed Buffy sucking a lollypop that said ‘me at the beginning of 2016,’ next to an image of her post – demon fighting with hair dishevelled and looking insanely disrupted, with the caption ‘me at the end of 2016.’

I got a bit mad there. Not because they used Buffy – that was cool. I was shitty that people were treating the past year as if it was an other-worldly force, and they were the slayer, and they had battled demons from an open hellmouth and almost, just survived to tell the tale.

Let’s be honest. I’m sure there are people who have battled their figurative demons in 2016. In terms of world percentages, they are probably a small portion compared to those who bitch and whinge and moan that it was a bad year, when all that really happened was that guy dumped them, and they found out the other guy they’d been going after was actually gay.

Or that guy lost out his promotion to that arrogant arse-sucking snivelling tie-wearing suit, or he had to move back in with his parents, or he had to eat rice and tuna for one month of the year to make ends meet.

I’m sure, shit has happened to EVERYONE this past year. Because guess what? Life goes UP…

…And life goes DOWN.

And to think that it can go in any other direction than those, or that it will continue to stay up, and will never get dark, is just not very conducive or responsible, mature or wise, to anyone’s way of living.

What I’m getting at is this: There are too many people out there focusing on the bad that happened in the last year, when guess what? Bad things happen EVERY YEAR.

They can happen every month.

They can happen every week.

They can happen every day.

And they can happen every moment.

Sometimes luck is involved, and you may not come across a bad incident, scenario or situation for quite a while…

And at other times, your attitude determines everything.

Backtrack a bit. Your attitude ALWAYS determines everything.

Its not to say that horrible, terrible, life and death and sickly things happen all the time. They do. They really truly do, and that is scary stuff. One can be completely forgiven for breaking down and curling into a ball when it actually does. And you can call out 2016 for being the worst year of your life, and shout and scream at it until the clock strikes midnight at 2017.

But, having a bad month?

Your child shitting you up the wall?

Depressed because you can’t find a house?

Oh, you drive too far to work?

What’s that, the broccoli from the supermarket is smelly?

It’s been cold the first 3 weeks of summer?

Oh damn, your morning coffee just got burnt.

And what about not having your heating working in the coldest part of the year?

Poor, poor you.

I’ve used many examples above of things that Hubbie and I have expressly been subject to over the last few months. And although many of these things were annoyances, and setbacks, through the hardship and whinging, we still got up, we still moved on, we still put our chins up, and learnt to look at and focus on the things that were really good in our lives.

And they were really good.

You have to know the difference between life-changing, or plot twist. One of my favourite quotes is the below one, as it really puts things in perspective:

plot_twist

Shit happens every year guys. It happens all the time. Think of that next time they stuff up your order at the posh restaurant, or your friend backstabs you to the girl-group.

Go to a different restaurant next time.

Tell that friend to go jump.

Just MOVE ON.

Because this is YOUR life, and you should live it fully, focusing on what’s best, fantastic, and joyful around you… and if you do, your good fortune, favourable days and happy circumstances, will genuinely multiply.

And if you don’t… well then every one of your days, weeks, months and years on earth, will be just… bleh.

Your choice.

Really.

 

 

 

Metaphors, everywhere

It was cold. I was sick. The day had been long, but now I was headed home.

Life throws obstacles at you, life is not smooth.

I walked quickly, shoulders hunched, trying to turn my body into itself to shield myself from the cold. There was not much wind, but nonetheless, it hit me on every available bit of exposed skin: face, ears, hands.

No matter how fast you try to speed things up, things will come at you. Don’t let them stop you. Keep moving on, moving on. Don’t let them stop you.

I pulled my woolly scarf over and around my ears, burying my mouth into it so as not to intake the sharp Winter air.

You will need to use all your resources and depend on your closest crew to help you get by. Have them on call for a word of support, and make sure that those that surround you will only give you that. You may find you only have one, two, if you’re lucky three people like this. You’re rich already, that’s perfect.

I shoved my hands into my coat pockets trying to temporarily shield them.

You will need to dig deep to find that ‘thing’ within you: passion? belief? truth? courage? inspiration? determination? ALL OF THE ABOVE.

It’s so cold, it’s so cold… no it’s ok, it’s ok, one step closer, one step closer, each step is bringing me closer to my destination…

You will be tired, and hungry, and maybe even cold, but you must not lose sight of the bigger picture. You must not forget why you started. Why did you start? Don’t give up. Each step, each setback, each failure, is bringing you closer to where you want to go.

I get to my car, and sink into the seat with a sigh. Ahh. Finally. I’m here.

When you get to your destination, use whatever creative release to celebrate. You have made it.

You will make it.

(These were my background thoughts to my latest post #132 over at my other blog, carcrashgratitude).

Shameless self-promotion

Hey You. Yes, YOU.

In case you, or anyone else didn’t realise, that little sidebar on the right of this screen running alongside my blog posts, that refers to a ‘carcrashgratitude’? That’s my other blog.

It all happened when I had a car crash you see. Aptly named, I know. Because from that deeply stressful incident, I decided to try my hand at posting a different item of gratitude per day for the rest of my life. If you want to read the full story, it can be found here.

Huge task, right? You got it. I’ve currently completed 127 days of attitude. I know there will undoubtedly be tough times ahead (as much as I am a glass half-full gal I know this), but I hope that no matter what happens I can still find some piece of hope or happiness in that particular hard day to share. Not just for me, but for you too. Because everyone can do this. If you look hard enough, sometimes in the tightest of corners or stupidest of places, you can find it.

I find a lot of gratitude in food. I find gratitude in my closest such as baby girl, hubbie and my family. Sometimes just a cold walk will make me happy, and you can’t forget coffee. My love. Yes, coffee definitely gets a mention.

I write about frivolous things. I write about deeply personal things, like my recent #127 post. I take photos and share those that I love. And of course the weather, writing and parenting is another big contender on my site.

I love the challenge to write about things in a different and novel fashion every time. There will undoubtedly be days where I don’t have anything new I am grateful for that I haven’t already posted about. The challenge is to find the countless ways in which I can express gratitude to one particular thing, take coffee for instance (of course I would use that as an example again). I’ve mentioned it several times on my gratitude blog already, and I will probably mention it 100 more, finding different avenues of appreciation for it.

I know this site only presents one side of things. Some people get pissed off when others are happy. I’m not saying I’m not bored, depressed, shitty or cranky with people EVER. I mean hello, I’m human! I have a Things that shit me tag on this site for that very function for when I have to blah! and purge everything out. I need the balance.

But I also know that gratitude is very powerful. It’s nice to count the ways you can be grateful, and I promise you, when you start, you won’t believe how good your life actually is.

Don’t you want to know how good your life really is? Yes YOU! I’m talking to YOU.

Come on, have a go. It won’t hurt. I promise.

carcrashgratitude.wordpress.com

(I may end there as I think I have exhausted my use of links for self-promotion…)

What it feels like for a girl

“Do you know what it feels like for a girl?

Do you know what it feels like in this world

For a girl?”

‘I’d love to wear this – but too revealing.

Better pick this covered option. I don’t want the stares. People would talk.’

 

“Girls can wear jeans

And cut their hair short

Wear shirts and boots”

‘I can hear someone approaching behind me… wait, do I turn just yet?

It’s ok, they’ve passed me. Another worker. Breathe.’

 

“’Cause it’s OK to be a boy

But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading

‘Cause you think that being a girl is degrading”

‘Do I take this alleyway? Too dark.

Next one, just in case.’

 

“Silky smooth

Lips as sweet as candy, baby

Tight blue jeans

Skin that shows in patches”

‘Don’t meet his eyes, don’t meet his eyes, don’t meet his eyes

I wouldn’t want to give him the wrong impression

(That’s what women are taught)’

 

“Strong inside but you don’t know it

Good little girls they never show it”

‘Oh crap, two guys are approaching. Scan the area: do they seem legit?

Workwear: check.

Walking with purpose: check

They’ve passed me now… phew. Walk faster.’

 

“When you open up your mouth to speak

Could you be a little weak”

 

‘Just because I’m a girl he thinks he can get away with his insurance claim?

Because girls are incompetent drivers I guess. (I’ll show him).

 

“Hair that twirls on finger tips so gently, baby

Hands that rest on jutting hips repenting”

 

‘I hope they take heed of my points in the meeting…

If they don’t, these loose buttons will grab their attention. Better than nothing.’

 

“Hurt that’s not supposed to show

And tears that fall when no one knows

When you’re trying hard to be your best

Could you be a little less”

‘I wish they didn’t look at me like that. Don’t objectify me.

I’m a wife, a mother, and a daughter. What if someone stared at your sister the way you stared at me?

How kindly would you take to a wolf whistle then?’

 

“Do you know what it feels like for a girl

What it feels like in this world…

Do you know

Do you know”

???

I’m sorry…

I’ve noticed a change in me lately. It’s come as a result of being self-aware of some of my ongoing words and actions, words and actions that have upset me very much.

I’m overly apologetic.

And I’m sorry for it.

I became quite aware of it, a couple of weeks ago while at work. I was in the company of some new people, and when the mention of my footy team came up, and how I supported it, I brushed it off.

You see, the old SmikG would have just told you that I barrack for a team that you either love, or you hate. If you are from Melbourne, or follow the AFL in any way, you would be lead into knowing who I follow without me saying anything more.

But today, I tell you bang smack in your face, that I am a proud supporter of the Collingwood Magpies.

I always have been. But as I said above, like their colours, you are either white for them, or black against them. Because of the sheep mentality of many AFL fans, where they think it is cool to collectively hate on the most popular team of the AFL, people jump on this unfair bandwagon and throw shit at the club and it’s supporters, only because they feel threatened. It’s easy to hate on another team, instead of focusing on the strength (or lack of, which is where the insecurity comes from) of your own team.

Ok, rant over. But you get my point. Because of this constant negative attention, and because I was in the midst of some new people, I dismissed my devotion to the club, saying that I hadn’t been into the AFL so much this year, and was not following the matches as much as in previous years.

Which was true. I was so busy with other things in life that I genuinely wasn’t watching many games. But the main point, was that I was apologetic for my devotion to them. And I was avoiding the ugly head that would undoubtedly rear in light of my devotion. Sure enough, a snarky comment followed from one said newbie: “don’t bother following them this year, they’re not going anywhere (near the top of the ladder).”

I went home later that day, and told the following story to Hubbie. I was teary. Not for Collingwood. Whatever. You can’t make everyone love you, or the choices you make, or the things you follow, or what you’re passionate about, right?

I was upset at myself. I recalled the story to him, telling him I was upset that I was avoiding the point of who I followed. I also recalled the story, of a little encounter that happened YEARS ago, but nevertheless an encounter that had stuck in my head, because I guess I hadn’t understood it at the time. We had been at an engagement party, and a girl we were speaking to at our table, asked me what my star sign was. And I, the proud Lioness that I am, responded with a silly shrug and said “Leo.”

Hubbie jumped on this indecision immediately. “Why do you say it like that? Like it’s bad?”

I tried to explain it away, by saying “oh, you know how Leos sometimes get a bad rap for being full on…”

I was apologising, for being born in August. I was apologising, for having the best damn star sign there is. I was apologising, for being me.

I recounted all this to Hubbie and said I was shitty with myself. It was not good enough. I was letting myself down.

I think it all leads to insecurity and wanting to constantly please people. Not wanting to upset people. Not wanting to make others mad. Not wanting to say and do anything that might make someone cranky with me. I’m a people pleaser, and yet I’m also sensitive, which means I know how it feels to be hurt easily… therefore I don’t want to be the one that hurts others.

It goes right down to the smallest things. Not speaking up because I might offend someone, when really all I would probably say is to set a fact straight, like telling the  barista they got my coffee wrong. I say sorry, when I walk into a person who I didn’t see… they also didn’t see me, and they weren’t sorry, so why should I be?

Someone saying sorry to me for getting in my way… and then I’ll say sorry back, because they’re sorry! Even justifying, is something I am DONE with.

“I just work 2 days a week.”

“I just did the grocery shopping.”

“I just wanted to get you something for your birthday.”

NO. It should be more like this:

“I work 2 days a week, because the other days are spent raising a small human.”

“I did the grocery shopping and it was a task while I wrangled a climbing, running, easily bored toddler with me the whole time, but I did it, and I did it successfully with minimal yelling and threats.”

“I wanted to get you this gift because I think you’re great, but so I am, because who else would remember to give you a present 3 months after the fact, and not be embarrassed it’s delay?”

You know what, I don’t even have to justify. To over-compensate my words. Just removing the ‘just’ in the first example is enough. But I’m trying to show something here. I’m trying to show that due to my need to people-please, and my inner insecurities, I tend to apologise, a lot. Some of it came from me. And not laying blame, but I can’t deny that A LOT of it came from being in the close company of the greatest narcissist I know. Even that sounds like a compliment, and I definitely don’t wanna hand her any of those and inflate her ego even more. But being forced into hearing about this person’s life difficulties, their high-maintenance ideals and life choices, their constant negative battles, their obsession with how good they are and how our earth rotates around htem, affected me in such a profound and deep way, that I swore vehemently that I would never, ever be like her. Not one bit. Not at all. Not ever.

Self-awareness was the key to my awakening. I have always been aware of my weakness, but when I had to apologise for liking the ‘Pies, I was so mad. I swear. A footy team woke me up to my inner dealings, and I decided that I should never have to be sorry for anything in my life. Nor should anyone ever be. We all have our personal thoughts, emotions, likes and dislikes, and ways of being, and these are the things that make us unique. They make us who we are.

I wanted to be like the people I looked up to. I wanted to be an unapologetic bitch like Madonna, and actually live her words to one of my many favourite songs of hers

“And I’m not sorry.

It’s human nature.”

It so is.

Recently, I’ve been making changes. It’s been a subconscious process, but because I’m making little positive changes to what I normally would have done, I am really noticing them in my day to day activities. Yesterday, when we sat down for coffee, I asked the waiters to clean the table from the previous customers there. Normally I would have dealt with it as is, not wanting to trouble the waiters or appear difficult.

Today, I called the I.T. department at work due to a computer fault. Normally I would have waited for someone else to call up when they came across it – I would have shirked the responsibility of it. But I called, and while I did I also asked for a replacement keyboard, because my current one had dodgy keys.

People now pass me, and if they get in my way and say sorry, I just nod.

I’m not endorsing being rude, or making people move mountains for you while you sit back, filing your claws. I’m talking about voicing your opinion, being YOU, and if you do that while being nice and giving a smile, as I did with all of the above, people will actually want to help you. You won’t be putting them out with your request. They’ll be glad to help you, because of your sincerity.

But, backtrack. Quite accidentally, I got my first opportunity about a week ago, with that person who had told me to give up on Collingwood this season. We were at work, and while making small conversation she asked me “who do you follow? have I asked you this?”

And with a smile, I said “the Pies.” A warm, self-assured smile. I had come full circle, and I was glad to have redeemed my self-worth and self-esteem. She didn’t know it, but I achieved a lot that day. I’m still learning, and I’m still travelling… but like the Leonine Collingwood supporter I am, the only direction is up.

I’m sorry… that it took me this long. But I’m not sorry anymore.

images1

(not my pic, and I’m totally not sorry either… unless this is yours and then thank you so much 🙂

 

 

Mission Statement

‘Try writing your life’s mission statement in a single sentence.’

2016-02-02 12.44.41

This is what my daily calendar asked me over a month ago.

Later that day, I really thought about it, and though at first I thought it would be hard, in less than a minute I had my answer.

I did it by thinking of the things most important to me, the things I wanted to do in life, and my values.

  • I love writing.
  • I love travel and adventure.
  • I want to make the most of life.
  • I think all people should be living their purpose. There is enough of EVERYTHING for EVERYONE, not just a select few ‘lucky ones.’
  • I want to feel passionately and inspired by my day-to-day life, drawing inspiration from the world around me.

These points led me to this:

“To live life passionately with adventure; creatively with all writing endeavours and all means of expression; and to inspire others to find their own purpose and follow their heart.”

It’s somewhat limiting and also scary to see your life’s goal in a simple sentence like that. Of course, I believe more will come of it, and should come of it, as life mission statements should evolve as we also do…

So, what is YOUR life’s mission statement?