The Day My Daughter Taught Me How To Deal With Assholes.....

At what point does turning the other cheek end up in abuse?

Before I launch, I know I am walking a thin sliver of thread between identifying behaviours we allow others to use against us, and being known as a victim blamer. This post is simply my own limited view based on my own experiences and that which I've seen in the schools of my children. My opinion on this matter has developed progressively as we have navigated what we see to be a fair, loving and expressive household in which we try to instill lessons for our children to develop their values and boundaries. 

As I sent my oldest off to kindergarten this year, ready for life's challenges and the independence that comes with it, I sobbed my heart out. Seriously, I could hardly talk. I spent the week leading up to the big day crying myself to sleep. The finality of the moment was so enormous, to immense to grasp...that part of our lives with her as a pre-school child was over. She was now 1/3 of her way to adulthood, and this was a massive step towards her spreading her wings. My mind raced with heavy thoughts, weighing me down with the emotion of it all. Did I cherish my time with her enough? Did I give her what she needed from me to make it through this next phase? Did I love her enough? Did I spent enough quality time with her? Did I put her in front of the TV too long when I could have been connecting with her? Have I done enough? Did I love her enough? Did I appreciate the time enough? Am I enough? Was it all enough? Will she be okay?

I realised with a jolt that none of that mattered now anyway, because it was over. It came with acceptance that I had simply done my best. We were now moving forward with life, getting dragged along at a great pace into our next chapter of life as parents of a school child! And then, before I could even put my sadness to bed, a new wave smashed over me with concerns about the friends she would make, how soon her heart would be broken, how long it would take to get used to home work, how she would adjust to the exhaustion. I found myself dying to hear how her day was, seeking out information from her as actively as she would allow in order for me to satisfy myself that she was going to be okay. I think I failed to remember that while she had once been a shy, tentative and sensitive toddler, she had changed into a bold, assertive, friendly, mature and logical kindergarten kid. I actually had nothing to worry about.

One afternoon during a school debrief session, she told me how she had a disagreement with a friend and wasn't happy with the behaviour her friend had demonstrate after the difference of opinion, it wasn't in line with how my daughter thought you should treat a friend. My daughter told me she was very upset initially but had decided to resolve the situation by talking with her friend. She told me she explained to her buddy that if she continued to behave rudely to her, she wouldn't like to spend time together anymore as friends normally treated each other with kindness and respect, not rudeness. And that if that's the kind of friend she was going to be, my daughter wasn't sure she wanted to be involved. I should say the following day they resolved their differences and continue to be great buddies (kids have tough days). So rest easy, no kindergarten children have been cut off in the making of this story.  

After she told me this story, I was both consumed by ridiculous pride, and concerned by her harsh boundaries. I come from strong Christian roots in which we are taught to offer the other cheek, to forgive readily and to love all. So we discussed allowing for others to have days when they are tired, upset, cranky and emotional, and that is important to extend grace to others as we hope to receive it in those same moments. 

But more than all of that, I respected the heck out of what she did. Firstly, she expressed her expectations and emotions with words, she negotiated a solution with a positive outcome for both, and laid out her needs. The easy option is to accept the behaviour in the hope of keeping a friend. But what my 5yr old taught me that day was a lesson I wish I had learnt when I was her age...that you don't actually have any obligation to spend your free time with people who treat you like they don't like you. And why would you? It seems so simple. 

Imagine, just imagine, if that understanding of the world continues throughout the rest of her life. Imagine if she continues to choose friends who treat her as friends should, that she chooses partners who treat her with respect and equality, that she demands how she will be treated by others, or she will leave them behind.

Give me a moment to explore this.

What if we had all started out like my daughter. What if our need to be respected was greater than our need to replace our loneliness. What if our optimistic five year old hearts had realised, way back in the beginning, that the playground was FULL of potential friends, and that friends are not restricted by classroom walls or age brackets. What if we all called it as we saw it, in the moment it happened, to name the behaviour as unacceptable and to outline boundaries of fair play, equality and respect for each other. And to honestly know that without those values, it isn't actually a friendship. 

It's an abusive relationship. 

Think about your school years, your teenage angst, your heartbreak, your relationships, your family, your boss, your workmates, your friends, your partner. How much of those traumas and that destruction related to your choice to chase connections with people who treated your poorly? How often have you been drawn down a devastating path because you sought the love, affection or acceptance of someone who didn't even SEE you? How much did you accept that went against everything you believed? How desperate did you become in your search of acknowledgement? How much of yourself did you lose? And what did you allow?

When we value the other person higher than ourselves, when their desires and needs become more important. When you lower your expectations, when you disregard your own needs to be treated as an equal human being, your aren't in a friendship anymore. 

And at which point do we draw the line between being 'Jesus like' and turning the other cheek, and accepting abusive behaviour. Must we continue to forgive with each and every apology, or can we finally acknowledge that enough is enough. When is it okay to draw the line? 

This is not simply (or very complex!) a question to deal with as adults. We all know enough, and ultimately should know better. But more importantly, I ask 'what do we teach our children?' Does it make you uncomfortable to have a five year old making this demand of respect? My daughter told me this morning that her teacher had said to the class 'Everyone has to be friends with everyone at school'...to which I replied 'it is your responsibility to pick your friends, you are to be kind and respectful to everyone, but you choose who you want to spend your time with. No one can choose that for you.'

It made me realise how early its bred into society, this notion of staying sweet, putting up with it all, because here, in this place, 'we are all friends'. Regardless of anything. It's like that child that demands you share the thing you have, just because they want it. It's not actually how the world works. I don't buy it or appreciate it at all. Because while I will always behave respectfully and politely towards jerks and assholes, I will not include them in my chosen circle of friends. Why should we expect our children to do so. 

Think about it. Why would we want to teach our kids that there are no consequences for poor behaviour in social circles? Not only may this result in them having a lack of boundaries in their behaviour and a misplaced sense of entitlement but also lead to a disenchantment towards making a stand against unacceptable behaviour. What message does this send? If everyone is friends no matter what, then no one really cares if you are treated poorly or not. That you aren't allowed to demand respect and choose your friends, because you might upset someone? 

As I considered the ramifications of my daughters hard line on friendship behaviour, I became concerned that she would end up with no friends. But as I mulled over that a little while longer, I came to realise that was my fear, not hers. That she was making friends all over the playground at school and while she didn't have a bestie at school, she has made and continued many friendships of her own choosing. And that it is ultimately her world to navigate however she chooses (within reason). 

So while my internal pressure to preach endless forgiveness reigns, I deliberately choose to continue our family party line of 'choose your friends based on how they treat you'. I'd much prefer my girls to continue into the big wide world of schools, social circles and relationships with this mentality in mind. 

I will always teach my girls to be brave, to demand respect, to express themselves effectively and be problem solvers. We will always demand their kindness, respect and politeness to everyone they meet, and we teach them compassion and empathy. But I will not teach them to turn an endless cheek. In fact, I will actively teach them the opposite. I will teach them that while we must allow for people to make mistakes and have bad days as we will, people's behaviour speaks louder than words. And despite popular opinion, we don't have to put up with anything, the choice is ours.   

Because what we teach them at the age of five will likely contribute to the foundations of self-respect for the rest of their lives. 

Ciao for now, 

LG - Life's Great!

You're missing the obvious...I'm not overweight because I'm sad.

There is a general understand in society that overweight individuals are not happy. That they must surely have a desire to lose their weight yet somehow cannot harness that as a priority over their love of food, alcohol and general gluttony that they so obviously enjoy....right?

When we began dating, and I started to get to know Greg, I saw his flaws as he saw mine. And I'm not talking about physical flaws, I'm talking about the personality flaws we all have. And still we chose to invest in each other, love each other, and commit to each other. We loved each other not in spite of those things, but partly because of them. Those flaws are what makes us who we are, aren't they? For we aren't simply made of positive and wonderful attributes, we are also made of selfish, guilty, and occasionally small minded personality aspects. Overall, most people are mostly amazing souls who we learn so much from. From those early days, for everyday, I made a choice to love him. I chose to be his partner in life, his lover, his encourager, his challenger, and his partner in crime. And I chose this with my eyes wide open. I saw early on that we had parts of ourselves that didn't align perfectly, but for the most part, I find those holes endearing and character building. My choice to be in love with Greg continues to drive me every single day of my life, and I have been blessed beyond expectation through our relationship. May it always be so. 

When I became a mother, I thought about all the things I hoped for our children. Which values i wanted to encourage in them, the hard line values, the bendable ones, and the values I didn't really value myself. It was an amazing opportunity to self assess my life and our future. We decided we would teach our girls to be independent, considerate, caring, capable, strong, resilient, determined and communicative children who would hopefully continue those values in their schooling, careers, families and relationships. And so this is what we consistently and consciously work on as we guide them through life as 3 and 5 year olds, hopefully instilling gifts for their future which will allow them to thrive through life successfully. 

Both the above examples are moments in life when I made a choice based on my genuine desires in life, and I put in place consistent, reliable and conscious behaviours that reflected these end goals. Not once has either of these decisions been challenged in my heart. There is nothing conflicting in those facts in my life. There is not one little bit of me wishing I could walk away from Greg, and not one aspect of me that hopes the girls grow to think they need to rely on others for their self value, for their strength, for their appreciation. There is not one thread of conflict in either of these situations. 

Yet here I am....two years after having lost almost all the weight I needed to, now back at my heaviest. Looking at me, I wonder if you think I am unhappy. If you think I must be lonely. Perhaps to you, I look like I lack self control. Maybe I even look as though I am lazy. I get it. I used to think that too. I kinda still do. But I've never really been a sad fat person. I've been a confident, sexy, happy kind of fat person. 

What if I told you that maybe there is another option out there. That there are not only two exclusive categories for overweight people that we must fit into; Sad and emotional eaters, or desperately wanting to change but somehow can't. What is there was something else? 

Did you ever look at me and think maybe I want to be overweight? 

Did you ever consider that maybe I actually desire to be like this? Or did you always assume no one would want to be overweight?

I have spent so much time considering how you are seeing me, how you are judging me, how you are liking me more when I am a smaller size. Sometimes its all I think about when we are talking. I am wondering if you are thinking about my size (big or small). I am wondering if you are feeling sorry for me, and if you are making your assumptions. I feel anxious seeing you because I worry about what you will think of me, what assumptions you will jump to about my state of mind, what criticisms you will make of me later when you talk about me to your partner, my friends. I'm onto you. I see it in your eyes. Its when I'm at my most insecure. 

I see it with the same eyes that have known you all along. I see your reactions with the same eyes I have always looked at you with love. Despite what you see when you look at me, my vision hasn't changed looking out. The window I see the world from remains the same. Always the same. Because here, within my body is my personality that makes me ME, I remain the same. THE SAME. So with the same eyes that saw your awe and adoration of my decreasing size, I see your assessment of me, your questions, your pity at my increasing size.

And I don't know what is harder to manage. Your sad eyes or your excited ones. Regardless....the message remains the same. Some of your love me more when I am smaller. Don't deny it, ponder it. It's true. I see it. And some of you love me bigger. I see that too. Whatever makes you comfortable, whatever makes me more acceptable in your eyes. Well, fuck! By these standards, I literally can't win.  

It's just me in here. Lauren. You remember me? That's who I remain, regardless of my size. 

I've pondered it a lot lately. I'm totally aware that none of this matters. Because all that matters really is how I feel about myself. Which is what got me thinking about my desires. And how, in life, when I have a true desire to achieve, a united want, I put behaviours in place to achieve that. Simply, easily, it is inherently exactly what I want to happen, so it does. So why haven't I lost this weight and kept it off and why has this been an endless bloody journey for me to agonise over for so much of my life so far? 

I'm really very sick of the internal arguments in my head. And I'm so conscious of my health and the potential impacts there. I have a full understanding of that. I'm also soooooo sick of society telling me confidence belongs to the fit and thin. 'Oh, you must have been so confident when you were thinner'....um hello. I'm feeling pretty on top of my game today, actually. 

What if the reason I am struggle with this, is simply because part of me wants this? Part of me wants to remain overweight. Despite knowledge of health risks, despite social discomfort, despite the assumptions people make, what if the real reason I haven't got on top of this to date is because it doesn't ring true for me. I can do it, I can do anything, right? But do I want to? 

Let me tell you, it would explain a lot. Maybe there are reasons all over the world why people wish to be overweight. And maybe they are sick of being viewed by society as individuals who are failing at the task everyone assumes they should be working on. Let me make this clear. I am sick of you thinking i am somehow failing at my life because i weigh more this year than last. And let me make it crystal clear for you. I am also sick of you thinking I am somehow winning at my life when I weigh less. 

I am winning at my life when I can be true to myself. I am winning when I see your heart with my eyes and see your love for me, the real me, not that size that I happen to be that day. God knows it fluctuates. I am also winning when I can just put aside my own judgements on my weight and just accept that some part of me is clearly not on board yet. And I'm winning when I ignore all of my assumptions of how you are viewing me....because chances are I might be wrong. Or I might be right. But I prefer to think you love me unconditionally. 

I will invest more time in that. That's for another blog. But please, don't assume my size is a result of self loathing or sadness. Consider it may be what I want for the moment. I appear to be pretty invested in maintain it.... 

P.S I see it clearly too. Anytime I blamed you, i might as well have been blaming myself. These projections onto you are my own feelings, my own judgements, my assumptions. 

#heavyinmorewaysthanone

Ciao for now, 

LG - Life's Good!  xoxo

Do you trust the person next to you?

When is it safe to leave the house? Never…..

As I'm sure everyone remembers, I remember where I was when I learnt about 9/11. I was in the last few months of year 12, and had slept through the late night footage. Mum woke us up with the news of what had happened: "America has been attacked". I remember clearly saying goodbye to her that morning, having an extra long cuddle, lacking confidence in the reality that I would see her again that afternoon. At that stage, and at my age of innocence, I wasn't sure if this was the beginning of the end, if several countries would be attacked, whether we would all survive the day. It was extremely unsettling. Throughout my adult life, since then, there have been many terrorist attacks, both affecting Australia and those we have watched from afar...all of which have solidified my understanding of the world and the cruel place it can be. And then the attacks happened today, in Nice, France.

For some reason, it felt closer to home than ever before. Perhaps because my mum was in France two months ago, or because Greg and I are currently fanatically watching Le Tour de France late at night, following the riders through beautiful France, dreaming of how one day we will go there. Or maybe it is simply easy to imagine us all celebrating Australia Day with fireworks and having a similar event happen here. For whatever the reason - it mattered to me more than other terrorist attacks have. And as I discovered the news at my desk at work it hit me like a wave with each level of understanding smashing me further and further down. Tears welled up, sending me deeper and deeper with each revelation.

Thousands of people had gathered together to celebrate a special day.

For 2kms (that’s two THOUSAND metres!!!!!) a truck ploughed through the crowd at 60-70k/hr.

When he wasn't running people over like bowling pins, the driver was shooting others with a gun.

His truck was full of armed weapons - how much more damage had he planned on doing before he was stopped?

How much damage has been done by just one person?

I spent time thinking about how many people had been injured over that length of 2kms and how impossible it would seem for the ambulances to reach those in need. I thought about the bodies lying on the road and the injured, potentially lying next to their deceased loved ones. Or a deceased random, wondering if help would arrive in time to save them. I thought about the poor doctors, nurses, and police offices who must have felt such a sense of overwhelming chaos, not knowing where to begin, knowing someone will miss out, and knowing someone had to be the priority. I thought about the couples, the parents, the children, the friends.

And then, I turned my mind to the survivors. Have you ever wondered how you survive such an event? How you walk away and lead a successful life afterwards? How you continue when you have lost your person, your lover, your child, your parents? How you keep putting one foot in front of the other when you see it happen before your very own eyes? Your wife. Your boyfriend. Your child. Your mum. Your husband. Your dad. How do you actually survive that? Not physically. Physically, you can do anything you put your mind to. But emotionally, intellectually, mentally? How do you properly survive such trauma, such horror, such violence? You don’t just walk away.

And finally, I turned my mind to my own life. My simple, happy, content little life. I take my family to events. I watch the fireworks. I attend sporting matches. I go to the snow. I go to the beach. I go to concerts. I work in a large office building. I drive past the airport daily. And I do all of these things without fear or trepidation. At least I did before today.

Innocence is a beautiful gift we are provided at birth, which slowly slides away as the years charge on, sometimes replaced with wisdom and sometimes replaced with cynicism. With each passing year, as I experience life, joy and devastation, my own innocence is stripped away, leaving behind it a sandpaper of knowledge, irritating my perspective and scrubbing away my security. I used to have such beautiful optimism, endless sunshine and lollipops. But along with life came lessons in heartbreak, danger and fear.

I am left wondering if it is wise or just cynical to avoid public gatherings. It is wise to no longer attend Christmas carols or Sky Fire or big events to ensure we are never present at a potential mass terror attack? Or is that 'letting them win'? And do I actually care about whether 'they' win or not, or do I simply and singularly only care about keeping myself, my children, and my village safe? Everyone seems so quick to jump into defiance mode when events like this happen, immediately hash-tagging #bestrong and #riseup. Me? I'm not feeling as confident in my ability to withstand the anxiety and fear that invades closer with each new attack, as it begins to mirror my way of life. I will not accept that Australia is immune to this degree of attack. In fact, I imagine it will only be a matter of time before we see something on this scale here on our own land.

But does that mean that I will stop living my life the way I want to, and take deliberate risks by attending the events I love with my family? Because the flip side to that stance on safety is a lack of living. Am I happy to teach my children to avoid being involved? To stay away from fun experiences out of fear? Oh believe me, I am absolutely terrified today, feeling like it is literally a risk to walk out of the front door. But I won't feel like this forever, because we forget. We all move on with the everyday and eventually the danger will recede again, back to where it feels more comfortable and bearable. Until next time.

I don’t know the answers. I am not sure what I should do, if it’s silly and paranoid to avoid mass gatherings, or whether it’s smart and informed. I can’t be sure how to respond adequately or appropriately, when actually I just want to hide in my cupboard. I have no idea how to predict or control what could happen in the future. I have no control. Do any of us?

I suppose the answer is yes. It feels like the person who has the control is the one who doesn’t abide by laws, ethics, humanity, or mutual respect. The person who makes the decision to not only die that day, but go to death exhibiting so much hate and disregard for their fellow person, fellow human, that they can perform such abhorrent acts. I care not whether it is religion, mental illness or malice as a motivation. At the end of the day that person is just one person, who has the power to ruin the lives of many. Not just those killed, but witnesses, families, friends, countries, political allies, and spectators across the world. Today, at the time I write, 88 people have died at the hands of one man, who is now also deceased. One life, for 88 lives. Just one person’s poor decision has created endless damage.

Every day, as we leave our own safe environment, to do the groceries, see a show, watch the football, visit a friend, we place trust in our community, making the assumption that we are all good people, intending to communally protect each other and make productive and appropriate choices for society’s holistic benefit. We trust each other to follow the rules of our society and we trust that we all share a general good will amongst us. We trust that we are safe to stand next to each other in the line for the toilets. We trust that when we gather together to celebrate a special day, that we all are there to be involved, and not because it is an effective way murder a large group of people. We place a lot of trust in others, everyday.

Inevitably, on days when my understanding of the human race is again shattered and nothing can be taken for granted, I open my heart and do the only thing I know how to do that makes any difference to my piece of mind.

I pray.

I pray for strength to face the scary world head on. I pray for my family, for their protection, their lives, their sweet innocence. I pray for my village, that community and love will always be the centre of our shared experiences. I pray for our nation, that we continue to develop methods of detecting possible attacks and furthering our influence internationally to battle against this kind of violence. And of course, I pray for France, and for all affected by such attacks, for their strength, their survival, their healing, eventual acceptance, and ultimately their wellbeing. I pray for our fractured world, and I beg for the future, a better future, for our children and grandchildren.

Because, despite it all, when my brain can't comprehend it, my heart can’t handle the pain, and my soul feels destroyed, my spirit will soar with hope for a better day.

Ciao for now,
Lauren Granger (LG - Life's Good)
xoxo

Your Watcher....

I write this full of conflict and angst. Because chances are, it will all come out sounding so wrong. But maybe, just maybe, it will be okay.

I live my life valuing relationships, family, love, connection and friendship as the most important things to me. And I throw myself into such connections with gusto more often than not. I share and they share. I divulge secrets, and they do too. I develop genuine, deep and lasting bonds with people. It is what I think life is all about.

And it is in these connections that I feel such a sense of ownership of these people. I feel a sense of belonging, a sense of togetherness in life. We share our triumphs and joys, our fears and heartbreaks. And of course, we share our embarrassment, our anxiety and our health woes.

I feel as though I am along for the ride in your lives, feeling a whole bunch of emotions that I imagined you were feeling yourself. Anger on your behalf for an argument I wasn't involved in, feeling loved by an individual I'd only heard about, feeling a sense of unease when you were worried. I'm terribly empathetic. I consider it my downfall actually. I get way too invested in stuff that has nothing to do with me. I get emotional about issues that you will resolve without me, and I get passionate about things I know nothing about. Empathy is me in a nutshell.

Well, it used to be.

I've noticed over the years that I've begun to let less and less into my inner core. I'm happy for you but I am no longer shouting your news from the roof tops. I am annoyed for you, but I am no longer raging against the injustices in your life. I am amused by you, but no longer chuckling for hours afterwards and sharing funny moment with everyone I see.

Perhaps, in my role as your watcher, I am starting to understand that it's actually your life and I don't need to be entirely consumed anymore. I don't need to feel all of your emotions as well as my own. I am starting to relax into my own life, knowing I have my own emotions to walk through, my own situations to deal with, my own self to consider.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps it is because in my role as your watcher, I have now seen a great deal of 'life' that has chipped away at my perspective and corroded my view of the world. Have I entered a stage of self preservation? Where suddenly, things have become so sad that I can no longer let them in?

Or, more to my concern, is it actually that I have become hardened against 'life' and all it's joys and sadnesses? I have seen some amazing things in my time. My best friend gave birth right in front of my 19yr old eyes. I myself have given birth to two children. I met the love of my life when I was young, and we married to grow up together. I still adore him. I have witnessed many happy moments, of weddings, children, laughter and success and sweet faith.

And I have also seen some absolutely horrendous, heart tearing moments too, both with my own eyes, and through you, as your watcher. Marriages breaking down. The unjust and tragic time in which our precious nephew passed away. The traumatic accident that took our mate who had three young children, and that bloody killer breast cancer, that took our beautiful friend away before we got enough time with her. The leukaemia that struck down the miracle child who was gifted after such a difficult struggle, and put her parents through more than they thought they could bare. As your watcher, I've seen you lose your unborn child and have to endure a childbirth, after which you couldn't take him home. I watched you hold your aunty as your uncle passed away, and stay by her side all night. I watched you care for your father whilst trying to care for yourself and your newborn, being told that your Dad wouldn't survive the night, whilst you recovered from surgery and endured endless complications. I saw you, after you had seen your father who took his own life, and i watch on with love and compassion as your own depression continues circles you. I watched you go through the trauma of a terrifying birth experience, and be affected by the fear and flashbacks afterwards. I watched on as your first born went from healthy one day to terminal the next, and attended his funeral last month as we reflected on him being the first of the babies in that friendship group. And I see you. Having said goodbye yet again to your dreams and having to yet again readjust your future plans after having it all stolen away. Again, after such trauma, heartbreak, and utter devastation already colouring your past.

Your heartbreak used to be my heart break. I used to feel it all for you as best I could, to try and understand what you were going through, what you needed, how you might be processing. But I realised, over time and with an ever developing maturity, that I don't need to understand it at all. Firstly, because I can't. And secondly, because all you need from me is my love.

As life goes on and we continue to experience, and watch others experience, the best and the worst of life, the raw sense of emotion has dulled significantly, for both joyous and sad occasions. I feel like my thrilled has become my pleased. And my heartbreak has become my melancholy.

I'm somewhat numb.

I'm not sure if it's a temporary thing. I can't tell if it is simply me taking a step back in the realisation that these things do happen, all the friggin time, to people that i love. People get married, have kids etc. It's all lovely. And people die, lose children, there are accidents. Again, that's life. And the myth about 'it won't happen to me' no longer works on me. Because 'life' seems to be happening all around me to every bloody person I know, every second of the day.

My eyes are open. They have been for a long time now. I've seen a lot, of wonderful and of terrible.

I'm just praying that when my time comes, I have the strength to deal with it as best as I possibly can.

For those who are currently in amongst it, this is for you. You are an inspiration to many, me especially. Your strength has been admirable, and your courage to keep on is bringing us all back to the real world. Which just keeps relentlessly turning every day, without even a pause to allow you a moment to breathe, to catch up, to reflect, to celebrate, to mourn.

And from my place as your watcher, I'm holding your hand, I'm standing on the sidelines, I'm stalking you on Facebook, or I'm thinking of you, and doing the only thing that makes sense in my heart. I'm praying for you. To feel an unexplained sense of love, have the strength to face it all, and feel peace.

And I pray for myself. That my empathy and sense of communion with you all doesn't dissipate further over time until I am simply standing on the other side of the looking glass, wondering the hell is going on.

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Gonna be okay

xoxo

It's embarrassing but....I don't want to be near you right now.

The pressure to be what you think you SHOULD be vs. being who you are is what takes me to breaking point....

A few months ago, on RUOK day, I posted a status on my Facebook page that basically said I was struggling. My girls had been endlessly sick, my hardworking husband had been pushing the limits of how much he could do which took him away on many weekends, and my work was feeling extremely stressful as I faced the possibility of being removed from a job I absolutely cherished. I was lonely, tired, constantly fighting of viruses and infections and occasionally getting sick myself, and was very much missing contact with my people, who I was quarantined away from due to caring for unwell children at least every second week. God, so far this just sounds like one big whinge, I know. But you know what? One thing, layered on top of the next, and the next and so on, with no end in sight and no respite granted was grinding my wellbeing down to a small pile dust.

I felt anxious, and each time one of the girls became unwell, it affected me dramatically. Instead of just coping with an illness, it felt like I was needing to deal with the current issue, and the past ten that had only just occurred in the past few months. My feelings of despair and frustration bloomed and my levels of happiness and general satisfaction in life floundered to an all time low. I felt resentful towards Greg, who didn't have the same entitlements in his employment, meaning that mostly I was the one missing out on my work all the time, to care for our sick little people, and I hated feeling so bitter about it.

And as you might be aware, I am an open book. If you give me half a chance, I will tell you without holding back how life is in the here and now, whether it be good or bad. Which I felt I had done so, through conversations with my people, and through messages etc.

So when I posted on Facebook on RUOK day and stating I wasn't OK, and both my parents rang questioning me on if I was depressed I couldn't really see where they were coming from. It wasn't anything they weren't already aware of right? It wasn't like I had been pretending all along that everything was fine and all of a sudden I made an announcement that took them by surprise. My status was consistent with every conversation we had had in the past six months! I thought about their responses long and hard over the next couple of weeks, and suddenly realised that maybe I had given them reason to worry.

Maybe there was reason to worry.

Along with this all happening, in the back of my mind is the eternal question of whether we will choose to try for a third child or not....of which neither Greg nor I are definitely committed either way. And in my thoughts of this, was the underlying current of the anxiety I felt when we I was learning to adjust to being a parent of one more. I remembered the stress I felt not knowing how to separate my absolute commitment to my first born into a shared, often distracted commitment to my two children. The constant feeling that I wasn't quite getting it right, and I wasn't coping with it all. The sense of overwhelming pressure to continue to be the same type of mother I was to my first to my second, and how to split myself between the two, always feeling there wasn't enough of me to go around. Was it an undiagnosed Post Natal Depression that I had experienced? And was I ready to throw myself back to the wolves if they came my way?

And with that, I realised that wow. If I am potentially going to decide not to have another child because I am worried about my mental health, maybe I should actually be more proactive about my situation, so that it is not a consideration in this massive life decision. Phew.

So I took myself off to my doctor to flash my boobs and explained my fears of depression, and my endless low mood that just wouldn't shove off (see http://waitingforthebellylaugh.blogspot.com.au/2012/11/hi-doctor-i-think-i-have-chest.html, didn't really flash boobs... this time). It was the best thing I could've done. As we talked through how I was feeling, it occurred to me that he had been along this journey the whole way, he had been seeing Granger family members so regularly over the past year that he might as well had given us a regular spot. He put me through a couple of tests, and found that no, perhaps I wasn't clinically depressed, but I was definitely lacking in sleep and was struggling with the situation I was in. It was him that pointed out to me that perhaps I needed to do a few things for me at this point. So on doctors orders, I took a week off work while the girls were in daycare and Greg was at work, got my hair done, spent time in the sun, began reading again and generally did things that were all just about getting some 'good' into my soul again. And then I took 4 days away from my family and spent time with my sister, bro in law and nephew in Melbourne. Getting away was exactly what I needed to recharge myself so that I could return home to be the mother and wife I want to be, rather than the irritable, cranky and sad person I was before then. Small steps for me helped a great deal to fill up my internal bank of wellbeing and soul happiness that comes with being well.

But it also challenged me in a big way. Because as much as I adore my time with Greg and the girls, if I don't have time doing things other than being that wife or mother, I suffer. I don't actually thrive anymore. If it's all about them, I wilt. Yet there is a pressure these days to be it all. As I look around at all the different mums I know, I reflect on the type of parents we all are (chosen or inherent) and often, its hard not to compare how we all measure up. I am envious of the mums who place themselves happily and selflessly at the bottom of the list and wonder how they don't become resentful about doing it all. I am jealous of the mums who are playful with their kids while I am trying to figure out how to distract my children for longer to let me wash the dishes or fold some washing.

Its that age old question of who are you? Not what do you do, or what are your skills but who are you. And if anything, parenting has shown me who I am.

I am Lauren. I am an extrovert who needs face to face contact with my people. I am also a bit of an introvert because I also need time away from my people to rejuvenate myself. If I don't focus on me occasionally I become resentful. I forget to look after myself and have moments like this every couple of years or so, because sometime in there I forgot.  I have a full and complete love for my children, and my husband, and I can be frustrated by them. I care about their opinions and I respect them entirely. I trust my own judgement. I'm a little judgey of others (I pull myself into line when I notice). Most of the time, I'm self aware. Almost all of the time, I'm riding with my emotions on my sleeve and my faith in my back pocket. And I'm a bit insecure at times, and I need to remind myself more often that my style of mothering works for my girls. That my needs cannot be ignored, because I end up in a sad heap.

In my case I was lucky. I caught myself in time. I talked with people, I talked with my doctor and I was honest with my people in what I needed to do, despite the fear of them judging me. And after doing what I knew I needed to do, I feel much more like myself and less like an overwhelmed emotional mess. I'm back to normal Lauren, until next time.

Where are you at and how well do you know what you need? Can you express what you need with fear of judgement? Can you obtain what you need? Will you?

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Great *

*except when it's not...

So, I've decided to expand my audience...

"Writing is easy...all you have to do is cross out the wrong words" - Mark Twain.

I want to apologise to you....its been a long time, and not for lack of trying. If I could show you my drafts page, you would see that it definitely isn't for lack of trying. Or lack of inspiration. Or even lack of words. I have so much to say, so much to share! But I am deliberately holding back at the moment. 

And it isn't because I have developed a newly found sense of modesty, privacy or unwillingness to invite you into my virtual lounger for a cuppa. no WAY!

You know I love expressing myself through words and I love sharing parts of my life with others, especially in the cases when I think others will either benefit or relate. Sharing myself is an amazing way to offer out an olive branch, to be vulnerable to my readers and the most wonderful thing happens in return. You often relate and respond with the most incredible support and love. And sometimes sharing my experiences is the thing that allows you to open up portions of your life to me too. All of a sudden, we become aware of a common love, a common struggle, a common grief, a common goal. And through my blogging, I have found I strengthen friendships and relationships. 

So when I love it so much, why am I not sharing my moments with you anymore? Well, dear friends, that is because I decided late last year that it was time to write a book. Just like that. 

I remember talking about it with a friend around the campfire on New Years Eve. He asked me if I had any NYs resolutions. I told him I'd reach my goal weight this year, after a thousand years of making that as my NYs resolution. (Meanwhile, it might take one more year to achieve that one).  And I said that 2015 will be the year I write a book. That by the end of this year, I intend to have a draft manuscript written in its entirety. He asked me what my story was about. I didn't know. He asked me who my characters were. I didn't know. He asked me how I could write a book with no idea of what will happen and to whom it will happen. I didn't know that either.

Over the past 8 months, I've pondered my book time and time again. I finally have a basic story line, a couple of characters and that's about it. But I am writing. I'm just starting on the journey of creating these people and their lives. It's very exciting! 

The other exciting thing is that I have decided to enter a writing competition, in the hope that I may win a scholarship to attend a masterclass run by Fiona McIntosh, who is one of Australian pop fictions most successful authors, currently.  My submission is due next Friday and the winner will be announced in November.

So I have to write the first ten pages of my book as I imagine it, which has been fun agonising over and writing and rewriting several times already. I also have to pull together a synopsis of the entire story and a one page writers biography about myself. Eeeeeeeeek! 

And so, each time i have sat down with the laptop to write a blog, I am tempted to tuck it into my back pocket and keep it handy. Because, coincidentally my leading character is a blogger (what!), and she might need some material down the track further. I am super excited about who she is, and what she does and the crazy workings of her head. I can't wait to share her with you all, and her life and dramas.

Its actually a tricky line between reality and fiction. When you read about her, you will see similarities my our personalities and life, but she isn't me. It's hard, because I'm writing from a base of what I know. And i know me. But I want to enhance her, gift her with different strengths and weaknesses so that she develops her own journey instead of following mine. I am trying to write with her base being familiar and her experiences being new. It's very tricky!

I have written more than the required 10 pages for my larger project, which is my book, my bigger story. I've already included references to funny moments I have heard about or shared. I am wondering as I write it how much I can include from other peoples lives as well, knowing that those who are close to me may be able to pick similar situations, story lines and character personalities to what they already know. 

I wonder if it is the same for all writers. I was talking about this very issue with Greg the other day, and asked him to trust me with what I thought I could include and what I thought I would leave private and sacred. He looked at me like he was being asked to pull out all his teeth with pliers. The poor man. Please know that i will be greatly respectful of all of my friends, loved ones and readers. Equally, all of you should know that I will not be trying to send you subliminal messages or passive aggressive points - if you see similarities in any story lines or characters, just know I have included that because I love that part of you. P.S You will not actually be in my book. Its all fictional. 

Who's excited? Who's scared? I can't figure out how to actually manage my writing time without something else missing out. So far, if I write in the evenings, I feel like I am missing out on couples time. If I write later at night, I am buzzing by the time I get to sleep and the ideas swirl in my head endlessly, making it impossible to sleep. Yesterday, Ava woke up at 4 and wouldn't go back to sleep until Greg brought her into our bed at 4.30am...at which point I knew I wouldn't get back to sleep. So at 445am on Tuesday, I got up and started writing. It's tricky. But the point is that the writing needs to get done. 

So many people say that might write a book one day. Those who are committed to the reality of that, the hard word, the sacrifice (of sleep mostly), the keeping on of keeping on - they are the ones who actually write the books. I am writing a book. :)

Anyway, your patience and ongoing support is greatly appreciated. I will blog if there is something that comes up that I DON'T think I can use in my book, but other than that, this site might just be for the archives for the moment. :( But I promise it will all be worth it. 

Oh, and on that note, please share my blog with your friends. I am very close to having 15000 hits to my page, which is AWESOME! Super excited to see what happens in the future, and know I am dying over not sharing with you at the moment. :(

Kicking goals...in my own head. 

Ciao for now, 

LG - Life's Great!

Confessions of a Teenage Terror

I'm sure I'm not the only parent to question their level of input into their child's life....

We were in the bathroom the other night for the nightly teeth brushing bonanza. Ava, who is our delightful, feisty and very physically capable, but teeny tiny 19 month old sat on my lap, wriggling against my vice grip, trying her best to get out of brushing her teeth. Lucy, our delightful, insightful and conscientious almost four year old stood looking at us, calming watching Ava's struggling while she dutifully brushed her teeth until Ava was done and I'd have a turn to double check the job she has done. And I noted Lucy's very mature behaviour and said "Well done, Lucy, you are doing a wonderful job of brushing your teeth so fabulously! Who taught you how to brush your teeth so well?"

I expected her to acknowledge me. I honestly did. So when, with a mouthful of toothpaste and toothbrush, she enthusiastically started gesturing out the door of the bathroom, I didn't quite understand what she was doing. "Hhhaaaadi-idd" she said. I laughed. "Pardon?" She took the brush out of her mouth and said "Daddy did!" And I laughed. We finished brushing teeth and out of interest I asked her if Mummy had taught her anything.

She smiled. I thought to myself, ah, here it comes. And I got comfortable on the edge of the bath where I was perching, ready for her to spend the next hour listing my achievements as her mother. and you know what she said?

"You taught me to clap when I was a little girl like Ava".

"Anything else?"

"No".

Did I mention she is almost 4? Next month. And her summary of my input into her education starts, and stops, with hand clapping. Initially, I chuckled and thought oh well. Here begins a lifelong existence as the mum who is unrecognised for her magnificence, her utter devotion, her true and enduring sacrifice and the hours (weeks, months, years eventually) spent answering an endless chain of questions about everything and anything. I've seen it all before, I've read about it in the books, I've seen it in movies and drama shows. It's the age old story, isn't it?

And then the penny dropped. I wondered if I had ever had a similar conversation with my own mum at a similar age in which I actually had no idea of what she had invested into my life. And my smile turned to a cringe. Oh, my poor mum! I honestly don't know if I had this conversation with her at that age, but my god, I know I had that conversation with her a million times throughout my primary and high school years. And it may not have sounds exactly like "you didn't teach me much", and probably more like "why do you have to ruin my life, I wish Dallas and Lynne were my real parents, you don't care for me at all, I wish you were cool like Emma's mum, why won't you let me eat cheese?" and on it goes.

I remember my first Mother's Day, with miss Lucy only 3 weeks old at the time. I was blissed out on hormones and love for my amazing newborn and filled with a deep sense of belonging to her and to my role as her mother. I was CONSUMED by love for her. And already knew that I would have done ANYTHING at all to protect her, to further her development and to show her how loved she was. And still is. And I remember writing that Mother's Day card for my own mum, so full of remorse, shame and horror that I had treated her in such a disrespectful, hateful and downright rude manner. How it must have broken her heart to hear the terrible things I yelled at her over the years.

How hard it must have been not to bite back more often than she did, how tormenting it would have been to wonder how she could get the sweet (I'm making assumptions that I was sweet at some point) innocence back, and how to keep the raging teenager at bay.

Oh man, I was so naughty too. I can't believe I made it through my teenage years without being abused, kidnapped, bashed, or drugged, because without a doubt I put myself in positions where I could have easily fell prey to an asshole, that's for sure. I drank my first alcoholic drink at 13 (thanks Jane), I used to buy homemade alcohol by the 2 litre recyled Coke bottle (might as well have been moonshine) from the older brother of a guy in my year (thanks Darryl), I used to hang around with people who smoked marijuana all the time (fortunately I didn't like it), and I would walk the streets of our city at night, with and without company. I'd sneak out of my bedroom window, and occasionally sneak boys in. I'd never do my homework, sleep with my head on the desk though English classes (with Pete) and I talked my way into being school captain, not once but twice.....and never fulfilled any election promises (apologies, school friends). I had underage drinking parties while my dad was on shift (being a police officer). I stayed with my friends at peoples houses i didn't even know. I witnessed domestic violence at parties I felt unsafe at.

And all through it, my mum was there. My parents separated when I was 11 but both were still very present in my life. When I was letting my hair down (loosely put) in my teenage years, my mum was behind the scenes, fighting the good fight for me so I would do as well as I could manage during school. I used to tease her that she was in love with my most hated teacher, Mr Whiteway, who I truly believed had mum on speed dial. I was awful to him, and he would dob me in to Mum regularly, and I would be absolutely hostile when Mum brought it up with me. I thought my mum and all my teachers were against me, all ganging up on me to make my life harder than it needed to be. But that was not the case...

Mum tells a funny story about me in early primary school when I started to receive homework. Funny to me, not to her or my teachers, I'm sure. Apparently one day at the ripe old age of 8 or 9, I got fed up with my teachers issuing me with homework and I declared that if they weren't effective enough to teach me what they needed to, within their work hours, then they weren't doing their job properly. Makes sense to me, to this day. And from that moment on, homework was not my best friend. Fortunately for me, and frustratingly for everyone else, I winged my way through school and exams, and passed with an average pass mark to get me through the door of whatever I wanted to do.

What I didn't know is that during year 8 (my goth year), my mum got sick of the teachers calling her and begging her to intercede on their behalf and beseech me to do the work they had prescribed. So she called a group meeting, with my year advisers, and every one of my teachers at the time. And she sat down in front of the lot of them and said something to this affect:

'Lauren is off the rails; no-one is disputing that. But what is most important to me right now is that I maintain a relationship with her. I will NOT distance her further by having a go at her every night about her homework. If she does not meet your curriculum requirements, then fail her.  If she does, then pass her. I care about her schooling, but I care about our relationship more. So do what you have to do, but don't expect me to put what we have on the line, for the purposes of an essay, when things are so difficult as they are.'

And I had no idea. My mum shared this story with me last year, when I was 31! All this time, I had NO idea she had gone in there and stuck up for me, and basically gave them some perspective of the crisis I was experiencing as a child of divorce, and a consequence of general female teenage hormones. I couldn't believe it when we talked about it last year. It shifted the axis of my world a little bit. All of a sudden, I was confronted with the fact that my mum wasn't actually against me all those years ago, but was actually proactively seeking space from the teachers in order to try and keep our fragile relationship intact.

My poor mum has never got the credit she deserves. My poor mum must have a resilient heart, after the crap I dealt her out in my teenage years. Mr poor mum must love me beyond my understanding to allow me to learn the lessons I did.

So I want to take a moment to tell you about my mum. As a child, I remember being happy. I remember having an early appreciation for music and singing, both loves I share with my mum. I remember growing up to the soundtrack of John Denver, Les Miserables and Priscilla. I remember my mum picking me up from my friend Belinda's house after we watched the Lion King. I remember her taking me to Point Hutt Crossing and telling me she and dad were separating and that it was her decision - which must have been a very difficult conversation for her to have. I remember her prioritising our annual holiday at Lake Tabourie after that time, where we took our watches off, ate when we were hungry and spent all day at the beach, reading and swimming. I remember her getting  a full time job with the public service and I remember her walking me through the family budget of a single mum of three teenage kids when I ungratefully couldn't understand why she wouldn't give me $20 to go shopping with my friends. I remember her trusting me, and me breaking her trust. And her trusted me again. I remember disappointing her with my actions, and her still loving me through it all. I remember stealing from her. And I remember she forgave me. I remember her encouraging me, believing in me, providing opportunities for me, all of which I didn't deserve. Because she loved me.

I remember her support, acceptance and love when the hardest day happened to me. I remember her heart breaking alongside mine when she listened to the story of my precious nephew, Aidan. Her joy for my love for Greg. Her love for Lucy and Ava that knows no bounds. Her concern for me when I wasn't doing okay and her help with our girls whenever we ask. Her unexpected generosity. Her wise words and careful counselling. Her positive perspective.

My mum has taught me resilience. My mum has taught me strength, ambition, drive, vulnerability, forgiveness, faith, courage, determination, humility, a love for music and light, optimism, kindness, tenacity, humanity, social responsibility, courageous love. And most importantly, more than any other thing, my mum has demonstrated over the years how to be a loving, forgiving, kind, caring, protective, and fierce mother, who still to this day, does anything she can to help me and will come at the drop of a hat, if I need her.

Mum, I love you fiercely, and am so very grateful to have not only had you as my mum, but to rely on you as a friend and confidant now. I am so very pleased we both survived my teenage years (albeit with a few scars) and have come through the other side with love and appreciation for each other. I am so sorry for putting you through it all (and I desperately hope my girls are better behaved than I was!) and so very relieved you still love me! But as a mother, I now say of course you do, as I would love my girls too.

I remember you used to say to me: "One day you'll have a daughter..."

Well, now I've got two! And Greg has NO idea what he's in for!

It's Mother's Day soon....don't leave it for just that one day to tell you Mum how much you love her and appreciate all she has taught you over the years.

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Great!

P.S My dad taught me to drive a car. ;)
P.P.S Don't worry Dad, I know there is more than that.... you'll get your own blog one day. xoxo

What no-one tells you about losing 40kg

They say that weight loss is all in the mindset.....they weren't bloody kidding!

When I was younger, my sister teased my newly developing boobs. My response to that was to deny the boobs existed and instead, insist that what she was seeing was just fat rolls. Two fat rolls, in small lumps right where my breasts would be, but fat rolls none the less. It was my first experience of unwanted attention due to my 'assets'. And considering I was literally the FIRST girl in my entire year to develop little 'fat rolls', I'm not surprised I didn't welcome them like long lost friends.

Now, it should be said that my sister spent our entire childhood teasing me, so really, by the age of 11, you'd think resilience would have been my best friend. Alas, twas not the case, and I took her attention to heart in the worst way possible. From that moment on, it felt like a chain reaction of boob related drama.

In year seven, when we had to dance with the boys for PE classes, they were all eye level to my bazookas. In year 8, I was constantly hassled by this idiot a few years older than me, who would ask me to show him my tits every time I passed him in the corridors. When I was about 15, I stole a chocolate bar from Karabah Shops on my way home (I know, terrible!) and got busted by a sleezy man in his early 20s who cornered me out the back of the shops and suggested that in exchange for him not dobbing me into the cops, I could let him touch my rack. I gave him my best Sasha Fierce and told him my dad was a police officer and that I'd be dobbing him in instead. To my shame today, I did not. Instead, I ran home in fear that he would follow me, and I kept the story quiet, out of embarrassment of my theft. I shudder to think what kind of crap he probably got away with over the years. It's amazing how experiences like these teach you valuable lessons, and I am proud to say that within the past couple of years I have been able to response assertively to unwanted attention when required.

As attention to my breasts increased as the years went on, so did my weight. Looking back, I wonder if my story of the 'fat rolls' really tricked anyone other than myself!? During my teenage years, I grew into a beautiful, intelligent and likable character who made friends fairly easily. I also grew into an overweight young lady, and then an obese young woman, who despite all the Jenny Craig ads and understanding of what society expected, still felt attractive, sexy and confident. And I was happy.

Sure, I've had moments in my life when I felt very sad for limiting myself because of my weight, or missing out on physical activities because I wasn't brave enough to try, but generally and overall, I have loved my life. I was content, and truly, blissfully happy. Because I also felt beautiful. Inside and out. I valued the person I was and liked myself for my strengths, and understood and gave myself slack for my weaknesses.

Recently, I lost a LOT of weight. Like A LOT! 39.3kg to be exact. Because I just decided after trying and trying and trying....that I should just give up on trying and just actually DO it! God, trying is so exhausting and so hard, it takes such a toll on the self image and the self belief. But doing! Well, I had no idea how empowered I would feel!

I had no idea how it would actually feel to wake up proud of my self-control, persistence and determination. Proud of my hard work and strength. And overjoyed at the illusive feeling of well-being I truly immersed myself in, for the first time IN MY WHOLE LIFE! Suddenly, I was sleeping well. I stopped snoring (I know, so attractive!) and starting getting full nights of sleep (whenever Ava decided she would allow such luxuries). And I discovered SHOPPING! I didn't realise how much I would enjoy wearing clothes that I loved, rather than just what fit!

I also didn't realise how different I would look.

Or how everyone else would react to the new me....and how much I would care.

I kept my journey quiet for the first few months, really wanting to prove myself with results before I started ranting about yet another weight loss journey. I put up a post on my facebook page when I reached 20kg and had some wonderful and encouraging comments. But that's where the joy ended. Because by sharing my journey with the world, I also became vulnerable in a way I was unprepared for.

I started noting friends who didn't comment or like my weight loss related posts, over-analysing possible reasons why they didn't send their encouragement and well wishes. My personal journey became a raging centre of self obsession, paranoia and protection. Aren't they happy for me? Is my journey confronting for them? Are they worried about me becoming a different person? Am I becoming a different person?

I didn't quite know how to be me anymore. Because I looked dramatically different to the person I looked like a few months ago. And I still felt like me....yet I didn't at the same time. I felt more beautiful than I have ever felt in my life...and felt conceited for feeling beautiful. I felt more confident in how I moved, but felt I had to cover up my new body to protect against my friend's stares. I felt elegant, yet awkward. I didn't know how to stand. I didn't know where to look when people were looking me up and down. I didn't know what to say when people complimented me, and I didn't know how to be confident if they didn't compliment me at all.

At one point, I was even making decisions to NOT look the best I could, because I believed it would make others feel more comfortable. Why on earth would I think that? Because it wasn't all rainbows and lollypops. I had people tell me that this smaller Lauren reminded them of the younger Lauren they didn't like. I had people tell me they weren't coping with my reducing size. I had a good friend joke around and say the she hated how skinny i was right now.

Even more confronting was having people I know, not recognise me...and then the awkward conversation that followed nearly every time in which they would stare at me and compliment me. And I would stand there awkwardly, trying my hardest to seem completely at ease with this attention I have only ever hidden away from. And look, I totally understand this! I actually do look quite different to how I used to and if you haven't seen me in a while, it might be an easy mistake to make. I'm just saying its weird!

I totally understand this whole blog is almost entirely built on the fictional world inside my own head (aren't they all?), based on my self-image that is struggling to know what to believe, as the goal posts are shifting at an alarming rate. It's a tough one.

I want to say if you take encouragement from my journey then do so with my blessing, for I hope to inspire you if that is what you are wanting to do. If you are confronted by my journey, please know I love you just as you are and if you are happy, then I am truly happy for you too. I am not a reformed obese person, who is trying to convert others. I am simply on my own journey because this is what I am doing. I'm not passing judgement on anyone else.

I need to remind myself to stop assuming what I think people are thinking. Probably, they aren't thinking anything like the scenarios that I make up in my head (this applies to life across the board!). This is something I decided to do, for my health, for my family's health and for my retirement one day! It's actually nothing about anyone else but me.

I also want you to you to know that saying negative comments about how you don't like this new Lauren does me a real disservice. Annoyingly, I struggle with insecurity and work very hard to eliminate my little haters in my head who are constantly trying to derail my progress by telling me how I was better off at 120kg, that I don't deserve to have happiness and health, that I shouldn't embrace my confident and attractiveness. Hearing you confirm these niggling little thoughts is basically saying you'd prefer me to be your fat friend again. And if you are genuinely wishing me back to being 60kg above my healthy weight range, with increased risks to all types of serious diseases and a high chance of passing on my obesity and poor choices to my daughters....then let's have a think about our friendship a little more.

Thank you to those who genuinely support me without projecting all your challenges and self-esteem stuff my way. Thank you for being happy for me. Full stop. I am most confident and sassy in your presence. I feel free to discuss my journey with you, feel most at ease in my new skin with you. Because you want the best for me. You aren't worried about the impact of my weight loss on you. You aren't jealous, you aren't confronted, you see past my physical self to my heart, to see I am happy and content here, and you are happy and content for me.

I had NO IDEA that the mind shift would be so bloody full on! I had no idea it would feel so awkward to live in my own skin. I feel like my entire mindset is constantly in a state of massive overhaul at the moment and I am hanging on for dear life as I ride the rough waves! 

So from now on, I am making the following rules for myself.
1. STOP apologising for being Lauren. She is a wonderful, caring, fun (and funny), beautiful, sexy and intelligent woman. I will not apologise for being the best I can be in my life. And I will own my gifts with as much grace, humility and self-aimed humour as I can.

2. STOP letting others have the ill-placed power in my life. I can decide if I will allow other peoples opinions to affect me or not. And I can filter between what rings true and what is just plain unhelpful. There will be negative nancy's at each step of the way. They are going through their own shit and have their own challenges, I may not have complete insight into their crap. Learn resilience and acceptance of differing opinions...and remember that above all, in MY life, MY opinion is most important.

3. STOP telling myself the same old bullshit story about how hard this journey is. Everything in the above blog is absolutely valid but its time to stop treading water and be brave. Move forward. Into uncharted territory. Into health and vitality. Into well being and self control. Into determination and empowerment.

I began this leg of the journey on 19 June 2014. It's now 21 March 2015. I'm 2/3 done. 1/3 to go.

And please prepare yourself. Let go of any preconceived ideas you have, of how you think I should look. Forget how you think I look best. Forget how much you think I should lose and how long this journey should take me. From now on, I will look different to any version of Lauren you have known before. I am not going back, but I am moving forward into my 30s with a shiny newness that hasn't existed before!

Perhaps my confidence will always waiver. Perhaps getting to my goal weight won't be a the magic fix and I will always need to protect myself, build resilience and resist the emotional urge to let the haters of their leash. All I know for now is that this journey of self discovery is a thorough and exhaustive process. And more important, a terribly exciting one too!

I will finish this when I arrive. I may look thinner than you are prepared for. I may not be as thin as you wish me to be. None of that matters. All that matters is that when I get there, I will be within my healthy weight range and my body will be where it is destined to be.

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Great!

The Unforgetable and Unimaginable.......

Life Will Never Be The Same Again............

To be naive is to hold an innocence in your heart. An innocence that comes from a place of protection. A place of trust. A place of stability and understanding. An understanding that life happens in a certain way, that most people experience a normal, non-traumatic existence with minimal true hardship along the way. That is the norm for most people.

But not for everyone. Some people experience true tragedy in their life, that shocks them to the core. The kind that can isolate them from their families and friends, and stands them in a new 'group' of people.....a group no one ever expects to be a part of. This group are the people who have a new understanding of life. This group are those who can never return to the previous innocence they held....just minutes before. All of a sudden, the people in this group become the ones who cannot unsee the horrors they have seen. They cannot unhear the noises, they cannot remove the smell from their sensory memory, they cannot look at the clock at that particular time of the day without being transported to another time. A time they will never forget.

I remember attending my first funeral for a friend, who passed away during my high school years in a car accident. I remember the agony, the tearing of my heart and the inconsolable state I existed in for several days. It was the worst pain I had ever experienced, in my whole 15 years of life. I hadn't grieved for a friend before, I hadn't known anyone to be taken so suddenly and so shockingly, it felt like my understanding of the world had been corrupted. Because up until then, car accidents and youth deaths were things that occurred in other towns, in other groups, to other people. I went to his viewing at the funeral home. I looked upon his peaceful, makeup covered face and kissed his cold cheek. I will never forget that moment. From then on, I was changed. I no longer thought that things only happened to others. I was well aware these things could happen to me and my loved ones at any point in time. But even this, still felt as though it had happened to others, while I was watching them live through it from the outside.

Time has frozen several times during my life, in moments like these. But I became a part of this group of people who cannot unsee, when I witnessed first hand the grief of parents holding their child as he passed away in their loving embrace. A child I desperately loved too. I miss him, and I wish every time I think of him that life had been different. That he had been spared and that we hadn't seen what we did that day. And I can't even go into any detail regarding this moment in time, because no words will ever do that day justice. No amount of words will explain the pain, the raw and open emotion, the strength of a family rallying for support and love, the moment knowing the journey to Heaven was complete.

I thank God every day that he was surrounded by love, and I hope he knew and felt that. I thank God I looked upon his face, committed it to memory and whispered of my love for him. Seeing/hearing/feeling the soul destroying agony was worth one moment in time that froze completely still. That moment will forever be one of the most cherished moments in my life, and I would never ever trade it for a sliding doors option of not being there.

From that moment on, my life changed. My heart hardened. I suddenly understood more about life than ever before. I understood the reality of death. I understood true heart break. I understood how grief can consume you for a very long time. I understood there exists a beauty and calmness in the most distressing of situations.

But still, I was spared. For while I loved him, he was not mine. He didn't belong to me, and the story doesn't belong to me.

And neither does the story of a tiny man, who was cherished by his parents, by his family, by friends. Who arrived a long time before he was due. And who grew his angel wings and left this earth before anyone could even celebrate his arrival.

A tiny man whose parents cannot unsee, unhear, or unexperience what they have been through, a situation that normally happens to 'other people'.

All of a sudden, they belonged to a new group. A group I cannot assume to understand. A group of people who have seen the worst things life can offer. Who have felt agony like many will never feel. Who cannot return to an innocence many of us take for granted. They have been changed forever.

And I have no words. Nothing I verbalise equates to the injustice, rage, shock, heartbreak and true sadness I feel for them.

And nothing will make a difference. Because what has happened cannot be unseen.






RIP Thomas. xoxo

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Ghastly :(

The Pessimist and The Optimist

My 'Silver-lining Sight' is Retarded...

I often wonder if it is draining for a pessimist to be around an optimist; are they constantly feeling like they have to drag the other against their will to see the pessimistic point of view? Does the pessimist become emotionally exhausted from exposure to the endless, hopeful positivity of the optimist? Or is it just the other way around?

My darling, wonderful, amazing husband is a hopeless pessimist, always seeming to see the worst in most situations, without realising he is doing just that. It's like it is in his genes, through to his core, his ability (disability?) to find flaws in everything without even realising he is doing so. Maybe not flaws, that's not the right term.....what's the opposite of seeing the silver lining? He sees the looming, blackness of the cloud itself, and often can't see how things will ever get better. But he doesn't become depressed, just pessimistic.

Me? I'm a sunshine and lollipops kind of girl. As much as it may have been bred into Greg to expect the worst and natural sway towards feeling disappointed in situations, my parents groomed us to always expect the best, to see the light at the end of the tunnel and be appreciative of all opportunities. And at times I have found the difference between the two of us quite trying. It can be exhausting living with a pessimist who always seems to be 'ho-hum' about the world when all you see is blessings and miracles. But I remind myself that we compliment each other and that together we have faced and survived many different situations, despite our differing outlooks.

When we became pregnant with Ava, people took great joy in telling us we were screwed! That we couldn't be lucky enough to have two 'easy' babies in a row, that we'd be in for a really rough time, due to how easily we adjusted to parenting with Lucy. Of course, Greg was well and truly on board with that perspective, but I raged against the machine. I chose to believe that if our first born child was placid, well behaved and a general positive experience for all, our second child could be too. I chose not to be afraid, not to be pessimistic and I chose to expect the best case scenario.

My mum is all about positive thinking, and putting out to the universe what you expect to receive, and even though I give her grief about her mumbo jumbo (I believe her theories are somewhat flawed), I find myself focusing on what I want in life, rather than focusing on what I don't want. Now, don't judge me, but I heard Oprah once say: "worrying is like praying for what you DON'T want to happen"..... Makes sense to me.

When I approached Ava's birth with a positive attitude and experienced a not so positive outcome, my sunshine and lollipops perspective took a swift kick to the balls. I was left feeling very guilty and awful about the lack of hormonal response I had towards my beautiful daughter, see my blog for a long-winded explanation: http://waitingforthebellylaugh.blogspot.com.au/2013/12/this-scene-is-one-of-horror-movies.html

Due to work circumstances, Greg had to return to work (part time) when Ava was only 8 days old, and on the 10th day, I had both the girls home with me first the first time without him (Lucy had been in daycare previously). When he arrived home that night, he received a call from someone asking him if he could please work with them the following day, and it was all I needed to tip me over the edge. The thought of having the girls on my own for the second day, when he had previously planned to be at home, sent me first into a rage, quickly followed by a torrent of tears.

I was crying because I felt scared of having to look after the girls on my own again. Worried that Lucy would need something that I couldn't give her if I was looking after Ava. Worried that Ava would cry all day long and I'd have to ignore Lucy for most of the day, abandoning her to the 'TV babysitter'. Worried that I wouldn't be able to catch up on any sleep at all. And I was then crying because I felt like I should be able to do all of these things and feel okay. I was crying because I didn't want to do the next YEAR of maternity leave with this anxiety, yet I couldn't see how it was going to become any easier. And then I was crying because I wasn't coping, and I haven't ever been good at asking for help. I was embarrassed that this was so hard for me. That I was not taking to two children as easily as I took to adjusting to one. And THEN I was crying because I couldn't stop crying and that was scary! 

I continued crying for 24 hours. It was a proper melt down that scared both myself and Greg, and probably alarmed Lucy somewhat too. I remember crying at dinner the following night (that's right, I was STILL crying the following evening), trying to verbalise (not very well) to Greg how I was feeling, and trying unsuccessfully to pull myself together for the hundredth time. It was one of the darkest days of my parenting life.

I wasn't the only one crying. All I wanted to do was bond with Ava, and the harder I tried to self-create that bond I felt was missing, the harder it became to reach her. Ava cried and cried. All the time. She slept, but only on me, and she cried. And I found it harder and harder to feel like I was meeting all of her needs. I wondered if she knew I didn't have that overwhelming glow as her mother, and rather was walking around a frazzled zombie, always anxious that she would wake and start crying again....and I wouldn't be able to soothe her.

The day after my 24hr meltdown, we met with Rachel Gately, the amazing photographer I had per-booked to capture Ava's tiny newborn-ness. Less that 12 hours after my hysterical crying spell ended, I was required to play serene mother for a (lovely) stranger and smile for the photos I wanted so badly. I was feeling extremely anxious that I wouldn't be able to get Ava to sleep for the session. And I felt like a fraud, trying to hold it together in fear of losing my shit again and not being able to stop.

As Rachel tried to get some pictures with Greg and Ava together, Ava began to cry so he handed her to me. She calmed. I handed her back, Rachel snapped a few more quick ones before Ava cracked it again, and again Greg gave her to me and she calmed. And Rachel then said something to me which helped me shed some of the baggage I had been weighing myself down with since Ava's birth. She said "you have a beautiful bond with your daughter, look how much she already takes comfort from you, that's so special!"

And again, for the second time in two weeks, time stood still and I looked around with fresh eyes. The eyes of someone who saw, for the first time, saw the situation as it actually was. This was not a baby who was feeling unloved by a mother who wasn't 'glowing'. Instead, this was a newborn baby who was learning to live in a world very different to the one they were used to, and her mother was utterly exhausted from trying to be a superwoman when all she needed to be was herself. Not to mention, the physical fatigue after an intense delivery and two weeks of averaging three hours of sleep a night.

Having someone who knew nothing of my struggles point out the beauty of my relationship that I had been too distracted to see, was all it took to settle me that day. I realised that Ava relied on me no different than Lucy had. Ava trusted me as her mum and didn't know, nor care or my insecurities. She simply loved me and wasn't at all affected by any of the crap I was going through.

It was that day that I realised my normal silver-lining sight had up and left the house. My normal ability to see past the current hardship seemed to have been disabled. That whole saying about everything looking better in the morning doesn't apply when you are not sleeping.....for there is no morning if you haven't slept. Things were at a scary low for me, and I couldn't see how them becoming any easier any time soon.

People would say to me, 'she's a newborn, it will get better with time' and 'you will get used to juggling the needs of two kids, soon it will be easier' and I disregarded their rubbish advice with a grain of salt. All I could see was me crying everyday for the rest of my life, Ava crying endlessly and poor Lucy being neglected all day long as I walked kms around our house trying to get Ava to settle. Woe is me, or in more realistic language, this is shit and I am scared. I had become the pessimist.

And magically, without me to be all sunshine and lollipops, Greg took on responsibility for seeing the positive side of life. He started making comments like 'sweetie, you're being too hard on yourself, you are doing a great job and it will get better' and 'you go and have a sleep, I'll get you up when Ava needs you, she'll be fine with me'. My favourite pessimist had become an 'everything will be okay' person, as I swung heavily into groundhog days and endless tears.

Life's circumstances can make or break you. Most of us learn lessons that we can use for the rest of our lives. The first two weeks of Ava's life taught me several things about myself:

• I expect too much from myself during difficult times
• I don't like it when I feel like I am not achieving what I should
• I need to sleep whenever I can, because I become very pessimistic without it. 
• I need to give myself a break, I'm often doing better than I realise. 

And I learned one very special thing about Greg during this time....he was everything I needed him to be when I felt like i was drowning. Without meaning to, he adjusted his own deeply ingrained pessimism and became the hopeful one, seeing better days ahead had and reminding me of the reality of our situation. He praised me and thanked me and prioritised my well-being over his own, despite his own exhaustion. He was amazing, and just what I needed to get me through. And I will never be able to explain to him how dark my days were and how important his role was in pulling me through it all. He was my best friend in all of this, my rock and my strength. He believed in me and my mothering abilities and told me so. I love him even more for how he was during this time.

This photo is of Ava and I having a cuddle after the photo shoot that day, both feeling a brief sense of calm before the next emotional hurricane arrived. But that's a story for another day....

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Good!

P.S Rachel, if you read this, I want to thank you for your words that flooded relief into my soul. I bet you didn't even know. xo

P.P.S If you want to check out the amazing work Rachel does, the blog pics of Ava and Lucy can be found at http://rachelgatelyphotography.com.au/?p=9059

"This Scene Is One of Horror Movies!"

I'm Actually Looking Forward To Birth....!

During my first pregnancy, I was scared. So very scared of what was to come - somehow the baby had to get out. And the thought of a c-section terrified me more than the fear of birth itself, crazy I know. I remember my mum gave me some words of advice that I clung to with dear life: 'Lauren, you come from a long line of women who have birthed without complications. Your great grandmother did it fine. Your nana did just fine. I did just fine. You have good birthing genes, it's in your blood...and your hips.' Now I don't know how medically sound her advice was, but I didn't care, because I believed from that point on that I would be fine; that my body was destined to fulfill it's role in life by birthing this miraculous little being and I would come out the other side just fine as did my foremothers (is that even a word?).

And through some miracle in itself, I did survive the process of delivering Lucy. I was actually one of those women who LOVED it. I was GLOWING and totally blissed out from the moment she arrived. I cared not as the midwives checked out my nether regions for damage. I cared not that Lucy poo'd on my tummy as I held her for the first time. All I cared about that our child was here, safe and sound and she just the most beautiful thing I had ever seen! I even wrote a blog about it - and how I would never swap my role in giving birth with anyone.

I have never felt such achievement than when I gave birth to Lucy, not ever in my life. I was in awe of my own ability to focus, to stay in control and calm, to get in the zone and believe in myself. I was in awe of my own body and what it did without my conscious decisions, how it really took the lead and I was just along for the ride. So it was no surprise to me that when I fell pregnant with our second child, I was very much looking forward to the birth, to the wonder and pure joy I experienced the first time. Sicko, I know.

Yet, it seems I did not account for the fact that labour might not go the way I expected it to. I expected that I would labour at home until I needed to go to hospital, at which point I would then labour in the bath until it was time to push, and then I would choose if I wanted a water birth or not.

I didn't expect that my contractions would start and stop so many times. I didn't expect that getting into the bath at the hospital would draw a halt to the whole proceedings, which is most depressing to a woman who is five days overdue. I definitely didn't expect that Lucy would come down with a fever the night before as I was in early labour and I would have to leave her for who knows how long while she wasn't feeling well. It was my very first moment of having to let go a little and prioritise my new baby over her, and it was much, much harder than I realised it would be.

If there was one word I could use to describe my second labour, it would be active. Or maybe excruciating. No, let's go with active. I had to move, i couldnt sit still. Greg was ever encouraging, making sure I didn't sit down for longer than five minutes a row (didn't I love him for that), and bravely suggesting we 'jog it out' every time I trudged up the two flights of stairs. In the beginning it made me giggle, him jogging next to me on the spot trying to get me moving, but eventually I remember staring him down and suggesting ever so politely (between clenched teeth) that if he mention jogging once more I just might crack it. It was active, because I had to physically move in order for my contractions to progress. Which I both wanted and didn't want to occur. On the one hand I wanted to meet my baby and have it all over and done with, yet on the other hand I really just wanted it all to stop, wishing that I could just forget it all and go home like nothing happened.

I no longer felt like a warrior princess. Instead I resented the process of having to deal with such excruciating pain in order to have children, couldn't Greg take one for the team this time? I tried my best to put my game face back on as we hurtled fast towards the business end, reminding myself that the end wasn't far away. That a little (a TRUCKLOAD of) pain now to progress the labour was worth it, as it would mean a quicker labour overall. Eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize.

But as my body leant towards wanting to push, and midwife cautioned me against doing so as I wasn't quite ready, I wondered how much more I could take. How much longer I would have to resist the most powerful force my body has ever experienced. How much longer I would have to prolong this labour that I was no longer excited about. And then my body took over. I no longer could withhold the urge to push, and so I began the most active part of any labour.....getting that watermelon the hell OUT! And in four gigantic pushes, our little girl made her entry into the world.

She was taken immediately to the trolley to ensure she was okay, and I lay on the bed thinking one thing and one thing only. Thank FUCK that was over! (Please excuse my language, but I distinctly remember thinking those exact words!) I was done. I had done what I came to do, I was spent well and truly, and my down-below hurt to all buggery! My legs trembled aggressively, and I felt extremely shaky all over, apparently from the adrenaline. Personally, I felt like I was in shock.

And all of a sudden, it felt like my waters broke a second time. There was blood EVERYWHERE! It is not an exaggeration to say it was running off the opposite side of the queen bed I was lying on. My midwifes clothes were messed. Greg took several steps back from the bed to get out of the way. After the bleeding stopped, my midwife told us that she hadn't attended this bloody a birth in a long time. That it was the stuff of movies!

And then they tried to give me my baby. And all I wanted to do was sit up a little, but it hurt so bad. I asked Greg to just please give me a second before I could take her............and that was the moment where everything stood still. Time froze for a second as I realised with great trepidation that I wasn't feeling joy, pride, awe, or wonder at anything that had just occurred. My second born child was being offered to me for my first cuddle and I didn't feel joy, I didn't feel the need to see her, to hold her.

All I felt was a sense of stark clarity. My blood was everywhere. My legs were shaking beyond control. My girly parts felt so very sore that I thought I wouldn't be able to sit for a week. And I didn't want to hold my baby right away. I just wanted a second to get over the traumatic events that my body had just experienced. God, give me a bloody second!

From that moment on, I knew it was going to be different. From that very moment on, I knew that I wasn't going to have that influx of overwhelming emotion to carry me through. That I wasn't going to feel awe or wonder this time, instead simply a sense of the harsh reality of life, of what women are put through in order to expand their families. Of the worst pain I have ever experienced.

Within the first minute of Ava's life, I experienced feelings of not being as good a mother to her as I was to Lucy. Within the first minute of Ava's life I worried that I might not love her as much as Lucy. Within the first SIXTY SECONDS of Ava's life, I was already beating myself up for not feeling joyous, not feeling wonder, not wanting to hold her immediately. I felt like a bystander, watching myself and my reaction to this situation like a foreigner watching a scene they don't belong in. This wasn't me. I loved my birth experience, didn't I? Nope, not this time.

As I did finally hold her a few minutes after her arrival, our little girl without a name at that stage, I looked down and knew that I did love her. I didn't feel a beautiful rush, but I knew without a doubt that I loved her. Again, I felt a sense of reality more than anything, and the fact was that she belonged to me, she was my daughter and I loved her. I fed her immediately and used that time to try and regroup myself, my emotions (or lack of), and we tried to figure out a name for her. Our second princess. A sister for Lucy. Our tiny Ava Isabel.

I have become teary and emotional writing this one tonight, because although the day Ava arrived is almost 4 months ago, I still remember these feelings with clarity. It is terrifying not feeling the way you expect to about your baby. Not knowing when these feelings will end. Not feeling what you think you should be feeling about your baby.

The bliss never arrived. The trepidation stayed and grew into raging guilt and anxiety. The hormonal rush I wanted so desperately never came. Instead, I was left feeling inadequate.

And Tiny One, if you ever read this I want you to know the following:

• Your mother loves you very much, always has and always will. 
• The lack of hormones released after your birth has nothing to do with how much your mummy loved/loves you, and all to do with a automatic, physiological reaction to birth that cannot be controlled, enhanced or explained. 
• Forever your mother will remember every contraction, every feeling, every step your daddy made me walk up during labour for you to arrive. It will always stay with me how much I went through so you could have a safe arrival into this world. And no matter the pain, I would do it all again for you. And I will always fight that much for you with just as much gritted determination. 

And I know I'm not alone. As hard as it is to talk about it, it is better to reach out. For those of you out there who have struggled too, it does get easier. You aren't to blame, as hard as that may be to remember. 

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Gloomy (at times).