The Pursuit of Perfection...

Strive for perfection if you must, just make sure your goals are what you need them to be…

Earlier this year, after dabbling in some amateur cake making, my brother asked if I might make him a cake for his 30^th birthday celebration, to which I of course agreed. He gave me plenty of notice and I set to work researching, youtubing, and spending on all things cake related. I was excited by the challenge! I developed a theme for his cake, being a carpenter’s cake, and let my creative mind run wild. (Well, that’s not entirely true, I actually copied it all off a cake design I saw a picture of in Google Images). I hadn’t completed any cake decorating courses and all my cake related knowledge was from my sister’s shared experience and the internet. I marbled colours into woodgrained icing. I carved a hammer, nails and a ruler from gum paste and I created a stencil to cut out a circular saw….all edible. I perfected these tools several times before I arrived at the final product and once I was there, I knew I had arrived and I was chuffed. I obsessed about it, and created an awesome, professional looking masterpiece. It took self-education, money and so much time. But it was a labour of love for my brother’s special birthday….a gift to him. I wanted it to be super special. On the day, it blew his mind away. In other words, I nailed it….like a carpenter.  

When I last did this eating plan, which is my optimal choice of weight reduction management, I did the same thing. For 23 weeks, I did not deviate from the plan once. Everything I ate was purposeful, deliberate, and nutritious. I ate at the right time, I ate the right amount, I ate the right food. I did not falter once in that 5 months. And I reaped the rewards of my determination – 40kg melted off me easily. I looked and felt amazing. My skin was clear, my knees no longer hurt, my energy levels were high and I was the happiest I had been in so long. 

But in the back of my mind was this obsession with perfectionism. Not perfectionism in a clean house, not perfectionism in my appearance, or my children’s behavior, but perfectionism in my commitment. It had to be all or nothing. Because if I fell off the wagon at any point, I knew I would struggle to get back on. Because all is lost, right? If I stuff it up once, I was just as powerless to those old habits as I ever was. If I fall from my path of perfection, I am no better than I was in the beginning. 

Had it been perfectionism in the end result, that would have been a different story. Had I been focused on getting to the ‘perfect’ healthy BMI, instead of focused on being perfect in the journey, perhaps my fall wouldn’t have been so dramatic. But I was focused slightly off center, on my performance rather than the results. Unlike the cake, where I tried and tried again, and mastered each stage and moved past many failings to achieve the result I was happy with in the end, I had set myself up to fail. Because while 5 months of perfect eating was incredible and awesome, at some point I was going to waiver. I was, after all, at that point because of lifelong habits. 

And that’s exactly what happened. Eventually, one day I let one person’s negative comments undo me. I let that person’s words become the excuse I wanted in that moment, and I held onto those words and mulled over them and let them corrode me. And I fell.

My fall was from a great height. On the way down, I hit every bump without cushion. 

I’m no longer perfect at this. 

I can’t say I have this sorted anymore. 

I have ruined this. Again. 

This is no different than every other time.

Why did I believe those thoughtless words instead of believing in myself? 

Why don’t I have enough self-respect to disregard this moment? 

Maybe I am better off being my normal (obese) self. 

Why bother. I can’t do it anyway. 

I thought I had it covered, but I was really just pretending to be someone else. 

Here we go again. 

Fuck it all.  

And low and behold, those thoughts took hold of me and I believed them. Every single one of them. I believed I didn’t deserve my hard work and didn’t deserve to be thin. I convinced myself so thoroughly that I might as well just accept myself as I am that I returned to my old weight and did nothing to stop that process. In fact, I was a perfectionist at returning to my base point. I achieved that and have been here for several years now. 

I remember almost two years ago, sitting around the campfire on new years eve with one of my best friends, telling her my resolution for 2016 was to get through the year without putting myself on a diet. Without focusing my life on food, on right and wrong, just focusing on trying to live like a ‘normal’ person (whatever that is). I explained I was sick of eternally struggling to be something I wasn’t, and sick of yoyo dieting and the toll it was taking on both my body and my mind. 

And I did it. The one and only new years resolution I've completed! I stuck to my plan of doing nothing that year. And slowly but surely, I learnt something. I realized I have spent years projecting what you are all thinking, the judgements and internal comments you may have made about my weight and my life. And I realized, these thoughts are all my own. Everything I thought you were thinking or worried you were saying behind my back, that paranoia is all my own. I own those thoughts. I know the truth to them. That’s why they are in my head. And slowly, as I acknowledged them, they became less powerful. And I stopped obsessing about the rest of the world and starting listening to me. When I went out to dinner, I made my choice based on what I wanted to eat, not what I should be eating. I chose how much to drink based on my own desired, not based on what you might think is right. I chose how much exercise to do (none) and didn’t think about how much you thought I should be doing. And while it was an over-indulgent and extremely unhealthy time in my life full of disregard, I developed a freedom from those voices in my head. I taught myself to listen to the voice that matters, (mine) and to pause the endless assumptions I was making on everyone’s behalf. 

Why is any of this a good thing you ask? Why do we want to quieten the voices that guide us to better living? We don’t. Here me out.

While those voices in my mind that I thought were your judgements slowly disappeared with my acceptance, I discovered my own voice. My inner voice that was screaming from behind the façade of paranoia ‘DO SOMETHING’! My subconscious was clearly working in an unhelpful manner to draw attention to the issues, but it wasn’t what I needed. I needed to stop blaming everyone else for their judgement and start owning my own feelings, my own desires, my own encouragement…my own judgement of myself and my behavior.

So finally, after ignoring that voice for as long as I could, I was catapulted into this journey as a result of an injury to my knee. Wait, what?!

Even after I discovered my own voice urging me to better health, I still didn’t make the required changes to improve my life? Nope. Because that’s what I did. I ate at all cost. I knew what to do. I had the tools to do it. I am an intelligent, educated and resourceful human. Yet, I chose deliberately to do the very thing that I knew would make it harder. I ate. Sometimes I drank well past the point of excess. Even when I knew it wasn’t good for me.

I was a perfect addict. I wanted it so I went out and got it. I spent money on it, prioritized my time for it. I even lied about it at some points in my life. I traded off good parts of my life, my capability, my wardrobe and my confidence for it. I perfected the art of eating too much of the wrong type of food. And I hurt myself in the process. 

So now, as I turn my attention towards rectifying this situation and improving the outcome for my knees and my future, I have to point my desire for perfectionism where it belongs. Because my commitment on this journey to a BMI that is within the healthy range is not subject to a fall off the wagon. It will not be derailed with thoughts of my journey being completely ruined. I will point the perfectionism at my goal, at a long-lasting, focused approach to the eventual arrival, of being more on task than off. 

Because this time around, I don’t plan for perfection in the diet, that is what undid me before. I plan for life, I plan for choices, I plan for focus and results through consistency and reality, and mostly I plan to enjoy this journey as I discover more and heal myself through increased awareness and forgiveness of unrealistic expectations. I plan for the end result. I plan to nail this journey and be a masterpiece of my own creation through hard work, determination and returning to the end game focus time and time again.  

I still have perfectionism in mind it's in my nature, but its tempered on being the best me. Not the fittest, skinniest, youngest, prettiest. Just the best version of me I can be. Which includes but is not limited to, my healthy body. So I will research, I will spend money and I will invest so much time, and I will try and try again and I will not rest until I am satisfied my result is the best I can achieve. A masterpiece. 

So, gift yourself a labour of love. I don't mean bake yourself a cake. I mean make the masterpiece you need to make to know you've arrived at your best. Spend the required time, effort and money on that thing you keep thinking about. 

Why wait any longer? As we both now know, your knees could fall apart if you wait much longer!  

Because it’s true. When you place effort and energy into a task, you really can achieve anything. You can nail it! (Get it?)

Ciao for now, 

LG- Life's Great

P.S My new favourite song applies.... be inspired:  https://youtu.be/rGlEZpOVjGo

#imaginedragons

The struggle is real...

There is no resolve so strong as the future being threatened...except when there's food.

No, I haven't fallen off the bandwagon a week after I spilled my heart to the internet. Not in the slightest. I am celebrating a milestone of weight loss that is the start of wonderful things to come in fact! Go me! And I do so by sharing this little morsel with you: why is it so friggin hard!?

Last week, my resolve was without temptation. I stood here, declaring from the rooftops that I need and will endeavour to protect my health against all nasty desires that may swing my way, none of which I was experiencing at the time.

Tonight, I write to you from the depths of PMS as a mere distraction to keep me from eating the entire contents of our fridge and ponder WTAF! Not only am I lying here wishing the constant stabbing in my uterus would either put me out of my misery or die itself a quick death, but I am literally driving myself crazy trying to talk myself into 'just a taste' of something that i know will be 'just a kilo' of.

At what stage in my life did I lose the ability to have 'just a taste'? At what stage did I lose the ability to enjoy 'just enough' instead of needing the entire package? And when did this behaviour become so ingrained in my life that I am physically having to restrain myself from the fridge when my hormones have annihilated my normal moderately good resolve. Not only am I to lose weight, but I also must get rid of these habits, these mindsets, these horribly unhelpful paradigms my life has developed over the years, as an ultimate consumer answering every desire.

And why do I struggle with this and yet the person next to me does not. Why am I literally (and i know I am dramatic at times but I actually mean literally) a tortured soul for food? Why am I attached to it the way some are attached to alcohol, drugs, whatever else? At which part in my life did it become my 'drug of choice'? This really bothers me, particularly when I look around and know people who've never been on any kind of diet. I can't remember a time when I was 'free' from food. It is like the little devil on my shoulder, teasing me, enticing me, calling me, destructing me.

How do I get rid of it? How do I turn my back from this endless journey that I continually struggle with to ensure that the changes I am making today, right now, for the past two months for my knee and my future, will remain permanent? How do I not become another statistic in the weightless cycle yet again? How can I jump off the ride?

Tonight, I am exhausted. I know it's hormonal. Until today, I have been feeling amazing due to my wonderful nutritious food which has led to amazing sleep, which has brought a happiness in knowing I am doing a wonderful thing for myself and I've got it covered. But today, thanks to being a woman (and potentially years of indulging when in pain) I am feeling crap. Proper crap. I am feeling emotional, achy, tired and overwhelmed with the task ahead. And i know that tomorrow, I will wake up feeling better, stronger, happier, and I will wonder why on earth I was so 'intense' yesterday.

What I really should be doing is taking this chipped nail polish off my nails and sinking my tired and sad body into a hot delicious smelling bath. However, thanks to the arthroscopy wounds and stitches that are being removed tomorrow, i cannot. So I turn to you, my beloved blog readers, and i share (and overshare) my soul yet again to help me get through this moment. It's my form of self-help, sharing my heart to release the pressure and pass on a little of me so I can move forward with my day, my month, my life.

Which reminds me - I read something so amazing today. It spoke about self love as needing to parent yourself sometimes and make the hard choices that don't necessarily make you happy now, or fulfil your immediate desires, but that are better for you in the long run. Ha! I thought self love was giving yourself a cuppa and doing your nails or focusing your self talk on propping yourself up when others weren't filling the gaps.  Spending time believing in yourself and your ability and ommmmmmmm.

But making tricking decisions because the end game is more important that immediate gratification? That's what I am all about as a parent! In every conversation and every decision and every action, I am considering how this will shape their teenager and adult years. If I say yes when my daughter wants to watch a rehearsal and spend the day at the theatre, because 'dancing is my life Mum', will this be the beginning of a lifelong dance obsession (that, in truth has already begun)? If I accept this rude behaviour now, will they behave towards others as they have towards me? If I play play dough at dinner time and mention difficulties i experienced in my school days, will that encourage conversations about similar things in the event they occur? My focus for them is and has always been the long game. It's kinda something I pride myself on.

Turns out, i need to do some self-parenting too. Turns out I need to give myself some tough love, some responsible love. If I was my own parent, this is what I would say to myself:

• Keep elevating and icing your knee
• No, you cannot have more to eat. You've eaten what you need for your body, have a glass of water and find something else to do
• This, too, shall pass (thanks Ali, I always think of you when I think of this)
• Keep writing. It helps you process and share what you are going through
• Speak to a professional, there are people who can help develop strategies for dealing with this all
• Clean up your bedroom
• While you're at it, make your bed in the morning
• And for goodness sake, get off the computer and fold that pile of washing (totally not doing it)!

What do you need to parent yourself about? 

Mum's the word. 

Ciao for now, 

LG - Life's Great!

Turns out I couldn't have my cake and eat it too...

I can eat, drink and live however I want because I am proud of who I am and my size doesn’t define me….until it did. 

This blog page has been a therapeutic source of support for me over the years as I have jumped on and off the weight loss bandwagon. I have raged at the world in defiance, believing I should be loved for being me, and not for the size of my jeans. I have learned to accept me. Equally, I have raged at how difficult it was losing weight and challenging I found it emotionally. I have sought medical help, pharmaceutical help, psychological help, I have at times deliberately taken steps to ignore the battle completely and to just be.

But 7 weeks ago when I crawled across my lounge, heard something pop in my knee, and was suddenly facing a different path in life, I realized I had made a massive mistake. Just. Like. That. 

Prior to that moment, I was wishing my weight away but not taking any action to enable it to happen. I was feeling a need for action, but resisting it as I have worked so very hard to be okay with being me, it seems counter productive to seek a different way of life. How backwards is that? In my mind, I have worked so hard to believe in my own value (including/despite my obesity), and demand that unconditional love from others, that to admit I needed to change was like admitting I had gotten it all wrong. That I had been pointing my focus in the wrong direction. That I hadn’t been right at all.  

Not  once would you ever see my look into the mirror and ask ‘does my arse look fat in this’. Firstly, I’m not stupid, I know when my own looks fat. Secondly, because I did not want to pass self-critiquing messages about poor body image to my daughters. And thirdly, because I didn’t actually want to invite that level of criticism into my life from others. It is not for someone else to tell me if my body is acceptable. That is for me and me only to decide. 

But when I hurt my knee that day, and in the subsequent weeks it became apparent it wasn’t an issue that was going away (ever), I became panicked at the thought of having to carry myself, at this current weight, around on crutches should I need surgery. With every step (limp), I was heavily aware (do you like what I did there?) that I was placing unnecessary load on my unstable knee and had been doing so for years. No, the arthritis in my wasn’t caused by being obese, but it has absolutely and undeniably contributed to the swift progression of deterioration in my knee….all of which I was unaware of until 7 weeks ago. 

Now, as an overweight person, I’ve carried two healthy pregnancies. I haven’t ever experienced diabetes, blood pressure issues, high cholesterol, heart conditions, or any other health issues you associate with obesity. I had developed a false sense of security against those common risk factors that didn’t really seem to ever apply to me. I believed that I would eventually develop the desire to lose weight again when I was ready and until then,  I could live fancy free without consequences. 

Well, the consequence for me was the chunk of bone that broke off from the back of my patella that night as I crawled across the lounge, and lodge itself into my knee joint, rendering my incapable of walking properly despite physio and rest. The bone breakage was caused by the progressed arthritis - which is considered grade four (as bad as it gets) – and requires a partial or full knee replacement in the future. 

Would this have occurred despite my weight? Yes. Would it be this extensive if I had been at a healthy weight? No way. Not yet. Not at this age. 

It’s that moment that you wish you could have known this would happen 20 years ago. That moment you truly regret so many of your choices in life. And what for? Some more cake? 

I am reminded of my four year old who currently believes that just because she wants something, she has rights to it. That’s what I was like. I had the desire, the money, and the means to see it through. What a shame a healthy body wasn’t what I desired all along. What a shame my desires were solely based on food and alcohol, and I was so clever I was able to convince myself that I could do whatever I wanted without consequence. 

Its amazing what a real life health issue can do to adjust your view of the world. Our dream future includes holidays, camping, gardening, generally living a fun family life. None of that includes me in a zimmer frame at 50. The thought of my healthy husband having to medically care for me in our retirement because of my poor choices in my youth depresses me. I want to travel the world. I want to travel Australia. This week I can’t even walk into my daughters school to pick her up. 

The reality of how different my life may be now due to this knee issue has given me a swift kick to my (large) behind. It’s been a rude awakening, and I am ever grateful it is not a terminal diagnosis or more serious issue. But still, it’s pretty damn serious for me. 

I sit here writing from my lounge, a week post-arthroscopy. The surgeon took that nasty chunk out of my knee and I am recovering well. I’ve got a lot of work to do to get my life back on track – to the path I want it to follow, to the future we desire and deserve. I don’t intend to roll over and let this be a diagnosis of early-onset old age. 

I know I can lose the weight, that’s a given. My hardest challenge will be keeping it off and not returning to old habits. In a way, I am grateful for genuine and real inspiration my knee has given me. Nothing like the risk of life becoming a far cry from what you hope it to be to bring on true desire and action. 

So if you see me around and wonder if I have lost weight. Yes I have. And will continue to do so until its all gone, and I will continue to take steps for the rest of my life to keep it off. It’s not about looks, vanity, body image or confidence. I have a healthy level of confidence already. Its about necessity, health, and our future.

Don’t wait for this moment in your life when it’s too late and the damage has already been done. Don’t change your future to be crapper than it should be because you had one too many. Don’t let your over-indulgence create an environment of irreparable results in your body.  Consume less. Drink less. Enjoy more of your life with longevity in your physical capability. 

And support the heck out of me in this. I need your love, your unwavering devotion and commitment to seeing me be my best, despite my brave face. I thought my best was purely an mental/emotional thing. I was wrong. I am humbled. And I am ready.

Let's hope I don't have to be back in surgery again too soon.

Ciao for now, 

LG - Life's Gigantic

Dear Woman of 2017

Dear Woman of 2017,

Try everyday to be better than you were yesterday. Correct all your faults; oh, did you amend the ones others might see too? Ensure you are self-reflecting and intelligent, and always use it to be submissive, demure, feminine and pleasing to others. Your insecurities are your best asset, valued highly in society, marketing and culture. Let your opinion be known regularly on social media and use your dinner dates to admire your man, there's value in his every word. 

You'll be taken seriously with a male at your side. Your gay persuasion is super hot, can he join in? Being maternal is your entire purpose for existence. Your husband can have it all: parenthood, career, relationship, hobbies, positive mental health, amazing post-baby body!

Bring your A-game to the table. You are ready to be brash and bossy, now you are the one wearing the pants in this room. Be confident in your dress as you are leered at. Be a slut in the bedroom and a minister's wife in public. Someone has to be kind and thoughtful...you. Use your actively listening skills to provide a sounding board for others to complain. Blow your credit card regularly - it's so cute when you have nothing to your name. Its critical to be aesthetically pleasing to everyone else. 

Apologise regularly. Analyse your every word, emotion and reaction. You deserve everything you get. Be apathetic and understanding towards arseholes; they don't know any better. Use your voice to scream for your rights in an online poll. Discuss matters of the heart with similarly-minded girlfriends. Loosen up for once! You're having another wine?

Enjoy your workout, the MumBod doesn't exist as a celebrated and accepted physique yet. Decrease office distraction by ensuring your panty line is not showing. Comfort is in blending in. Your personality is highly regarded when laughing at jokes, even more so if its at your own expense. Stay fit, your weight is an indicator of your happiness, history and worth. 

Enjoy ample 'me time', in well-lit public spaces full of people during the day. Members of your community will support your safety when you are dressed modestly. Your vagina needs a pounding, challenge accepted. Take your matters of abuse before the courts for humiliation, judgement and ineffective action - your dirty laundry is now clean until you bleed again. 

Be revered, your disgusting menstrual cycle is an honour. Be grateful your man is not taxed per month for his ability to ejaculate. Cherish and protect the secret of your lost baby forever. Be gentle with your husband, your asking for assistance is irritating. Expecting involvement is suggesting mind-reading capabilities. Be capable and practical to contribute to society. There is nothing sexier than a damsel in distress. Accept your failings humbly, share your success widely. Dream regularly of Prince Charming. Relish in double standards, women are from Venus after all. Support rights for men, women have already come so far.

Learn more. Do more. Have more. Accept all.

But don't be better...they might feel emasculated. 

Ciao for now, 

LG - Life's good (except for all the above bullshit I'm sick of).

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