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!