I put down my phone and fell in love

I like to think we are a typical family; equal parts of hugs, cuddles and I-love-yous to screams of stop fighting, pick up your socks and just hurry up and get in the car. We’re rarely in the same room at the same time, thanks to varying work, sporting and running-the-family commitments (and, of course, when I send everyone to separate rooms for my sanity and their safety). When we are in the same room, we like to watch The Voice, The Greatest Showman, Eat-Well-for-Less and Buying Blind.  My daughter likes to play pairs and Monopoly, and me and my husband like to come up with excuses to bow out of the games. My son likes to look at his computer screen and listen to someone with a piercing accent tell him how to find alpacas on Fortnite.

And he's not the only one who loves a device.

I’m often at the kitchen bench, hunched over my phone, endlessly (and pointlessly) refreshing my Facebook feed, checking responses to my latest Instagram post, responding to work emails, checking bank balances and depending on the former, online shopping. If I’m not the phone, I’m here on the laptop writing, planning programs for clients or doing much the same as I do on my phone, just on a bigger screen that for some reason feels less icky.

My husband has two computer screens that must do important things because he is often in their company or on his phone, talking to like minded engineer-y people, responding to text messages or emails, or watching clips of fruit grading machines doing stuff that he finds fascinating.  

My daughter is the less device-y of the family and usually just reaches for the I-Pad or PC because it’s what everyone else is doing. She will listen to music, watch Fortnite videos, make posters, do make-believe-homework or print off colour-ins that she will rarely actually colour in. If there’s an opportunity for her to ride her bike, run through a few basketball drills or play a board game, she’ll happily leave the I-Pad on the floor for me to remind her (and remind her, and remind her, and remind her) to pick up later.

I get the sense that we are a typical family that needs to disconnect from the virtual world. We don’t know how to be bored any more. We don’t know how to make our own fun. We don’t talk as much as we should and sometimes, it feels like we are strangers who just yell stuff at each other from separate rooms.

Earlier this month, we took a four-day break to the Apple Isle. Thanks to a friend who has a sixth sense for finding unique accommodation places (I think she spends her screen time ogling over possible holiday destinations for herself, or selflessly, for other people), we found ourselves at Chalet Tasmania in the hideaway hills of Judbury, near Huonville.  (NB, this is not a sponsored post, but if they were to flick me a few nights free, I’d be on a Jet[star] plane stat.)

On the windy dirt road to The Chalet, I found myself wondering if I would have chosen this place myself. The answer in truth, is probably not. I normally look for shopping centres, restaurant strips and family attractions – things to keep us busy, entertain the kids (AKA give me some space) and make it a memorable trip. But as we curved our way around hills carpeted in blue-green trees and wowed at the streams of water running like ribbons from the peaks above us to the valley below us, my usual holiday-must-haves started to seem boring by comparison.

On entry to The Chalet, we all fell in love. We fell in love with the wood fire (which my husband grumbled about having to bring wood in for, to light and to stoke; but strangely took to it like the farm-boy of old). We fell in love with the delightful country kitchen, the clean lines of the bathrooms, the welcoming feel of the bedrooms and, oh-my, did we fall in love with the freestanding bath on the deck. We fell in love with the backdrop – a huge hill covered in trees, shrubs and ferns. We fell in love with our outlook; foggy mountainous ranges spotted with chimneys puffing smoke out from distantly hidden houses. 

And when we realised that there was no phone service, it was as if we collectively let out a sigh of relief.

No need to check for emails, Instagram likes or Facebook posts. No way of telling the world, instantly, how wonderful this place was. No way of sharing pictures and answering curious questions (Where are you? How much is it? How long are you there for? How did you find it?). It was ours to enjoy, exclusively.

Over the next two days, without the distraction of the virtual world, we connected with our son, who I feel is naturally starting to steer his sails away from his family and more towards his friends. We coddled our ever-active daughter with the games and movement she has an innate preference for.

We played Cluedo. We took walks. We watched The Voice (yassss Sam). We made hot chocolates and toasted marshmallows. We looked at maps (like big fold-out-paper-maps that don’t talk).  We each took an outdoor bath while the sun set and the rain fell (it was the most surreal, indulgent experience). We breathed. Like really, really breathed.

Almost everything we did felt: in sync. In sync with the strengths, values and penchants of our family unit.

As I sipped on a glass of red wine, while soaking in that tub (apparently, I didn’t need an amusement park to get space to myself), I was brought to tears; tears for the wonderous surroundings, tears of gratitude for being in what felt like the most amazing place and most of all, tears for my typical family, who without the distraction of the virtual world, I fell love with all over again.

And now that I am back on Victorian soil, with a thousand more memories of Tasmania than we had days, I am reminding myself that we may be a typically busy family who are rarely in the same room, but I can put my phone away, shut down my laptop or look away from the television to see the most wonderous, loveable thing(s) any time I choose. 

Consistency is a bitchency

You know that fitness class you do after a few weeks off? It hurts like a beatch. Your throat burns like you’ve just necked a bottle of tabasco sauce, your so-called muscle memory appears to have Alzheimer’s and when the instructor says burpee, you fleetingly imagine storming off with more drama than a walk-out scene on The Bachelor.

(Then you start thinking about the Bachelor and wonder if Anna and Tim will ever get married and wasn’t Megan gay and is Keira actually more normal than we first thought and then you wish were on your couch watching reruns and NOT HERE DOING GODDAMN BURPEES JANINE).

The thing is, in those few weeks off, you lost some fitness. Fitness, you see, is kind of like a sleeping bag: damn hard work to get it in, but one little loosening of the toggle and it all starts spilling out.

But, dang it, remaining consistent is flipping hard. Women I train have all the best intentions to make classes or their PT sessions regularly, but then a kid gets gastro. And then the other kid gets gastro. And then mum gets gastro. Then she gets called into work, or it’s her turn to help with school reading. Then the car needs servicing, the washing repair man can only come at the exact same time as the one fitness class she can make each week and then it’s a pupil free day and getting the kids out of bed just to pump out a few push ups, seems more trouble than it’s worth. Boom. Good bye four weeks of workouts, hello tabasco sauce throat and Osha Gunsberg commentating your potential walk off.

But with a touch of creative thinking and some support from the right trainer (hi), you can keep that sleeping bag of fitness reasonably tightly packed.

1)      If you miss a class or a PT session, ask if your trainer would give you the planned program so that you can do it at home, when it suits.

2)      Make contact with some of the other participants (or ask your trainer to pass on your details) to see if anyone else missed a session and might be keen for a walk, jog or workout together at another time.

3)      Check if you can arrive to class late or leave early – so that you can fit in the workout and still catch the washing machine repair man.

4)      Get the trainer’s advice on workouts you’ve had saved (with all the best intentions, since 2015) on Facebook or Instagram.

5)      If you are going to be MIA for a while, ask your trainer to write up a program for you to do at home and then send the results of the workout through to him/her after each session. Get the program updated every few weeks to keep you interested.

6)      See if you can adjust the duration or time slot of your booked PT session to fit around other appointments or commitments.

7)      Check if your trainer can prescribe exercises that take into account any injuries or niggles that might be holding you back.

8)      If the class time or availability of your PT really isn’t syncing with your lifestyle, ask your trainer for a recommendation to another studio or trainer. A good, genuine PT will want you to feel active and healthy, no matter where you go.

Ok women, stop it.

There’s a woman sitting near you in a restaurant, on a train, in a school meeting, at your kids’ sport, on a nearby desk at work, or walking past you in the street, feeling lousy about herself. A really ‘I don’t want to be here. I feel so uncomfortable. I am so fat.’ kind of lousy. Truthfully, there’s probably more than one woman feeling like that.

In fact, there’s a strong possibility you are that woman.

Having almost 38 years of ‘femaleness’ under my belt, having had female friends all of my life; and working in the health and wellbeing industry specifically with females, I’m starting to see a big, fat, bold, scary pattern.

We hate on ourselves.

All. The. Time.

If we’re not doing it publicly (“Oh my god, you should see what I ate on the weekend.”), we’re doing it privately (“F**k it! I’m not going, nothing looks good on me. I’m such a fat cow.”) If we don’t beat ourselves up about it enough, we beat our loved ones up about it (“Honey how does this look?”…. “What do you mean byOK’? Do you even want to be married to me?!?!”).

This downtrodden attitude towards ourselves is dictating our conversations. When was the last time you had dinner with the girls and no-one brought up what diet they were on, what new weight loss technique they were trying, how heavy they were feeling, how many kilograms they’d gained or how much weight so-and-so had lost?

Minute-to-minute (sadly, I’m not even exaggerating) it is affecting our moods, our social lives, our relationships, our careers and our professional or personal aspirations.

I’ve met women who are tiptoeing on the verge of agoraphobia as a result of how they look in the mirror; dozens tell me they can’t come to an exercise class until they have lost some weight; and friends that tell me that they rarely enjoy social occasions because they never feel comfortable with how they look.

Gah. It’s got to stop.

Women. Stop it!

But I know these women. I’ve been this woman. And I know it isn’t as easy as just saying, “Oh ok, I rock, let’s go disco dancing!”

I don’t know where this venom entered our blood stream. We consistently blame advertising and all of their lighting and airbrush trickery. We blame our mothers for switching to low fat milk and flora margarine in 80s. We blame clothing manufacturers for inconsistent sizing and the designers who insist on using waif like models to sell them.

But while we are turning down another social occasion, having another low-self-esteem fuelled argument with our nearest and dearest and-or internally abusing ourselves again with a grimaced face in the mirror; another airbrushed ad is being produced, another diet-related food product is being pumped off the production line, another size 14 clothing tag is being sewn onto a size 10 jacket and another model is being employed for next year’s biggest fashion show.

The industries that could shoulder some of the blame for our self-hate are not going to stop doing what they do in time for you to go to go to the ball, apply for that job, buy that dress, check out that dance class or have that raunchy lights-on-completely-starkers night with your hubster.

It’s up to us to stop listening. Stop listening to those voices that tell us we’re too fat to go out, that our partner couldn’t possibly love us, that the spin class is only for skinny people or that we can’t change our career path until we’ve lost 10kgs.

It’s up to us to stop the weight-related conversations with friends and start talking about something other than body size and body parts.

It’s up to us to stop thinking that achieving a certain body shape or size is the sole purpose of our existence on earth.

Seriously, this obsessive negative body image epidemic needs an antidote – and it lies within us.

Obviously, I don’t discourage an enthusiastic attitude toward better health, but I suspect that the incessant focus on our appearance is in fact, plaguing our bodies way more than the desperate 3p.m chocolate bar.

By all means, continue to work on your fitness; continue to explore better nutrition, but synergise it with a loving and appreciative acceptance of your body, and all bodies.

My top five tips for breaking the hate-on-ourselves pattern are:

1)      Reduce self-criticism: Challenge yourself to 2 days a week (more if you can) where you don’t criticise your any aspect of your reflection.

2)      See internal characteristics in others: Practice describing (either to yourself or in friendly discussions with your peers) other women using only non-physical characteristics. “You know Kate, the one that is really friendly? She’s friends with Lucy, who is always willing to help out at soccer…”

3)      Change the conversation: When you meet up with your girlfriends, have a zero-tolerance approach to body-related conversations.  If someone raises how heavy they are feeling, how their clothes aren’t fitting anymore or how skinny they were at their damn wedding 15 years ago, don’t fuel the discussion by adding in your two cents about their weight, or yours. Next.

4)      Ignore clothing sizes: Image if you cut off the tags on every piece of clothing in your wardrobe. Eventually, you wouldn’t remember what was a size 10 and what was a size 16. You’d just wear whatever was comfortable on that day. Adopt the same attitude when you shop. Don’t worry about the size you need, just grab the one that will be the most comfortable.

5)      Letting go is different to letting yourself go. I saw this quote at some stage on the socials and wish I could credit it appropriately. It perfectly represents the synergy of body acceptance with health awareness. Being more accepting of your body does not mean that you should throw out the runners and schedule in a nightly date with the pizza delivery driver.  Likewise, continuing to work on your diet and fitness does not have to be all in the name of external body changes. Gosh darn it, it can be just for the benefit of feeling good and, hold-the-damn-phone, a long and healthy life.

Regardless of where the responsibility lies for this venomous culture of self-hate, if we start to change the way we think about ourselves, talk about ourselves and what we notice in others, that woman in the restaurant, whether it’s you or not, might order a dessert and not feel self-conscious about it; the woman on the train might apply for that promotion and the fellow mother at the school meeting might feel confident enough to introduce herself and come to the next social night out.

The "business" of the business.

2 years ago today I started this “business”. Actually, let’s start that again.

2 years ago today I started this business. I have a tendency to put my business in inverted commas, because it’s small. It’s just me. It’s not 9-5. It has no staff. It doesn’t have a huge turnover (in fact, if I am honest, I don’t even know what, or if I am “turning over”. Note to self, make appointment with accountant tomorrow). It doesn’t have a huge social media following, my website is in desperate need of an overhaul and my assets include a bunch of good quality weight plates and medicine balls and a lot of odds and ends that I’ve picked up at the Aldi fitness sales.

But, I keep record of income and expenses, I make a little bit of pocket money (I’m serious. It’s pocket money), I pay my bills, I decide what to promote, when to promote and who to promote to. I invest in networking events and educational courses that I think are going to help me and/or my clients.  I don’t think I have a business plan but I seem to have a good grasp on what I want to happen with the business and how I am going to go about that (big reveal: keep it ticking along). And despite never having had a day-long round table conference about it, I seem to have a pretty rock-solid elevator pitch.

So, I guess as small fry as it is, it is a business. No inverted commas needed.

Anyway, now I’ve justified it out loud; today my business is 2.

Exactly this time two years ago (8:35am), I was in my best active wear, loading my shiny fitness equipment and my new portable stereo into my car, I had a class plan that had been put together weeks before and I was NERRR-VUS. Excited nervous (which, according to my insightful son, who was 8 years old at the time, are brown nerves. Very different to blue nerves, which apparently are “sad nerves” and purple nerves which are “sorry-nerves”.)

I drove me and my brown nerves to the Ballarat Futsal Centre, which after a bit of shopping around best suited my needs as a long-term hiree for my group fitness classes.

And I waited. In the big cold stadium for people to arrive. I waited a little longer in the big cold stadium for the people to arrive. And I waited a little longer. And gosh darn it. People arrived!

And they’ve kept arriving for 2 years. I’ve had quite a few people stick with me since day one (thank you thank you thank you). I’ve had quite a few people turn up once or twice and then never again (No judgement. I’m absolutely, entirely comfortable with not being everything to everyone).  And I have had new people arrive in the last month or two to check out if it is right for them (welcome).

I love it. I never (ok, almost, pretty-much never) loathe going to work. I love mapping out different ways for people to move. I love seeing people laugh (Renee, never stop being uncoordinated, please, and never-ever stop being able to laugh at yourself because of it), and chat while they workout. I love people groaning about being tired, but still keeping on keeping on anyway. I love seeing kids climb over their mums when they are trying to hold a plank. I love seeing mums grateful when their child needs help going to the toilet right when we’re about to start burpees (I see what you did there 😉 ). I love that when someone has an injury or a niggle, they still show up and do what they can. I love that when I try to incite competition into the sessions, it becomes clear that I’ve got such a nice bunch of ladies that no-one is out to beat no-one (and in fact if someone has picked the short straw too many times, others will come to her aid and swap. You guys.) I love that participants will often spend as much time talking after class, as the class itself.

All the feels, y’all. ALL. THE. FEELS.

The fitness industry is synonymous with “transformations”. And I have seen transformations.

I have seen women transform from dazed, confused, frustrated mothers, with no solid outlet for self-preservation to dazed, confused, less-frustrated mothers, who have had a work out, feel better about life and stand a little taller.

I have seen others transform from meek fitness class participants or personal training clients not really sure of their strengths and abilities, to people who walk out confidently knowing that they can do “stuff” that makes them feel healthier.

I have seen people with a vague interest in getting fit (“I probably should do something”) to making exercise a priority in their day to day life.

I have seen myself transform from a passionate health and fitness professional, not really sure where she sits in the fitnessy-world, to a passionate health and fitness professional who has a firm foot-hold on what health and fitness means to her and what she wants to pass onto clients.

I have seen this business transform from a “I’ll give it a go and see how it pans out”, to a brand that people recognise and ask about. I’ve seen, been part of; gosh darn it I’ve transformed this “business” to a business.

I’m looking forward to the coming years with In Your Element, indeed seeing what pans out, seeing if and how my elevator pitch changes, seeing new faces come in, seeing the kids that join their mums grow up, seeing more of the sort of transformations I like to see and, as a side note, seeing if I have made a turn over.

 

Hungry and hormanal. Get out of my way.

Once upon a time I thought that my periods didn't really affect what I ate. I cruised though my cycle (as much as one can "cruise" through the most inconvenient and uncomfortable 3-7 days of EVERY MONTH) eating pretty much the same as what I would usually eat. I didn't really subscribe to the belief that periods equalled cravings. Oh, what I ate by the way, was a diet high in sugar, saturated fat, carbs and weekend alcohol binges. No wonder I didn't crave a darn thing: I was already well in comfort-food credit.

These-a-days, with a late thirties head on my shoulders and a late thirties uterus in my abdomen, it's a different ball game.  Processed foods in my diet are limited, vegetables are unlimited, my main source of caffeine is from green tea and my water intake gets 5 gold stars.

That's all well and good for 24 out of every 28 days.

The other four days, I am seeking storming through the kitchen like a possessed woman searching for something rich, warm, comforting and generally chocolate-y (maybe I just need to have Dwayne Johnson on speed dial?).

I know it isn't just coincidence, because the days that I feel a little outta control with my eating is the same days every single cycle.  I can almost tell what is going on with my baby maker by what I am looking for in the pantry.

I wanted to get some confirmation that this indeed is a thing and not some female mind trickery. And if it is due to those bloody hormones whipping around our bodies like crazed flies at a BBQ, gain some pointers on how to tame them a little. So, I asked local naturopath Annabel Mason from Blossom Wellbeing for her take on it. This is what Annabel had to tell me.

"What you're eating throughout the entire month will potentially influence how you feel during the different phases of your cycle.

Many women experience food cravings during the different phases of their cycle, most commonly around ovulation and during the luteal (premenstrual phase) of their cycle. Cravings for sugar, chocolate or other carbohydrate rich foods are common at these times due to the declining oestrogen levels. Your blood sugar levels are more sensitive to swings at these times too.

Making sure that you include plenty of high quality protein foods, along with healthy fats (avocado is great for hormone balance. Raw, unsalted nuts and seeds are also helpful). Naturally sweet vegetables such as sweet potato, pumpkin, carrots or squash can provide natural sweetness (roasting vegetables also brings out their natural sweetness).

A few squares of high quality dark chocolate will provide some magnesium and chromium which also support blood sugar balance.

It is normal to experience lower energy at this time, so also check in with yourself as to whether you are wanting to eat out of true hunger or fatigue. As your hormones drop premenstrually, you may feel a little more emotionally sensitive, so also be mindful of not using food to manage this. Choose healthy, nourishing comfort foods like soups or root vegetable based stews and consider other ways non-food ways which provide you with a sense of comfort.

All throughout your cycle, aim to be minimising processed sugar and processed foods and include plenty of fibre rich wholefoods, greens (especially bitter greens such as rocket lettuce) and vegetables (especially the brassica family vegetables) will aid hormonal balance all through your cycle."

Ok, so phew. I'm not just using my cycle as an excuse. It really is a marvellous (sonnofabish) combination of hormones, blood sugar and fatigue.        

At the helm of it all is Oestrogen (who really, we should all know is a little cray-cray. Sometimes she starts with an O - which make zero sense - and sometimes she starts with an E - more sense).

Despite challenging internal circumstances, it isn’t really the ideal time to throw all the good eating habits down the drain. Plant foods can come to our rescue maybe a little more than a block of chocolate. Or Dwayne Johnson.

(PS: I recently used this recipe from my good friend Bianca at Wholefood Simply. It doesn't entirely fit into Annabel's recommendations, but it was a pretty good compromise. And the smallest amount put O-E-strogen back in her box for a while).

Pausing life for just for 20 mins. Then I'm good to go.

The crew and I were in countdown mode all weekend. This little family of four has been one man down for 2 weeks and we couldn’t wait to welcome hub-dad back into the country. There have been times over this last fortnight when dinners have been a gourmet collection of weetbix, raisin toast and rice crackers. There have been times over this last fortnight when socks have had to be pulled out of the dirty washing pile and squished bits of cupcake have had to be picked off them before being worn to school. There have been times over this past fortnight when a wee-puddle, left by the side of the toilet bowl from a half asleep son has had to wait 7 hours before being mopped up. There have been times over the last fortnight when we have screamed [me], sworn [me] and cried [also me].

Solo-parenting, is parenting, amplified.

I am not unique in the going-solo sense. Mothers are doing this ALL. THE. TIME. At any given moment I could list half a dozen women that I know, who are juggling the demands of a young family while their husbands are away for work. And that doesn’t even count the single mothers, who just roll with these punches day in and day out (and probably, rightfully so, rolled their eyes and tuned out of my pity post by the second paragraph).

The biggest challenge of parenting, and more so solo-parenting, is the seemingly impossible art of living in the present. This allusive skill teaches us to appreciate what is in front of us, let go of the past and allow the future to fall into place. That’s all well and good and daisy-chains, until my son needs to get to soccer practice and my daughter needs to be at basketball, at opposite ends of the town, at the same time. Living in the present is all beer and skittles until the dog needs a walk, the kids need dinner, the washing needs to be pulled in and I have three hours’ worth of work to get through before the inevitable tiredness of the day threatens to sink its teeth into all of our emotional states.

The thing is, living in the present is a beautiful notion and an undisputable benefit to wellbeing, until life happens. It seems almost inconceivable to stop and smell the roses when you can’t stop watching the clock, checking the diary and trying desperately to somehow get ahead of the conveyor belt of the family schedule.

But if there is anything that I have learnt about myself over the last 14 days, it’s that regardless of how hard it seems, I need to find the pause button for this conveyor belt; I need to schedule in regular maintenance – whether I’m solo parenting or not.

There’s a Zen proverb that says “You should sit in meditation for twenty minutes every day – unless you’re too busy. Then you should sit for an hour.” If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with the impending to-do list after my husband’s departure, I would have written these words on a post-it-note in every room of the house.

At some stage in every fast-paced block of 24 hours, I need to find at least twenty minutes of nothingness; of calm, present, non-judemental thoughts only. Because there have been times in the last fortnight that I have felt the harsh brunt of living in every moment except the current one. I felt anxious. I felt stressed. I felt irritable. I felt erratic. I felt don’t-even-look-at-me emotional. I felt angry. I felt guilty. I felt completely overwhelmed, exhausted and broken. All signs, I imagine, of present-living deficit.

With hub-dad almost touching down back on Aussie soil (ed note, I just got a text. HE HAS LANDED! WOOT!), I am looking back over these last two weeks and questioning how I behaved as a parent, how I managed my emotions and dealt with the stress and I am wondering “why was that so damn hard?” It comes back to my complete lack of presence; my inability to clear my mind of who needs to be where and what needs to be done, for just 20 minutes of each day.

Having never been great at meditation, I’m pleased to read recent insights about the practice being less sitting on a cushion repeating “om” and more just slowing down and basking your senses in your current surroundings. Meditation can be done walking or running or even, for the win, while watching a live show. Anything that allows you to shut your diary, switch off your phone, close off your mind to the things that “need” to be done and just “be” present, is going to pay back with interest – emotionally, mentally and physically.

So solo-mums, single-mums, mums with loads of support, mums with no-support, mums in general, parents in general, it is hard, so damn hard to stop thinking about what everyone is doing, where everyone needs to be, what everyone needs to eat, who needs to have what packed and what needs to be done next. But from someone who’s tiptoed on the knifes edge of spending too much time in the next moment, find the time to stop; to look, to listen, to breath. Forget the to-dos, forget the not dones and just switch off. 20 minutes in 24 hours.

Then mop up the wee.

 

Darling daughter, tell me again you don't want to be fat

Dear 7-year-old-daughter, you are full of deliciousness. You have a kind heart. You have energy in spades. You have sporting #skillz gurfriend. You have a sense of humour. You have a healthy dose of I’m-prepared-to-challenge-the-boundaries attitude. You have the most exquisite blue eyes. You have a giggle that I want to bottle up and then release into the world to make everyone smile. You have a sense of self beyond your years. Macy, put simply, I think the sun shines out of your gorgeous little bottom.

A few weeks ago my darling girl, out of the blue, you lifted your top, sucked in your tummy and said “Mum look how skinny I am!” You correctly interpreted my look of confusion panic heartbreak and quickly clarified “What?! I don’t want to be fat!”

Oh Macy, my magical little daughter, let me tell you want you don’t want to be.

My darling girl, you don’t want to be cruel and hurtful. You don’t want to be the arrogant person that people can’t speak fondly of. You want to be kind and well respected. You want people to feel they can depend on you, trust you and enjoy being in your company.

My gorgeous daughter, you don’t want to be a victim of domestic abuse. You don’t want someone to overpower you physically, emotionally or verbally until your spirit is exhausted. You want to be vigilant against people who are hurting you or causing you harm. You want to have the confidence, self-respect and strength of character to be able to walk away and create for yourself a life of love, health, happiness and positive growth.

Macy, you don’t want to be illiterate. You don’t want to hold a book or a pen in your hand and not understand what a gift it is. You don’t want to fear words. You want to be able to sit in an arm chair and escape to untouched destinations that are only accessible through literature. Books, newspapers, magazines and articles will forever provide you with the opportunity to explore people, places, circumstances and events. And writing, oh my girl, writing, you want to be able to write. You want an ability to express yourself in a way that you may not be able to verbally. Writing will give you a superpower like no other – you can fill out forms for a passport to travel the world, a bank account to save for anything you wish or a student loan to open the door to a lifetime of education and discovery. Creatively, writing will allow you to release the amazing thoughts that whizz through your beautiful mind. Being able to write gives you the opportunity, if you want it, to impact someone so much that you change the way they think, speak or react.

Macy, my magnificent creation, you don’t want to be void of empathy. You don’t want to lack the ability to see the world through someone else’s eyes. You don’t want to be unfeeling to the emotions that they might experience. You want to be able to understand and appreciate people in all of their various forms – their pain, their victories, their circumstances, their fears, their worries, their views, their heartache, their joy.

Macy, you don’t want to be afraid; don’t be afraid of the unknown, to fall and get back up, to fail and try again. Whatever you dream, my darling you can become. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, don’t be afraid of what might happen - go seek the adventure my girl, in all its glorious mistaking making forms!

My stunning little lady, there are many things in this world that you do not want to be. Ignore whatever advertisement, whatever movie, whatever person, whatever picture made you think that you do not want to be fat and put your undeniable energy to where it counts; be a nice person, a good person, an adventurous person, a confident person, a person with heart.

That is what you want to be.

(Oh, you also don’t want to be afraid of birds. I am afraid of birds and it’s stupid and frustrating and debilitating in Spring).

 

A good way to see people, except robbers

A couple of years ago, after a bit of time under some dark greyish clouds, I visited a psychologist. I imagine (based on movies and sitcoms, because: real life) that my appointments were pretty cookie cutter discussions – mother issues, father issues, in-law issues, daughter issues, son issues, friend issues, ex-friend issues and self-issues. That’s pretty much where the buck stopped. I was feeling pretty lousy about myself and I needed to not feel lousy about myself. As an outcome of one of my appointments, I vowed to not describe people, either in my mind or in discussion with others, based on their physical attributes (I had a clever psychologist who made me come up with my own strategies. Very well played). I wasn’t “allowed” to describe the other mum at school as “the one who always looks so stylish”, or the checkout operator at the local supermarket as the “larger woman” or the sports umpire who “sort of walks funny.”  Instead, I had use things like “that mum who is really social and chats to everyone,” or “that checkout operator who is really efficient,” or “that woman who is always so enthusiastic.”

 

‘Twas challenging. Damn challenging.

Our automatic response is to go for the physical description every time, it’s not necessarily derogatory, it’s just the easiest way to differentiate one person from another.  (Thankfully I didn’t witness a crime during that period. Can you imagine me ringing crime stoppers: “The offender was mean, but I got the impression he was more sad than mean.  He was very skilful with a flick knife and his pronunciation of profanities was on point”).

Even though the challenge was huge, so too was the impact on my sorry-self.

Suddenly, unintentionally and subconsciously, I started see the non-physical characteristics in little old me.

BOOM! BOOM!  and BOOM!

My confidence went up. I stopped moping about the way my stomach rolls when I sit. I stopped wishing I would “catch” a wee-little dose of anorexia. I stopped seeing the bits of me that I hated and started considering the possibility that people saw more to me than the size of my arse.

It was a real revelation and (sadly) I got to ditch my psychologist appointments pretty quick (I really liked her).

Here’s the thing: If we look at people physically, very few people fit the mould of “beautiful”. But if we look at people characteristically, very few people fit the mould of ugly.

It’s a pretty good practice, except maybe in the case of a bank robbery, to bypass the lazy old habit of describing people physically and instead try to describe them by their nature, their skills, their aura or their vibe. Just not their appearance.

And it’s darn healthy to do the same for yourself too.

Is fat a dirty word?

I have embraced. Locally, I promoted and hosted Taryn Brumfitt’s documentary last year. I wholeheartedly support the #bodyimagemovement. On the socials I like, comment, support, applaud, share and encourage women of all sorts that are joining the body positive chanting. This embrace-thy-body mindset is undoubtedly overdue. Women (in particular) are constantly hammering their confidence into the ground one blow at a time; often to a point where their self-hate can make leaving the house feel like a confronting task.

It absolutely should not be like that.

But despite all of the roar-roar-roaring and hashtagging in the right direction, I, ah, um, well…

I feel fat.

I feel fat and I am on a mission (a gentle mission) to lose some weight.

Is that me un-embracing? Have I just said a dirty word? Will I be cast out from this beautiful, jelly-belly loving tribe?

This is the first time that I’ve felt not-so-happy with my bod since the #bodyimagemovement turned from a ripple in the ocean to a brilliant tsunami. Prior to that, it was pretty much a daily (wait, maybe hourly?) occurrence. The difference now, is that me and my extra k.gees are totes calm about it all. I can look back over the year and see that some injuries sidelined me from a lot of my favourite physical activities. I can see that along with embracing my child-beared body, I also embraced a fair few “clean” and not so clean treats. (My husband and I found a local supermarket that stocks Cadbury pineapple chocolate ALL. THE. TIME. Friday night ritual: on point).

Me feeling fat right now, isn’t body shaming myself. I feel fat, because I am carrying more fat than I have in a long time. There are a lot of lovely, logical events that landed me with this extra layer, but I’ve reached a point where it’s just not comfortable for me. It’s kind of like buying a beautiful pair of shoes and finding out that, despite dogmatic persistence, they rub your heels raw. I don’t hate my current body, I just can’t wear it for long.

Not limited edition. ALL THE TIME PEOPLE.

For the first time since Mark Zuckerberg became an answer to a trivial pursuit question (un-researched, but confident that it’s fact), my fat-feels are not because of women I see on Instagram flashing their impossible abs at me (which for the record, I have a well-programmed reflex to do the insta-equivalent of swiping left on, because of the super power they have of sending me down a hate-myself-hell-hole).

In fact, probably not since I put a Dolly (R.I.P) issue Alison Brahe poster on my bedroom wall and longed to be just like her (blond, tiny framed and dating Cameron Daddo…I achieved none of the three) has my desire to lose a bit of weight been so intrinsic.

This overweightness that I feel right now isn’t because someone or something made me feel this way. My motivation is not because of @sixpacksusie (not a real account. Yet.) or the adorable Alison Brahe (I bet she is still adorable) (wait, I just googled her. She is). It’s all me. I’ve embraced myself at this size and all the glorious pineapple chocolate that it took to get here. But it doesn’t feel quite right and I’ll just change a little bit here and a little bit there, until I feel comfortable again. Whatever that may be.

With a healthy, level-headed, gentle approach, I’ve come to the conclusion that “fat” isn’t a dirty word. You can embrace yourself and change yourself at the same time. I still have my arms lovingly wrapped around my additional lumpy bits, and I’m hopeful that even as I try to lose a little weight, I won’t be voted off the body lovin’ island.

Resolutions that roll with the punches

If you’re anything like me, you’ll scoff at the idea of making a New Year’s resolution. A lifetime of experience tells you that they never stick and they only come back to haunt you when Christmas rolls around again. And experts tend to agree. According to many, New Year’s Resolutions are so last decade. Apparently it is the worst time to declare lifestyle changes and there’s a very slim chance that you’ll be high fiving yourself come December 31st. The New Year is amidst celebrations, frivolity and for us here in Australia, weather that calls for beach side holidays, alcoholic drinks, BBQ gatherings and icecream. It’s hardly a breeding ground for spectacular transformations.

But despite all of this, as I flip the crisp new page of the carefully chosen calendar, I find it hard not to reflect on the past 12 months and contemplate what might be possible in the year to come. Is it ingrained in us, or is there something in the cosmos that makes us want to seek out personal improvements when a new year clicks over?

What’s possibly the limiting factor in New Year’s Resolutions is they are generally a statement of declaration: “I’m going to lose weight!” “I’m going to be more organised!” “I am going to give up alcohol!” “I am going to start running!” There’s plenty of enthusiasm, but very little planning bolstering up our resolutions.

sparkler_1

Despite a worthy protest, if you feel the gravitational pull towards implementing some new year changes, there are some things you can do to make your success a little more likely.

1. BE SMART ABOUT IT. SMART goals are specific, measurable, achievable, realistic and have a time frame. Replace “I am going to lose weight” with “I am going to lose 5kg by September.” Replace “I am going to start running” to “I am going to run in a 10km event in August”. You can even make us your own system of scale, for example “At the moment, on a scale of 1-10 on how healthy I feel, I am a 5. By the end of June this year, I am going to be at 8.”

2. CHANGE YOUR FOCUS FROM WHAT YOU WANT, TO WHAT YOU NEED TO BE DOING. Once you have your SMART goal, it’s time to carefully consider what actions you will need to be doing consistently to achieve that goal. The person that says “I am going to run a half marathon in June” may need to invest in some new runners, start going to bed earlier to make early morning training possible and set aside some time to run 3-4 times a week. Change is the result of a series of new behaviours done consistently, so make your behaviour the focus, rather than the overall goal.

3. GO AS BIG OR AS SMALL AS YOU CAN MANAGE. It’s an old cliché, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Take one step at a time and appreciate that each of those steps are entirely customised to you; what fits your lifestyle and what you can physically, mentally and emotionally manage. If your SMART goal is to lose weight, and the changes you need to be doing consistently involve reducing portion sizes, it might start with simply reducing the size of one meal, one day a week. Once you feel that you are doing that fairly effortlessly you might move to two meals, two days of the week. Don’t let this step be dictated by impatience or pressure. It’s vital to long term success that each step is integrated gradually and easily into your lifestyle. The downfall of most New Year’s Resolutions is that people go too hard too soon!

4. OBSERVE, DON'T JUDGE. As Thomas Edison said “I have not failed, I have just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” If one week doesn’t go to plan – you miss a run, you overeat, you relax on a Monday night with a scotch, just make an observation about what lead you to that point. Rather than throw your hands up in the air (like you just don’t care) and rubber stamp it failure all over it, simply think about how you can adjust your ultimate goal, your behaviours or your environment to make it work. Like Thomas Edison, it could take thousands of attempts and you’ll learn a little bit about yourself each time.

5. KEEP YOUR RESOLUTIONS ROLLING WITH THE PUNCHES. Life happens. We get busy. We get thrown curve balls. We lose our way. Our priorities change. Revisiting your goal and being willing to adjust it (and the required behaviours) if it no longer fits within the realms of realistic or achievable, is totally ok. It’s far better to keep moulding it around life, than sidelining it altogether.

Whether it is habit or something in the universe that pulls us towards change around January – make your resolutions SMART, support them with small changes in your behaviour and when things don't go to plan, adjust the plan; and I expect there will be high fives rather than haunts by the time December arrives again.