It’s hard to believe that my first post about our new puppy, Fetch, is probably my last. No sugarcoating it here, this past few weeks have sucked. Big time. Skip this one if you’re not in the mood, folks. I just wanted to make sure he was documented here, where all the things I love are documented.
I’d always joked about getting a dog and naming them Fetch. Something that I never thought Kel would let me get away with. But when we picked him up on June 18th, he was never going to be anything else. Welcome to the family, Fetchy boy. A male Border Collie, I’d read all the guides about how to work with them and train them, entertain them so they don’t destroy your house. Kel had been away working at Rainbow Beach, and I had filled the house to the brim with dog stuff while he was gone. I was ready to go.
Quickly, my life was turned upside down. Because I work at a studio here at the house, I was home all day with him. And soon, he occupied all my free time and then some. Puppy care and training; phew, I did not expect the commitment of time and energy that would be at all. I’ve never thrown a ball so much in all my life, and for a while there, as a kid, I played softball. Not to mention the number of times over the two short months we had him that I messaged clients to explain my total scatterbrain-ness.
That was it. I was hooked.
I was in love and wondered how I’d ever managed without my Stretchy Fetchy. Honestly, I didn’t know how lonely I was until he became part of our family. How long the days can be working alone here when Kel leaves for the worksite at daylight and returns home at dark. He became the reason (that wasn’t my work or just because) to get up and go in the morning—a chance to take care of someone. To, as my Mum and sister put it, fuss around after someone. Kel and I are pretty independent souls; neither of us does so well being fussed over. But, apparently fussing, now that I can get into.
My best friend almost overnight, we got into a routine fast. Up in the morning, I’d make a coffee, and we’d hang out in the backyard for a while. I’d go back to work, and he’d hang out with a chew of some description. Back and forwards in and out of the house all day long. We’d do these little training sessions a few times a day, and he was picking up things so fast. He was so smart I almost felt like he would answer me back one day.
Mostly, I couldn’t wait to watch him grow up. Which was something I thought about often. Would his ears stand up? Just how tall/heavy was he going to get? And also, how we’d take him to the beach and camping with us and let him go nuts digging in the sand. I joked that he better like the ocean more than he liked baths because he had no option. We are a beach family, full-stop. The things we’d do and the places we’d see. Adventures, you know how it goes. I started an Instagram to share the photos so my own feed could be mine again.
I guess all puppies do this, I don’t know, but he grew fast. And by the time he was 14 weeks, he’d gone from 5 kg to almost 10. We laughed at his clumsiness and upgraded his kennel as all signs pointed to him being a big guy. He didn’t just chase a ball or stick in the yard; he would hit this super sonic go-fast mode. Low to the ground, speeding from the back corner to me, yelling and screaming like a lunatic, cheering him on from the garden. It was perfect.
And then, one Saturday morning, he went from losing his footing sometimes (something we put down to him growing so fast) to being unable to pull himself up to his feet. A few calls later, it was decided that he should see a vet ASAP, and the first emergency vet trip was underway. He came home to us that night, improved but not ‘fixed’, and was on antibiotics. But then, he got worse. For the first day or two, I would call the Vet expressing my concern, asking if this was normal, and wanting to know more about what was happening with his lab results.
By the middle of the following week, when Kel got home, I knew we had to do more. He was more than just wobbly on his feet; he was again struggling to stand and generally miserable that he had all this energy and go in him and could not make his body cooperate. We were sent further south to a different emergency with a specialist centre next door. Cue even more blood tests, labs and pats from his adoring nurse fans.
So, we were facing more extensive and expensive testing. A few educated guesses were going around, but they needed more information. So, we shook a few trees and did the best we could. With an unconfirmed diagnosis of Meningitis, our poor little guy had a spinal tap to test the fluid in his spine. He was to spend overnight in the hospital, start receiving steroids, and we would review the result later.
That next day, I received a call that, WOW, he was responding to steroids, and all was looking so good he could be picked up. My sister, her son (and puppy) jumped in the car, and I called the family as we went; he was coming home. He was getting better; everything was looking good, and that horrible feeling I’d had that something terrible was about to happen was wrong. I was ecstatic to be wrong (for once).
The following day, Ashton was here, and they played and played in the mud and dirt. He was still a little wobbly on his feet at times, but we couldn’t believe how much better he looked. We thought then that the worst he would have to ‘recover’ from were the shaved patches all over him from tests, drips, and all that jazz. But, the next day, he started to look a little unstable again. He was tired and spent more time than usual curled up at my feet (more than usual, which was a lot). I wondered if he overdid it.
And it went on like this, up and down, good days and bad, until the Friday following the one he miraculously came home to us. The night before, we noticed he was struggling in the back legs. He would slip and slide around the timber floors, trying to get footing. With an appointment the following day, we decided to wait and see what the Vet said. Maybe the steroids needed to increase in dose or something? Perhaps it would just take time.
But that day, we sat across from the wonderful Sarah and learned that his getting worse again was bad. Without an MRI to confirm, there were two primary causes: they could put it down to a degenerative disorder (from which he wouldn’t recover, only get worse over time) or the more severe type of Meningitis, which needed a more extensive drug, a chemo level drug.
We wanted to weigh up our options, so we brought him home, with the realisation dawning that he might not make it out of this. I sobbed hard the entire car ride home, but I wasn’t ready to let him go just yet. We’d try the drug, I said to Kel, we have to. He was quickly convinced that man would have emptied our bank account to get to the bottom of this and save our boy.
And I’m glad now that we bought him home because Saturday was one of the best days he had had since this all started. Everything seemed to click, and part of me hoped that maybe, just maybe, the steroids (which he was still taking) had just taken longer than usual to work. Kel played tug, chased the ball and sat out the back watching the birds. I made sure to spend as much time with him as possible and took lots of photos and videos of him and me in the backyard. The one at the top of this post is from that day. Look at his little face! It’s still a shock to the system that he was gone less than 48 hours later.
But Sunday, he got worse, the worst we’ve seen him and by that night, we had returned him to the care of the Emergency Vet to await word on whether he would even be well enough for the treatment the following day. Short version? He was not. And by lunchtime, we were driving back down to the Sunshine Coast to say goodbye. We spent lots of time, just the three of us. And then, quickly and quietly, he was gone. He was only four months and there or four days old. And my heart broke into tiny pieces on the spot.
Now, I know plenty of people will question my total devastation. Question this post and how I make it sound like he was my firstborn child or something. I don’t have a comeback for any of that. But, if you’re here and you think this is dramatic or attention-seeking, this isn’t the place for you. So yes, I know he was a dog, and sadly, that we barely knew him. But somehow, the unfairness of that makes it worse.
But that, dear blog, is the sad, sad story of our boy Fetch.
I’ve sat down to write this update post multiple times now. It’s been a while, and there is a lot to catch up on. Stuff with me, the business, the house, finding my feet after the year that was 2020 and everything in between. But then the sheer volume overwhelms me, and I delete the draft and run for the hills. But not today. No sir. Today, it’s happening even if I don’t cover everything (like, the house probably needs its own post. Actually, maybe so do the changes with my business).
It happened; if you’re reading this, I did it.
So, where to start? I’d say back at the beginning, but maybe 2020 is too far to go back. It feels like a lifetime ago now, but it’s funny how the pieces of the life I’d built are only now coming back together. I wonder if any of you felt like that too? After the 70% hit my business took, it was as if everything was pushed off its axis, and I was trying to make it through. One more day, that’s all I could manage.
Until that one more day got a little easier, and I got my feet back under me. Things started to come together; work started rolling in; I was happy again, not by some miracle or magical occurrence but through one choice at a time. I gave up drinking, sugar too (basically), and some life-sucking apps on my phone. I said yes to people who still wanted to talk to me, and I got out more. And at some stage, I started to garden and filled my side yard with plants, fruit trees and vegetables.
Maybe I had a late thirties, early on-set, mid-life crisis?
But whatever it was, things changed for me around the middle of last year. I got my life back. Then I started to write again. At first, I did it for myself, finding the words to describe how I feel about what I feel—blogging for myself while trying to decide if there is a place for a blogger from 2009 in an AI world. But I worked out it didn’t matter if no one ever read what I wrote; it was important to me.
So, I wrote in my newsletter (umm, sign up here if you don’t receive it already) and popped up on social media. Got in my photos and even booked some family photos for the whole crew. Along the way, I even wrote a few blog posts. This brings me here; maybe I’m not sharing anything new, but I wanted to provide an update anyway. This is a way to reclaim my space, share whatever I want to share, and show up; just as I am.
I’m serious when I tell you when I gave up drinking, I hadn’t intended to. One day I was changing how I ate, looking to achieve a whole host of things, and I decided alcohol wouldn’t fit in with those changes. So, I stopped drinking. Now, It’s been three months since I gave up drinking, and I don’t miss it. Thinking about it now, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve even given it a second thought.
Very strange for someone who enjoyed a good drink or two but here we are. Most people who have heard about this recent development are confused about why. Others, I’m sure, weren’t surprised at all. Team wine, that was me, and the frequency with which I would consume a glass or two had been growing over the years. Add in my friend, vodka, and it was becoming a free for all.
After these few months, what have I discovered when I gave up drinking; about myself, alcohol and the whole darn thing?
A small disclaimer before I get into this. I’m not a professional medical type, nor do I have any experience with addiction recovery or counselling. This is not advice, medical or otherwise, and it certainly isn’t a comment on addiction. It’s simply my experience, what I’ve noticed about my life and health since I gave up drinking after being a regular, if not heavy, drinker for decades. If you’re feeling like alcohol might be a problem for you or someone you know, try this link from Lifeline Australia.
The effects on your waistline
I learned that alcohol, such as wine and its mixer friends, have a lot of calories that seem to enjoy adding to your waistline. There are no ifs, buts, or maybes about that. Add to that general puffiness and dull skin. What’s not to love about that? She says sarcastically. But remove them from the equation; the extra weight (and the rest) leave as quickly as they arrived. Or that has been my experience anyway.
The Money Honey
Next, let’s talk about how much money I was spending! Between a wine subscription, trips to the local bottle shop and a taste for the good stuff, vodka-wise, the costs were adding up. A few years ago, I talked about how I felt entitled to upgrade my spending as our lives became more financially stable. Well, this was one area I did that and then some!
Tallying it all up in my head, I was astounded by how much money we spent on drinks. Between that and trying to kick the takeaway habit, our transaction account got cleaned up really fast! But to be fair, it’s not like I’ve saved a lot from not drinking these last few months. I have a new thing to spend my money on… plants. (How Millenial of me, haha).
Sleep and general mental clarity
That last subheading sounds serious, and it is. The biggest thing I’ve learned since I gave up drinking is that drinking ruins your sleep and mental health. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but with regular drinking comes crappy nights of sleep and the subsequent days of fogginess and all-around sluggishness.
It may be me, full disclaimer, but I’ve improved my sleep quality massively since I gave up alcohol. My apple watch/health chart-thingy has an impressive graph to reflect that. Even with my higher-than-average caffeine consumption, almost immediately, it was better. Which, if it were a weight-related thing, wouldn’t have shown any real improvement until weeks later? But there it was, an immediate spike.
Then there’s the less easy-to-track mental clarity. Based on how I feel, this has improved dramatically. My business has been booming, and I’m busier than ever. While sometimes I get tired, I don’t feel burnt out or exhausted like I once did as I poured a glass to end my day. Sure, this could be an improved mental health state, but interesting to note this upswing in brain power.
So, what now for me and booze?
In conclusion, I don’t intend to quit drinking forever. That might change; never say never, but that’s the current feeling I get. Because I enjoy a glass of wine with dinner, celebrating with my sparkling favourites or a frosty beverage at the beach. Even over Christmas, I won’t rule out a beverage or two. But this time off of the booze has completely changed my relationship with drinking.
Before, I felt like I had to drink to be social. To quiet the voice of anxiety so I could forge ahead in situations that put me out of my comfort zone. In the more difficult mental health times, even at some places in my comfort zone. But that was an excuse, short version. Drinking made those things worse in the long run. Even if I didn’t feel the effects until the next day or once the alcohol had worn off. And giving up drinking made them better, over time, with a distance between me and what my life used to look like.
Where did I go? That’s the question I’ve been asking myself lately. How did I manage to disappear from my life? Somewhere around late 2020, I stopped documenting my life, being in pictures and outside of the weekly Suger News emails sharing. Where did I go? I don’t know. All I know is I was done with a grinding screech of an old metal brake. Gone.
And it wasn’t just the sharing of my life online that seemed more likely to be finished. Though, I did consider if I’d spent my time online and was ready to let it go. I’m not sure lip-syncing or dancing in short-form videos will ever be my thing. As a blogger, writer and photographer, perhaps my time had come and gone. And if it was time, I’ve had a good run. No regrets.
But in many ways, I’d also stopped living my life offline.
Working from home, it became easier to turn down invitations than to say yes. Soon my only interactions came via email, after-school care for my nieces and nephews and Desiree popping into the office once a week to assist. I’d shut down and closed myself off. Everything from food to shampoo, cleaning products to toilet paper was purchased online and delivered here. There became no need to leave the house, or so I thought, no good reason to go anywhere.
And as I got busier, taking on more and more new work and clients, it got easier to do. It’s not that people stopped asking, but I noticed they prefaced asking me anything with ‘I know you’re busy’ or ‘It’s okay if you don’t want to”. An extraverted introvert, I had thought this was what I wanted—boundaries and consideration for my homebody life. But soon, I felt it. I missing being around the people who light me up. The hole where my relationships had been. I missed being part of my life in a way I had so easily done just a few years earlier.
I wondered if it was the changes I saw in my body over the last few years, the loss of ability and the almost unrecognisable place I find myself. And I’m sure it was a factor in this society; how could it not? But I think it was my mind protecting itself. I was managing what I could manage and letting the rest go. I had set up a safe space filled with things to do and ways to survive – I’d kept moving forward. But now it feels like that safety net I so carefully built is holding me captive.
I’m missing, held hostage from my life.
Honestly, I’ve been trying to step back into my life for a while now, but I’m struggling to do so. Seeking a perfect, fast solution to a situation took me years to create; funny how we do that. So, I try to say yes and share a little more. There are more trips to the shops, collecting items I need in person instead of ordering them to be delivered. More day trips and small adventures, finding my feet with being around people again and learning the new limits of my body and mind.
And so, I take snaps with my phone even if I don’t appear in them yet. I let others draw me into their photos and try not to cringe when the result isn’t what I pictured it would be. I write my in a journal, finding the words to describe where I’m at and where I’m going. Using the pages to capture the weird and wonderful ideas that whirl through my head every day. I write there for me but practising that gave me the words to write here too. That’s enough for me at the moment. It’s enough to be at the start of finding my back (again).
When I shared the Lizzo’s Watch Out for the Big Grrrls announcement post over the weekend, I was hoping for a little more opportunity to talk about this show, maybe even rave a little about it. I’ve seen it twice, some napping occurred the second time around, and I had so much fun watching it—short version. But there was more to it than that. It got me thinking about this blog and why I started sharing myself here.
When this blog became a style blog over a decade ago, it took something for me to embrace this new online space I had created. I had to push myself, face up to myself and learn a lot (usually through failing). In its current incarnation, starting this blog felt a lot like facing the challenges on the show week after week, actually.
Except that we all know, or should by this stage know, that I don’t dance. Shuffle maybe. Sway, yes. But dance, no.
It reminded me how the old Aussie Curves challenges would push me week after week to get out of my comfort zone and show up. It worked that way for so many of us. With the support of others in those challenges, I would have the safe space to take a long hard look at myself. Then, when I felt I’d discovered something, I’d share that.
It changed how I felt about sharing myself and my body online. It pushed me to talk about my relationship with my body and how others related to it. Over time, I discovered myself in those challenges, found my voice and stood for who I am.
And I think that’s why I loved this show so much.
2012
2016
2019
2021
Because when people see the big girls showing up online, they can’t believe we can do it. They can’t believe that we can be and often are happy, living life, loving, succeeding and growing. Sure, it would be nice if the world as a whole got its head out of its ass and just let us live. But we are changing minds even if the community has (quite literally) shrunk in the years following that challenge.
I know in a lot of ways, I lost my voice. Sick of being spoken for by women who don’t know, who inhabit smaller bodies and are lucky enough to be still considered acceptable. I found it hard to speak up when after a decade, the problems, especially online, felt like they were getting worse.
Sure, we have seen some progress made, but for whom?
It’s still almost impossible to shop for a body larger than a size 20/22 in this country. God-forbid if you’d like to do so in-store. Brands shout inclusion and clothing for everybody (and “every-body”) at us from every angle than call a size 20 a 3XL in their limited extended sizing. New offerings pop up promising larger size ranges soon! Then the months go by, and those promises seem long forgotten, replaced instead with an ad budget to drown out the voices of those left behind.
For the most part, we continue to be represented by people who don’t know or see our experiences. Every single woman on Lizzo’s Watch Out for the Big Grrrls says at one point she wished she’d seen a person that looked like her anywhere when growing up. And while I saw plenty of white women, even a chubby one here or there, I know a small portion of that longing. And this show reminded me of that.
It reminded me that I show up for myself first.
To remind me of my worthiness and willingness to grow, live proudly and change something. Next, I show up for my nieces and second cousins, great cousins etc., who will grow up in a body like mine. A body that, for all the progress we are told is being made, is still wrong. I show up so that they will see someone who reminds them just to be themselves. It’s the only thing there is to do. Exist comfortably in the skin you’re in.
And then, last but certainly not least, I do it for you and anyone else out there that looks at my size 24/26 (give or take depending on the year) self with my broad shoulders, big chest, deep voice, long torso, loud laugh, and big feet and sees something of me in yourself. Through me, I hope you find a way to sit comfortably with who you are inside and out. Through sharing my struggles, I hope you know that you’re pretty great, just as you are; inside and out.
…
Thanks for coming to my Ted talk, haha. Have you seen the show? Let’s talk about it!
As some of you know, my home town is under flood as I write this. A major flood with a level that is predicted to continue rising. Expected to exceed the previous highest flood on record; February 1999 (21.94m). I’ve been awake since around 5 am reading the overnight updates of the water entering the CBD.
It made me think of the quiet, unstoppable force that floodwater is. Maybe you’re surprised by my choice of words there. We see pictures of raging rivers and swirling currents on the news. Debris washed downstream, collecting size as it goes, which is, of course, all part of it—the swift, loud version of things.
But that’s not what haunts my memories. The part that stays with me is the quiet lapping of the water, above all else. The slow, steady climb of the water level as it comes through the front door while you’re watching the back. Without sound, it slips through the gaps and fills the space. Waking in the morning to find a foot of water through your home. Grateful, it’s not more.
As a kid, I was on a back delivery dock of a Mary Street business as the floodwaters made their way across the park and lapped at the platform where I stood. Then, deciding it was time to return to my family, I left through the store and entered the street. I hadn’t thought of it; the water came from the river behind us. But at the exact moment, the calls rang out that the water had entered the shop, water spilled from the stormwater drains into the street. I stood in awe for a moment of the terrifying nature of being engulfed.
Rising water doesn’t differentiate, and it knows only to inch forward. Silently it swallows your home, your business, the street, the town and then the region. I can never get over how unrelenting and quiet it is at the edges. Where it slowly tangles you at the ankles and moves up, immobilising you; your fate is inevitable.
It was entertainment in the Mary Valley town where I grew up to head home from school early because the water would cut the small crossings to our homes. That’s being a child, I suppose. It’s all days off school and muddy puddles. And if you lived out of town, they would call you extra early and bus you out of there. I remember the mood on those buses, always high spirited and loud. Just a bunch of farm kids heading home to play in the rain and mud. An early mark from school that we all knew could last for days.
But sometimes we stayed in town. More of a village, really. A place called Kandanga where my parents owned the general store. It was the last place for many to get supplies at a time like this—the same situation at my Aunt and Uncle’s butcher shop down the street and across the road. So my cousins and I would find ourselves let loose in town, watching as the water moved up the hill from the river, taking the bowling club, the pool, park and oval. The homes of those on either side of the river, empty now, wide open.
Walking the railway tracks to a warm, dry bed that night, we can see very little outside of the torchlight that guides us. But that was probably for the best; one foot in front of the other, watching every step. Above it all, that’s where the noise is. The rush and tumble of the water, the force behind its depth. It’s all there below you, and it roars. As loud as the creeping edges are quiet, the most different of siblings, cut from the same cloth of destruction.
The destruction comes with all that a broad, strong river gives a town like mine. The grass grows to feed livestock and the pumped water for agriculture. So vast and green and impressive; this was the price we paid for the times the river rose too large.
As we grew older and moved into Gympie itself, we saw the first major floods from the CBD. The way our community comes together to support the businesses that have to pack and move, exhausted by the stress of it, usually drenched by the rain. There are friends there you’ve never met, who show up as you need them, then disappear back into the crowd.
That’s why after the water recedes, a town like mine stands back up again. The people and their determination to focus on all the great things here. Things will return to their rhythm as the mud is washed away, the homes are restored, and the shops get put back. This town finds a way to come back. I guess we are stubborn like that.
Prior to Normanby Bridge Closure – Image Via Gympie Regional Council
After to Normanby Bridge Closure – Image Via Gympie Regional Council
Starting the year out rushing to get back to work with emails flooding my inbox wasn’t ideal. I was overwhelmed, and on the brink of panic most days, I got on with things. And when asked? Of course, I was fine. Tired, but fine. Busy, but fine. I know all about being fine.
Being fine is such a default response for so many of us—especially the busy, doing it all types who are juggling many balls in the air. I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all FINE! Who doesn’t remember Ross Geller and his squeaky fine in that margarita fueled episode of Friends. So why do we do that?
Why do we say we’re fine when we aren’t?
Look, short version, I don’t know. Here’s hoping there’s a professional out there that can tell us all. So, I’m learning to identify the moments that I’m not fine and use my words to express that instead. To say that I’m struggling or articulate what I need. To be clear and do my best not to try to determine whether the other person is judging me and my request or not.
It’s not always possible. Sometimes that flight, fight or freeze instinct kicks in, and I’m stuck in the moment of fine. Honestly, I think women are taught to nod and smile our way through almost anything, often to our detriment. As we’ve seen lately with local and international personalities, speaking up is often met with criticism. No one wants to be the one to bring the room down or look foolish.
But the other side of that coin is that when we break through the “fine” and share what’s real, the results are empowering, engaging and can be a relief to those around us. We must acknowledge that finding the words to declare ourselves not fine is a win. It’s the work there is to do for a lot of us. To stop and consider your answer for a moment when asked.
I’ve displaced myself again. As I mentioned in the email on the weekend, I’m having the floor of my office and the adjoining patio fished with epoxy. So, that meant time to pack it all up again. Which is, I have to say, a pretty smooth process these days. Changing my mind about the layout and inclusions has been a significant part of my procrastination plan for 2020/2021. A method that has seen tremendous success and returned surprising results…
Most surprising of all being that I manage to get anything done at all!
What can I say? I have a gift for procrastination. When everything first shut down in March 2020, things changed for my business. The momentum and trajectory of the business took a hit, and even a year later, it doesn’t feel like we made it back—a frustrating thing for someone like me prone to always looking for more and pushing onwards.
Procrastination is a symptom of that, I believe. It was showing up through moving the office, buying new gear, reading the next book. Not to mention watching entire season’s of shows on Netflix and taking long naps. I’ve tried journaling and colouring in, learning new things or testing my limits. I signed up for Medium to write more and built my profile and gigs on Fiverr to create and photograph more.
In the end, I can’t feel like this time has been wasted. That’s the thing about procrastinating at a pro-level as I do. You’ve got the wiggle out of it skills to avoid the work but still get things done. Sometimes I need reminding that good stuff can and often does come from these periods of ‘waste’. By allowing myself to procrastinate freely and diverge from the plan, I’m giving myself the space to create and discover. To embrace procrastination as a part of my process.
Just next time, I hope it doesn’t cost me thousands of dollars worth of epoxy.
For now, here are some photos from before the work gets started with all my office loaded into what we use as a side entry that was once a dining room. Why not embrace procrastination a little more with a photo gallery of snaps.
Can I just say that I’m so excited to say goodbye to the orange/red outdoor paint? Well, I am, and not just because when it’s wet it’s treacherous. Later this year we are getting the roof restored and when we do, the trims in a similar colour (you can peep them in the photos before) are going to be painted a charcoal/dark dark grey colour. Old house life, the work is never done. But man I love this house.
This one is easy, as far as choosing one thing every day to be grateful for, because today is Kelvin and my 16th wedding anniversary. Go, team. It feels like so long ago that we first met, and yet, not simultaneously.
There we were, just a couple of kids with no idea. The night you casually dropped by our house sticks in my mind, even now. Even if we can’t remember the year or the date or anything helpful. The heat of the day had finally burned off, and the evening, or perhaps my skin in response to the loss of heat, felt cool. But the drinks were cold, and the casual gathering on the front veranda started gathering steam.
So, with a pack of Angel cards at the ready, I declared it time. Time for each of those assembled to take turns drawing cards. The focus was simple; we were young and broke. Tell us our futures! The circle drew closer, and one by one, everyone selected their cards. I started, then shuffled and allowed the next person to draw. Repeating over and over around the circle until it was your turn.
You selected the same three cards from the pack that I had despite numerous shuffles and people in between. We laughed it off. But you and I would continue to draw variations of the same cards, matching each other at every step, the entire night. They were my cards, and even I didn’t believe when they indicated that our futures would be entwined from that point on. I mean, one of my cousin’s friends who slept until noon in bright red novelty boxer shorts? I don’t think so.
But those angel cards weren’t wrong. After almost two decades together, sixteen years of which we’ve been lucky enough to be married, here we are. Entwined. With a home, a couple of businesses and a veggie garden that now grows more flowers than veggies. Adventures and quiet nights in, long chats and text messages that read like a meme sharing page with requests for milk or takeout at regular intervals. A whole, full, bursting at the seams with gratitude life.
As each year passes I find even more things to love about you. And a couple more things that drive me crazy. I’ve never met anyone as generous as you; you’ll always find a way to help out if you can. No one has made me laugh as hard as you do. Sometimes not deliberately. Your love of mixing patterns, though rarely on purpose, never fails to make me smile. It’s a weird and wonderful time being your wife and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love you lots, Kel. Here is to many more years together, quietly living this life we’ve created for ourselves.
Over the last month, on my social media break (as much as work allows), I’ve noticed a few things. Things about my life that I completely missed in the non-stop app switch that is social media. Firstly, I’m not very satisfied with my life. I keep looking for meaning and coming up short. And yes, to be honest, it’s hard to tell if it’s general dissatisfaction or if I’m going through something. But the feeling remains.
And secondly, feeling good (making myself proud and doing what I want) has motivated me. And then, I started chasing the algorithm. Which algorithm might you be asking and concerning what? The short version is all of them and everything. From Google to Instagram, Twitter to Pinterest, I was creating and somewhat existing to tick a box. Except, the box was unclear at best or invisible at worst.
IRL and online, I was looking outside myself for that pat on the back that seemingly never came.
But I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to spend the next 20+ years of my working life unfulfilled and ticking boxes. And that’s precisely why I work for myself to have the freedom to create and do what feels good to me, especially when it comes to this blog. But also when it comes to living my life. It has to be my number one priority; I’m no good to anyone if I don’t find a way to put my happiness first.
And so, with all this figured out, this thought keeps popping in my head. It taunts me that I should have got a handle on this stuff already. That I should know better and that I can’t seem to learn my lesson on this one. I’ve been here before when I’ve felt disconnected from my life and threw in the towel.
At various stages throughout my life, I’ve been here before. Sitting on the steps of my first real home here, wondering if the choices I’ve made are going to create a life for us or sink us. Wondering if I’m capable, worthy or deserving. Wanting so desperately to make it all work. Exhausted by the very prospect.
But I won’t beat myself up for stumbling at this point again.
And just so that we are all on the same page, I know now that it’s time to seek some help. So that I can maintain the life I want to live and see it through using tools I’m yet to learn. At this stage, I’m not sure how much of that process I’m going to document here, but I’m permitting myself to share what I want. To stop being afraid of upsetting someone or putting a foot out of place. And to say nothing when it feels like something that is mine.
It turned out, in the end, I’m still a blogger. After reading Austin Kleon’s book Show Your Work, I realised that instead of racking my brain week in and week out for what I hope people or algorithms want, I could share what I’m loving/doing/enjoying instead. I could document the process.
Which, if I had paid attention, some of you have been saying all along. Yet everyone says a blog can’t be successful unless you focus solely on giving the reader what they want. Make it entirely about them and what they need. But I won’t survive if I do it that way. I’ve always found an overlap between you and me; we often go through the same things.
Let’s hope this is one of those times you are happy to come along for the ride.
Some of you aren’t going to believe this. Maybe I’ve claimed a comeback one too many times. But I’ve been throwing around some ‘show’ ideas for the YouTube channel too. I’m 100% not sure if I can pull them off yet, but I thought, that’s also the sort of thing you guys may want to join me in figuring out. And speaking of comebacks. I decided that while I’ve enjoyed experimenting with my hair colour again, I miss the blue. It felt like me, and I miss it. So, with some effort from the team, it’s making a comeback.
I’ve been here before, questioning myself and my ideas. Back in May 2020, I would give the blog a bunch of my effort and see what results I could get. Make a decision then if blogging was still for me after all this time. It’s hard to confront that the only real skill I’ve spent any time developing in the past decade might be obsolete.
But in facing that head-on, I learned that there is still a living to be made in blogging. Yes, it means a few more ads or affiliate links when the occasions arise, but it also means the blog is a business. Worthy of time in my work week and not just being relegated to those exhausted moments at the side.
The funny part is that maybe you won’t notice a change.
Funny haha, I mean, not funny, strange. If you follow the blog or the socials, maybe it won’t feel that different. I don’t plan on changing the topics I blog about, nor do I plan to conform to some new schedule or content plan. My haphazard style of posting will probably continue to bump from where to buy guides to rants and back again. That may all look very familiar, and I’m okay with that.
Taking a social media break has allowed me to check in with myself in a way I haven’t done for a while. Not looking at those ‘doing more than me to figure out what it is for me to share, but asking myself what I want. Everything feels different for me now. That’s what matters, or should matter, for any of us.
How amazing is it that we live in a time when women can decide to start a business, blog or personal brand and do it for themselves? For the things that matter to them like time, freedom and space to dig deeper into what makes them tick? To side hustle or create and ensure that their finances are their own. I’ll never forget how empowering it was to find, inspect and buy my own car. I imagine that feels a world away from women unable to open bank accounts without husbands or enter public bars.
The quiet of being without other people’s opinions or their fears allowed me the space to hear my own voice. To stand on my own two feet and ask the questions of myself that I hadn’t taken the time to ask in too long. What do I want? Am I happy? Why do I do what I do, and is there anything else I’d rather be doing?
The answer is I’m right where I want to be, with room to grow and options to explore. I’m a writer, a photographer, a blogger and a creative. And, since I saw my first magazine with pages of glossy advertisements, I’m a marketer. So it’s time to stop questioning all of that and start doing.
I’m back from my social media break and ready to roll.
I’m starting to think I jinxed us all when I put up my ‘today has been cancelled go back to bed sign’… Sorry about that. The wheels have fallen off, and it’s one time too many for people out there. I wanted to acknowledge that before we got into it today. Without any of the love and light, hugs and best wishes I would typically send. Not because you don’t deserve it, but because I think you’d rather something changed at this point instead.
Because change means we are getting somewhere, at least.
So, let’s push for change where and when we can. Start small, do the things that you can do today that are within your control. Every step in a new direction starts there. Each of us is responsible for who we are being and how that shows up in the world. That sentiment goes all the way to the top for me. So, start small, and one day, team, we can shake the foundations of that change with all our might and see what showers down on us.
This morning as I start my morning routine, a little earlier than my eyelids would prefer, I couldn’t stop thinking about a teeny tiny bat that managed to find its way into our winterised house. It flopped and flailed around for a bit before Kel managed to scoop it up into a blanket, giving it space on the back patio table to find its feet (wings?) and get the heck out here.
A bat, of all things, it’s so random and not at all comforting after watching one too many ’00s Kate Beckinsale vampire movies. Nevertheless, it gave me the spooks enough to head over to Google. Yes, I did. Stop laughing. I Googled what are bats a sign of and ping, the answer was, Bats often represent death in the sense of letting go of the old and bringing in the new. They are symbols of transition, initiation, and the start of a new beginning.
Ummm, yikes. Okay. Thanks.
Yet somehow, exactly what I thought I knew before I hit enter on that search query. It’s been a couple of weeks now since I decided to step back from most of the socials associated with the blog. For the most part, that has meant personally, too. I wanted to give myself the space to figure out what I want to do and not keep doing what the algorithm wants.
In the past few days, I’ve started to develop ideas that I’m interested in and excited about doing. Plus, I’ve been speaking with a possible new client or two that value what I have to say and want my input. I’m energised. After months of flopping about, I feel ready for the death of the old, to welcome the new beginning.
All there is to do now is get my anxieties under control so I can pull the ‘new’ off.
Easy. Pfft. I’ll keep you posted on that. Haha. But for now, as I complete this transition, I’m going to get back to reading my books and watching my shows. Back to stretching my legs and spreading my arms wide in the sunshine. Back to the reality of anything that I want for myself being possible. Maybe not straight away, but soon. Finding the patience to be in the process of change without needing to have arrived. Looking for peace in letting go of what no longer works.
I’m glad I googled what bats were a sign of. It feels like a nod that I’m heading in the right direction. And maybe, this is your nod too. You’ve got this. I know you do. So, let’s get on with it.
*content warning, some conversations in this article about weight and fatphobia may be triggering to some readers
As I scrolled through the street style pictures from Australian Fashion Week and it got me thinking. And no, it wasn’t the lack of plus-size representation. I’ve talked about that before. Every damn year, I’m tired of waiting for this type of inclusion to catch up. What got me thinking was the actual street style fashion and how casual and laidback it was. Planned and executed, obviously, but think ill-fitting/oversized suits, denim and sneakers, flats and basic tees.
I’m team casual style, and loungewear is definitely having a continuing moment. I’ve pinned many outfits to inspire me to get more creative with my own style. But what if I showed up at Fashion Week in a similar style. You know, if they invited fat people ever. Would a similar outfit on my size 24 body be considered stylish and cutting edge, or would it be deemed too casual, not put together enough or sloppy?
Because that’s how people view fat people, right?
God forbid your style, like mine, leans towards minimal, basic items. That’s not good enough. To be considered stylish, a plus-size person in our society, you must appear to be making an effort above and beyond that made by a straight-sized counterpart. Look at the strawberry dress situation with Tess Holliday and the strawberry dress. The linked article sums it up perfectly with this quote.
“I definitely empathize with what Tess has said about her dress experience; fashion is often centered around how affluent, white, cis-gender bodies look in clothing,” says Dallas-based influencer Rosey Blair. “Oversized T-shirts paired with bike shorts are edgy and carefree when depicted on a thin person — but on a fat person would be considered lazy, sloppy, and unintentional.”
HA! Imagine if the person calling for this diversity wasn’t acceptably fat?
Even if you look outside the inner circle of Australian ‘plus-size’ Instagrammers, things can get a little repetitive. There is a certain hyper-feminine look, plenty of body-positive skin on show, sourced from select stores who stop sizing at an AU20/22. Where is the variety? Why is there still one specific look to strive for if you’re a fat woman? Why is it that we have to look a certain way, even when selecting our own personal style?
Even the media coverage of this whole situation deals with more mid-sized women and brands with extended sizing, at best. With my limited research, women who haven’t experienced living in a fat body. A body that is large enough that the media deems it unacceptable to speak. Imagine that? It seems to me these articles and perhaps the sources within them are looking for just the next size or two to be included. To welcome them into the fold and forget the rest.
I think it is because we are still trying to fit into an idea of what we should be. The line in the sand was moved a little, but we’re still not considered, counted or deemed worthy of being part of the conversation. I remember as a teen that clothing stores would size out at a 16, now it’s a size 18/20. It’s not enough, and while the debate continues to be about health and worthiness to be included, you’re missing the point.
But fear not, I’m here to tell you that you can do what you want.
Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t shop in stores that actually cater to you and what you enjoy wearing. Look to these Fashion Week images for inspiration if that works for you. But put it aside if not. You are allowed to wearing whatever makes you feel stylish, confident and happy. The world will have to catch up. That’s my plan anyway; feel free to hang out here with me. Around here, we do what we want and will always be trying harder to do better for those who feel forgotten, left behind or unworthy.
