09 January

Personal Prompt: You invented a time machine, but it only allows you to change the events of one day in your past. What would you change and why?
Well firstly, yay me. I invented a time machine – an achievement my children always claimed they would make and I beat them to it!
Today I am so tempted to say I would change the day I was born – and make it not happen. But that feels a little too melodramatic and negative… Instead I would go back to a different day – another one I don’t remember, but one I believe has had a profound impact on my life.
I would return to October 1968 and ensure my six week old baby brother did not die.
That instead of being found dead and cold and blue in his cot after being lovingly put down for an afternoon nap, he would wake healthy and plump and red-faced, crying for a feed and waiting for a cuddle.
That instead of my father spending 40 minutes attempting to resuscitate his dead newborn son, he would instead pick him up, hug him and pass him to my mother for a nappy change. Because dads didn’t like to change nappies in the sixties.
That instead of my mother calling grandma to say, “He’s dead. I’ve killed my baby!” She would be whining about the exhaustion of raising two young children and bemoaning my over enthusiastic hugs and kisses a new little brother, while secretly thinking her own two children were the most beautiful, clever, perfect little humans to have ever graced this earth.
That instead of cot death mysteriously taking a fat, healthy, loved and nurtured baby, it simply went away and left me with my brother and with my family whole and unbroken.
That is the day I would change.
Creative Prompt: You invented a time machine! Which decade would you want to visit and why?
A whole decade to visit? Just for the kicks? Like in Back to the Future? Let’s assume it’s like Doctor Who and I can’t cross my own timeline and or go back and change anything. So then I don’t need to be deep and meaningful and reflective. But still – I can’t help myself. I think I’d go back to the life and times of Jesus. In the decade before he died. To ascertain a few things.
1. Did he really exist?
2. Is he actually a white man with an awesome beard living in the middle east?
3. What’s this business about his mother being a virgin? Did anyone actually believe that back then?!
4. What kind of man was he? A politician? Activist? A kind man? A good man? An educated man? A ladies’ man? A generous man? A strong man? Who was he really?
5. Did he have followers and disciples? Or just good friends?
6. What was his genuine contribution to society?
7. How did he really feel about Mary Magdalene? What was their relationship status?
8. What crime did he actually commit that brought him to crucifixion? If any… Was it a real crime? Or a political set-up?
9. Was he really crucified?
10. What’s with this resurrection business? Did anyone actually believe it back then?!
Apologies to those of the Christian faith – I genuinely mean no disrespect. I am just sincerely curious about how such a man (assuming he existed – for which many believe there is an overwhelming amount of evidence) came to be worshipped and have an entire religion founded in his name. A religion that has had a profound effect (much of it good and much of it evil) on humankind the world over, for two millennia. It would be a fascinating thing to discover the truth.
Come on kids – build that time machine for me!

08 January

Personal Prompt: You’re going back to school! What would you study and why?
Too easy – I AM going back to school – 1 March 2017 to be precise! I have enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in Journalism, Media & Communications. It’s just a one year honours course to give me some research skills and background in case I decide I want to go ahead and do a PhD. I’m really excited about going back to study 🙂 Very much looking forward to it and really enjoying the chance to start doing more with my writing. Not that I’m a professional writer… Or even pretend to be. But I’d like to get much better at it and to start to use whatever skills I actually may or may not have in this area.
People keep asking me why I want to do this course – grandma of course wants to know if I’ll make money from it (umm… no! You don’t make money from studying at university…) I don’t know what it will lead to, but I do know it “feels” right. And given how tumultuous the past year was, something that feels right is something I’m going to follow at the moment. I am really hoping to gain not only improved writing and research skills, but to perhaps make some contact with people in the know and people in the industry (writing – not journalism, I don’t actually want to be a journalist!) and see if they can help point me in the right direction and help me find a little niche that I can settle in.
So to answer the question in a succinct manner – I will study journalism. Because I want to 🙂
Creative Prompt: Create a new game show. (What are the rules? How many contestants are there? What sort of prizes are there?)A new game show? I don’t like this challenge…
Umm… I’ll work backward through the questions.
Prizes – the prize is to Get Out of Jail Free + Win a free university degree
Contestants – starts off with 20 and whittles down to two
Rules – currently incarcerated; must have chosen to ‘plead guilty’ at time of of arrest; must be a non-violent crime; must demonstrate remorse; must demonstrate value to society…
Freedom Fighters – prisoners given the chance to win their freedom by living in a “big brother” type house (obviously a prison-house…) and they have to do all the big brother type of stupid tasks etc but also demonstrate high moral fibre and win popular votes and win the respect of their house mates etc.
Stupid challenge. Don’t like it.
But if any of my children ever end up incarcerated, I’ll be stalking the television executives and spruiking my idea…

BORN IN A BODY

When I was born, I had a body.

It was white and soft and squishy, and it was filled with all the things I needed to survive. It very cleverly provided all the functions required for me to continue growing and developing outside the comforts of my mother’s womb. When it needed something, it signalled me to let my carers know: Hey Mum!! I’m hungry – feed me! I’m in pain – hug me! I’m dirty – clean me! As I grew I learned to satiate these needs and desires myself.

What my body didn’t know when it was born, was that it wasn’t the “right” shape.

It wasn’t the “right” size. It wasn’t the “right” colour. That while it functioned in a beautiful, healthy and practical manner, aesthetically it didn’t conform to the ideal of beauty, espoused by those who raised me and the society in which they lived.

I wasn’t thin enough. I wasn’t pretty enough. My skin was too fair, my hair too red. I was too tall, too round and my breasts too large. I didn’t know all this when I was born, but I don’t remember not knowing.

In the 1960s thin was in. Twiggy was the new kid on the runway and slim, athletic builds were to be admired and attained.

My voluptuous curves never stood a chance.

So it was that I grew in this world where my body shape was wrong. I was different to my friends. I was different to my petite, athletic family. I looked different to everyone I knew – or so I thought. In hindsight, of course loads of young girls had curves, or were tall or fair or buxom – but I don’t remember a single one. I just remember being bigger and uglier and paler and fatter than every single girl I knew. (As it turns out, I wasn’t actually overweight as a teenager – I was just the “wrong” shape in my family.)
I don’t know when I discovered that what I see in the mirror, is not entirely true. But I do know I was “old” by that time. Not old by society standards – but pretty darn old to be realising my reflection was a lie. I think I was probably pushing 40 by the time I figured out I always “look” 85kg in the mirror – regardless of whether I’m 65kg or 105kg – I look 85. I started comparing photos to numbers on the scale, and hey presto – my image was lying.

Now this makes for a rather complicated dilemma. Because my worth and value have been firmly entrenched in physical appearance, and this appearance must be slim and attractive and youthful. But even if I were slim and attractive and youthful (impossible to attain at my age) I still wouldn’t be able to see that I was slim and attractive and youthful. So I am perpetually seeking something that even if I were to achieve it, I would not recognise. Yet I cannot seem to stop myself from pointlessly continuing to seek that which is unachievable and unrecognisable. This distorted image of myself, and the overwhelming shame that has accompanied my body for all the years I can remember, has had a huge impact upon me.
I have gained and lost 30+kg on at least three occasions – which doesn’t do wonders for the tautness of skin I can assure you. I have developed chronic issues with eating disorder behaviours by fruitlessly endeavouring to lose weight – at any cost. I have had gastric lap band surgery, followed by a tummy tuck and a breast reduction. I have starved myself until I was “thin” by society standards.

I still hate my body.

Logically I recognise no amount of thin, will ever be thin enough. Yet logic does not reside where acceptance needs to be.

My breast reduction is the single greatest “success” I have had in moving towards body acceptance. With a few swift swipes of the scalpel, my surgeon reduced me from G to C, and I awoke with a weight lifted from my shoulders – both physically and metaphorically. For years, my husband had not seen my breasts, the shame of such pendulous horrors hanging from my chest could not be appeased by his loving acceptance of me at any size and in any shape. Now, despite my scar riddled aging body, he can stare until the cows come home.

I take no pride in my vanity, or in the fact I took such extreme measures to gain a sense of comfort in this body that I have called home my entire life. I wish I could embrace every inch of myself without favour or fortune. I wish I could value health and vitality and longevity over firm breasts, a taut stomach and thigh gaps.

I have heard much discussion of acceptance the past six months.

And so rather than me reading articles about how every body is a beautiful body, and sharing said articles on social media and hypocritically telling the women in my life it is so important for them to embrace themselves because it is the inner beauty that is important – not the outer… Instead of that, I think I shall endeavour to travel along a path of finding acceptance. Acceptance of everything in my life. Acceptance of what is happening – right now.

Acceptance of what I can control – and what I cannot. Acceptance of what can be changed – and what cannot. And what should not. Acceptance. I think that is the starting point for recovery. Not standing in the mirror with affirmations I don’t believe. Learning to live in the now. Learning to see what is, to be what is, to live what is. And to keep going until I accept my body. Not until I am thin enough, pretty enough or young enough. Just until I accept it is enough – as is. This body that was born white and soft and squishy and has served me faithfully all my years.

07 January

Personal Prompt: Write a letter to your illness or condition.

Ahh… Which one?! Pick a condition… Pick a condition…

Dear Anxiety,

Piss off.

While in many ways I consider you the least of my concerns, in many ways, you are the cause of all my problems.

If someone had said a few years ago I was an “anxious” kind of person, I would have laughed hysterically at them. Back in the days when I laughed. Lol 😀 But it turns out I am an anxious person. It’s kind of hidden anxiety – I wasn’t allowed the luxury of being anxious when growing up. I hid it behind shyness or quiet or being a good listener, or being nervous, cowardly and lazy – depending on the situation. In fact, most of these are just synonyms for anxiety as it turns out. Or coping mechanisms – depending on the situation.

According to the Mayo Clinic, “Anxiety is a general term for several disorders that cause nervousness, fear, apprehension, and worrying.” I often felt nervous – but usually in performance situations. I feel fear on a daily basis – not of things people are normally afraid of, but fear of failure and being fat and ugly and of being not good enough. And I worry – endlessly, endlessly worry. So it turns out I do have anxiety! Who woulda thunk it?!

But what have you done for me Miss Anxiety? Well let me tell you… You’ve made me question every decision I’ve ever made – nothing I’ve done has ever been enough. Not enough practice. Not good enough results. Not thin enough. Not nice enough. Not clever enough. Just not enough. Being not enough, takes away my happiness. I am constantly seeking to be a better person – to be thinner and prettier and richer and smarter and more creative and kinder and more helpful – but there is no end. There is NO END. So in the end, my happiness went. And alongside anxiety, I now had depression. But you know what else? All those years of not being enough, but not allowing myself to be depressed, I had to come up with some way of shoving down the misery so I used gluttony and purging and all the disordered eating behaviours to numb the dread and the sadness. So my constant companion, you are what has allowed depression and bulimia to grow and flourish in my little world, and without you, they could go away.

So – while I barely ever give you a thought, and I often think you’re not there, really I’ve just given you another name. While you take up residence in my head, there is no room for serenity and acceptance. So you’re on notice – eviction order on it’s way… New residents sought.

Buenos Noches Querida

Creative Prompt: Ask a friend or a family member to give you 10 random words. Write a 5 sentence story using all 10 words.

Lol! I asked two people for five words each. I got an eclectic bunch!

Dark
Error
Joy
Light
Trial
Concrete
Foot
Mosquito
Orange
Tripod

1. Poppy was just 12 years old, on the cusp of womanhood and blissfully ignorant of the grievous error almost committed.

2. On the eve of her birthing day, she had been gifted a greystone tripod, each leg thus inscribed: beauty or wisdom; peace or hope; colour or love; CHOOSE.

3. Caught between worlds like a mosquito in a web, Poppy’s choice would send her to the place that showed her deepest heart wishes and truest soul colours.

4. As she fell into a fitful sleep, she was fearful of her choices and anxious to discover if her true self was as honest and virtuous as she had always pretended to be.

5. In the light of the new day, Poppy quietly emerged from her concrete prison and placed a gentle foot upon the glowing orange stones – joy spreading across her young face as the trials of the previous night dissipated into the darkness behind – her heart was true.

06 January

Personal Prompt: Set a timer for 5 minutes. How are you feeling right now? Jot down your thoughts, and try to limit yourself to just 5 minutes.

Right now I’m feeling sore and sorry for myself. Woke up feeling tired and endlessly shitty. Remained that way until we got to our walk. Had an awesome lovely time on our walk (for four hours) then felt extremely tired and endlessly shitty the moment I got back to the car.

I have a migraine. A stupid migraine. Again! I had pain radiating up and down my left leg from about halfway to Hartz Peak. And it got worse and worse as we walked. I also ate two dried apricots when we stopped for a snack and a drink. I knew they’d get stuck… When we got to the top of the peak I had to throw them up. That’s about when my migraine started… Took two tablets (maxigesic) while I was up there (once I’d cleared space for them to go down…) and to be honest, the headache wasn’t too bad all the way back. Had some caffeine at a cafe and some more when I got home. But it was getting worse so just took my prescription meds.

My husband was in a lot of pain on the way back. My tolerance and patience levels were non existent… Meanie…

I was also pissed off that he asked me whether I wanted to drive there via a backroad with lots of dirt road, and I said no. And we went that way anyway?! Wtf?! We will be discussing this at a later stage… I was soooo shitty about that.

Oh – my timer went. Gotta stop now. I’m a grumpy bum!!

Creative Prompt: Set a timer for 5 minutes. Write a very short story about your favorite book, movie or tv character.

Short story?! Sooo not in the mood…

The Time Traveller’s Wife – by Audrey Niffenegger. One of my all time favourite books – ever! And not just because the name Audrey Niffenegger is an awesome name!

It is a most gentle and beautiful and complex love story. I love his devotion to her – no matter the age and stage of their lives. I love the complexity of knowing each other at so many different ages. I love the fear of knowing when you will die. I love everything about the book!

I would love to be able to jump around in time – although to be honest, I would not enjoy the uncontrollable aspect of his particular “peculiarity”. And arriving nude all the time would not be the funnest thing… If I jumped back and forth in time I know that it would still be Mick and my boys and my family that I sought out the most. I adore my friends and I’d love to see them again and again, but when contemplating those sporadic visits to another “time”, I would want to see Mick and to visit my boys and to find my mum and sister and other lost people and remind them how much I love them.

I’d also go hunt down some lotto numbers in the future?! Why didn’t he do that?! Or did he do that and I forget because it was so not an integral part of a most beautiful love story?

Every time I think of the book I think of colours – beautiful deep reds and greens and browns – all muted with a lovely instagram filter (much to my friend Kat’s horror…) But it is a book and a story I read “in colour” – if such a thing is possible…  Well it must be possible because I just said so!!

Time’s up 🙂

05 January

Personal Prompt: Name five things you are proud of, and five things you are not so proud of.

This is a very difficult challenge for me… As pride is one of the seven deadly sins and it was drummed into me as a child not to be “prideful” or “boastful”. But it was also drummed into me that I must be obedient. So I’ll give it a red hot try…

I am proud of:

1. My children – all of them, despite the times they get it wrong. Even when they’re not lovable. They are smart and diligent and creative and loyal and loving and I adore them. I am proud to be their mother – no matter what.

2. My teaching career – I may have left it behind me now, but I became extremely good at teaching. [It is very hard to say that “out loud”…] I received outstanding feedback from students, parents and colleagues about my success as a teacher, and it was something I gave my heart and soul to – so I think I did a good job. I certainly did the very best job I possibly could.

3. My friendships – I consider the quality of one’s friends to be a reflection of one’s self. So when I see the quality of people that have become my steadfast, loyal, dedicated and long-term friends, I think I must be doing something right.

4. My persistence – I may not be making headway right now, but I’m not giving up. Or perhaps I’m making headway but that perfectionist trait is determined to whisper, “It’s just not good enough.” But either way, I am still floundering around making a valiant effort to improve myself. To seek recovery for all that needs repair.

5. My compassion – I feel I have a very strong ability to see people. To really see them. And to offer them what they need at that point in time – be it a helping hand, kindness, firmness, advice, tough love, the shirt off my back – I will always try to do the best by other people.

I am not so proud of:

1. My eating disorder – It is a shameful way for a grown woman to be managing her life.

2. My fear of conflict – While I frequently claim to have “excellent oral and written communication skills” when I am completing job applications, I fail to mention that I have a major fear of conflict. Which can lead to communication breakdowns in my closest personal relationships. I have an overwhelming fear of conflict – not of disagreement… I can voice my opinion no problem. I can have difficult conversations if it is the right thing for the person I’m talking to. But when it comes to conflict and criticism in my personal relationships, I fail on a regular basis.

3. My body – It is a pretty hideous looking beast. And I’m not proud of the fact that I am vain enough to care… But I always wanted to be skinny and beautiful and it shames me that I am not.

4. My house – Although this is an area that is improving immensely.  I have had enormous shame regarding our house and it’s state of unfinishedness and the general mess around. I wish our children could have grown up in a lovely home. However, the past 12 months have also been a period of great progress in the house and one day I hope to move it into the list of things I am proud of.

5. My unemployment – I feel deeply ashamed to not only have walked out on my job last year, but to have been unable to find another one in the past three months. It leads me to a feel I am not contributing to my family and to society and to be justifying my place here on earth.

Creative Prompt: Plan your dream vacation. (Where are you going? Who is coming with you? What are you doing?)

As for my dream vacation? Not only is that an easy one to work out, it is already half planned and the money has been set aside for it!

In 2018 my closest friends and I plan to spend a month in France and/or Italy and/or Spain, renting a nice little villa somewhere and cycling around the countryside and sampling lovely local produce and wines and doing all sorts of wonderful relaxing, inspiring, congenial things.

It is a trip we have all been planning for years – to collectively celebrate our 50th birthdays (two years late for me…)

The month with my girlfriends will be followed up with two or three months of travel around Europe and the UK with my husband.
We want to see Paris and go back to Italy and visit Spain and definitely must see Ireland.

We are saving frequent flyer points to go Business Class in at least one direction, if not both.

I intend to be away from Australia for a minimum of 12 weeks – it is to be the trip of a lifetime.

Minimum five nights in every location we stay – none of this packing up everything into a suitcase every two days and wasting half the trip on trains and planes.

We want to enjoy each place we visit and get to know the local cafes and little local customs etc.

So – I will be 52 when I go on my trip of a lifetime. Fingers crossed! And I hope to be well and truly travelling my road to recovery before then.