Broken hearts have been around since mankind first walked out of the primordial slump. But for all the long and painful history of heartbreaks, there is still no tried and tested formula for navigating something that is so deeply personal and individual for every person.
Read MoreDepending on which of the nine different eating disorders is the primary issue, we may have to eat more or less food, more or less frequently, or different food altogether. But as food is an essential survival tool, at the end of the day, we have to eat.
Read MoreToday my friend, I want to talk about grief. This is a hard story to write but let me start at the beginning.
Read MoreJanuary 28 will forever be a memorable day in my life. It is the day my mother was born. And it is the day my father died.
Read MoreFor much of my life, I was driven and busy and energetic and doing shit all the time. I didn’t sleep. I ate a lot. All my spare time filled up with mothering or wifeing or friending or working or volunteering. It was a fairly typical life for someone in their thirties and forties. Then I imploded and everything changed.
Read MoreOver the weeks and months and years of my healing journey, I have heard the word ‘boundaries’ whispered in my ear countless times. Although, sometimes it’s less of a whisper and more of a fish wife’s guttural screech, echoing around the chambers of my people-pleasing brain.
Read MoreI take up space in this world and I don’t like it. I am wired to the core of my being to […]
Read MoreI did a hard thing. Well… It was hard for me. Perhaps you would find it easy. Or impossible. Perhaps like me […]
Read MoreWell a wedding is one thing, but discovering a little piece of Indonesia that rarely sees foreigners is a whole other exciting […]
Read MoreI am so proud, excited and overwhelmed to share the story of my son’s marriage with you. It has been an exciting […]
Read MoreI have made it abundantly clear since I started sharing my story with you, that I have an eating disorder. Or should I say, I had an eating disorder. I have been pursuing recovery since I first graced the doorstep of my psychologist in 2015 and I can say with absolute certainty that I have reached a very happy place when it comes to my relationship with food.
Read MoreMy house was spotless when I was growing up. I can take no credit for this – my mother was a meticulous […]
Read MoreOne way or another, we all feel different but some differences are too much while others are celebrated. What is curious, is that sensitivity is rarely considered a positive trait in twenty-first century living. Being sensitive is being different. It’s inconvenient for others. Yet if more of the populace was highly attuned to the feelings of others, we’d live in a kinder world.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change… And one of those things is the endless leakage from two of my laparoscopic incisions. So much for in one day and out the next surgery. I’m so freaking tired… Sequence of events.
Monday afternoon I presented at the hospital for an overnight admission to have my gastric lap band removed. I wasn’t thrilled but was coming to terms with it, and valiantly thinking of it as a turning point in recovery. Which may well be the case. Who knows?
In 2012, I became the very happy recipient of a a gastric lap band. In 2019, I’m having it removed. On Monday to be precise. I’m petrified.
I’ve known a lot of homes. An endless cascade of houses where I lay my head and unpacked my bags. A dozen educational institutions where a seat was mine and mine alone, and I found a place to feel belonging and purpose. Friends where no amount of time and distance have separated us, and despite the years in between, a phone call picks up where the last conversation left off. And I’ve found home in my husband and children, when all my world crumbled, grief stumbled in, joy and excitement were too big to contain, they’ve been the place to sit and share and hold me.
The universal human need to be needed. The basic human rights of love, care and acceptance. The intimacy of belonging to community. These are the emotional truths I wish to explore. How my needs, rights and sense of belonging have, and have not, been met. The consequences to me, and to everyone I connect with, from my lack of self-love.
Dear Vanessa, My beautiful darling sister – I miss you and I love you. I hear you and remember you every time I hear your favourite songs
Salty tears stream down my face, landing on the corners of my lips before dripping off my chin. The deep magenta flush glowing on my cheeks, a stark contrast to the enormous grey circles appearing beneath my reddened eyes.
I’m the girl who loves cats, scrawny or fat, fluffy or flat, cuddly or coy.
I’m the girl who loves the jingle jangle of an armful of bangles, and the sweet sentimental memories of an amethyst necklace.
There are many people in my world who have wronged me. No more than anyone else – we all deal with irritating twats, ignorant loudmouths, and just plain rude arseholes. Forgiving the sins – big and small – of others, is a powerful tool that benefits the forgiver more than than the forgiven. At the end of the day, most irritating, ignorant, arseholes are probably blissfully unaware of their foot-in-mouth disease.
Meditation and mindfulness are the buzzwords of the decade. The practice of taking time out to check in with mind, body and spirit – to let go of the past and future for a few moments – is no longer limited to Buddhist monks, or yogis in search of spiritual nirvana. It’s mainstream practice, taught to children in schools and discussed in workplaces, gyms, therapy, and the media.
Our home on the farm was a small, off-white, timber house with a grey roof, and an assortment of grey galvanised iron sheds spread about. Surrounding the house was a vegetable garden with seasonal vegetables like pumpkin, beans and rockmelon, as well as a small number of flowers. In my early years the house had a lean-to kitchen and three main rooms – mum and dad’s bedroom, the dining room, and a spare room for visitors.
I know his story intimately well. September 17 1968. I’m just two and a half when Christian is born at Calvary Hospital. Five weeks later he’s gone. A perfectly healthy baby boy, dying in his sleep. Sudden infant death syndrome the doctors said. A syndrome. It’s not how my parents describe it.
Sandra shares her inspirational story of discovering strength, fitness and a whole new outlook on life at the age of 56.
When life falls apart, and everything shatters into a million pieces, and you’re not the person you thought, and have no idea […]
