Thursday, March 21, 2019

14 months later.

I haven't posted anything in over a year. And what a year its been.
The biggest one yet.

I'm not in the mood to recap. To drag all those memories out from the past, mull them over. Maybe one day I'll want to do that. I'd like to have proper memories of my pregnancy and birth to look back on. I know there's a bit scattered through a few notebooks around the house.
Writing has always been healing for me, so useful to help process everything. I get a bit lazy to use pen and paper, and well, these days have a whole lot less 'me time'.

What the frick was I doing with all my time before Billy?

I do love him so much. But God, I feel so different.

I've grown, torn, deflated - physically, emotionally - over the last 14 months. The thought of even writing about my postpartum experiences is churning my stomach. I know Billy's been having all these EEG's, an MRI brain. But writing it down? I've just realised that I feel sick at the thought of even going there. Am i really avoiding it, then? Is this coping or is this ignoring?

I'm paying a bloody fortune to see a psychologist, just so I can lie and say that I've been meditating.
Of course I'm not fucking meditating. I can't even do deep breathing while breastfeeding, without Billy latching off, looking at me like 'wtf do you think you're doing?'

Sometimes, after Billy has a bath with me, Tim whisks him away and I spent a couple of minutes soaking in the water. I fill it up with more hot water, sink down a little lower. I listen to Billy starting to crack it - hes tired - and out comes the bath plug, and up I get. The moment of calm had yet again been a mirage, but I still am grateful for it.

I'm dreading going back to work, because my priorities have shifted so much. I can no longer be ignorant to the other working Mum's. No longer keep tallies of all their built up sick leave, silently (and sometimes not so silently,) judging.
I'm on the other side of it now. What does that mean for me? Where do I slot in?

I've been lonely, and tired. Also impatient, wanting to do things. I'm told that the days are long but the years are short. What if the days are short? Everything is flying by. Billy's 5 months now, and hes up for 1-1.5 hours, followed by a 50 minute nap. And repeat.

Sometimes in the nap time I try to nap, too. I jump into bed, strip down to my knickers, eyemask on, and will myself to sleep. Sometimes I conk out easily. Other days, not so much.
Otherwise I use that time to shower. Or eat. Or pop some makeup on, make the bed, fold the washing.
Then hes awake. Rinse and repeat.

Tim's busy still trying to do all of the things. I throw guilt at him like it's going out of fashion. I think that some days he doesn't realise that he's often the only person I speak to ALL DAY. I've gone from having a very social and interactive job to this isolated life of me and bubs. Social media doesn't count.
Yes I see friends and family, but it's all still worlds apart from where I used to be. I'm still coming to terms with this new life. Am I stronger, or more sensitive? Do I care more, or less?

I don't know. Even writing isn't flowing as nicely as it usually does. Nothing is poignant here, just a whole lotta thoughts darting around. It'll do for now.
Hopefully it won't be another year before I post next.

It's all just slipping by.

Monday, January 22, 2018

Keep on

2 days in a row of writing, because yolo. Also I have some alone time while Tim's at volleyball, and the laptop was just winking at me from the couch.

I feel so much better today. There is so much to be said about distraction - being at work made me feel normal again, like this whole other world didn't exist for 8 hours or so. I started out rusty, then along the way I loosened my grip and allowed myself to enjoy my day.

I do feel guilty in a lot of ways, though. While I can escape for a bit, Mum can't. Dad can try - but he'll never leave Mum alone in the house comfortably again. Ever.

I do need to navigate around this guilt and find where it can be productive, and where it can't. There's no use letting the rest of my life fall to pieces. The opposite provides a better foundation for this next chapter - still carrying on, looking after myself, maintaining good relationships with those who will be my support network throughout it all. I have a big weekend coming up, with a few things I'm considering cancelling, but maybe I won't. I'll see how I go.

I've quit Facebook again for almost a month, and it's been great. I also did no Youtube or Instagram for a couple of weeks, and have been slowly re-introducing that back in. I want to remain mindful of when I'm consuming things with benefit vs mindless consumption just to fill a void/past time/distract. Yesterday was all about distraction, but as I said then, I pick myself up more quickly now. Dust it all off, and begin again.

This is going to be such a rollercoaster. I've already cried more than I have in years. But what if I allowed myself to believe in my strength? The possibility that I can do this? That through the pain, while a different version of pain, I can  once again find healing?
What more of an excuse do I need to connect even more with my family and loved ones?

Can I do this? Yes.
Will I do this? Yes.

It's been done before by millions of daughters in this world before me. If they can do it, I can too.

Humanity is powerful. We can always keep on keeping on. The sun will rise, and then it will set.

Eventually it might get easier. I know I'll be ok.

Not about me

I feel sick because I've (once again) eaten my body weight in food. This binging thing rears it's head every once and awhile, usually to numb out any form of discomfort. Ironically leaving me with more discomfort - this nauseous, bloated, cramping stomach, the reflux rising up to my throat.

I'm not sure how I feel about acceptance, particularly of something that hasn't been properly diagnosed. But I can feel that diagnosis right at my fingertips, and it's sharp and harsh and I don't want to face it at all.

I feel like a victim when, in fact, I have so much to be grateful for. Mum could have been a drug addict, or a child abuser. She could have neglected me, or dated man after awful man, or committed crimes. Instead I have been blessed with a mother who has dedicated her heart and soul to mothering. To nurturing and caring and being selfless. One of my greatest teachers - of how to treat others, how to enjoy life's adventures, how to sacrifice, and how to keep. moving. forward.

There's so much more to add, but I'm feeling sick and hot, frustrated and anxious. My mind expertly jumping to the future - the what if's, the glimpse of the living nightmare and heartache on the horizon. Dad too. I don't want to accept any of this if it means accepting that my parents beautiful love story of 50+ years will end with this - shattered trust, forgotten memories, denial and confusion.

I've been getting this tightness in my chest, my breathing so shallow, and I think I'm sort of suffocating. Can't we have more time? Why now, when I want to enjoy newly married life - trying for a baby, having a child and sharing that joy with my family? I want to ask my mum about all of it - before that's gone, too, and trust that her recollections are real.

I don't want to waste the decent, mostly good times worrying about what's to come. But it's hard. And sometimes I can just revert to those old patterns - binging on substance (this time food), crying in a heap, leaving work early in a puddle of tears. The closed curtains in the middle of the day, under the covers in fetal position. The microsleeps in between reading/watching tv/youtube. Spending my time being taken over by fear.

That was my day today but I think enough has changed for me to not allow this to take over. It will be me but fewer and far between - pick myself up a little quicker, shake it off if just for a little while. I enjoy my work too much, my family and friends and husband too much, for this to take over completely. After all, it's not about me. It hardly ever is.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Love starts here.

Well I've sat down to write, all set up here, outside, with my green smoothie and Tim's laptop. But the battery is about to die and there's no power access out here, so... I suppose it's not the time?

Is there any way that I can write something short, concise and straight to the point?

Probably not, considering I don't know the point. Every now and then I get the itch to write. In my notebook, or this laptop. Sometimes the stuff is pretty ace, the perfect way to start my day, totally inspiring. Other times, like now, I meander a little aimlessly, still needing to scratch the itch, but not totally aware why.

Sip of green smoothie.

I think my self esteem took more of a battering last year than I even realised at the time. Outwardly, I was the bustling young woman, starting up a new job, planning a wedding, running from wedding venues to hair trials to house inspections. But the chaos was drowning me. My skin was horrible, I was underweight, constantly seeking something to make me feel healthier, more glowing, more alive. My thoughts were a constant stream of 'you're running out of time' for everything. No time to get a dress. No time to book a venue. No time to heal from surgery. No time to clear up that god damn skin. Running from A to B, back to A. And what's going on with C?

So I was mid sentence and the laptop (albeit predictably) died. But anyway. The point - am I still trying to be concise? - is this: I wasn't acting from a place of self love. I was still doing yoga, meditating intermittently, eating well. But the spaces around those actions were contradictions. They were hate-filled. I wasn't good enough, pretty enough, worthwhile enough. The cracks were showing. I wasn't sleeping properly, my day time energy fuelled by anxiety alone.

I really really want to heal this. I am no longer in my early twenties, convinced that Total Transformation is there to meet me at the next blog, live event, self-help book. I know that total transformation is a myth, a mirage. Life will be up and down. But the consistency I'm searching for is me - loving me. For who I am. Spots, scars, wrinkles, cellulite, frizzy hair and splotchy skin. All of it. The internal, the external. The quirks. The bursts of energy. The nights 'wasted' on the couch. The deep, inspired conversations. The confident days. The insecure days. All of it.

I want to give myself a hug and tell myself that I'm doing so well. That my morals and interests are expanding. My eyes are opening. I'm learning to be more kind and patient every day. I'm forgiving myself for binge eating rubbish, for binge watching Youtube, for drinking a little wine for a few nights each week. I need to let go of these 'good' and 'bad' labels that I've placed on everything. Some things even have both labels - the turmoil of a constant researcher.

Love starts here.
Stop your head, drop into your heart.

Love. Starts. Here.

Sunday, January 1, 2017

2017 stuff

For the past few years I've taken the end of the year/start of a new year as a time of reflection. Earth shattering, right?

I was always interested and more inclined towards a life filled with growth and personal development. I picked this tendency up a notch in 2012, in the early days of grief following Bryan's death. It started out very black and white and at times, contradictory. I'd spend my days juicing and meditating. I'd spend my weekends drinking too much vodka or sav blanc, polishing it all off with a dirty cheeseburger on the journey home.
2013 is when I really let go of what wasn't serving me. I travelled Thailand with Tim, for just a fortnight, and I still look at that time as one of the most refreshing and pivotal times in my life. I stepped away from the party girl lifestyle (with immeasurable help from Tara Bliss and Gabby Bernstein.) My weekends started being more about fresh air, self help seminars, farmers markets. I collected crystals and amped up the visions boards. I stepped away from people who weren't serving me. I changed jobs. I felt, well... legit.
And in a way, that's kind of where I'd been since this, until 2015-2016. I think it was a gradual process, where my anxieties and insecurities started slipping back into my habits, my thought patterns.
We travelled UK and Europe for 7 weeks in 2015. It truly was the most beautiful holiday, but I don't think I really allowed myself to relax. I planned the holiday pretty solidly, and for the 'free' days, I was grabbing Tim's iPhone, searching for the best café/sight seeing destination nearby.
This might be pretty standard, but for me, it wasn't ideal. I purposely never bring my phone on overseas holidays. I like to test myself in loosening my grip of life, and plans, and just going with the flow. But I hardly did.
Like I said, the holiday was incredible, and while I came back refreshed for a few days, it really didn't take long for the discontent and worry to creep back in.
And then I had a wedding to plan.
I didn't realise it at the time, but the 12-14 months of planning the wedding did not do me any good. Hitting the pillow at night, I was bombarded with the To Do Lists, the Burden of Expectations, all the when/what/how/what if's a mind could muster. I found myself wired, the darkened room with the glow of the iPhone replacing night time cuddles, sex, peace. I got stricter with my diet. I took so many ridiculously expensive supplements. I did the yoga thing (admittedly, on and off) and the gym thing (at least until I realised that gyms steal my soul). Even meditation became a 'to do list' thing, not so calming when approached so mechanically. All these things became an act of doing, not being. And I kept at it.

Like I said in my last post, by the time the wedding rolled around I had cut out dairy, gluten, sugar and most animals products out of my diet. I had contradictedly added a whole lot of toxins back into my life - the contraceptive pill (after being diagnosed with endometriosis in April), makeup and skin care, and, have I mentioned the stress??

The day after the wedding, I ate a Ferrero Rocher that the accommodation had placed on my pillow the night before. I felt like a rebel. I also had a cup of tea with cows milk, and a big hunk of real bread with avocado for my breaky.
This has escalated. Following the wedding, the stress remained, as we moved houses just weeks after. Since the move, just over a month ago, I feel like I've lost myself a little. The junk I've been eating is horrifying. I've been drinking alcohol and had a little cringe worthy drunken night out at a friend's birthday a couple of weeks ago. I feel lost and constantly nauseated and SO tired. Now that we're settled into our house, I'm faced with the perfect opportunity to begin again. To find 'balance'.

I felt so tense having to have to much control of my life over the last year or so. The journey into self development started lovingly. I was curious, I was open. Then it became rigid, more from a place of fear than anything else. I started living in my head again, my heart no longer knowing what to trust. I'd research veganism, environmentalism and minimalism incessantly, thinking THATS who I have to be to take it 'next level', to truly be spirited, wise, loving. And it started weighing me down. It started feeling so incredibly heavy and exhausting.
Having a drunken night out didn't serve me. I can admit that. But it's also hard to ignore the fact that Tim has said that he felt like he's got me 'back' since the wedding is over. He's appreciated me loosening the reigns, at least for a little while, until now that I've started stressing over the home and anything else I can get my anxiety-craving mitts on. Why am I so addicted to stress?

So am I the hippy girl? Or do I just like the idea of it all? Or am I the 'laid back' girl, who isn't that at all, but at least enjoys the world seeing her in that way? Either way, I can't continue with this destructive pattern that I've found myself in again. I've felt so nauseated and insecure and the fatigue is keeping me rooted in place.

So I haven't really made any resolutions, except maybe to stop eating salt and vinegar chips on the regular. I feel like I'm having a bit of an identity crisis, maybe it can be normal for a newly wed, to feel a little lost? Particularly after dedicating the last year to wedding and house plans.. now what? How do I want to approach this year?
I know I want to approach it with health and vitality, but I don't want to be stressed about health and vitality. I do recognise that I don't do 'balance' too well though - not someone that can simply stop at a chocolate or two. Gimme the whole fucking box.

Tim's away at the moment, for a few days. I'll be spending 3 nights without him, for the first time in a very long time. He's camping with his friend. My initial response was needy/crazy wife. I really had to snap myself out of it. When did I start losing my independence? I'm trying to pinpoint it, I'm not so sure. Maybe sometime in 2015? I do think, in hindsight, that's when I started becoming too neurotic. I think that deep down, I am more independent than I give myself credit for. I don't need to hide behind my husband. I have my own friends, my own creative pursuits, my own passions. Tim is so wonderful and vibrant and fun, but we are also very different. I've noticed lately that I've kind of stopped some of my free-thinking ways, and have given in to many of the 'husband/wife' stereotypes. But I can go for a walk by myself after dinner. I can wake up early, and go to the market, and go to yoga, and pursue my interests independently. And I can also take the bins out or move furniture or work things out independently. I need to nip this in the bud before it stops being cute, and starts becoming an issue. I can own my femininity, my strength, my sexuality - independently.
I think I'm always going to be quirky, a little up and down throughout the month, a bit of a seeker. I think I'll always be someone that grows. I give myself permission to change my mind, to try something new, to let go of any family dynamics that have become ingrained within me. I give myself permission to start fresh, as a newly married woman but simultaneously a newly independent woman.
This is why I'm writing. I knew that I needed to get something out, to put something out to the Universe for this year. I've done plenty of reflecting, constantly, throughout 2016. But that was all on the external stuff - achievements, really. The surgery, the wedding, the house. But what about me? What has been truly going on behind the scenes during this time?
I still feel like I'm a bit of a hippy, in my own way. I care a lot less about crystals, but I still appreciate all the personal development books that line the bookshelf. I appreciate all the cookbooks, too. I think falling off the wagon and eating terribly has been a true lesson for me as I've come to realise that I feel awful. My productivity declines. I'm in a fog. I've hardly pooed properly for weeks. (Soz).
So here we go, my word for 2017:

Some other words that are appealing to me right now: Wellness. Ease. Joy. Humour. Nurture. Comfort. Slow. Tenderness. Confidence. Curiosity. Authenticity. Presence.

I'm letting go of looking for something to stress about. I'm allowing ease and softness into my life, into our home. How beautiful would it be for Tim if he came home on Thursday to a home that was clean, warm, peaceful? To a wife that greeted him with a giant smile, a kiss, and asked him if he had The Best Time Ever?

Here's to a year of strength, to the core. Of freedom from the self inflicted shackles.
Less social media, more love.
Less indoors, more outdoors.
Less whinging, more laughing.
Less worrying, more living.


Wednesday, December 28, 2016

I got married.

2016. Whatta year.

On the 5th of November, I got married. I really wanted to blog about it so I can properly account for the day - the emotions, the suspense, the excitement. I'm going to give it a good ol' crack now - 6 weeks later - because it really was an utterly special day for me. But I also want to say this here: It's not that much of a big deal. Please understand the distinction - for me, marriage itself and the lifelong commitment it entails is a big deal, and the decision to marry shouldn't be taken lightly. But the whole 'wedding' thing? Overrated.
I don't feel like a new woman. I don't feel extra special or superior to other unmarried couples. I quite like referring to Tim as 'my husband', because its a cute new name to call him and I do feel some small level of validation of our relationship for that. But I'm not thrilled about being married. I haven't practiced my new signature. I haven't been flashing my new surname around at all either. I feel, well, basically the same. Still completely happy, still completely in love, but also... the same.

I worry that women (young and older) place married life as the pinnacle of Life Goals. As much as we don't want to admit it, many of us are still idolising that ring, that dress, that magical day in our lives where we get to be treated like a princess. And like I said, it was an incredible day. Dare I say (gasp), one of the best days of my life. But it wasn't, and nor should it be treated as, the upmost achievement. We had a fun love party to celebrate our relationship. Why do so many of us get so crazy about it all?

Speaking of crazy.
Rewind to Friday the 4th of November, the night before the wedding, I was on the phone to Tim in a puddle of tears and panic. My skin was horrible. I wasn't going to be the radiant, glowing bride after all.
To many people who have never experienced acne, this could maybe seem like a total Diva moment. But I've had acne all through my adult life so far - from my late teens, until now at 28 years old. Until now, on my wedding day.
By the time the wedding rolled around, I had cut out gluten, dairy, sugar and a large amount of animal products from my diet. I was meditating and yoga-ing on the daily. I had spent hundreds, if not thousands, on facials and retinols and whatever other products I set my eyes on. I had spent so many years stressing about it all, but the last year was the worst. The year of being engaged - the wedding looming, the likelihood of being a pimply bride became much more of a reality.
And boy, was I a pimply bride. Probably the worst skin I'd had all year in fact. On my cheeks, my jawline - big, raised, painful cysts. I had lost the battle.
It kind of still breaks my heart thinking about it, because I definitely gave it a good go. But when my hormones, and course - stress, were running the show, I wasn't in for a chance.
I remember waking up on the morning of my wedding day, at 4:30am. I googled 'acne on my wedding day' and cried while reading stories of the brides who felt the same.
I cried while I did my morning yoga.
I felt low and flat and ugly. I was horrified that the day had arrived so quickly, and that I had to spend it in front of everyone, the centre of attention, when I felt like absolute crap.

It was a late ceremony, starting at 5pm, so waking up at 4:30am wasn't ideal. But, everyone was right - the day does bloody fly. After my morning meditation and yoga, I squeezed into bed with Mum and Dad, something I haven't done for about 18 years probably! I felt a little withdrawn and quiet, but they were there for me, and got me out of my head for a little bit. Before I knew it, Mel, Justyne and Julian had arrived. I dished out their gifts (satin dressing gowns, personalised candles, jewellery/cufflinks and a few other things) and then it was all about the hair and makeup. Luckily I had made up some healthy treats for us to snack on through the day. I was downing the peppermint and chamomile teas, feeling calmer and social, and happy to finally allow myself to let go and release the pain of the last night and morning.

I started to get a little stressed around 3ish - the photographers had arrived and hair was running a little over schedule, so it was a bit scary running behind, particularly when we had all day to be ready! But we got there. I had my quick snappy moment with Justyne ("Justyne! Stop drinking champagne and feed me!") but otherwise was fine. Propanolol, you are my hero.
In saying that, the drive there (in the last minute booked black Chrysler sedan) was a little slice of hell - that awful time before an event where you just want to get in there, because the suspense is the most painful part of all!

Pulling into Trofeo Estate, the building was as stunning as ever, contrasted against the snowy grey sky. I was disappointed to see the chairs weren't set up in the back - and had to quickly come to terms with having a indoor ceremony, our Plan B.
The weather was not bad - fresh and windy, but no rain. I am so glad that Tim chose to have the ceremony inside though - with nothing breaking the icy wind over the vineyards, it would have been a shivery and distracting ceremony.
And, inside was perfection. Our nearest and dearests huddled inside, the aisle carved out between the rows of black wooden chairs dotted with bouquets of rustic foliage. The high roof and exposed brick felt solid and nostalgic, a little taste of Nabilla on my wedding day. It was warm and cosy, with huge windows showing off the surrounding sky, land and vineyards.

The ceremony was exactly what we wanted. Relaxed, personal, interactive. Jacinta, Susan and Claire nailed their readings perfectly. Our celebrant, Felicity, constructed the entire ceremony just right - light hearted and meaningful with just the right amount of solemness required to serve as a reminder of the significance and importance of the day.
My parents - strong Catholics and not huge supporters of church-free weddings, adored her. Friends and family that probably just wanted to skip ahead to the food and drinks, adored her.
Then we kissed, signed some paper, and were married. You know the drill.

Photos were fun, and our photographers were so great at capturing candid, relaxed images. It didn't feel like a chore and we still fit all the desired shots in within our free time. We also snuck out a little bit later and grabbed some sunset shots too.

The reception was a hoot. Everyone was in a fantastic mood and were so keen to get up and have a good old dance. Even Jacinta, at 37 weeks pregnant, was up there doing the (longest ever) conga line with me. The band, despite our last minute doubts, we fantastic. A perfect mix of songs for the young and old. The speeches were perfect, of course Dad nailed his. Justyne opened up about me starting the process of egg donation, right before she fell pregnant with Maggie. That was a surprise - almost everyone there that night didn't know that about me, so that was so special for her to share that with everyone. The Best Men, Luke and Andy, did a fun combined speech, and Maureen (with Doug's antics on the side) was beautiful too.

We had so many compliments on the food, drink and service. Everyone seemed so happy with the venue, the band, the night in general. We had our best ever Family Jig (in my opinion) and the bouquet and garter toss was a lot of fun - particularly when Julian caught the garter. Take that, marriage inequality thugs. Love conquers.

And then it was all over. We hugged goodbye to everyone - most of us, by now, a little sweaty and worse for wear. We ran through the human archway built of our love ones, and we were on our way. Married, exhausted, and cheek-achingly happy. What a day.

I wanted to type all of this out, as something to reflect on in the years to follow. I love Tim so much, and I have for almost 9 years now. He is genuinely my rock and a solid, kind soul.
I didn't talk much about Bryan on the wedding day. Four years on, I still think of him every day. I could feel him everywhere on the day - in the smiles of everyone there, the captured sunset, the love that lifted the room. I learned to feel beauty - not in a tangible, superficial way. I felt beauty in the kindness of the souls in that room, the genuine authentic moments of true love expressed not only between husband and wife, but between friends, brothers and sisters. Bryan is everywhere now. He's in Maggie's twinkling bright eyes, Taylor's sense of humour and Noah's determination.

I celebrated our wedding day as a day of gaining, not a reflection of loss. I'm so grateful to able to share a truly heartfelt day with everyone.
I think that's the best thing about this wedding stuff - we dedicate the time to truly express our love and gratitude to all the main players in our lives. It's a celebration of life, of love, of the present moment.
We don't need to spend thousands of dollars to do this.
We can choose to do it any time - so lets.

I got married, and it was fantastic. Simultaneously, it's not a big deal.
That's just my thoughts. x

Saturday, October 29, 2016

Word Vomit.

Word vomit, thought vomit - that's all I'm here to do right now.
I feel like I have so many thoughts that are building up inside of me. Worries, stress, anxiety. Gratitude, appreciation, love. Fear, depression, apprehension.

I haven't been writing like I used to. Which is a shame, because I still consider writing to be an outlet, occasionally a glimpse into my Creative Self. But I've been avoiding. Even the act of putting pen to paper seems exhausting to me. I've gotten lazy.

So without my outlet, I have Tim. I have my friends and family every now and then. But most of all? I have avoidance. Suppression. I've gotten pretty great at bottling things up, and then exploding every now and then.

I never really considered myself to be someone that gets in bad moods. I kind of thought I was 'above' moodiness; I regarded myself as someone too reflective, or can I say - (gulp) - evolved, to ever act so irrationally and impulsively.
But I kind of have been.

I think the wedding has been weighing on me more than I care to admit. Or should I call it The Wedding? THE Wedding? THE WEDDING!!!? The time of day depends on the amount of emphasis those two words have on my system. Usually the capital letters pay me a visit just as my head hits the pillow at night.

I get married in a week! This time next week I will be a bride, and a wife for the rest of time. I will be legally bound to someone else, emotionally, financially. I love Tim so much, and I consider the last 8.5 years of our relationship to be something that's already set in stone... So why the fear? Why am I not excited to publicly declare our love to our closest friends and family?

Maybe it's because I've always been rather easily influenced. I've never smoked, or taken drugs, and I think I've been able to stick to my morals for the vast majority of my time so far. But I also think I've grown up incredibly influenced by media - like almost all of us today. I saw the beautiful Disney princesses with their perfect, delicate faces and porcelain skin. The evil witch is usually old, pimply or warty. The magazines, Pinterest images, the flawless, boho instagram beauties.. The Perfect Bride is what we've grown to strive for - calm, radiant and beautiful. Deliriously in love and ready for The Best Day of Her Life.

Call me a Debbie Downer, but I'm not walking into next week expecting the 'best day of my life'. I'm hoping that it'll be up there, but I don't want it to be the be all or end all. Is this the pinnacle? Is it all mortgage debt, work and shitty little children from here on out?

In saying that, I'm a little heartbroken that I won't be fulfilling the calm, radiant and beautiful bride philosophy. Where's the part in the movies with the frizzy, flustered and pimply bride? The bride that's probably a little underweight, a bit of a hormonal train wreck, that kind of hates her dress and not so sure about any of this? The bride that has been dreading the 'walk down the aisle' since, well, forever? People smiling, taking photos, all making a judgement on my appearance, even if they don't consciously realise it...

So maybe this word vomit is a good thing. Maybe I'm purging out all these fears and anxieties, just so I can release them. I think it's truly time for me to quit the fucking drama, and start loving myself. Because I don't think I can be a loving, patient and fun wife if I allow myself to get caught up in the murkiness and superficiality of it all. At a time that allows so much gratitude, here I am letting fear run the show. Do I really care if I have a bad breakout on the wedding day? To be honest, yes. But will other people care nearly as much? No. Will Tim still love me? I know he will. Remember, he's the guy that see's me without makeup on and with pimple cream all over my face every night. And he still looks me in the eyes and calls me beautiful, no matter what.

The best thing I can do is love myself. I think that depicts true calm, radiance and beauty. That's where I find the ingredients I need to nail this Bride Thing.

And the best part? It's one day. It's one day that symbolises a new beginning of everything. I may not have been counting down day by day. I may not have excited butterflies in my stomach (yet), but I also know that I am itching to get to our next page. Our fresh start in our new home, when we grab the keys 3 weeks after the wedding day. I acknowledge how lucky I truly am, to have found someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. I acknowledge how lucky I truly am, for being in the position to be able to work and save money, that has allowed us to go on a 2 month holiday last year, and then save for a house deposit AND a wedding, all in such a short amount of time.

I am eternally grateful for my blessings. I'm choosing to let go of these negative thought patterns, a moment at a time, minute by minute.
I'm so glad I came here for a word vomit.

It'd been a while.
Thanks. x