A Day in the Life of Tash

A day full of depth, contradiction, devotion, humour, faith, self-examination - and a fierce love running through it all.

A New Day

I wake with the most practical of physiological thoughts: I need to pee.

And then, almost immediately, a quiet, deep gratitude. How blessed I am to see another day.

My body is tired - reflecting the wrestling match with the shadows. My mind is tired too - but wired. There’s a hum beneath the fatigue, a readiness. I like to imagine that when my feet hit the floor, somewhere the devil mutters, “Oh crap… Natasha's up.”

Reality is less cinematic, there’s no sprinting. Just steady movement onward.

The first thing I reach for is my phone - not to scroll, but to check my kids made it safely to work. Even in their growing independence, my heart still does its quiet headcount.

The rhythm of morning is slow, deliberate, charged with purpose - and always laced with hope. Beneath it, though, is a yearning. A longing to begin with stillness. To sit. To pray. To set intention before the noise of doing begins. To breathe before the world asks anything of me. 

I haven’t mastered that yet. 

I carry the intention like a bookmark, saving my place for when I finally pause.

In Full Doing

Without pause, I am fully in motion.

Sometimes I’m driven by pressure - expectations, both mine and others’. But deeper than that, more often, I’m driven by choice. The choice to build something meaningful. The quiet satisfaction of ticking something off the list. The desire for a life that runs well. The devotion to making our home hum - instilling order amidst chaos.

Not out of restlessness.

Out of reverence.

I care about doing things well. Not loudly. Wholeheartedly. I want meaning and excellence to sit side by side. I want even the smallest act to ripple outward with intention.

And yet, I overthink everything.

Every decision. Every conversation. Every silent pause.

Was that enough? Was that too much?

And beneath it all, lives a quieter question:

Am I enough?

Or perhaps more honestly - am I too much?

I push through more than I should. My limits. My pain. My emotions. Even uncomfortable silences. I know how to endure. 

I am still learning when to soften.

Grounded By Presence

Around my children, I do soften.

My rigid edges dissolve. My heart opens wide. They are my compass - my greatest joy and my deepest responsibility. A living expression of the values I hold most sacred: love, loyalty, perseverance, chosen bonds. 

My life isn’t built on chance; it’s built on choice. The choice to love fiercely. To persevere. To grow. To keep believing in the goodness threading through our days.

Motherhood stretches me thin, though. There’s the constant quiet self-monitoring - am I guiding or gripping? Leading or hovering? I sometimes wonder if they see how intertwined my identity is with theirs. If I always know who I am outside of being their Mum.

Love, in the ordinary moments, looks simple.

All of us in the same room. Some scrolling. Some gaming. Some crafting. Some chatting. Me studying. No grand gestures. Just presence. Existing side by side in quiet contentment.

That is sacred to me. 

Grounded. Open. Attuned to grace.

When the Noise Lowers

Night is when I return to myself.

When the house quiets - seated beside my sweet man, my anchor - I finally exhale. This is when I feel most like me. When I can fully breathe. When I talk to God in the stillness. When I can hear my own thoughts without interruption.

But night also brings reflection.

That I don’t quite fit in the outside world. That despite a mind full of knowledge and reflection, my words sometimes tangle before they reach my lips. That I ramble. That I misstep. That I could have said it better. 

I replay conversations as though I can edit them after the fact. I ask how I could have been more. Or less.

And still - I am proud.

Proud of my resilience. My persistence. My dedication. My grace and grit intertwined. I am someone who builds and nurtures. Who reflects and renews. Who works hard and loves harder. 

Not perfect - present.

Still, there is so much unfinished.

My parenting. My becoming. The legacy still unfolding. The memories yet to be made.

Peace comes when the house is calm. When there is a place for everything and everything is in its place. When the tabs in my mind close, one by one.

The Deeper Thread

There are contradictions in me.

I say I have no regrets - because every moment shaped me - and yet there are things I would do differently if given the chance. I believe perfection is a mindset, and still I reach for it. I hunger for knowledge, while knowing the deepest answers rise from within.

I am learning to rest without guilt.
To question whether my values are truly mine.
To release society’s mould.
To stop pushing past every limit.

People sometimes misunderstand me.

They see adaptability but not the discomfort or the effort it costs. They assume forgiveness means open access. They mistake my faith for creed, when really it’s a current - a quiet presence moving through warmth, laughter, evening walks. A whisper that says: you are exactly where you need to be.

If someone followed me for a day, they might be surprised by how much happens in my slow, steady tortoise-like rhythm. How even in rest, I am tending something. How I can be both hard and soft. Structured and fluid. Comfortable in silence and steady in noise.

I even thrive in moments of uncertainty - knowing I am in the driver’s seat of my own life.

And maybe that’s what makes me, me.

Not perfection.
Not performance.
But devotion.
Steady movement.
Grace that rises - even in pause.

This is a day in the life of who I am.

Ordinary.
Layered.
Intentional.
Becoming.

Mine.

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This is Me & This is Us

If my children ever read the posts within my blog one day, I want them to feel like they’re sitting beside me at home, where everything is in its place, where every corner is shaped by love and a life lived fully.

My name is Natasha.

But I’ve been many versions of her:

The girl who felt deeply.

The young woman who tried to hold everything together.

The one who broke quietly more than once.

The one who picked up the pieces and kept moving forward, believing in the words of Rocky Balboa: “It ain't about how hard you hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep movin' forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done!”

I am a wife. Mark has been my best friend, my soulmate, since 2014, and my devoted husband since April 2018. He is my rock, my anchor, my light - even on the days when my laughter is purely contractual. I am his Deni-girl, and he is my sweet man: the King of our family, holding the steady heartbeat of our home.

I am a mother. We have our young men - two born to me, two chosen in love - and three incredible young women who have become part of the rhythm of our lives. One of them shares our home as her own, bringing her warmth and spirit into every corner of our lives. Together, we are a patchwork of love and laughter, of disagreements and reconciliations, of quiet moments and loud celebrations - all the messy, beautiful, real life in between.

I have known joy so full it felt like sunlight pouring through my entire being. I have known uncertainty that kept me awake all night. I have known love that steadied me. And fear, and loss, that reshaped me. All of it belongs here.

I am not writing these words because I have it all figured out. I am writing because I am walking it, moment by moment, feeling it all - the ups, the downs, and everything in between, from the small victories to the lessons learned along the way.

I want my children to know who I was becoming while they were growing - in the laughter, the disagreements, the long talks that stretched late into the night, the celebrations, and the ordinary moments that carried meaning. Behind every shared meal, every story told, every lesson learned together, was a woman still discovering herself.

I want them to know that family is not built on perfection, but on returning - returning to the table, returning after conflict, returning to each other again and again, even when the world feels unbearably loud. But returning is not a blind act. It asks us to listen to our hearts, to release our stubbornness, to weigh our courage against our boundaries, and to know when coming back heals - and when stepping away is the bravest choice.

And if you are reading this and are not my child, know that you are welcome here too. These words are for anyone who has loved deeply, stumbled quietly, risen again, and wondered if they were doing enough - for anyone seeking a little light in the midst of life’s shadows.

This is me.

This is us.

Imperfect. Growing. Becoming. Together.

For those struggling to fit into society’s labels of 'typical' perfection instead of embracing their own perfectly imperfect uniqueness, may these words remind you that your story, in all its messy, beautiful raw realness, matters.

Love, light, & peace, 

Tash xo

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The Evolution of This Blog

The Evolution of me... 

It began in January 2010 as a way to take back control of my weight.

That’s the neat version of the story. The tidy headline.

But the truth is, the journey began long before that - in quiet comparisons, in restless striving, in the subtle belief that if I could just fix my body, everything else would fall into place.

I remember once being told by a close family friend that I had such a pretty face - it was just a pity the body let me down. A sentence tossed out casually. Perhaps unintentionally hurtful. Perhaps never meant to linger.

But it did.

There were other moments too. Comparisons to one of my aunties in stature - words I absorbed as insult, never pausing to see the fullness of her beauty, her wisdom, her steadiness. I filtered everything through the lens of insecurity. I translated neutral into negative. I collected comments like evidence.

My weight began to define me.

Not only because of the nicknames - “garbage guts,” “tubby,”  "womble butt" - or the offhand remarks that stung more than they should have. But because I allowed them to. I let those words sink beneath the surface. I let them take root. I let them feel true.

I wore them like invisible ink. 

I let them tattoo themselves onto my skin.

And so when I say this blog began as a health and fitness journey, what I really mean is that it began as an attempt to outrun a story I had been telling myself for years. A story where my worth was conditional. Where my value rose and fell with the number on a scale.

Health and fitness became my compass. I tracked, trained, measured, refined. And I wrote. I blogged my way through the becoming - sharing milestones, setbacks, lessons learned through discipline and determination. For years, the rhythm was simple: effort in, results out. Movement as medicine. Control as comfort.

Then in August 2016, something shifted.

I began to look beneath the surface. Beyond macros and mileage. Beyond aesthetic goals and personal bests. I started asking deeper questions about identity, about values, about the stories I carried and the ones I was ready to rewrite. Health and fitness were still there, but they were no longer the whole picture. They were threads - not the entire tapestry.

Now, fitness as I once knew it sits quietly on the sidelines. Missed, yes. Remembered fondly. And one day, when I can trust myself not to push beyond my own limitations - not to override my body in the name of achievement - it will return in a gentler form. But life has grown more complex. My health has grown more complex. And how could that not shape the writing?

This space has evolved as I have.

What started as blogging has become something more intentional. More rooted. I’m no longer just documenting progress. I’m leaving a legacy.

Not perfectly curated content - but breadcrumbs home.

Home to who I was. 

Home to who I am. 

Home to who I am still becoming.

My entries are sporadic - sometimes flowing one after the other, words spilling out faster than I can hold them. Other times, they fall silent for months. Even a year. Life expands. Energy shifts. Seasons change.

But I always come back.

Because writing these posts is a form of therapy.

As someone who chronically overthinks - who often feels like there are too many browser tabs open in my mind at once - writing is my way of closing them, one by one. It is a cathartic process. A quiet untangling. A place where the noise softens enough for clarity to rise.

It helps me process my thoughts. 

It helps me sit with my emotions. 

It helps me make sense of the jumbled, beautiful mess that is my mind.

I write to preserve memory. To hold onto moments before they blur at the edges. To share lived wisdom - not as instruction, but as offering. To offer light through honesty. Not the harsh glare of perfection, but the steady glow of truth.

These words are a time capsule.

For my children... so they might one day know the texture of my thoughts, not just the outline of my days.
For my future self... so she can remember what it took to get here.
And for anyone walking through their own dark season... who might need to borrow a little light until theirs steadies again.

I won’t only share the polished chapters. I’ll share the unraveling too.

Because the unraveling is where the becoming happens.

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The Dangers of Drinking Concrete

Beyond the Edge of My Energy...

I wrote recently about returning in memory to the ancient oak tree, about being held under her branches and feeling that quiet, steady comfort, about remembering softness.

This entry is about what happens when I forget.

Arthur C. Clarke once wrote, “The only way to discover the limits of the possible is to go beyond them into the impossible.”

I spent most of my adult life taking that literally. It felt like a philosophy made for people like me... ambitious, disciplined, quietly relentless. The kind of person who believes effort can outsmart limitation. I am 51 years old, and I have spent decades unapologetically venturing past my limits... decades of perfecting the art of overriding the whispers of my body... decades convinced that resilience meant endurance. That strength meant pushing. That discipline meant overriding discomfort.

I show up. I don’t quit. I push. I achieve. I keep going long after most people would stop. I do the things I “should”, because I "can"... even when my body says no.

And then sometimes… more often than not... I pay for it.

Drinking Concrete

In jest, my husband suggested the title of this blog 'The Dangers of Drinking Concrete'.

Thing is, he’s not wrong. I swallow discomfort. I harden around it. I turn pain into productivity. Symptoms into inconvenience. Warning signs into background noise. Concrete sets hard. It holds. It doesn’t bend. But, concrete cracks eventually. I’ve cracked more than once.

There is a particular kind of grief that comes when you realise that willpower is not the same as capacity. That determination does not magically expand physiology. That mindset does not override mitochondria, hormones, inflammation, nervous system load. If I just tried harder... managed better... planned more efficiently, I believed I could outwit my symptoms. And occasionally, I could.

But it always came at a cost.

The Ankle Incident

There are moments that show us ourselves more clearly than we’d like.

A few weeks ago, I badly sprained my ankle at the beach. Ironically, I had been frolicking in the surf, feeling free, alive. The ocean gives and takes in the same breath. One wrong step in the shifting sand, and I was down. It swelled. It throbbed. It screamed. The next morning, I went into the city for clinical placement anyway.

Of course I did.

I limped between consult rooms. I smiled through the pain. I elevated it in stolen moments. Told myself it wasn’t that bad. Told myself I could push through. A week later, still swollen and sore, I finally went to the emergency department. Not because I wanted to. Because I had to.

Push. Override. Pay later.

It was such a familiar pattern. The quiet negotiation with pain. The belief that endurance equals strength. The subtle refusal to acknowledge limitation. And the hardest part wasn’t the injury, it was recognising how automatic the denial had become.

And yet, I don’t tell this story with judgement. I tell it with compassion. Because this is how learning happens, not through perfect choices, but through finally seeing our patterns clearly enough to choose differently next time.

The Reckoning

During my clinical training, sitting with patients, witnessing invisible illness, holding space for complex stories... something began to shift... something in me began to soften. I could see in them what I had refused to see in myself. That complexity is real. That chronic conditions are not moral failures. That pacing is not weakness. That rest is not resignation. 

There is something profoundly confronting about recognising your own reflection in the case you’re supporting. I began to acknowledge that my cycles weren’t random. They were predictable outcomes of a nervous system that had been asked, repeatedly, for decades, to operate beyond sustainable limits.

Living in denial kept those cycles alive. Denial sounds harsh, but it often wears respectable clothing. It looks like high achievement. It looks like productivity. It looks like “coping.” But underneath, it whispers: "Don't you dare quit. Suck it up. Just drink some concrete. You're all good."

Slowly, I am starting to make peace with the fact that my body has limits. Real ones. Not imagined. Not excuses. Real ones.

And it’s okay.

When Pushing Doesn’t Work

Clarke’s words speak to innovation and expansion. In science and art, perhaps we must test edges to discover new ground. But I live in a body that does not always cooperate with the narrative. This is where motivational quotes begin to feel complicated. Because what happens when venturing into the impossible doesn’t create innovation, but triggers symptoms? What happens when bravery looks less like pushing forward, and more like stopping early enough to protect tomorrow’s energy?

I live inside that paradox. 

Chronic illness teaches a different kind of wisdom. When you live by your energy... when you count your day in invisible units... venturing “just a little past” the impossible is not visionary… it is destabilising. For someone wired like me, uncomfortable with stillness, allergic to falling behind, that distinction matters deeply. Because in my body, not listening to the whisper... pushing beyond the edge of my energy does not expand my world. It shrinks it.

I don’t just “run out of steam,” I cross an invisible line and fall into depletion, the kind that steals days, sometimes weeks. One ignored signal can spiral into many. One act of denial reinforces an old and familiar loop: push, override, pay later.

For me, the impossible isn’t doing more. It’s restraint. It’s stopping before collapse.

Redefining Strength

Part of me still believes in expansion, in discovering what’s possible. And another part knows that protecting my finite currency, means spending wisely. So how do I reconcile these two truths? The part of me that wants to reach farther, and the body that asks me to move more gently? There was a time when I thought acceptance meant giving up. 

Now I see it differently.

Acceptance is not resignation. It is collaboration. It is saying "This is the body I have. These are the conditions that exist. And this life is still worthy of care, curiosity, and possibility." Making peace with the complexity of my health has not meant giving up on growth. It has meant redefining it. Strength isn’t concrete. It bends. It adjusts. It forgives. Listening to my body doesn’t shrink my life the way I feared. It protects it. It expands it. Saying “I can’t today” isn’t defeat. It’s wisdom.

I am learning... slowly, imperfectly... that growth is stopping before collapse. It is leaving energy in the bank. It is building a life that works with my physiology, not against it. It doesn’t live in overexertion. It lives in precision. In noticing the difference between stretching and straining. Between courage and compulsion. Energy once spent on denial can be redirected toward living. Toward choosing carefully. Toward honouring the days I feel strong without punishing myself for the ones that don’t. Even if that feels impossible at first.

Because for someone who has built her identity around capability and endurance, acceptance can feel far more radical than overexertion. Now, I understand that the edge of possibility looks different for me. Perhaps my version of venturing into the impossible is not by pushing beyond my limits, but by accepting them fully.

Sometimes the impossible isn’t doing more... it’s finally giving yourself permission to do less.

Sometimes the impossible thing is trusting that rest is productive, even when nothing visible is being achieved. And perhaps that is the quiet revolution chronic illness offers: Learning that expansion doesn’t always come from doing more. 

Sometimes it comes from finally listening.

Read more "The Dangers of Drinking Concrete"

Mixed Emotions

Language warning!

Sometime in July...27th I think!

I have spent so many nights tossing and turning for several hours, so I decided to get up  (its 4.00am) and roll with the punches by acknowledging that which is doing acrobatics in my mind.  I am hoping that the process of writing it down might help to ease the anguish that has built up inside.  I am however, discovering that it is much easier said than done and I am struggling to find the words to clearly explain what I am feeling.  To say 2020 has been one that has had everyone experiencing a myriad of emotions, is a complete and total understatement.  Basically, I'm here, starring out into the abyss totally bewildered!

 

I'll be honest with ya, most of everything I'm thinking and feeling, has to do with Covid-19.  Frustratingly, it consumes/overwhelms me!  That alone, really pisses me off!  I really dislike this fear based reality I am in at the moment, it's not me!  I'm the eternal optimist, the one who believes in staying positive and in raising energy vibrations.  I do have to say though, I do not believe that 'all' of it is just me making a mountain out of a molehill.  Also, I have not lost focus of my many positives, I've just simply become a little um, rigid?!

Okay, here we go...

List of things keeping me awake!

Firstly, I am ANGRY, although pissed off is a more accurate description!  I am pissed off at the lack of compliance I've seen, read about, heard about.   Things like: 

a) people NOT social distancing!  I get its hard to not show affection when by nature we crave human to human contact,  but FFS stop the spread and stay 1.5 metres (or as far as possible) away from those you don't live with. 

I haven't seen my family since last visit as its just too hard not to give them hugs.  Same goes for my friends.  I miss them and its sad, but it is what it is, and it will pass IF people do the right thing!

b) people NOT wearing a mask -  those with medical clearance the exception!  As an asthmatic and claustrobe, I get that they suck; I feel like I'm going to faint when I wear mine.  But, I'm pretty sure a ventilator due to having contracted Covid-19 will suck more, so I wear my mask when I have to.  Basically what I'm saying is, if you don't have a valid reason just shut the fuck up and wear the damn mask!

As for those claiming the mandatory mask rule is taking away their human rights, I can't even find the words!  

Here's an idea, don't want to 'have' to wear a mask, easy fixed, just stay the fuck at home! 

c) people NOT staying at home and instead going out for more than just the four reasons; medical, food, school, work!  

Why in hell would you risk it!  Why put others at risk by 'potentially' spreading germs from place to place!

And worse, it infuriates me that people are so stupid, selfish, or both, that they don't self isolate after being tested, and instead cross suburban lines just to be arrogant c#€@s!  

Additionally, those out there carrying on about the virus not being 'real', also gets my blood boiling.  I mean, how insensitive can they be!  Especially when there are people fucking suffering and dying, from said 'fake' virus!

Secondly, I am sad for the lives lost to this horrible virus, and for those suffering.  Sad for those fighing to save others and suffering as a result. 

I'm also grieving all the missed opportunities; outings, visits with family/friends, the way things were, the simple pleasure of living life to the fullest! 

And then, the anger rises again, because if people just did what is recommended, chances are we would not be seeing, experiencing these devastating consequences.  FFS, just do what you are told!

Thirdly, I'm worried about the virus spreading further to the point of being uncontrollable.  This makes me scared for my family.  I fear them getting sick.  I fear them...I can't say it, it crossing my mind is bad enough!

My Mum is still working at Bunnings, which really stresses me out as so many customers just dont give a shit about others!  I am also feeling sad for Mum given she is by herself.  I know she is missing her grand kids and talking to them via video call just makes that feeling stronger, but as hard as it is, its for the best.  If she ends up stopping work, I might just bring forward her move into the bungalow.  Or maybe, I could just go do a carer visit. 

I'm worried/anxious about my nephew and niece, and my two boys having to go to school.  Remembering, we are both in a regional zone, so kids are technically supposed to be at school.  Personally, I think they should be doing remote learning like Metro kids!  I know its not easy, but its so worth the headache knowing the kids are safe at home!  Theres another thing that gets my goat...people who bitch and whinge about having their kids home!

A reason I believe remote learning should be in place, is because at school there is no social distancing expectations.  Is it any wonder that kids aren't following the guidelines on the weekends and instead posting pictures of themselves huddled together with arms around each other.  Just another thing that has pissed me off,  c'mon, why are parents allowing it FFS!

Monday 3rd August

It is 2.00pm and I am eagerly awaiting Dan Andrews breaking news announcement on TV.  I am hoping that "strict" stage 4 restrictions are put in place for  both Metro and Regional Victorians (or at least Shires with over a certain number of Covid-19 cases; say like 10+).

  

Okay, it is 3.00pm and Dan Andrews (The Premier) has declared Victoria 'A State of Disaster'.  

In a nutshell, other changes which will run for six weeks, until September 13, include:

*  Melbourne: 

From tonight there will be a curfew.  You must be home between 8.00 p.m. - 5.00 a.m.

Only one person from each household allowed out to shop once per day. 

 

Recreational activities are no longer allowed.  There is a one hour limit outdoors.  No more than two people allowed.

No one allowed to travel more than a five km. radius of their home.

  

*  Regional Victoria:

From Midnight, Wednesday 5th, stage three restrictions will be enforced and remote learning will commence. Aka, back to how it was in March!

* Generally:

 

No impact on supermarkets and similar.  Despite this, people have started going crazy and panic buying again.

More restriction details such as business closures will be revealed tomorrow.  Well, technically today as it is now 4.20am  on Monday 3rd.  Yup, still feeling all the 'feels' and as such, I can't sleep!

I am happy with the tougher restrictions BUT...

Personally, I think we should ALL be in lockdown, as when you give an inch, people take a mile and If people don't follow whatever is put in place, then we will continue to be screwed for longer than needed! 

Make it so we cannot leave our homes at all (emergency medical care the exception)!

Want fresh air, step out your front or back door, or open a window.  

Get the defense force to provide food/care boxes - everyone gets the same thing and that way panic buying is no longer a problem.  

As for those who get caught breaking the rules, forget a fine, lock em' up in an old warehouse somewhere...back to bread and water, bed on straw, non covid and covid all together with no medical help provided - I mean it doesn't exist right so they shouldn't care!  Concentration camp style comes to mind, which makes me ashamed of myself, but they just make me so angry!

Whilst the above may be a bit harsh (good reason I'm not Premier), I truly do believe that the tougher restrictions are the only way to eradicate this virus, and for life to get back to some kinda normal again sooner rather than later!  

Saturday 8th August

So far I've pretty much only focused on those things that make me feel not ok!  But despite these, or more to the point as well as these, there has been many moments of gratitude.

During these strange unprecedented times I am grateful for:

- Guilt free time off work to recover

- My kittens

- Time with my precious family of four.

- My husband's hilarious banter

- Social Media 

- Netflix/Stan

- Telehealth/Zoom Meetings

- Online Shopping

- Those doing the right thing

- Talented mask making friends 

- Living in regional Victoria

- Telephone calls/messages

- Medicine (both natural and pharmaceutical)

- Check in messages from friends

- Books, Crafts, shit to keep busy with LOL

The list goes on really!

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Daily Non-negotiables

Do you have a list of daily non-negotiables? You know, one or more habits that are a must to do without fail? Whilst I have quite a few things on my list, for this blog I want to focus on just one.

My number one daily non-negotiable is… make my bed! 

I find it unbelievable how even if the room itself is not neat, tidy and organised, a made bed changes the whole feel of the room. I also find that there are huge rewards in one simple task; such as, a feeling of accomplishment. Why wouldn't I be a bed making advocate when it brings about such a positive start to ones day. 

From a very early age, I taught my precious boys the importance of bed making, and now its become what I believe is a 'good habit' which takes them no more than a few minutes. 

So, perhaps they do not prop the pillows and place the throw rug 'just so', the way I like, but simply pulling up the covers so that they aren't strewn all over the room is something that makes my heart smile. 

Need more convincing? Okay, heres some more reasons why I'm an advocate of making the bed. 

Reduces anxiety, stress & tension 

Walking into a room and seeing sheets screwed up into a bunch, pillows tossed here and there, and blankets all over the floor, triggers a sense of panic. Making the bed however, reduces the look of mess and clutter, and as such eliminates the feeling of chaos. 

Sense of achievement 

By completing this one simple task, I start my day off with a sense of achievement. Who wouldn't want to start each day on a positive note. 

Produces Productivity 

With an awesome tone set for the day, it motivates one to be productive which opens the door of possibility. 

Cleanliness Godliness

I know I've shared before that my external reflects the internal. Meaning, if my surroundings are cluttered, my mind feels the same. Hence, by taking a few minutes out of my day and making the bed, it cleans the untidiness of my mind. And, it makes the room itself look much neater. 

Cosy Comfort 

And lastly, I love the feeling of pulling back the covers and crawling into a made bed.

Even when we had the single bed in our room for Mark to sleep on during recovery, both beds would get made. Truth be told, Mark would remake the bed for me each time I would get up - just another reason why I love him so. 

And just for comparison heres something that you won't see very often eeekkkk...heart rate racing just looking at it.

Versus something that to me is much more inviting, and reduces the anxiety heart rate. Even with pillows galore!

Oh, another positive about making your bed, for those counting them, is that you get up your steps!

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Half way there...

Here we are, halfway through 2020, and what a bizarre six months it has been.  When this year started, I never would have predicted the 'unprecedented' events that have occurred thus far. 

What about you?

I can't say that it has completely gone in a different direction than I thought, Covid-19 the exception ofcourse.  And on a personal level, I don't believe that its been my worst year ever, I can think of others where rock bottom was surpassed.  On a global level however, there is no denying that the number of deaths from this worldwide pandemic is extremely sad.

With this in mind and since we are at month 7 of 12, I thought it would be a great time to take a quick inventory of my yearly goals and see if there needs to be a change of direction entirely, or just some simple adjustments so to adapt better.

How would I sum up, what has happened to me in 2020, so far?

Admitted to hospital for unexpected reason!  Admitted to hospital for expected reason!  Admitted to hospital unexpectedly!  Admitted to hospital for expected reason!

Then lots of tests, and various trips back and forth to hospital!

What silver linings have I found in the midst of this years craziness?

I have had guilt free time off work/study to rest and recover.  As well as, had lots of connection time with my family.

What I've learned about myself,  others, and life in general this year?

Firstly, and I think everyone would agree, is that life, is un-freaking-predictable!  I mean, I kinda knew it was, but after this year, I really know!  Can you relate?

As for myself and others, I don't really know what to write for this one; maybe that I'm a cynic and "...believe people are motivated purely by self-interest rather than acting for honourable or unselfish reasons"(Goggle, 2020).

Oh gosh, thats not very positive hey!  It is however, real!

More seriously, something I've learnt about myself (well more confirmed) is that doing nothing (aka resting, resting, resting) makes me feel lazy; worthless and lacking purpose.  I know its only temporary, and its for the purpose of recovering, but contrary to what my mother would have you believe, I actually do not do 'doing nothing' very well.

What I'm most proud of myself for doing, being, learning or understanding this year?

Funnily enough considering what I wrote above, I think it would have to be surrendering and resting.  Yes, to the point of actually becoming quite lazy, well I feel as though I am anyway!  

In saying that, the house is still clean, kids have been getting fed each day, and bills and paperwork is up-to-date.

What word sums up your 2020 experience?

I think it would definitely have to be - RESILIENCE!  

Although I despise it when people say "oh, you're sick AGAIN"!, I must admitt that sometimes it does indeed feel like its just one 'negative' thing after the other.

But as the quote says, I also have lots of blessings to count.

2020's Goals Revisited

*First and foremost my goal is to address ALL health issues.

-Heal and recover from mastectomy so to be ready physically and mentally for revision surgery.  

-Address Gynocological issues.  

-Get lapband fixed.

*After that, its to resume study, and then look at resuming work (once Covid-19 behind us).  In regard to work I'm thinking that some changes are on the cards.  What they are, or what they look like right now, I'm not sure.

*Given that we are getting the Covid-19 payment each fortnight, which is great considering I lost my income, I'd like to put some money aside!  Saving enough to put into a term deposit would be awesome.

*Managing my pain better so that I can heavily reduce, or better still, eliminate my pain meds and detox my body.  This is especially important so that the medication will be effective after the next operation/s.

To be honest with you, it would also help me get some productivity back in my life, and make study less of a challenge.  

Lately my mind is far too consumed by the ever present thick fog which just lingers there to numb the sensory receptors of my brain so that I do not feel pain or anything else for that matter.  Even the simple task of writing this blog has taken what feels to me an eternity to compose, as the words that form within the suffocated confines of my cranium get muddled as they move to my fingers or even to my lips to be expressed in a manner which makes sense to a those which are not in the same intoxicated state of mind as mine.  

In addition, weariness encompasses every inch of my being, and I find myself lying idol for most of the hours which make the day.  My body once so strong feels frail and fatigued.  

The time in which it has taken just to write these words frustrates me to the point of wanting to throw this device across the room but I would then be alone with no outside stimulus of which this provides, and so instead I just sit here continuing to place babble upon the white space before me sighing loudly to release the heat rising within just like a fire breathing dragon.   Oh the heat, yes that glorious internal combustion which for me, at this moment, just adds salt to the already festering wound.  

But, I digress, so I pause,  contemplating whether I have expressed all that I feel needs conveying, although if truth be told, I've since forgotten the point of my writing.  Self expression I assume!

Read more "Half way there..."

Australia Day 2019

To celebrate or not to celebrate!  I have to be honest with you here for a moment, I am torn between both!  Although I am leaning more towards NOT, well not on Jan 26th anyways!

Here is my reason why NOT to celebrate!

When colonisation occurred in Australia in 1788, white dominance relegated the first inhabitants of this land to reserves and missions (Foley, 2005). Stripped from the fabric of their traditional ways, and forced to adapt to a foreign way of life, the health and wellbeing of Indigenous Australians declined in tumultuous proportions (Gracey & King, 2009). Hundreds of years later, the effects of this troubled history due to a plethora of injustices such as; segregation, displacement, dispossession and cultural destruction, is still having a devastating impact (Foley, 2005).

So, I know that we have Sorry Day on May 26th, which is all about coming together as one and taking the steps towards healing past wrongs; the atrocities experienced by the Stolen Generation.  But I don't think it is enough to heal past wounds, the deep sorrow experienced from the litany of injustices of colonisation.  

What needs to be done?  I don't know, but surely there is a way for all Australians, Indigenous and Immigrant to come together as one and celebrate the fact that we all live in this beautiful country.

I would personally love to see Indigenous culture made to be a compulsory component of every school curriculum, so that it can be preserved and respected, so that the 'real' history of this countries first inhabitants is known by all!  

I also think the Indigenous flags should be flown alongside the Australian Flag whenever it is flown.  Better yet, why not a flag that incorporates both, so that we can show the unity between us.

I would love to see more Indigeous events and community exposure that could possibly help to break the barriers of misunderstanding...not just on certain days, but everyday!  

I would also love for the inequalities and injustices to be eradicated, for there to be an even playing field for all of us!

And you know what, why can't we change the date to May 8, sounds like as good a day as any to me, hey Mate?!  I get that Australia was founded on this day by the 'white man', and if that wasn't the case then we wouldn't be here living the life that we do now.  But, if its not a day of celebration for ALL AUSTRALIANS, then why not change the date?  Why not show that we are truly sorry for the actions of those before us, and actually take the step to proving it!

Ok, so now that has been said here is my reason TO celebrate!

Whilst I am still not technically an "Aussie"(I need about $250.00 to make it happen and it WILL happen this year), my reason to celebrate isn't based upon the day Captain Cook made his discovery and turned the lives of those already here to wreck and ruin...

It is to celebrate the fact that I am proud to call this land my home!

So to end this blog post...

“I/We Acknowledge and give our heartfelt gratitude to the Ancestors, Traditional Custodians, Elders past, present, future and emerging of the many lands that make Australia - the place that I/We call home”.

REFERENCES:

Foley, W. (2005).  Tradition and change in urban indigenous food practices.  Postcolonial Studies: Culture, Politics, Economy, 8(1), 25–44.  

        https://doi.org/10.1080/13688790500134356

Gracey, M., & King, M. (2009).  Indigenous health part 1: determinants and disease patterns.  The Lancet, 374(9683), 65–75.  

       https://doi.org/10.1016/S0140-6736(09)60914-4

Read more "Australia Day 2019"

Kid Free Weekend...

Friday 25th January 2019

Today was a stay at home and try to stay as cool as possible kinda day. Whilst I love summer, I have to admitt that the top of 44 degrees was even too hot for me!

Mind you, I spoke to my Step Dad today who is out and about travelling this beautiful country of ours, and he said where he was yesterday it reached 49.5 degrees - BUUGER THAT!

After dropping the boys off at their Dads, my sweet man and I grabbed some fish 'n' chips for dinner and went down and sat on the river bank, both loving the fact that the cool change had arrived!

And the rest of the night was spent doing what parents do when the kids aren't' home...SLEEPING that is, well eventually LOL!

Read more "Kid Free Weekend..."