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    Marriage - The Lessons So Far

    Marriage - The Lessons So Far

    My first year of marriage was really fucking hard. There, I said it.


    With 2 family cancer diagnoses, the loss of my beloved nan and the devastating loss of our Son, our marriage almost didn’t make it through it’s first year.


    But it wasn’t just the shitty things that life threw our way that kept our marriage from thriving. Let me tell you, they most certainly didn’t help and they most certainly made things worse, but they’re not the only things to blame.


    It was Sep 17th 2016 at 9:30 in the morning. We stood with our bare feet in the sand at Boat Beach, Seal Rocks on the NSW mid north coast. The scene behind us as we stood hand in hand was absolutely, I mean utterly breathtaking.


    I never in my whole life, even after all my travels had EVER seen a morning, a beach, the weather or a scene so incredibly perfect.


    I was 27 weeks pregnant at the time and for those few short moments when we said our vows, it’s as if no one else existed. It was just me, my husband James and our unborn baby, Linik. For a moment, time stood completely still. I forgot where we were and who was watching. The energy that surged through my soul was absolutely electrifying, unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. A feeling that can only be described as pure magic.


    This description of this moment and this feeling is an accurate representation of how we really feel for each other, how much we truly understand and love each other and how deep our connection really is. But although our foundations are solid, this moment and this feeling was fleeting.


    I was (back then) an extremely anxious, highly strung, overly stressed, demanding, bossy, impatient, frustrated, un-empathic (to him), emotional wreck! I wish I could blame the pregnancy hormones, but truth be told, these negative attributes have been in my backpack for a pretty, ok very long time. And depending on my environment or circumstances, some or all of them would rear their ugly heads at different levels and times throughout my life. Basically, when I sense fear, feel threatened or feel unsupported, alone, neglected or misunderstood, you’ll know doubt be well acquainted with this version of me.


    Hello every relationship I've ever been in!


    I grew up truly believing that I couldn’t depend or rely on anyone. Subconsciously I believed that I was unlovable & unworthy. Every time something bad happened, I would put on another layer of armour and shut my true self out of this world just that little bit more. Dimming my light each time. Suppressing my authenticity, my femininity, my confidence and my true power.


    When I first met James, back in Nov 2014, like the start of every relationship, of course the aforementioned version of myself was no where to be seen. He peeled back all of my layers, took off all my armour and made me feel safe, secure, desired and so insanely empowered. Never had I been so vulnerable and open and never had I felt so accepted.


    We met at a popular local pub on a typical Sunday afternoon in Spring. I remember feeling like I had outgrown this pub/club scene and didn’t quite fit in anymore. What do you the young kids wear these days? Would I even get noticed? But, you gotta be in the arena to even have a chance so I took my outdated outfit and sunburnt skinned self along anyways.


    I was introduced to a friend of a friend, James. To look at, I thought, well nothing. His first impression on me went so unnoticed that he blended into the background (haha sorry babe, this confession is actually making me lol). He was heavily (based on my exposure at the time. I had one measly tattoo on my back) covered in tattoos, ripped, but kinda skinny, had a top knot (a bit hipster I thought) and wore a singlet too big that showed too much skin (told you, I was an outdated old lady). It wasn’t until we started talking that my opinion started to change.


    The more we talked, the more magnetic he became. I remember taking one last judgmental (lol) look at him from afar, from head to toe recapturing his essence, albeit uncommon (to me) style and thinking to myself “well he’s not like the guys I usually go for. He could probably do with a good feed, but for some reason I am SO attracted to this guy”..


    We talked some more and then some more. We, ok he, talked so much that I began to worry. “Does this guy even know I'm flirting with him?” “Is he even interested?”. I couldn’t take it anymore and decided that if I wanted something to happen, I was going to have to do it myself. So mid sentence, mid word, I leaned in and kissed him. That shut him up. Lol


    About 20 mins later we walked home (to his house) hand in hand. I’ll spare you the details but you all know how it goes. He swept me off my feet and I left there the next day wearing his t-shirt (the one I now wear to bed), with a bunch of kale from his garden and one of his artworks. My perfect man sent from (heaven?) out of no where at exactly the right time!!!

    The day after that, me and my toothbrush and a bag of clothes arrived on his doorstep and since that day we’ve never looked back.


    But although we’ve always looked forward, at times we haven’t been able to see very far ahead or very clearly.


    It wasn't long after we met that the cracks started to show. About a month into our relationship we had our first disagreement and I remember so clearly my energy shifting. A lot! I could feel myself get heavier as I placed (back) on my first comforting, protective layer of armour. It didn't take long at all before all those heavy bitches were back atop of my shoulders and I had closed myself off to James. The enemy. Duh.


    My baggage, my armour is too much for most to bare. Even me. This poor guy had no idea what hit him and no idea how to deal with it.


    We loved hard but we fought often.


    We fought so hard and so often (especially after losing Link) that we considered calling it quits. Things got so bad that we both couldn’t bare it any longer. Something needed to change. Desperately.


    It was me against him and him against me. But mainly me against him and actually, if I really faced what was really going on, it was really me against me. You remember my baggage? Yeah, well that kinda got in the way of things.


    You see there’s two things I hate about marriage (alright, a few).


    1. No one ever seems to talk about how shit it can be and just the thought of myself talking about it and owning up to it used to make me feel a pang of shame.

         2.  It makes you face your ego. I mean really face it. Often.


    I also hate (but secretly love and am totally grateful for) that I attracted into my life, a man that challenges me in the ways I needed to be challenged. I’m convinced that he was sent here by the universe to help me (painfully) grow. I’m convinced that his sole purpose in life (surely?) was to put a mirror up to my face and make me face my demons, my ego!!! To learn the lessons I hadn’t yet learnt. Like patience. FAAARRRRK ME, does he test my patience!!


    You know what else I hate? I hate that I love this man so fucking much that I eventually (it actually takes me a lot longer than most. My ego is one stubborn mother fucker) and much to my egos dismay, choose kindness, love and understanding over the need to be right. Seriously, I hate it. *ego eye roll. I ain’t very good at it, but slowly, through many tears from me and so much patience (ha! Funny that) and strength from him, I am learning.


    Another huge one I hate that I’ve had to learn is that I am actually a slow learner. I always thought I was a fast learner. I actually pride myself on it. Have been known to boast about it even. And in most situations, I really am. Give me a task and I’ll learn it quickly. But make me face my emotions and unlearn old habits and replace them with new ones….? No no no, that’s too foreign for this gal. We don't learn those types of things around ‘ere.


    But realising I'm a slow learner in this way is a lesson I have learnt very recently (Thank you, James). An epiphany almost. I’ve always known that one of the ways James pushes my buttons is his lack of awareness. His lack of awareness about really simple every day things, like forgetting to close doors after he JUST walked through them, or leaving his shoes at home when we go out, or not paying attention in traffic or to the time - ever! Or walking on (and ruining) wet, freshly polished floorboards, or my personal favourite, consciously deciding to transport a single, uncooked egg in his backpack, NEXT TO HIS LAPTOP whilst riding a bike (yes, it cracked, yes it went everywhere and yes it ruined the computer… OBVIOUSLY!!!)…


    All of which is completely forgivable. But give me a lil bit of reassurance that you at least have the ability to LEARN from things like this…


    But he doesn’t and he never will. It’s just who he is. An uber intelligent, deep, understanding, insightful, wise, big fuckin goof ball who was sent here, like I said, to put a mirror up to my face and make me see the things about myself that I know needs to improve. Like my patience.


    Ah huh! The very thing that irks me about him (slow learner who just happens to have an abundance of patience for me), is the very thing that I myself struggle with (slow emotional learner with zero patience for him). BOOM - Mind blown!!!! And lesson learnt.


    I have held onto this thorn in my side and resented him for being a slow learner our whole relationship. Convinced that his slow learning was a reflection of how much he loved me. Convinced that because he wasn’t prepared to change this one thing about him, that he just didn’t love me enough. I must not be good enough. I must not be worthy. Yeah, yeah that’s it.


    It’s only taken the entire first year of our marriage (almost to the day), but after so many arguments, so much loss, so much grief, so much perspective and so much soul searching, I think I've finally found the empathy he’s been desperately wishing I had for him. Because I now see myself in him. I see my flaw is his flaw. We are one in the same. How I treat him is a refection of how I treat myself. How I view him is a reflection of how I view myself.


    I guess in hindsight it was so obvious. Such an easy lesson to learn. But nonetheless I think I have finally taken off my armour. I finally accept responsibly for my baggage and have finally released him from the responsibility of loving me.


    Because that’s my job. Who'd of thought?

    GUEST BLOGGER Emma Thomson | Embracing Your Divine Feminine Power

    GUEST BLOGGER Emma Thomson | Embracing Your Divine Feminine Power

    Emma Thomson of The Empowered Mums Alliance has been teaching and inspiring women for many years. Her passion for women's mental & physical health has lead her to create programs specifically for Mothers and below, as our first guest blogger, she shares her own journey with motherhood and what it takes to reconnect to our femininity, which can so often become lost in the midst of motherhood. 


    Over to you Em.



    I was young when I gave birth to my first son. Young and naive. Really naive.

    Looking back now, I think in many ways my naivety was a blessing. I didn’t get the opportunity to read the books and do the research, to fill myself will all the knowledge we feel we need in many ways to be equipped for motherhood. To be “ready.”

    Three children and twelve years later, I now know there is no such thing as being “ready.” There’s also a HUGE difference between knowing a stack of information on raising babies, and then actually physically and emotionally doing the raising.

    My first pregnancy was quite a blur to be honest, (more on that another time). There was no baby shower celebrated or no perfect Pinterest-worthy nursery to photograph. I mean social media barely existed back in those days. You could probably say that I was far from prepared for the best thing that ever happened to me to actually happen, but He did happen just the same.

    Free from many worries about raising my first baby, (cue the naivety factor, um yes definitely an ignorance is bliss type scenario), there was one thing that I remember being extremely concerned about when it came to bringing my firstborn into the world…the state of my vagina!!!

    Maybe this is the last thing on the minds of expectant first-time mothers (although I certainly beg to differ)! Perhaps for other mummas it is fear of labour pain, or anxiety around sticking to their birth plan, or you know, perhaps the dread that they won’t actually know what to do with a little human who will be completely dependent upon you from now until forever.

    Yes, all these fears did definitely circulate in my mind in the lead up to giving birth, but nothing like my vagina fear. My main worry was most certainly for the vag.

    I mean clearly, if women have been birthing naturally from the beginning of time, I knew that the thing could stretch accordingly, BUT the question was – would it ever fully retract?
    Oh, dear lord I had so many nervous questions on the subject, and so many frightening mental images to match.

    So, I decided to ask around. When in doubt – ask questions, right?!

    I asked my doctor, my midwife and my mum. I was the first of all of my girlfriends to have a baby so unfortunately, they couldn’t help at all.
    I had no clue at the time that I was broaching such a taboo topic. I felt as if I was asking vagina questions that had never been spoken of before?! This shit was clearly off limits, secret mummy business, to which one never breathes a word of apparently!?!

    The response I got was always very sweet and very general. Kind of brushing over it. It went
    something like this: “Oh darling you will be fine. Don’t even worry about it. Don’t give it a second thought. Your body is designed for birth, and once you have that gorgeous baby in your arms it will be the last thing on your mind to be concerned about.”

    Never did I get the honest facts. Never did I get the nitty-gritty answer I was seeking. I was never told that it will swell like buggery. That it will definitely stretch a lot in order to push a small human out. And that it will forever be different. BUT it will retract, it will recover and it can even be better than it was before. On one condition…That you put some time, energy and effort into it. (Um ladies, when was the last time you thought about putting some time, energy and effort into your vagina??) …

    As a new mother, we automatically put our own needs on the back burner. And for many of us, as our children grow, this never changes. Just like most women, I too have greatly struggled with the whole “me time” thing like the best of them.

    A wise woman once said, “we teach what it is we need to learn the most,” so not long after my second son was born, I made it my mission to build a platform for my fellow mums to have access to the game-changing conversations, to be able to experience the ‘me time is the best medicine’ philosophy in the flesh, and to be empowered with the knowledge they seek to truly rebuild their own strength (be it core, pelvic floor, emotional, vaginal or otherwise) in a welcoming and nurturing environment. I am forever proud of The Empowered Mums Alliance.

    It blows my mind and saddens me greatly to learn recently that 75% of women (after having
    children) report never being able to fully let go in the bedroom due to serious amounts of body dissatisfaction and vagina shame.
    A dysfunctional sex life is reported to be a major contributor to unhappy and unhealthy
    relationships, which in turn can throw your mental and physical health way out of whack.
    I know firsthand how this feels, so rather than stress about it, I’ve decided it’s time we get together and do something about it! Which really is how I roll, and how I believe we should all roll.

    Let’s face it, motherhood is better when its shared. It really does take a village.

    My 15 seat only upcoming women’s empowerment event will cover:

    -Body after baby – Pelvic Floor Exercise and how you can rebuild your strength and confidence and finally feel connected and comfortable in your own skin.
    -Getting to know the Divine Feminine Power that is all yours for the taking – and how “she” bubbles over into all areas of your life.
    -The shame that unravels us, and how we can finally be free and love like we were born to love. Ourselves and each other.

    This intimate night of nights at the beautiful Longworth House will be incredible and if you feel called to join me, please do so. Girlfriend I can assure you, you will not be disappointed!

    Drinks, dinner, dessert, a goodie bag and one epic time are all included in your ticket price.

    To book your spot visit:

    And of course, as always…Yours in keeping it real for the ladies,

    With love,

    Em xox

    My Pregnancy After Stillbirth.

    My Pregnancy After Stillbirth.


    I can’t hold it in (my excitement or my tummy) ANY longer… James and I are SO excited to announce to the world that we’re expecting baby #2 due early Feb.


    My period was about a minute late when I decided to take a pregnancy test. Now, being late is nothing out of the ordinary given that my cycle is never on point. Some months it’s 28 days and the next it’s 35. Only this time I was curious.


    It was May 2017, 6 months after losing Link and it was the second month in a row that we had ‘tried’ for baby number 2, but I was CONVINCED that we didn’t fall. For two reasons…

    1. My husband, James and I liked each other for a sum total of 1 day during that month.

    2. I feel like I'm pretty in tune with my body and I know what’s up most of the time. Only this time, I couldn’t feel myself ovulate like I usually do. There were no physical signs and I just thought “ah well, I guess not”.


    Yet there was that little inner voice that popped into my head whilst I was sitting on the toilet that all of sudden whispered “do the test”. I peed on the stick and left the bathroom. I spent the next 15 minutes tidying the house and it was only that the bathroom was next on the list that I remembered to go back and check.


    I looked, I saw 2 red lines, I put it down. I left the bathroom and walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. I think I spent the next few minutes just moving dishes and rearranging the fruit bowl. I was in total shock.


    I walked back down the hallway and back into the bathroom. I picked up the test again and still, 2 red lines. I put it down and then picked it straight back up.


    Still!!! TWO, RED, LINES.


    I mean I'd be dishonest if I said that my first thoughts weren’t “fuck”. I don’t know why. We planned for it, I just wasn’t expecting it. We wanted this, I thought I was ready, but was I really ready?


    The reality for me was so different to the dream.


    When Link died, it really wasn’t too long after that I opened up the conversation about falling pregnant again. In fact it was Dec, Boxing Day (about 6 weeks after Link was born) we were at the beach trying to have a good day, but like most things in those early days, it felt so forced.


    I was SO desperate to plan, to know, to be reassured that it would happen again soon. Like not in 2 years time soon, as in soon, soon. I was and am impatient and I was desperate. I had waited MY WHOLE LIFE to have a baby and finally, I did, just not the way I’d hoped for. 


    In those early days I felt frantic almost, like ‘waiting until the right time’ or ‘waiting until we’re ready’ wasn’t good enough. I needed to know when it was on the cards, I couldn’t wait in limbo. I needed to know so I could adjust my expectations accordingly. I guess I needed to control it because I felt like my life was no longer in my hands and controlling things is my default fear management plan.


    Surrender? Trust? NO way! Control? Uh huh! You know?


    James and I would butt heads about it for all the months that would follow. Around the 14th of every month (Link’s anniversary) I would ovulate, on or around the full moon (the moon was full the night Link was born). So every month, the full moon energy would super charge my emotions and the pregnancy conversation would resurface. Only to be disappointed by James’s excuses as to why it wasn’t a good time. I would not only mourn the loss of my Son, but i’d mourn the loss of another opportunity to fall pregnant again and the increasing disconnection between the two of us would make me feel more and more alone.


    It was around March that James finally broke. As in, he finally faced his grief and let it allllllllllll out. He finally realised that he had been throwing himself into work to escape the chaos that had become our life. He finally accepted that he had been scared to try again, scared to move on, scared of the instability and confusion and pressure it had all created but after some time and a few really heartfelt and honest realisations, he was ready.


    But with James and I now on the same page, something in me changed. The desperation escaped me. The impatience melted away. And this new feeling, a sense of surrender, washed over me like a warm ocean breeze. I could relax, finally. I was reassured, we were finally on the same page and now it didn't really matter to me when it happened. I could finally be honest in saying “it’ll happen when it’s supposed to” and I truly believed it and I was truly ok with that.


    Fast forward 4 months and I'm now 10 weeks pregnant.


    And let me tell you, it gives me ALL, THE, FEELS. As in, literally all of them. I feel excited, nervous, happy, sad, guilty, relieved, joyful, anxious, grateful & lucky.


    When I got over the initial shock, I felt relief. So much relief. But then, there are days when I feel so much guilt. I feel guilty for moving on. I feel sad that's it’s another soul and not his. I feel sad it’s another body and not his. And sometimes my brain tricks me and I feel joy because it’s as if I am pregnant with him again, but then the reality hits me that i’m not. And then I don’t just feel guilt for moving on from him, I feel guilt towards this new little babe who I am yet to create space for. ‘Fuck’ I think… ‘Am I capable of creating space for them, or will I forever wish it was Link’.


    It was the day before I gave birth to Link, the day after we found out he had died and my girlfriends came over to be with me. I remember being strong, not really letting go in front of them. I don’t know why, I guess I’d cried so god damn much up until that point, I was having a breather.


    I remember saying to them “how am I ever going to have another baby. I don't want another baby. I won't ever be able to love another baby. Link was it, I love him, I want him”. I couldn’t hold back the tears.


    For all the fear that I feel, there’s also a level of calm that I haven't felt before. A level of trust I didn't have last time. A level of understanding that I gained through this experience and also, a perspective and sense of gratitude that James and I don’t have to struggle through IVF, other major health concerns or some of the other pregnancy related battles that so many families have to face. We fell quickly and without struggle both times and for that, we feel so so lucky.


    So, although it might be different this time around and although at times I may have to adjust and although at times I feel nervous or scared, for the most part I feel excited and I have unwavering faith. Faith in my body, faith in the process, faith in the universe & the outcome.


    I hold onto the feeling that I had when I saw Link for the first time. That intoxicating bond that binds you for life. That all encompassing rush of the pure LOVE that envelopes you in that moment and I realise that that love is in my heart and I have more of it to share. Because although that moment, this experience, the bond between Link and I is undeniably unique and special, all of my love is not just reserved for him. It’s possible for me to love again, with my whole heart, all in.


    I do have more love to give and I can’t wait.


    To follow my pregnancy journey, sign up to the newsletter or follow @link_and_luna on Insta. Please feel free to leave a comment or connect via the form below.


    Laura Xx

    The Truth About Mental Illness

    The Truth About Mental Illness

    I know what you’re thinking… Another blog about anxiety… “12 Steps to blah blah”. *eye roll*.


    Well, it is another blog about anxiety, but I can’t give you 12 Steps to anything. Because when you’re in the midst of a paralysing anxiety attack (that could last an hour or 5 days), your ability to remember even 1 step to anything, let alone 12 steps to something, flies straight out the bloody window.


    For the longest time (actually since I was about 10 years old), I have suffered from some form of mental illness. Depression, anxiety, paranoia, you name it. All ranging from mild to chronic, depending on my environment (and often the abuse I've experienced), my relationships and in more recent years, my job and my lifestyle.


    Depression has definitely hit me the hardest and most often throughout the years and my rock bottom was nothing short of brutal. Not just for me, but for my friends and family, who like anyone standing on the sidelines, felt helpless.


    I was 16 years old and I wanted to die. I wanted to die more than anything else in the world and I was completely ok with it. I couldn't remember the last time I felt safe, secure, or loved, let alone confident or happy. Or even normal. This was my life.


    I had no idea what depression was but I just knew I couldn't take another day on this earth if it meant living in this deep, heavy, lonely darkness that had become me.


    I was about 2 months into term 1, in Year 11, when I decided to quit school. I told my teachers and my friends and my family, that I was quitting so I that I could attend TAFE and eventually travel the world, but I was really planning on killing myself and I didn’t want to be placed at the centre of attention within my school after I did.


    I didn’t want pity. I just wanted to go out in peace, without anyone noticing. My friends & family, had no idea.


    Leaving school was the first phase of my very calculated plan. Next was to figure out how.


    For about 3 weeks I started stocking up on painkillers, pills, medications, anything I could get my hands on. I’d make special trips to different pharmacies and bought anything over the counter that warned drowsiness on the label. I stock piled as much as I could and hid them in my bedroom. And then I waited.


    I can’t remember the date, but it was a Saturday night. I was home alone, like usual and as the night got darker, I got lonelier.


    I filled two, 1 litre bottles of water and took them to my bedroom, where I overdosed on nearly 300 different pills. Of all shapes, sizes, colours and consequences. Handful after handful, through my tears, eventually, I passed out.


    I woke a few days later (I think), in hospital and the first thing I thought of was “FUCK! It didn’t work and now everyone knows!”. I wanted the world to swallow me whole. You cannot even begin to imagine the embarrassment, the shame, the exposure!


    In the years since, I have searched high and low for myself. For my self worth, for love, for answers, for perspective, for purpose. I have never come that close to darkness since, but it definitely hasn’t been easy. Especially lately. I mean, if I'm being honest, losing Link has seen me dancing around the idea a few times, but then again, my baby died, so can you blame me?


    Over the years, overwhelmingly, my main challenge has been to overcome depression. To overcome the demons of my past and detach myself from the meaning of the traumatic and stressful experiences in my life.


    But more recently, the insidious, manipulative and all encompassing anxiety, has reared her ugly head. And let me tell you, she’s fucking scary.


    When you lose the ability to breathe in, breathe out or swallow properly, not getting out of bed for the day seems like small fry.


    When I fell pregnant with Link, my anxiety levels went through the roof! I wanted desperately for my baby to be ok (yet nothing had happened to suggest that he wouldn’t be) and I felt so protective and responsible for his safety that I just stressed out over every little thing. I stressed about what I ate, I stressed about how much I couldn't exercise, I stressed about driving, I stressed about work, I stressed about stress!


    More recently when I started my business, the anxiety became so bad that I became paralysed. I had so many things on my to do list, yet the only thing I could muster was an 8 episode binge of Suits.


    I couldn't face my marriage, I wanted to give up on my business before it even began and I couldn’t deal with my life. I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on.


    WHY is my body responding like i’m about to be eaten by a fucking tiger? And what the HELL can I do to stop it!?


    With the help of a good friend, Emma, we unpacked my paralysis and discovered that it all came down to this.


    I am fucking resilient.


    I have learnt to adapt and evolve in the face of many challenges. My mental fortitude is solid AF from the years and years and yeeeaaarrrrrs of practice. My tests and lessons have taken on many different forms and here I am, still standing.


    But never before had I been struck so physically by mental illness. Just let that sink in.


    What I'm trying to say is, somewhere deep down in my subconscious, I still believe those old stories. I still don’t quite believe that I am enough. That I'm worthy, that I am loveable and I that I deserve happiness or success.


    Of course consciously & rationally I do and I worked my fucking arse off to get to that point, but deep, I mean reeeeeal deep, in the deepest fibres of my being, it’s imbedded. And I believe, like Emma helped me uncover, that the physical manifestation of anxiety is my stupid ego’s last ditched attempt to bring me down.


    You know why?


    Because the ego HATES change!


    My ego didn’t want to let go of the comfort it finds in an easy and predictable life. My ego didn't want to let go of my old stories. Those old stories that have helped me survive this life. 


    It sees me on the brink of a change so huge, a transformation so epic and it wants to hold me back, because it’s job is to protect me from harm and itself from change.


    So there I was, having an outer physiological response to an inner mental turmoil.


    It definitely hasn't been as bad since, or lasted as long, but still to this day (I mean, literally right now as I write this blog) it hits me out of nowhere and I forget everything i’ve learnt and all that seems to matter is trying to breathe deep enough for air to actually enter my lungs.


    Am I fearful of being vulnerable & exposed by the word vomit I'm sharing with strangers on the internet? Ah huh!


    Am I comparing myself to all the other successful biz mums on Insta? Yup.


    Is social media making it worse? You betcha.


    Am I crumbling under pressure because I’ve taken too much on board? Highly likely.


    Am I worried about the dishes not being done because the expectations I put on myself I somehow think my husband does too, yet all he cares about is whether or not I've had a peaceful day? I’m fucking crazy, but yes!


    But for all my craziness, there’s one thing that i’m sure of and that is this; that my anxiety is my compass. My fear response is there for a reason and it’s because something is just not right. Something is yet to be uncovered, or there’s a truth that is yet to be spoken.


    Maybe I haven't quite mastered self love yet, but I can almost guarantee that when I do, me and anxiety, will no longer be friends.


    If you’re in the Newcastle area and would like to attend a workshop on mental health, please join me as a fellow student, at The Love Me Mission’s, An Evening with Em.


    This event will see Emma (my aforementioned saviour), lead a two-hour workshop where together we can shine a light on what for many is crippling darkness, and most importantly; so that together we can contribute to the solution.

    Three of the key topics explored during this workshop include:

    1. What it means to be truly "resilient".

    2. How to "De-Stress" simplified.

    3. Why human connection is at the heart of all healing.


    Date: Thursday 22nd June, 2017

    Where: The Ballroom, upstairs at Longworth House (129 Scott Street, Newcastle).

    Time: Doors open at 5:30pm with drinks being served for a 6pm start.

    Included with your workshop ticket: Champagne / wine, canapes and antipasto.

    Investment: $70.00.


    Get your tickets HERE.


    All proceeds go towards The Love Me Mission in-school programs. The purchase of your ticket assists young people in our community to gain access to invaluable empowerment and well-being education.


    Laura Xx