What is the dress code? (For an over 40, mother of 2 adult children, who doesn’t want to look like a cat loving spinster or a 17 year old pop singer?)

Cameron Diaz and I are the same age!

Random I know but it will make sense soon.

I want you to picture her and what she wears as a 43 year old woman.

I would describe her style as casual chic.

Jeans, a white shirt or a cute dress. Some nice ballet flats or a heeled boot.

Easy right?

Disclaimer – I am not delusional; although we are the same age we look absolutely nothing alike, except maybe the blonde hair.

**Cameron on the left (just in case!)

Here is my dilemma.

As the mother of 2 daughters in their late teens/early twenties,

“What do I wear?”

I don’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb but I don’t want to look like I’m ready for the bowls club either.

Apart from being too young for this look, I can never keep white clothes clean.

When the girls and I go shopping we sometimes find that we  like the same clothes.

But who gets precedence?

Who gets to keep the item we both like?

I’ve figured out the way it works in our house.  

They tell me it looks good on me so I buy it and then I never see it because they “borrow” it for 3 years.

They’ve been bloody playing me!

I was so happy for them to tell me I looked fashionable that I didn’t even care.

I was so desperate for compliments from the young and trendy (does anyone say trendy anymore) that I let them convince me  I looked good in clothes just so they could steal them.

To their credit they will also let me know when I look completely hideous and shouldn’t be allowed out of the house.

I recently tried on a top which I thought looked O.K. Didn’t love it but thought I’d see how it looked on.

The top sat a little weird around the bust area but put it down to the old bra I was wearing.

You know the one.  

It’s the bra you can wear when you really want to be in your pyjamas but visitors pop in at the last minute so you feel the need to have a bra and lipstick on.

It doesn’t do any heavy lifting, it just meets a social rule.

As I emerged from the change room my suspicions were confirmed with comments like,

“Oh hey,  great art smock Lisa.”

“Nice mono-boob Lisa.”

Luckily these comments were from the girls and not random strangers.

Top was taken off  and never spoken of again.

I still have the bra though! It’s just too comfortable to get rid of.

I often pray to Cameron (she has become my spiritual guide even though she is still very much alive and has no idea) for advice on choosing clothes.

Can I still show cleavage? And if so how much?

I figure a glimpse of belly button makes it too much.

My legs are good so can I just wear short skirts all the time?  How short is too short?

I do know that if hair removal is required then the skirt is too short.  Der!

Is it still ok to wear my top off the shoulder with my bra strap (good bra) showing? Or will I look like a flashdance tragic?

I can remove my bra without taking my top off. Thanks lady from Flashdance. #lifeskills

Off the shoulder is so in right now, but am I too old?

Or is the fact that I have shoulders like a male triathlete a turn off?

As seen in photo above, I’ve given it a whirl and I bloody love it. I have had pyjamas made “off the shoulder” to maximise on this flattering style.

I tried on a pair of jeans recently and I thought to myself;

“These jeans are so comfortable, I could sit for hours in them without them cutting into my waist”.

What the actual fuck!

Am I 70?

When was the last time I sat for hours?

As I looked at myself in the changeroom mirror I was equal parts shocked and surprised.

These jeans had magical powers but it was an evil form of black magic.

They had taken my arse and magically repositioned it behind my knees.

I am fully aware that I am not blessed with a Kimmy K style backside but I have enough roundness to distinguish my arse from my hamstrings and lower back.

Not in these jeans.

Comfortable denim is a trap to be avoided at all costs.

It will lull you into a false sense of security. You will imagine that this comfort makes you look relaxed and easygoing.

It doesn’t.

It makes you look arse-less and frumpy.

The stretch in the denim will change the shape of the garment within the first ten minutes of wearing it and your body shape will disappear along with it.

I once, unknowingly, made the massive error of wearing junners (jeans & runners).

When the girls saw me, thankfully according to them, before I left the house, they said “No Deal”.

Hanging a boob out and leaving the house would’ve received less of a reaction than wearing Junners.

Why are a pair of straight leg, dark denim jeans paired with some Asics not the same as a pair of 3/4 skinny jeans with a 1950’s inspired white sneaker?

Is this not technically junners?

Who makes the rules and how do I find out about them?

For now I will trust my own instincts and wear what I feel reasonably attractive in and I will be on the lookout for a sign from Cameron.

But trust me if I could, I would still be rocking the shit out of a mid drift top and a pencil skirt.

Lisa XX

For those playing along at home-

Skunners – skirt and runners   Lunners – leggings and runners

Drunners – dress and runners  Shunners – shorts and runners

 

Strap yourself in…….

Shopping a couple of weeks ago I came across a dress I loved instantly.

It was midnight blue (fitting in perfectly with my grey, black, blue palette).

It had a V-ish neck line (a must for the bigger busted women amongst us, according to my daughter).

It had beautiful lace sleeves. Slightly see through but enough to disguise any bingo wing action.

And best of all it had some delicate sparkles. Gorgeous little beads hand sewn onto the dress.

LOVE.

The only feature of the dress that gave me reason for concern was the low back. It didn’t look too low and I convinced myself I could wear a low backed bra with it.

Why is this a worry you ask?

If, like me, you have been blessed (cursed) with big (sagging over time) boobs then you will know that the thought of going braless is enough to cause severe hives and heart palpitations.

There are so few options for the bigger busted, apart from always choose an outfit you can wear a bra with. See, I know this and yet I still allowed myself to part with my hard earned cash (actually won on the pokies, at the casino during a girl’s weekend away) and leave the store with the dress.

Now, I am a believer in patterns and lessons.

Life throws experiences and challenges at us until we learn the lesson that was intended for this particular situation. If there is a pattern of behavior (usually negative) that emerges, it is a great opportunity to sit back and reflect on what might need addressing in your life. Some people see these patterns after a couple of failed relationships,  choosing toxic friends or through addiction.

Not me. My lesson is all around the fact that my boobs need to be secured by something other than tape!

Allow me to talk you through it.

It was 1996. My husband and I had a formal event to attend and I needed an outfit. My lovely sister in law offered to lend me a top that I had admired on her many times. I was about 8 months post baby and I was so happy that it actually fit, I was wearing it no matter what. I decided to team this top with a full length ball skirt (now known as a maxi skirt).

90s-dress
The above picture shows the cut of the top I was to borrow.

During my days of being at home with a young baby I had started watching a lady called Oprah. You may have heard of her. Inspirational!

For all the hundreds of segments Oprah had on her show over many, many years, I remembered the segment on how to strap your boobs down using tape if it was required. The stylist was demonstrating how to get that “I’m wearing a bra” look, if you couldn’t actually wear a bra. It was imprinted on my memory. I didn’t actually remember what tape she had used but……….all tape’s the same right?

Wrong!

Can I just mention here that I get a rash from leaving a band aid on too long.

On the day of the event I was getting ready to strap my boobs down and look glamorous. I couldn’t find any tape in the house. None. No strapping tape from my footballer husband, no masking tape, only a thin sticky tape left over from present wrapping at Christmas. Hollywood tape wasn’t even a thing in 1996.

I headed to the laundry because everything ends up in the laundry. I was in luck, silver duct tape. I knew it was strong because I had seen people fix things with it, perfect for holding my boobs in place all night.

duct-tape

Let me just say that I taped the absolute shit out of my boobs. Those suckers were not moving. I would even be able to dance with abandon.

I was dressed, made-up and ready to leave the house, taking all the compliments being showered upon me by my gorgeous husband. On the way to the function I ask “Is it hot in here?” Husband says it’s not but turns the aircon on for me anyway.

Feeling warmer still as we arrive at the venue.

Seated, chatting, entrée served, drinking water like I’ve just made it out of the desert. Temperature rising, sweat forming, starting to feel a slight itch on my chest. Ignoring all signs, I keep chatting. It gets too much and I head for the bathroom. Oh god!

The rash has come out of my top and is making its way up my neck. I lift my arm and it’s under there too. I head into a cubicle to get a better look. Taking off the top I see that the rash is now heading down my stomach. I panic. I start to remove the tape, but it is really strong and is taking skin along with it. It’s burning.

I head out of the cubicle and I am in a full panic now. I have my top off, I am bent over the basin and have the cold water running while I splash it over my chest. Women are walking in to use the bathroom and they look scared. One woman bravely approaches me and asks if she can help.

I pant, “Table 31, get Scott, NOW!” I am deranged.

Skipping a few (many) humiliating details, I can tell you we ended up in emergency with me being given an antihistamine injection and some help removing the tape. Who knew olive oil would come in so handy? I had a rash for about a week and the skin was sensitive for months.

So where is the pattern?

Fast forward to 2016, yep, that’s this year. Remember the low backed, blue number from earlier?

Well I decided to tape my boobs down because a low backed bra was not an option. Had I learnt anything from my previous taping experience? Of course. I used a hypo-allergenic tape that I had leftover from strapping my ankles for a walk I did.

tapebra
This is what it should’ve looked like….

So different to duct tape right? Well, yes it is different in that it’s not as strong. I used approximately 6.5 meters of tape to create a mono-boob. There was no breast definition at all and my boobs looked like badly made pork buns.

pork-buns
Boobs that look like this!

There was no dancing and the tape started to peel throughout the night. Pleased to report that I did make it through the entire function. I had some mild itching towards the end but no injections needed.

Lessons learnt……

  • your boobs are not perky enough to go braless or to tape them down
  • you are allergic to most tapes and using them will lead to pain
  • cover your nipples, that skin is delicate and hurts like a MOFO when being ripped off
  • choose outfits/dresses that allow for a bra to be worn
  • JUST WEAR A BLOODY BRA!

 

big-bra
Will this fit under a dress??

 

 

So life will send you lessons you just need to be willing to see the pattern and address the behavior. I am confident (today) that I will never tape my boobs again but if they invent a really strong, hypo-allergenic tape, I can’t be responsible for my behavior.

Lisa X

 

Images courtesy of –

http://www.affairlingerie.com/

http://www.palacechinese.com.au/?action=YumChaGallery

http://alldaychic.com/ways-to-tape-your-breasts-for-a-strapless-look/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/andrew-stengel/criminal

https://www.buzzfeed.com/leonoraepstein/things-90s-girls-wore-to-prom

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mirror, Mirror on the wall…..

I’ve recently starting doing Pilates.

It’s in a cute little boutique studio with a lovely vibe and really encouraging instructors.

My relaxation and switching off from the world starts as soon as I walk in the door. I love the smell, the lighting and the whole vibe the place puts out. The green colour scheme is so calming and god know we all need a bit of calm in our busy lives.

I have splurged and invested in a new sports bra. One that doesn’t feel like I’m wearing a 1920’s corset. I’ve done a bit of running in the past and these boobs of mine needed to be strapped down!  It’s also a bit different getting used to wearing no shoes. I love having bare feet so I think we will get along well.

The class starts with stretching and get this, while laying down.

Any activity that allows me to lay down, encourages deep breathing and helps me stretch away the day is for me.

After 4 or 5 sessions I felt less sore and more strong. I’m not in the class to get skinny, although if it happens by accident I will be ok with it, I am in the class to feel strong. I need to build some muscle to stop my bingo wings and bum both reaching much lower levels on my body than they should.

I’m learning to find my spine’s neutral position, how to isolate my upper and lower abs. This requires me actually finding my abs. Luckily for me you don’t need to be able to see the abs to isolate them.

So as you can probably tell I’m really enjoying Pilates and feel stronger for it.

Here is my one issue.

Mirrors.

The whole wall of the studio is covered in mirrors. As someone who avoids mirrors unless absolutely necessary, it’s like torture for me.

I have this thing in my head where I can see myself doing the moves and I look bloody good. I’m graceful, fluid and elegant.

pilates-reformer-classes
This is how I look in my head!

The mirrors ruin this picture for me and I become sweaty, clunky and a bit uncoordinated.

cfe7352a7d8cbc0d9f901c370d928551.jpg
Reality….

I have the same issue with mirrors in nightclubs or anywhere I like to dance. Again my mind’s picture is much more flattering to me than that mirrored reality and quite frankly I like my delusional head space.

So I will keep going to Pilates despite the mirrors and I will need to muster a new level of self acceptance –

  • My boobs get in the way of some of the arm exercises
  • I have some back fat
  • My stomach is flat when I lie down or stand up really straight and no where in between
  • My legs are skinny and I sometimes look like a lolly pop

The positives, (there are always positives)-

  • I’m still smiling at the end of class
  • I haven’t fallen down the stairs when my legs are shaking after class
  • I’ve met some lovely people
  • My daughter is doing this with me (I’m also competing with her in my head and I sometimes do heavier springs just to have a little victory)

See you when I have Michelle Obama arms!

Lisa X

 

 

 

 

The hidden stories

Last night I took my Mum out for her delayed Mother’s day gift.

We went and saw a show by an Australian performer named Todd McKenny (google him, he is fantastic). He was performing the songs of the legendary Peter Allen.

Peter Allen had always been a favourite of my mum’s. We grew up listening to his albums. We knew on cleaning day that we would put it on, loud, while we cleaned the entire house. Mum would dance with the vacuum cleaner and sing at the top of her lungs.

As the cleaning came to an end we would all meet in the lounge room to belt out, “I still call Australia home”, as the house sparkled around us.

Mum had met Peter Allen when he was touring Australia and he stayed in a motel that she and dad were managing in Tasmania. She saw his concert numerous times and says he was a lovely man. It’s her dinner party story.

I decided to get tickets for mum because I knew she would love it and I though it would be  a bit of fun.

What I didn’t know at the time of purchase was that this night out would prove to be an enlightening evening for me.

I had a profound moment of seeing my mother as a woman, a young mother and someone who, just maybe had things in her life that still haunted her.

I picked mum up early in the afternoon and we made our way into the city. We walked the alley ways and window shopped around the city. No time limits or deadlines. Just walking and chatting. Luxury in our busy lives.

We had an early dinner at the casino where the show was being held. Mum felt a bit naughty having a drink in the bar and then having a flutter of the pokie machines. All before 6pm!

The show began and Todd was really entertaining. At times I forgot that he was not in fact Peter Allen. We were having a wonderful time and mum was singing up a storm.

The first half was coming to a close, when the house lights dropped and a slow song started. I didn’t know what the song was at first, but mum did.

I heard a sound that I’ve never heard before. It was low pitched . It seemed to escape her without her even noticing.

It sounded a little like pain.

As I watched out the corner of my eye I saw her wipe away a tear.

She looked far away and not aware of me beside her.

Although I was sitting next to my sixty something mother, I saw a young women who was remembering experiences that made her sad and had caused her pain at some stage in her life.

The song was released in 1976.

My mum would’ve been a young mother, with a three and four year old. Living the nomadic life of a navy wife, with a husband who was absent for long periods of time.

I connect with her fear, her uncertainty, her struggle to be strong when, maybe she didn’t want to. I connect because I have experienced this too.

I imagine the hopes and dreams she may have had for herself but had never seen them come to fruition.

What did she want to be when she grew up?

How did she imagine her life being when she got older?

I don’t know because I’ve never asked. I’ve spoken about it with my girlfriends, co-workers and strangers. But I’ve never asked my mum.

I realised in that moment that I, like my children, had assumed that my mum’s life began with motherhood.

She became a mum and all that had happened before no longer existed.

Her heartbreaks no longer hurt, her dreams no longer mattered and her image of herself needed to change. How self centred we children are.

My mum is not one to dwell on regrets and her glass is always half full, but don’t we all have those moments? Those sliding door situations, that make us wonder, what if?

I have always respected my mum, the wonderful job she did raising us and the adoring Nana she is. Now I truly connect with her woman to woman.

We have outgrown the parent/child relationship and we are now two women who have similar life experiences and we say connected because we want to.

I never asked her what was it about the song that hit a nerve, because that’s her story. If she wants to share I’m ready to listen. I took her hand and squeezed it. I’m here.

The song ended, she took a deep breath, turned to me and smiled.

I felt honoured to receive that smile, because on some level it was like she was putting her memories away and focussing on her reality. She didn’t look disappointed that her reality was me.

See below if you would like to have a listen to a beautiful song.

Lisa X

Hello. Is it me you’re looking for?

This eternal question, asked by Lionel Richie, perfectly sums me up right now.

The thing that makes this question a hard one, is that I’m not asking someone else, I’m asking me.

Who am I looking for?

Which me, is more me, than the others?

I am merely a woman of a certain age trying to re-define herself now that the role of mother, which she was really good at, is evolving into the role of life coach or mentor.

I’ve got to admit that in this role, I feel as I did when I was a young 24 year old, mothering 2 toddlers….slightly fraudulent.

How on earth am I giving advice and bestowing my wisdom, when I haven’t got my shit sorted yet?

I haven’t figured out what it is I want to be when I grow up yet. I’ve had 3 careers so far and I can’t rule out a few more to come.

So much time and thought went in to keeping myself busy, learning new skills, connecting with friends and preparing for the nest emptying, that I didn’t think about who I would become when I had the chance to be anything I wanted.

So I find myself sitting here pondering how to transition into the next version of me.

The me who has spare time, is not as essential in the day to day of the lives of others and someone who is not sure that she is really happy about it, yet.

In my minds eye I still picture me as that young woman with a spring in her step and the world laid out before her.

Images switch from me in a long maxi skirt with flowing hair (my hair has never grown past my shoulders), to me in a business suit walking down the street with a leather briefcase, or now it would be a large Mimco satchel I suppose. Then I am in my active wear running and looking like I enjoy it (definitely a day dream).

I picture me as a young woman in a new relationship, getting engaged and then marrying the man of her dreams. Seeing her grow in her role as wife and mother.

I then see the mother I loved being, with 2 freshly bathed girls cuddled in her lap for a story or a mother laughing with her 2 teenage daughters and sharing stories about their day.

I am all of these women.

I have loved being all of these women.

I continue to be these women and I welcome the ones that will emerge.

They have all played a part in me being the woman I am today and the one I will be tomorrow.

I know change is an organic process and the changes will come as I figure out where this new life  is taking me.

I am learning to re-navigate my relationships with my girls and with my husband.

There are new boundaries developing with my girls as they get older and build their own lives, I need to respect them. I am learning to limit my questions regarding all things menstrual and sexual. I have to trust in the bond we share and know that they will come to me if they need me.

My husband and I are learning to be alone again. This too takes practice and a need to consciously make more effort. There are no longer 2 other people there to fill silences or to distract from conversations you might be avoiding.

I also need to insist more that my boundaries are respected in return. I will not feel guilty about not being available to everyone at all times. I have earned my extra hours a week to spend on things that bring me joy.

This next phase and the process I am going through, both excites and terrifies me in equal measure.

Lisa (all 17 versions) XX

 

 

 

 

International Women’s Day

Today I take a moment to celebrate all of the amazing women in my life.

I am lucky to have been raised by one, am honored to be raising two and I am surrounded by so many.

These women have filled my life with the moments that have made me cry, made me laugh until I leaked a little, and have made me proud to be a member of the sisterhood.

I am inspired daily with what women go though, rise above and do for others, often supressing their own needs to offer support to someone else.

I have witnessed silent acts of kindness. Those little notes, a meal cooked or that smile with a knowing nod, that lets you know you’re not alone.

The women in my life have supported me through;

  • my childhood
  • bad spiral perms and blue eyeliner
  • broken hearts
  • fluro clothing
  • sex, vagina, boob situations!
  • new jobs
  • engagement, marriage, childbirth
  • meltdowns (many  meltdowns)
  • career, sporting, life achievments
  • parenting – babies, toddlers and adults
  • my ever evolving marriage
  • turning 30 and 40
  • re-learning me as my nest empties

And everything else life has thrown at me. They’ve laughed, cried and danced with a hairbrush in the mirror with me.

I say today and everyday, thankyou.

Be a women that knows how hard it is to look as if you’ve got your shit together and congratulate those who manage to do it on any give day.

Be a women who supports other women.

Be a women who raises supportive women.

Lisa X

 

 

 

Make it all count

Donna Penny has written a book called “Why my mummy?” to explain to her son Kai about her terminal cancer. There was no resource available in bookshops.

I implore you to google her, read her story, let yourself feel and then donate to the crowd fund that has been set up to have this book printed.

I am in awe of people who are able to channel their energy and limited time into something that will not only benefit their children or family, but leave a lasting resource to help many others.

Donna, your story made me smile, bawl like a baby and encouraged me to to live more, make more memories and shout about how much I love those closest to me from the rooftops. I thank you of the important reminder.

It got me thinking. What advice, message or wisdom would I want to share with my girls?

I’m so blessed to have seen them grow into amazing young women. Strong, determined, funny, genetically mystifyingly gorgeous, kind, empathetic, stubborn, hardworking and smart young women.

To say I’m proud is an understatement.

I also probably pass on way too much information for their liking as it is but, there’s more.

Your happiness is your responsibility. Don’t let anyone else control it. Others can share or add to it but you get the final say.

Your body is the vehicle that will get you to all the places you need to go in life. Take care of it, fuel it, respect it and make sure others do too.

Dance, sing and be silly. Laugh until you cry and your stomach hurts. It feels so good to let go.

You only get one vagina so take care of it. If you are ignoring it, so should everyone else!

Be a good friend. Keeps someone’s secret and trust someone enough to tell them yours.

Spend money on good bras and undies. Trust me as gravity takes it’s toll you’ll be glad you did!

If you choose to get married, marry someone who makes you laugh and challenges you mentally. Oh, you should really, really love them and tell them everyday.

If you choose to have children, give yourself to the experience and never regret a moment. You get one chance to raise your babies, kiss their toes, smell their hair and fall asleep with them.

Learn to cook at least one great meal. More importantly make your house a place that is welcoming and full of laughter. If you can’t cook serve lots of wine so no one notices.

Learn to budget.

The rule to dressing is boobs or legs. Choose one to expose, but never both.

Over the years I have given much advice, in many forms. Dance, song poetry and not to scale diagrams. But I know that it would never be enough. I would be angry, I would feel cheated and I would be so sad at the thought of not seeing my children become their adult selves.

To wonder have I done enough, did I make enough memories, did my kids know who I was?

For the women who have faced this battle with such grace, dignity and class, I am in awe of you and I will honour your memory by remembering you and the example you have set.

I will be forever grateful and I will keep you in my heart and thoughts. You have inspired me to be more present and to live in the moments I am creating with my family.

Please donate to Donna Penny’s crowd fund, or find a women’s charity that strikes a chord with you. Donate your time at your children’s school or volunteer at a local hospital.

Be more present and be grateful for every moment we are privileged to experience.

Lisa X

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The value of not being busy.

I was lucky enough last week to travel overseas with my husband while he worked.

My daily routine played out like that of a biggest loser contestant.

I woke, ate breakfast, worked out, showered, rested, ate, swam, had a nap then let the afternoon stretch out to dinner.

Of course the contestants on the show probably don’t pepper their day with G&T’s or restaurant food, but you get the idea.

My routine was deliciously devoid of responsibility, thinking about others and being haunted from day break by that question……”What’s for dinner?”

I don’t know about you but that question has me close to losing mind every time it’s asked. How the hell do I know? It’s 7am, eat your frigging toast and be quiet. OK…. and breathe.

I must admit that it took me the first 2 days to lose the guilt.

The guilt of the busy.

The guilt of not filling every moment of the day doing things predominately for other people.

The guilt of associating relaxing and re-energising with being lazy.

Reminding myself that it was ok to sit and breath. Letting the thoughts just pass on by and not having to focus on one in particular.

To blink and realise that you just spent 10 minutes staring at a flower and you have no recollection of the time or thoughts that passed through your mind.

Have you ever had to ask yourself the question, “What do I like to do?”

It was equal parts liberating and terrifying. I caught myself narrating my actions and  judging myself on the usefulness and productivity level of what I was choosing to do.

The key to me relaxing I have discovered is to shut sown the negative mental voice. That voice that judges, makes you doubt and tells you that what you’re doing isn’t good enough.

Take that voice and tell it to shut the f*&k up!

Once that voice was drowned out with positive affirmations, mediation chants and gratitude my holiday improved dramatically.

By positive affirmations I mean-

“Yes Lisa have that beer while you sit near the pool. It’s really hot and you will sweat it out anyway.”

“You deserve another massage”.

“You will never see these people again so don’t worry about the strays on your bikini line.”

My mediation chant ran along the lines of-

“I am a calm and spiritual being. I am relaxed and content.”

This chant was closely followed by,

“A mango daiquiri is 80% fruit, fruit is good for you, you are healthy.”

Gratitude became easier as I sat near the pool, sipping my beverage of choice-

“I am grateful that those noisy kids are not mine.”

“I am grateful for the time I have alone to order my thoughts, breath deeply and reflect.”

“I am grateful for the secret lining in my bathers that keeps all my lady business in position and looking sleek.”

By about 3pm in the afternoon a gorgeous man would join me at the pool and buy me a drink. He was lovely. We would talk, laugh and share details of our day. He asked me every night to have dinner with him. I accepted of course.

How lucky was I? Time to ponder life, a daily workout and the attention of a gorgeous man. Life is good.

 

I am back at work now, back to reality but my holiday has done me wonders. I am more aware of where I am spending my energy. Choices will be made that won’t make everyone happy but they will be right for me.

The negative internal dialogue is still being shut down and over ridden with kind, positive and encouraging thoughts.

The one thing that still manages to make me flip my shit is the dinner question at breakfast! But I’m working on it.

Lisa X

I’m not the middle man

I  find myself becoming the “middle man” in other people’s issues. A situation has developed and I find myself conflicted. I see both sides, I agree with some of what each person says, I also disagree with a lot too. I have been very honest in my dealings with both parties, but it’s hard.

This type of scenario has  happened a lot in the past. I believe that patterns of behaviour continue to happen until we decide to change them. This current situation has arisen because it’s time for me to step away. I need to distance myself for my own protection but also for the growth and change of those involved.

I’m a solver and a fixer. I like to fix things, keep them neat,wrap them up and re-set the balance. Life is throwing me lots of challenges at the moment to encourage me to let people fix things for themselves.

As my kids get older I’m learning to back off and let them set the course of their own lives. Now I need to learn to do it in a wider sense with friends and other family.

If I had a cocktail for everytime someone told me that I’m such a good listener, or I give such great advice, well, I would be in a constant drunk state. You can tell it’s getting to me when I would take cocktails over the usual dollar.

I may be a calm voice, a level head, a shoulder to lean on or wise beyond my years, and I may genuinely care, but I don’t necessarily want to live it out your situation with you.

Please remember to discuss other topics when we meet up. I don’t actually spend 23 hours a day fixated on your issue and trying to come up with even more wisdom to pass on. I manage to put it out of my head, go about my day and not give it another thought until I speak to you next. I have a life too and it would be nice to have you ask about it a little more often.

This in no way takes away from how much I care or the fact that I want you to be ok. I wish you nothing but happiness and a solution that meets your needs, but enough is enough. I also want  you to be a fully functioning adult who takes responsibility for all they have achieved and any mistakes they made along the way.

I’m a well balanced, empathetic human who always tries to see both sides in life. We all know every story has 2 sides and I choose to see them both. I may not agree with them both, but I need them, to allow me to have clarity and gather all information.

I will not make decisions based purley on your say so, I’m a big girl who can decide for herself. I promise to be honest with you and offer an opinion that deals with the facts at hand. I probably won’t get as emotionally invested as you would like, this will be frustrating but if you don’t like it, don’t use me a sounding board.

Your ego shouldn’t get the deciding vote in issues. Ask it to step aside and ask your heart what it thinks. I promise to love you enough to call you on it and encourage you to have a re-think. Please don’t let your need to be right override your need to be fair.

Know that I am here for you always, I will support whatever decision you decide to make, I may not agree with it, and that’s ok.

It’s your life and the way you choose to live it is yours too.

I will walk beside you, I will stand behind you, I can even take the lead if you need it, but please stop putting me in the middle. I’m compromised and I can not be the best support to you when I’m here.

I trust you, I believe in you and I love you.

Lisa X

 

Ageing Gracefully

There are certain things I know and am expecting to happen to me as I age. I am doing my best to be ready and to help my body cope with these changes.

Sunscreen is a daily must do on the  face, neck and back of hands. Just some of the places that can show your age. I try to stay out of the sun most of the time because of the aging effects to the skin and the fact I start to look like a giant freckle.

I’m expecting a few more aches and pains as I age, the need to slow things down a bit and try lower impact exercise. I’ve dabbled in yoga and love a good walk so I will be fine.

old-lady-doing-yoga-at-bus-stop_01-351x198
Life goals

Grey hair come at me I’m ready. I’ve gone a few shades lighter over the past few years to help disguise the greys as they started to appear. They arrive slowly at first then suddenly you have a cluster. Sneaky things they are.

But Holy Hell, here’s what I was not ready for.

Grey pubes, an ageing vulva and loss of elasticity in my lips. Not the ones I talk from!

It’s amazing how one Gyno visit can have you ready to book your vag into some sort of aged care facility.

Let me set the scene; it’s one we all know well. Top half on, bottom half removed, on the bed under the blanket/sheet. Making small talk and acting like the term, feet together and just let the knees drop is a normal part of daily conversation.

In my uncomfortable state I developed a severe case of word vomit. Why do I always feel the need to fill the silence? This need resulted in the question,

“How’s it all looking? Good for my age?”

Yes I did. I asked that!

I didn’t want (or need) to know the truth but he was in the mood for a bit of honesty and was also probably sick of the same questions. So he gave me the answers I didn’t want but will never be able to block out of my memory bank.

Apparently my grey pubes are in line with and expected during the ageing process. I know most of you are focussed not on the fact that my downstairs hair is going grey but on the fact that I have hair down there. I am well aware (thanks to my daughters) that I am one of 7 people on the planet to still have pubes. That number is apparently being generous. I’m not ready for a full removal because I do believe hair serves a purpose but I don’t want the grey hair to make everything look older than it is.

I made noises that must have sounded like I was interested because he continued. I had asked after all. He then decided to point out the changes I would notice in the coming years.

My brain was screaming “make it stop”, but my mouth, as it often does, acted alone and said “Like what?”

Oh, just a little aging of the vulva skin. Yep, that’s right the skin at the entrance of the vagina will age and become thin and susceptible to irritation. Imagine a paper cut, in the webbing of your finger skin, now times this by a hundred and put it in your lady parts.

This is of course extreme and just how my mind works. There will be creams and hormones to help, oh good!

I googled this of course when I got in the car and stopped reading when I saw some stats that supported the finding that the clitoris in fact keeps its age well and should be ok as I get older. This was of course written in very scientific terms and I could’ve misinterpreted a little but it calmed me enough for my breathing to return to normal.

Now last, but certainly not least the lips. I do know that the vaginal lips are technically known as the labia but for today we are going with lips. I have some loss of elasticity to look forward to. I’m instantly imaging this to require me tucking my lady lips into some sort of support undergarment if I want to wear a skirt. No peace and pout for me. Can we not invent one of those plumping lip glosses that claim to give you fuller lips but for down there? Imagine that scene in the toilets of a club (a bowls club) as everyone is in the toilets touching up their lip gloss.

pout quote

My imagination is fertile, more fertile than my ovaries will be, but let’s not even go there.

Lisa xx