Embracing the whiteboard – life lessons of an experienced football wife.

I believe that all experiences in life are to teach us something or they are preparing us for something great. Maybe it’s our life’s purpose or helping us find our true passion. Whatever the reason I have decided to act on it.

I have made the decision to use my vast knowledge of football to help other women. I have written a four step program (4 quarters) called “Embracing the whiteboard”, to help women, like my past self,  who may be struggling with the all-consuming game.

A bit of background for those who are not familiar with my story-

I started studying the art of football about 26 years ago.  I studied closely and followed the game religiously, I may also have been following a certain young man but that’s beside the point. What I was to come to realise was that being a footballer wasn’t just the weekend hobby I thought it was.

It was all consuming. The training, the game day routine, the superstitions and like a part of society I had never experienced before, a sub culture, it had it’s own language.

Through my program, “Embracing the whiteboard”, I will show you how to incorporate the terms and strategies used by coaches and players, to transform your home life and have your family playing like a premiership team in no time.

I understand the power of language and trust me the language of football is a powerful one. I have spent years researching and living it, so, I know. These words can get a sane man to run out onto a field in the middle of winter, to chase a ball and get it through some sticks, while wearing shorts and a tank top, and being pummelled by other men.

Powerful stuff.

Now you too can harness the power of this language and make it work for you. This program is like de-coding an ancient language and finally understanding the meaning of life.

You will also learn how to use your voice as a powerful tool. By just dropping an octave or two you can illicit a response from your team that you never thought possible.

During the program “Embracing the Whiteboard”, we will look at –

  • Incorporating the whiteboard into daily life
  • Assigning the chores and actually have them get done
  • Making family time a priority
  • Letting your children compete for your love and receive votes
  • Marketing and branding your “Team” for buy in

And my personal favourite –

  • How to incorporate “footy speak” into the bedroom (absolute game changer)

This program will change your life, and if it doesn’t it will give you a laugh and you will have some new words in your vocabulary.

Each session will be accompanied by a short instructional video that will put all we have learnt into practice and give you a format from which to learn the language.

There is no time like the present, you are here now, so let’s get started.

Part 1- Incorporating the whiteboard into daily life 

The whiteboard is an integral part of this program. If you don’t already have one at home you will be making a purchase soon.  If you’ve ever seen a football coach heading out onto the field to address his players he is most likely carrying a whiteboard.  It is covered with lots of little magnets, they have the players names on them.

It’s very important, as the players look to the whiteboard for guidance. They look to the whiteboard to know what is expected of them, where they should be and what they should be doing.

About 8 years ago I developed the whiteboard system at home. I’m here today to share my tips to make the whiteboard the source of truth in your home. You will need –

A white large whiteboard, whiteboard markers and a ruler.

You will rule the whiteboard up giving each family member a column, a column for dates and a column for notes.

Now for the most important part, the language of the whiteboard. You need to know the terms but you also need to understand their meaning and how to use them correctly. Below is a list of terms that you will be using and their meaning-

  • Positions – this tells all team members where they need to be and when. Knowing your position and that of your team mates allows you to offer support and be supported.

At home this look like – Morgan – deb practice – Wednesday night 7pm. The team can then organise who will need to be there to support Morgan by getting her to practice.

  • 1%’s (one percenters) – the small tasks that may not get a lot of recognition but need to be done for the team to win.

At home the 1%’s might be cleaning, putting the bins out or feeding the dog. No glory attached to them but they are essential.

  • Weekly Focus- having a weekly focus lets the team know what takes priority that week. It helps the team prioritise and lets them know why other things may have to be overlooked to meet the focus.

At home it helps have a conversation, “Sorry Paige but you can’t go to that party this Saturday, look at our focus for the week. It’s Morgan’s Deb. The team’s focus takes priority so try again next week.” 

  • K.P.I.’s (Key Performance Indicators) – these are the measures that let the team know what they are working towards in their game plan. These are usually measured quarter by quarter in a game. It shows teams where they may need to apply more pressure or applied focus. eg -tackle count – shows how much pressure they have applied to the opposition.

At home I prefer to measure the KPI’s weekly. I often set them around cleaning chores. One of my favourite KPI’s is toilet cleanliness. If I see a skid mark in any toilet then I know we are not applying enough pressure to the toilet with a brush or toilet cleaner, and it’s an area for improvement.

Please watch this short instructional video to see the Whiteboard Address in action.

**Don’t forget to practice and join us in 2 weeks to learn how to use this empowering language to get your children to compete for your affection, by introducing a votes system. Revolutionary!**

 

 

 

I became a new mum, but I didn’t have a baby…

Last weekend I became a new mum.

But I didn’t have a baby!

My youngest daughter, and last child still living at home, left to head overseas for 7 months to perform on cruise ships.

I am so proud and so excited for her, but it hit me hard. Harder than I was expecting.

Yep, my nest is now empty, but it was for half the week anyway. It wasn’t like she was home every night and she was always busy, so I’m used to her not being physically here.

But she was always coming home at some point. Or calling to ask something, or calling to check on me and find our where I was (yes the tables do turn!).

What has hit me is that I am a new mum.

I am not the same mum I was this time last week.

I am now a mum who has raised her kids and they have left home.

Now I feel like someone who is a mother, but not a day to day mum.

I am fully aware that raising strong, independent and courageous women was always the end goal, but that doesn’t mean I am ready.

I feel more unsure of myself right now than I did the day I brought by first baby home from hospital.

I remember placing the capsule in the nursery,  looking at Scott and saying “What now?”  This is exactly how I felt on Sunday.

I held it together at the airport but when I got home to my quieter, cleaner and emptier house, I looked at the same man, 22 years later and whispered through my tears,

“What happens now?”

I feel empty. And yet my life is full.

I feel unsure of my identity. And yet, I have a life where I am Lisa, not Mum.

I feel this ache in my soul for every minute I didn’t appreciate or the minutes I thought I would have more of.

I keep wondering if I did enough. Have I sent them off with enough life skills, memories and advice?

It’s not a logical process, it’s a gut wrenching physical one. I have loved being a mum and I have been bloody good at it.

I have put a lot of thought into who and how I would be when the time came for my nest to empty out, but it didn’t prepare me for the actual event.

I won’t come home and see 16 cups, 10 plates and 9 forks on the sink (not in the dishwasher) and many bodies on the lounges.

I won’t hear arguments and singing from the bathroom, which has taken on a golden glow from the fake tan and bronzing powder.

I will no longer be called on to fetch more toilet paper, settle a dispute over clothing ownership or help with life’s big issues, like wedges or stilettos.

My washing basket will no longer be overflowing, my house will stay cleaner and I will not have to fight for the remote as much.

We will also be able to holiday on the Amalfi Coast in Italy each year with the money we are saving on sanitary products.

It’s actually sounding OK……

I did calm down (much to Scott’s relief) after an hour and a half of really ugly crying. Like U.G.L.Y.! I tried to eat an omelette to distract myself and nearly vomited. You get the picture.

Poor Scott, he probably wanted to have a quiet moment, maybe a tear and reflect on how his life would now be different (in reality, he probably just wanted to get back to his football reporting), but he was really supportive.

He walked at a steady pace around me, not making eye contact, like you would walk around a wild animal when you’re not sure if it’s going to strike. He empty bins, cleaned things and did really random chores.

When my crying had calmed to that hiccup breathing, with moderate sniffing, he approached cautiously.

“Why don’t you do some writing, do something for your blog?” Bless, he was trying to offer a distraction, trying to be positive. Did it work? You be the judge……

“I can’t write my fucking blog because I don’t have a fucking computer. That’s right everyone else has one but Paige just left, Morgan doesn’t live here anymore and you use yours all the time. So, yeah, thanks for that!”

Insert more crying here.

The following sentence proves what an amazing man my husband is and how much he has learnt by living with 3 women for many years,

“Let’s go and buy you a computer”.

The poor bastard would’ve bought a new car, moved house and I think I could’ve milked it for a new puppy.

He was desperate. There was a crazy lady in the kitchen and he wasn’t convinced she was leaving any time soon.

Soooooooo, I’m writing this on my new computer. I may have been distraught but I am not stupid!

Life is getting back into routine. I love FaceTime and I can see that my baby is doing well.

I also have my oldest daughter living about 20 mins away, so I will now put a lot of pressure on her to see me more. I will bribe her with brunch and shopping. I will cry if needed.

I say thank you to the beautiful people in my life who saw through my bullshit façade and knew I would be a wreck. Your support, messages and advice have been invaluable.

To the man who helped fill my nest (sounds weird but I’m going with it) and now gets to share it with me while it’s empty, I thank you. You are my rock and I know the group message we have added you into is confusing and foreign, but you persevere. We will even let you use the thumbs up emoji.

I’m getting used to having more free time. In fact,  I’ve got to go now.

I have Pilates, then I’m getting a mani-pedi,

I had to fit it in today because the life drawing class I’ve signed up for was overlapping with the interpretive dance group I’ve joined. I’m just trying to figure out when I can fit in “Drumming and chanting for sexual growth”.

Oh and of course the house is now empty so Scott and I are nude all the time!

Lisa XX

 

Our baby as she left to take on the world. XX

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Say what you mean.

As we charge head first, at high-speed towards the silliest of seasons, I plead with you all to please read between the lines a little bit this Christmas.

Families, old wounds, alcohol and food comas can be a disastrous mix, resulting in severely crossed lines. Add to that, families that don’t see each other very often and a rug that is filled to overflowing, with the remnants of Christmas past, that have been swept underneath, and you have got the perfect storm.

What I’m asking (begging) you to do this year is to stop and think “What do they really mean?” before you respond in a less than positive way.

For example, you turn up at your mum’s place and you are 20 minutes late. You cop the “Why are you late, everyone’s here, we are waiting on you”. You instantly get your back up, have 3 quick drinks (10.30am) and spend the rest of the day being just a little bit pissed off.

But what if……

When you got the door 20 mins late and your mum had a go at you, you stopped and you thought, “What does she really mean?”

Of course you are actually 20 mins late so she means that. But why is she reacting so badly to something that happens all the time?

What she really means is “I miss you, I’m so happy you’re here and when you are late I worry that you are not as looking forward to seeing me as I am to seeing you”.

If we stop and think before we react our reactions would be very different. You would probably have given your mum a hug, apologised for being late and had a really good day.

Or there is the grandmother who wants to cook her desert that no-one really likes. Let her cook the dessert. What it really means is-

“My mum used to make this for me at Christmas. My childhood memories are fading and this is my way of connecting with her and them.”

Have a spoonful of the desert!

It’s the present your Aunt buys you that would suit a 15 year old. You cringe every year and then throw it away when you get home. What it really means is-

“This present represents the last time I got you something that made you smile and I felt like we really connected.”

Say a gracious thank you and then donate the gift to charity, so your Aunt can make someone smile again.

I have learnt over the years that when people react negatively at first it’s usually fear based. I’ve had to stop myself from doing it with my own kids as they have grown up.

The first time my daughter came home and told me she was travelling overseas on her own, my first reaction was to try to talk her out of it, until she could find someone to travel with. But that was my own fear coming to the surface. I was proud of myself for sharing in her excitement instead and letting her know how brave I thought she was.

As a parent it is sometimes a hard thing to do, to catch yourself before you give a reaction that may bring conversation to a standstill. You want so badly to protect and yet you have to let go.

It’s bloody tough.

My eldest daughter recently moved out of home for the first time. I’ve struggled with gaining a balance between not letting her know how much I will miss her because I don’t want to dampen her experience or expressing all of the emotions at once.

I’m torn between attaching myself to her leg to stop her from walking out the door and packing up her stuff with joy as I envisage my new meditation space.

Being so conflicted made it hard to approach things in a calm and non emotional way so I went with –

“Come over and clean out your old room, it’s a pig stye and I’m sick of this stuff lying around.”

Of course what I really meant was –

“I really need to move forward and embrace the new situation. But when your room looks like you are coming home at any minute it makes me feel like I’m in limbo. Let’s clean out the space together so we can process the changes that are happening.”

She will wake up this Christmas morning in her new place, without us. We are happy for her, but still a bit sad for ourselves.

I will however not be having a go at her for not being at home on Christmas morning. Instead I am taking my own advice (for once) and letting her know that I am proud of her for being independent, I will miss her bed hair and sleepy eyes around the Christmas tree in the morning and she is always welcome to watch Love Actually and drink Bailey’s on Christmas eve.

I’m not perfect and I certainly don’t get it right all of the time but I am gaining a better understanding of the feelings you get when you are no longer the most important part of someone’s life. There is a delicate balancing act going on at all times between your logic and your emotions.

I will be a more understanding towards other people in my life, who may not have the words or be comfortable enough to say them.

Let’s make the effort at this crazy time of the year to say what we mean, in a thoughtful and sensitive way. Easy!!

Lisa XX

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

Not a New Year’s Resolution, but an attitude change.

I have decided this is to be the year when I do all the things that scare the absolute crap out of me. These things may not be what you would expect.

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I will not be jumping off a cliff.

If you met me you might think I was fairly confident, outgoing and willing to give anything a go. You would be correct to a certain degree. But there is stuff going on below the surface.

I will sing karaoke, dance interpretively and tell you embarrassing stories about myself.

I will push myself physically, training for and entering events just to know I can do it. That feeling when you cross the finish line, knowing you pushed yourself past your breaking point is addicitive.

I will overshare and use the word vulva (or labia, nipple, bowle movemenet etc.) in as many sentences as possible, but it’s the things I don’t say that you should listen to the most.

I won’t say that I am terrified of not being enough. Enough Mum, wife, friend, daughter, sister. Present enough, involved enough and there enough. Have I made enough memories with my girls? If something was to happen to me, do the people I love know I loved them? When is it enough?

I won’t tell you that I feel guilty when I know I need to take a break from being all those things, to take time for me, to continue to develop into the truest version of myself. If I was to go away for 5 days on a relaxation/meditation trip, I would spend the first 2 days reconciling the trip in my own head before I could relax. Why do I have the constant need to justify time on my own?

I won’t ask for help when I should at times. This based on fear and not wanting you to know that I am not coping.  I have ironed at midnight, baked a cake at 5 in the morning and used more make-up than a professional drag queen to keep the image of “I’m all good” alive and well.

So my goals for 2016 are not all based around diet, exercise and work/life balance, although the pursuit for rock hard abs and buns of steel will continue.

My goals will be based around self-reflection and learning to show others that it’s ok for me to be vunerable.

I, like many of you have had this thought that being vunerable is akin to admitting weakness. This is so wrong.

To be vunerable is to allow others to see that sometimes we are not as strong as we would like to be and we need some help. To allow others to see below the surface and to truly see who we are when the facade is gone, takes bravery.

I will practice asking for help from others.

I will be more open about how things make me feel. Not hiding behind a smile and the ever present “I’m Fine”.

I won’t be a martyr, doing/ attending/ agreeing with things that I really don’t want to, out of a sense of obligation.

Just so we are clear, for the year ahead, I will continue to dance and sing, not filter what comes out of my mouth (most of the time), but I will allow myself to be vunerable, drop the mask and ask for help when I need it. I will be kind to myself and have guilt free time out.

Sounds perfect………..images-1