Onwards + Upwards

Hi, Hola, Bonjour! long time no speak, obvs.

While I could throw countless excuses onto this page in an attempt to justify my slightly extensive blog-a-day, I’m not about to start bullshitting at the ripe ol’ (new) age of 25! (I know- EW).

The truth? my priorities changed. And no- I didn’t find something more fulfilling than a self indulgent rant, rave or emotional outpour.

Instead, I put a lid on a lot of my creative outlets/ coping mechs in order to attain the m- fucker that was my second degree.

Every bit of my writing ability, drive and brain capacity was savoured for last sem survival, which as most people know, is counter productive AF. And indeed it was! But that got me the lil paper I copped last July.

.. And so my all time dreaded question rears its ugly head right about now– that of course being the ‘WTF are you now doing with your life?’ chest nut that (I have since learned) the majority of us Gen Y’ers escape to Croatia to avoid.

As if the question isn’t scary, gross and triggering enough, I, in my ‘poor ME’ pitty party do kinda have a another layer of shit to add to my answer.

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Ya seee, just before I accepted the paper of promises, I was offered a job. This meant, that before I got to drink, dance, holiday and whatever else the 6.5 years of brain-fuckery away, I was going to roll right into another den of stress coz like, #ADULTING! #debt #income #don’tevenknow.

I consciously chose to ignore my gut instinct- which included my desperate internal need to just turn off for a while; de- compress and then, ideally do what I have always wanted to do (more on that later).

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Now, before you press the shut up button for my adverse lack of gratitude and first world/ priveleged/ white girl struggles- there is something that happened. Something really bloody shitty that hit me so hard I then had no choice but to STOP, decompress and sort my shit out, in my own time.

After only a month in my new shiny role, the same day I received my second pay check and almost fainted at the amount of $$ being sucked from my little bank of debt, I was abused.

For legal and political reasons I can’t explain the scenario, and tbh it’s so gross and disheartening (especially for fresh grads/ general society members who choose to live in the clouds- #bless) that I’ll let y’all sleep and scroll in a bitta peace.

But I will say this. I was abused three times while fulfilling my role in helping someone. I then visited my doctor who was nothing less than a god-send and was deemed (extremely) unfit for work.

After visiting a therapist in an attempt to move further than the toilet without crying uncontrollably, I copped a double diagnosis of extreme anxiety and PTSD. For a good coupla’ months I swam in the yuck-ness of anxiety so bad, I told my therapist that I felt like I’d had a personality change. I completely lost any sense of who I was, what I was capable of and what I was worth. It was the pits.

But like all horror stories, there are lessons, gems and at the end, glimmers of light.

The biggest saviour (apart from the therapist who I now want to move in with) was my lawyer.

The main reason I want to mention her however, is her GENDER. My LAWYER, just like the person who ABUSED me, as well as my DOCTOR and PSYCHOTHERAPIST, all have vaginas.

Considering that every single time I’ve told my story, the opposite gender has been assumed for all involved, I wanted to shed light on my experience. so often men are assumed to hold the power, whether it be in an abusive context or professional role. Even still in 2017! which is just ignorant, in my opinion.

I would like to add here that the men in my life, even some who fall into the ‘ex’ / A-hole category provided the most sincere, supportive love and help during the shit time. Imma lucky girl.

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Another #blessing is of course, that the experience confirmed that I was not on my ‘destined’ path. AT ALL.

As a result, I have been forced outside of the secure walls of the (GA-ROSS) 9-5 grind, to follow my heart. Which, with its own scary- af challenges, actually makes me want to get out of bed, wear a smile and hustle.

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And most of all- I feel motivated again. Motivated to succeed, motivated to impact young- peoples lives, motivated to follow my gut and reach out to those that can help.

In other words, my experience has left me no choice but to prioritise ME, and the things that matter to me. Which, I believe is something we should all be doing, as much as we can.

And no, this doesn’t mean frolicking through France for the next two years (what a fkn dream though- right?) I am referring to the shit Oprah always bangs on about-  AUTHENTICITY.  Being and doing what is true to us. It’s the only stuff that matters and the only way of life that can truly make us happy.

[But enough of that la la talk]

What AM I even doing, you ask?

Well, there was one thing I continued to do throughout the whole ordeal. That was tutoring and mentoring teenagers. To be honest, the students were monumental in my healing process, as theres nothing I find more fulfilling than watching young people succeed; do things they didn’t believe that could do, and the consequential confidence boosts are honestly priceless.

.. I want to enable young people with the skills to tackle #reality head on. I want to make school life a bit less gross, and study semi do-able. Since my case was closed about six weeks ago, I have started my own business. I’ve networked, seaked assistance and support, done things that scared me and I have enjoyed every second. ‘It’ / I am in the early stages as I put one foot in front of the other, without any major rulebook, and I’ve never felt more FREE.

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So…thats where it’s all at. Hope y’all can take something away/ out of my situation.

Thank you to those who urged me to write again, and of course thanks to my massive network of mates for getting me to here!

PEACE.

Amy Baby

It’s no secret that I can be slightly melo- dramatic, especially when it comes to the feels, or a topic  I am ‘passionate’ about. I was born giving alotta fucks, and luckily, when I started uni six years ago, I found my people- with whom I continue to give ALOT of fucks about ALOT of things, ALOT of the time.

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One of those care- givers is a mate who I share a rather hilarious vibe with- one that doesn’t really require much fertilising or watering at all. We can go months without a message or call- but when her name lights up the old apple, I know I’m about to be taken on a philosophical trip.

There was one particular evening where I initiated a melancholy moment back in the winter however, when our film majors, experiences and fears all kinda collided at once.

I’m not a major film cryer. I feel what I gotsta feel, and always reflect where it’s due. However 20 weeks ago (according to insta) I viewed something that hasn’t really left my conscience. So much so, that I cannot bring myself to watch again and nor can my mate.

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On a miserable winters day I watched the Amy film.

In summary, Amy Winehouse was broken. Firstly by her dad (who abandoned her and her mother), then her own sabotaging behaviour that manifested out of a fight for control and approval. And finally by the media– who gave her attention that she was NOT interesting in whatsoever.

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This is where my second area of study flows in- which has only heightened my realisation that broken is everywhere.

Broken has always existed and it serves a purpose– we need the dark to balance light and we need to break to transform, free, fight etc.

Broken is in songs, movies, books, voices, eyes, body language, yoga mats and wine glasses. It keeps the economoy alive as well as pubs and brothels.

More scarily- It’s in my generation- in the drug epidemic, in masked selfies and naked wardrobes.

This is where it becomes a chicken or egg debate- if we didn’t have platforms to express our shit, would it be there to begin with? are we triggering each others insecurities or making something that wasn’t as bad, amplified? I think it’s a bit of both.

What I do know is that our childhoods really do shape us. That our emotional self is always gonna be our inner child, who we spend our adult years expressing, saving or sabotaging in some way.

#HEAVY I know!

But life is heavy… and light too, it comes down to what we do to balance it all out, how we use our stories and experiences as motivation.. to let go and to love ourselves, and therefore each other.

For Amy, even though she could recognise her #daddyissues, she forever fought for his approval and love, her daddy’s little girl tatt sums up the struggle. We all internalise and respond differently and there is no right or wrong way of doing so.

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We can’t judge each other for our resistance or residence, and we can’t save or fix each other either.

I think this may be why the film hit my friend and I so much- the fact that no one could save Amy, including herself.

This kind of  realisation is not an easy one to fathom, because we have seen loved ones spiral in the same way.

This however is the reality of life– it isn’t always fair and it can be horrible- shit does happen, all the time. All we can do is choose where we put our energy, focus and what we want to manifest.

Having an understanding of the fact that hurt people hurt others, and that our actions are a product of our life script (written by a combo of influences from day one), helps in acceptance too.

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All we can control is our perception, which we can change at any time. Our actions are either determined by love or fear, and it takes courage to choose love.

This post kinda sums up the lesson I have gained this year. 2015 has been about letting go of shit that no longer serves me, whilst acknowledging it’s role in my journey. Letting go isn’t easy but it is so necessary. I only hope that erry one can do so in their own way and time, so that we can embrace the beauty of life.

MERRY XMAS  & Happy Sunday!

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