Lightening Online

Thank you for all your kind birthday wishes yesterday. They were lovely to receive. I had a wonderful day, marred only by one tiny thing.

I hesitate to blog about this partly because at one point in time my mother was reading my blog (I’m not sure she does at the moment but you never know) and partly because I don’t like to say anything bad about my parents. For all their failings (and as parents we all have them), I love them dearly and don’t like to say anything hurtful to them or about them.

But I’m hurting and I feel like I need to get this out before it suffocates me.

For those of you who’ve read my post on last year’s birthday, you’ll probably get the idea that I haven’t always celebrated the fact that I was born.

In fact, I have grown up my whole life acutely aware of the fact that I was a mistake. A BIG mistake. My conception was a mistake that brought heartache to a great many people. And the fact that I was born a girl was a mistake. Or at least a disappointment.

I can’t vouch for how accurate my feelings truly are. I can only state that this is what they are.

I no longer feel this way. That I should never have been born. That I don’t matter. I am learning to accept and love myself in a way I always longed for as a child.

I have a wonderful husband and beautiful loving children. I have extended family who love and accept me and celebrate the fact that I was born. I have wonderful friends, both online and off who mean the world to me.

I just wish it was enough.

Why do I continue to long for the love and acceptance from my parents that they simply can’t seem to live up to?

Last time I saw my mother, she told me she loved me. But the words just felt so empty. I’m sure she does. I just can’t seem to feel that she does.

And when the celebration of my birth goes by without a word, it only seems to widen the chasm in my heart.

Not that that is actually “normal” behaviour for them. I usually get a card. And sometimes it even has money inside it. Which probably shouldn’t matter. But does.

As a child there were years when I had parties. I always had gifts (although my birthday always seemed to fall when there was not much money) and a cake. And tears. For various reasons. Most years my birthday sucked. I can’t really explain why. It just did. I just never really felt that we were celebrating my birth. More a “going through the motions of what is socially expected”.

Did I misunderstand? Did I get it wrong? Maybe. I don’t know.

But when yesterday passed without a phone call or even a text message - it really hurt. And I want to deny the pain. Because that’s how I’ve always dealt with pain. Shoved it so deep inside of me that it would hopefully never see the light of day. Which works. For a while. Until the garbage can overflows and all the hurt and crap deep inside just overflows in a big smelly mess at the most inopportune of moments.

I think to myself “hey, plenty of people had parents that were a LOT worse than yours so just get over yourself”. But it’s not as easy as that. My mind can deny the pain and rejection. But my heart simply won’t.

And I wonder if this is something that I will ever come to terms with. Will the day come when my birthday can be celebrated without the pain of rejection? Without that tiny niggle in the back of my mind that I shouldn’t be celebrating the fact that I was born. Without the reminder that my very existence was a mistake? A burden? An imposition?

I want to love myself in the way everyone deserves to be loved. I want to be whole and without “baggage”. I want to forgive and forget.

I just wish it wasn’t so hard.

Image via WikipediaI love that my birthday falls in the middle of the year. Often the beginning of January is a time for reflection and consideration of the year that has past and a focus on the year that is to come. I like to do the same on my birthday (which is today).

The past 12 months has been an absolutely amazing year for me. It’s been a year of really examining my past and understanding how that has affected my growth up until this point in my life. It’s been a year of learning more of who I am and that I don’t have to be a product of my past. That I can take the struggles and the pain and learn and grow from them. But I don’t have to stay in a state of struggle and pain. I have a choice. I have control.

It’s been a year of learning what makes me smile. A year of finding ways to care for myself. A year of learning that I am WORTH taking care of.

Last year I recognised that for the first time in my life, I could honestly say that I am GLAD I was born.

This year I’m celebrating the fact that I’ve lived another year of life. And I can honestly say that Life is Good. It’s not perfect. It has plenty of struggles. But those struggles have a purpose. They bring growth and wisdom. They bring with them great learning opportunities. They bring depth to life and a great appreciation for the good times.

I love that I can look out the window and see the sun peaking through the clouds. I can see a garden in a mixed state of production. The pumpkins are dying back while the cabbage and broccoli are embracing the cold and booming away. Seasons in life bring change. While some of us are in a season of dying back, others are in a season of growth. Without the seasons, we wouldn’t have the great variety that life has to offer. We wouldn’t have changing conditions that embrace various personalities, needs and stages of growth.

I feel like I can look back on the 34 years I’ve lived on this earth with a sense of satisfaction. I have survived much and achieved much.

A couple of weeks ago, my counsellor read out to me my life story from ages 5 to 18. I have always considered myself to be “weak”. To hear read out the things I went through and the way I not only managed to survive but somehow thrive really surprised me and gave me a new perspective. I realised that I am stronger than I ever thought.

That doesn’t mean I don’t have need for support. We all have need for support. To have the love and encouragement of family and friends.

What it does mean though is that I don’t have to be a “product of my environment”. Not only do I have choices but I have the strength to MAKE those choices.

I feel like I have made a transition from a mere grub crawling on the ground, to spending the past couple of years in a caccooned state (hiding and somewhat in need of protection from the world) to finally entering a butterfly state. Finally free to fly and be myself.

Last year my online friends gave me a very precious gift. What I really wanted for my birthday was for my blog counter to click over 1000 visitors. They worked hard to make that happen for me and it meant a lot. These days my counter clicks over 1000 visitors once or twice a week. But I don’t take any of those visitors for granted and each one means a great deal to me.

I wondered what I could “ask” my online friends for this year (insert cheeky grin) and came up empty. Because you give me gifts every day. When you read what I’ve written, comment on what I’ve written, email me or interact with me through groups and forums you give me the most precious gift anyone could ask for - friendship. For that I send you my heartfelt gratitude. You have helped me to feel like I am a worthwhile person. And everyone deserves to feel like they are worthwhile. Yes, I AM talking to you who just had the thought “she doesn’t really mean me”. If you’ve taken the time to read these very words, I want you to know that you mean something to ME. I may never have met you or even heard from you, but you have given me the time to read what I have to say. And I’m saying right now. You. Are. Worthwhile.

Celebrations today will be fairly quiet. The kids gave a very groggy mother some gifts this morning. I was pretty weary after yesterday’s efforts (taking a day out to do something I LOVE was my gift to ME).

I ended up with the best of both worlds in my cash vs gift dilemma. Farmboy bought me a new office chair and gave me $50 to spend. Combined with some money from other family members, I’ll have $140 to spend on myself.

Tonight we’re going out for a meal with friends. Just one other family so nothing too overwhelming. It should be a nice evening.

Once upon a time I hated birthdays. Once upon a time my birthday brought tears. Now I LOVE birthdays. I can handle getting older because it means I get to celebrate being ME once again. And it’s a celebration that I’ll NEVER take for granted.

I’m feeling like I’ve been living in a bubble for the past couple of months and the bubble has just burst. I’ve been caught up in the adrenaline of playing a game I never wanted to stop playing and the hype of those around me giving me heaps of encouragement.

This past week has seen me come face to face with a few home truths that were perhaps “hiding” amongst the gloss and glitter of being “the newbie”.

Last Thursday’s training was an absolute shocker. The fitness session nearly killed me (okay, I’m being dramatic, but you get what I mean, yeah?) and when it came to some of the skills stuff, I couldn’t seem to hold onto the ball. “Butter-fingers”, my childhood coach would have called it.

As soon as I got into our car after training, I burst into tears. In fact, I kept bursting into tears for the rest of that night and getting to sleep wasn’t all that easy because as soon as I shut my eyes, I kept replaying all the things that had gone wrong.

Admittedly I was fighting a cold and so feeling a bit run-down. Which probably explains at least some of my struggle with training and also why I was bursting into tears so easily (I’m a shocker for bursting into tears at the drop of a hat when I’m tired).

So, after all of that AND feeling like a complete alien come Saturday as it was my first game not played at our home grounds, I wasn’t approaching Saturday’s game with a whole lot of confidence in myself.

To the extent that I thought I was going to actually have a panic attack right before the game. My mind went blank and I couldn’t remember how to play. It was not a very nice feeling at all.

Hoping that once the game got started my head would clear and I’d find some kind of rhythm, I did my best to focus on the game.

Only things went from bad to WORSE. Either the Wing Attack I was playing was a pretty good WA or I really had totally lost the plot. I found her almost impossible to keep up with. The opposing team walked all over us for the first quarter. I don’t know what the score was at the end of the first quarter but I know it wasn’t good.

There was a moment of fear during our break that the coach wasn’t going to swap my position and I would have to face another quarter against this girl. I was SO relieved when she swapped me with another girl and I came off the court. My team mate was very keen to oppose this girl. She was ready to get stuck into her.

The second quarter things went a lot better and our team managed to turn the score around and give us a comfortable lead. I found some comfort in watching my more experienced team mate still struggle to stay on top of this WA. Of course, she did a much better job than I did. But I would expect that to be the case.

At this point though, I really did NOT want to go back on the court. I knew I was only playing half a game this week but we have plenty of players so my not playing another quarter wouldn’t have posed a huge problem to the team. My biggest dilemma was that I knew if I tried to tell my coach not to put me back on, I would burst into tears.

When I discovered she was putting me back on in the final quarter, I really wanted to freak out. That meant that my team-mates would have no time whatsoever to make up any short-fall in the score. I don’t DO pressure very well.

It did turn out to be a good thing in the end. During the third quarter I gave myself a stern talking to. Something along the lines of “you can’t just decide you’re not going to play because your opponent is too hard to play against”. It doesn’t work that way. I figured I’d go back on the court, play to the best of my ability, and know that at the very least, playing a challenging opponent should be a good learning experience.

I think I did a lot better in that final quarter than I did in the first quarter. It helped that I’d had a break where my opponent had played all game and was getting tired. But it also helped that I was focusing on what I could do rather than what I couldn’t do. Well, kind of anyway.

I’m not sure what I was expecting really. That since it was my third game, I was no longer a “beginner” and therefore should just be able to play as well as the rest of the team?

Who knows?

We did end up winning. Thankfully. I’m not sure my ego was up to taking a loss. I’ll have to work on that.

After the game one of my team-mates was very encouraging. And I nearly burst into tears. She was very kind and told me that she felt I was still improving (whereas I was feeling like I’d gone backwards) and that she admired what I was doing for even giving it a go.

I think it was at that point that it really hit me how hard what I’ve undertaken is. People have been saying that from the start - how amazing what I’m doing is. I’ve tended to shrug is off as nothing because all I find amazing is that my team even let me play.

Now that the “gloss” and “newness” and “excitement” have started to wear off, I’m seeing what others are seeing.

Learning a skill like this and putting myself out there in public each week is going to take guts and determination.

I still love it and am amazed it’s even happening.

But not every week is going to be “fairy tale” week.

Sometimes I’m just going to have to keep on keeping on, no matter how hard it seems.

Yeah, we spell “colour” with a “u” here in Australia. I’ve had this post rattling around in the back of my mind for a number of months now. I thought it would one day just spit itself out of my brain. But perhaps the time has come where I just sit and write and see what happens. Otherwise I’ll be 97 and it’ll still be spinning around in the back of my brain making my brain cells all dizzy and the like.

It would seem that a rumor is making it’s way around the blogworld that “Lightening Likes Pink”. Funny that. A rumor that is actually TRUE!!!! In face, one of my blog-friends has taken to calling me “The Pink One”. Which I kinda like - a lot.

I’ve always liked the colour pink. I haven’t always had a lot of pink stuff but I’ve always liked the colour.

BUT, my passion for the colour pink has a LOT more meaning than it simply being a colour I like.

Many of you know that I have been working with a counsellor to try and deal with stuff from my past that I shoved deep down inside of me and tried to pretend didn’t exist. One of the tools she has been using to assist me with this process is using my non dominant hand to write with.

For some reason, writing and drawing with your non dominant hand can help to trigger thoughts and memories from your childhood. Lucia Capacchione has written a fabulous book called “Recovery of Your Inner Child”. It details this process and how you can use it as a tool for understanding yourself and moving toward healing and liberating your “inner self”.

I have been quite staggered with the stuff that has come up as a result. Thoughts and feelings dwelling inside of me that I had no conscious recollection of.

One of these relates to the colour pink. My inner child talks about herself as being “pink”. From what I can gather it is a replacement word for “girl”.

Some of the phrases that have come out as part of this process include:

“I am pink”

“I like pink. I like LOTS of pink”

“My mum doesn’t like pink”

“She doesn’t like pink. I wish she likes pink. Like me. I’m pink”

“They want him to be the big one (referring to my younger brother). Not a girl. Girls are little. He is better cos he is a boy”

For reasons not fully clear to me, the tiny vulnerable child inside of me has the idea that my parents didn’t like me because I am a girl. That somehow being female makes me unacceptable and somehow inferior.

All of this to explain that my love of the colour pink is synonymous with my learning to love myself. To embrace the fact that I am pink.

When I first began my blogger blog, I experimented a lot with various templates and colours. I wanted a pink blog but it was hard to find something I was happy with. Eventually I found the header with the soft pink tulips and that worked well for me. It was symbolic of the gently emerging young girl who was embracing her femininity in a subtle yet positive manner.

When Snoskred began to build this blog for me, I doubt she was aware of the symbolism she created as she did so. I gave her a spectrum of pink colours to work with and she chose to experiment with the bolder colours. As soon as I saw them, I knew the timing was perfect. The “inner me” was slowly growing in confidence and ready to splash out in a bolder, more courageous way. The deeper, bolder pink was symbolic of the inner-strength growing within me. Ready to say to the world “here I am and I’m PINK and PROUD of it”. No longer a timid, soft pink but something bolder and louder.

Originally she shifted my soft pink tulip header over to this blog. It didn’t fit. I kept looking at it and not really feeling like things looked quite right. It was like I was ready for something new. The old “me” didn’t really fit in the new skin. So she sent me in search of a new header graphic. Eventually a google search led me to Balko photo where I found the header image I’m currently using.

You’ll notice though that we have still kept a part of the “old me”. As we learn and grow, who we “used” to be is still a part of ourselves. The good, the bad AND the ugly all form a part of WHO we are. I love that my blog still has a small part of the old header image in the “about” section of this page. It reminds me of where I have come from and the journey I am on.

What I want you to understand when you visit the “pink one” is that I haven’t always embraced my “pinkness”. I have spent a large portion of my life to date wanting to be invisible. Desperately wishing that I could disappear or somehow reinvent myself as a male. Not because I wanted to BE male. But because I thought I would be more loved and accepted if I WAS male.

Now I am learning to embrace my own femininity and proclaim to the world “I. AM. PINK” without feeling any shame or regret about that fact.

The phrase “Lightening Loves Pink” could really be reworded to say “Lightening Loves That SHE is Pink”. Or at least, she’s slowly learning to.

Image via WikipediaI have just finished a most exciting and AWESOME coaching session. I can’t believe how perfect the timing has been on this for me. It’s like the people I’ve needed to help me through my journey have appeared in my life at EXACTLY the right time.

I guess I’ve always thought of coaching as being someone who will PUSH you. But this process is so much more gentle than I expected. It’s more like a gentle pulling of the stuff that’s already inside - you just haven’t really brought it into focus enough to recognise it.

In the past week I’ve been looking at values and vision.

You know, I’ve lost count of the number of times Farmboy has asked me things like “what do you want out of life” and “what would you like to do that would make you happy”. And I shrug. Cos I dunno.

But now I’m getting the feeling that I DO know. I just didn’t know it yet.

This week I get to PLAY!!!!

I’m making myself a VISION board. I’ve always wanted to make one of those but never quite found the “roundtoit” required.

Ooh, cutting and sticking and pasting. What FUN!!!!

And I get to do some virtual clothes shopping as well. Yippeee!!!!!

Life Coaching Homework is much BETTER than any other kind of homework I’ve ever had to do. Well, so far anyway. Definitely an improvement on MATHS homework, that’s for sure.

Alrighty, I’m off to see if I can find myself some PINK cardboard for my vision board.

Thank you so much for all your well-wishes and encouragement on me taking the plunge on the netball court yesterday.

It turned out to be quite a day of “firsts” for our family.

Singstar Princess’s FIRST Netball “Game”

Yes, it was a scratch match. But it was played and umpired as a “real” match. At first she was a little unsure but by the time Saturday morning rolled around, she was ready to give it a go. There is SO much to learn when it comes to playing netball and she didn’t really well.

Trailer Boy’s “First” Football “Game”

At half time of the A-grade match, we often have a “mini-mini’s” game which is basically a chance for all the “little” kids to run around chasing after the football and try to kick through some smaller goal posts. It’s so cute to watch. Trailer Boy (who is 4) decided he’d like to give it a go on Saturday. I didn’t actually get to see him but FarmBoy was there and said he had a grin from ear to ear.

Our FIRST Time Staying At the Club For Tea

We’ve always planned that one day we’d stay for tea at the club after sport. Last year we never did get around to it. So last night we decided to stay. For $25 we both had Rump Steak, Chips and Salad and the kids each had nuggets & chips. Talk about a BARGAIN!!! The steak was soooo good too!

Farmboys FIRST Speech

I had no idea that the club had a sort of presentation type thing at the end of a home game. Just a few minutes of speeches sharing results and other bits and pieces of news. Farmboy is Assistant Coach for our Juniors and gave the speech in place of the coach (who wasn’t there). It’s only about a minute or so but he did SUCH a good job (particularly given it was off the cuff AND he was the first of the football coaches to speak so he had no idea what was normally said).

Lightening’s First Netball Game (well, in a LONG time - and a first with this club)

While I had my moments, I didn’t end up getting quite as nervous as I was expecting. I DID get nervous but I suspect I will always get nervous before a game. My MAJOR moments were:

• Not being able to stay hiding in the change rooms once I put my uniform on. You don’t feel like you’re wearing very much in those dresses.
• Facing up to the team when I wasn’t sure how they would react to me playing.
• Just before the game started when I realised it was all really happening and I was there, uniform and all.
• Putting on my “patches” just before I went on (and all the hub-ub going on around me).
• Walking on to the court and standing next to the GIANT I was opposing (I’m sure she was TWICE my height!!!!)

The support and encouragement I was given by my team-mates and others in the club was UNBELIEVABLE. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. I’m not even sure I’m ready to put it into words yet. It was all a rather emotional experience.

And how did I go? Okay. I could probably tell you almost every single mistake I made. Actually, I could probably tell you about half the mistakes I made. LOL. The others are in areas I’ve yet to learn.

But I feel like I did okay. Which is HUGELY significant because I am very hard on myself. And while I know there’s lots more for me to learn. I feel like I’ve made a good start.

And it was AWESOME!!!!!

Really, really AWESOME!

And the score?

I forgot to look.

I was watching it from the sidelines when I was off-court.

I was watching it from on the court.

And at the end of the game, I forgot to check.

ROFLOL.

But I did find out after the game that we lost by 1 point.

That’s okay. We’ll beat them next time.

My FIRST Netball Award

The end of the game is a bit of a blur for me. My team-mates were very encouraging about how I’d gone for my first time. There was some encouragement from people who had come to watch. And of course, the coach.

As the team congregated with the coach she said something along the lines of me doing well and she was awarding me the something or other. LOL. Like I said, there was a LOT going on.

I think each game the coach gives like an incentive or encouragement award to one of the players. At the presentations, there was one player from each team which was given something.

Who knew you could get presents by playing netball???? I didn’t!!!!

So I was given a towel with the name of the club embroidered on it.

Funnily enough, I saw one of these towels a couple of weeks ago. The Netball President was showing one to someone else and I just happened to be there. And I thought they looked fantastic.

I’m figuring maybe they’re used for awards and stuff because in her speech, the president made some comment about how some people had been playing for the club for years, really wanting one. And here I was at my first game, getting one.

Interesting symbolism I thought. I can’t help but look at that towel and think “wow, I belong. I really belong”.

I had to fight back tears a couple of times during the day. But they were the good kind. The “oh my goodness, people are being so NICE to me” tears.

I wonder how I’ll go next week when I’m “last week’s news”.

As I guess you can tell from this post, it was a really GOOD day.  Today I’m very tired.  Which is to be expected.  But it’s a really “happy, satisfied” kind of tired.  I kinda like it.

This is one of those times when you take a leap into something that terrifies you.  But in the end you’re REALLY glad you did. 

I’ve been thinking about the concept of coaching lately. As children our parents are often our coach. Teaching us, encouraging us to learn and do better. We go to school and our teachers coach us. Teaching us, encouraging us to learn and do better. If we learn an instrument, take dancing lessons and/or play sport, we have teachers/coaches that do the same thing.

What happens when we reach adulthood? Perhaps we do some tertiary study for a while and that extends us. We might have a job which offers a certain amount of training. If we’re lucky, perhaps we have a boss that encourages us to “better ourselves” (although good bosses can be few and far between). If we continue with sport, we might have a coach that teaches us and encourages us to do better.

But for the most part, as adults, we have a lot less training and encouragement than we may have had as children.

I guess this is a topic that has been on my mind a little in recent times. My personal trainer is basically a fitness coach. Each week she teaches me new exercises and ways that I can extend the ability of my body. Her encouragement inspires me to go that bit further than I would on my own.

My netball coach has been doing the same. Teaching me new skills. Giving encouragement and inspiring me to do better.

And I like it.

I feel that there is something within us as humans that really WANTS to do better. WANTS more.

But on our own, do we really strive the same as we might if we had a coach? Someone to talk things through with, flesh things out. Someone who might have the right questions to steer us in the direction we really want to go? Someone to encourage us and keep us accountable.

Now I’d never really heard of lifestyle coaching until recently when an article on Australian Women Online caught my eye. I’m not sure now what part of the idea appealed to me.

Weight Loss Coaching?

I could do with some of that.

Perhaps it was the first line that stood out to me:

ShapeShifters supports and guides you to achieve your ideal weight, health and lifestyle goals.

Perhaps it was the word “FREE” in the title (cos who doesn’t like to get something for FREE???)

Or this paragraph:

With their help you will create life balance, define your vision, set challenging and desirable goals and design an action plan for success. You will formulate strategies to overcome obstacles and have all the support you need to maintain your focus for the long term.

Perhaps something inside of me felt that this could be a good next step in my journey of self discovery. Of finding out who I am and who I want to be?

Whatever the reason, I shot off an email to danielle@healthyandhappy.com.au . The first question I asked proves I didn’t quite read all of the article correctly. Because I asked if she could accomodate people that live in the middle of nowhere like I do. Which she kindly responded “yes” to rather than saying “didn’t you read this line of the article?”

ShapeShifters coach worldwide.

Doh! (I only just realised that when I reread the article to write this post).

We set up a time for the first appointment and Danielle sent me some material to read through. I got cold feet (for a couple of reasons) and cancelled the appointment. Actually, I forgot to cancel the appointment.

Danielle was lovely about it and offered to talk through my concerns if I wanted to.

One of those concerns was that I really lack direction in my life. So much so that I wasn’t sure I was even capable of meeting the expectations of life coaching.

Well, today I went through with the first introductory session. This is a great opportunity to find out more about the coaching process and get a feel for whether it’s something you’d like to continue with.

To be perfectly honest, I gained quite a LOT before the phone call even started. I was sent a couple of worksheets to work my way through and the questions on those highlighted some interesting things about myself.

You know how you have stuff floating around the subconscious but you never really sit down and examine it? It was sort of like that. A way of bringing that stuff to the front of your brain and being able to examine it and see a little of what it may mean for you (particularly in relation to life balance - something which is so important and yet seems difficult to achieve).

When I began our phone call session today, I really felt I was struggling to know what I wanted out of life. While I still have a way to go in this area, throughout the course of the coaching session, we discovered I have more direction (or ideas on direction) than I thought I had. That was actually quite an exciting discovery.

One of my fears was that a lifestyle coach might be a little pushy and bossy. Danielle wasn’t like this at all. She was great to talk to and asked some really good questions. I finished the session feeling positive and enthused.

Part of the process is setting some smallish goals to complete before the next session. One set of goals are completed over the first 1-2 days and the other set over the period of a week.

I’ve decided to commit myself to the next 4 weeks and see what happens. It should be lots of fun and quite interesting. Given I like to talk about what is going on in my life, you’re sure to hear more as I continue this process.

In the meantime, you might be interested in checking out Danielle’s coaching options. The offer of a FREE first session is available to everyone so feel free to consider that option if you’d like to try this kind of coaching to find out what it’s like. Danielle is very approachable so feel free to email her if you have any questions.

* image from www.tara.qld.gov.au/

It is 21 years since I played Netball.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

We were a team that hardly ever won. Maybe even NEVER?

Most of us hadn’t been playing netball very long. Maybe a year or two.

Then along came Mrs Thompson.

She was the kind of lady that scared little kids. Well, probably big kids too. I was 11 so I guess I probably considered myself to be a “big kid”.

She was TOUGH. She worked us hard. She took no nonsense.

If you didn’t make it to training on time - you’d better have a VERY good reason.

If you didn’t make it to training at all - look out!!!

If she didn’t think you were putting your full effort in - you’d know about it.

Every. single. one. of us…….LOVED her!!!

She taught us what it meant to be a team.

She taught us that every. single. person has value.

I didn’t come across many adults like her throughout my childhood. When I was around her I felt like I MATTERED. Not by anything she SAID but by her very attitude and actions.

I grew up feeling like a nobody. I didn’t feel like I was GOOD at anything.

Netball was different.

I mattered.

I belonged.

I contributed.

People said I had a chance to be an “A grader”.

No-one had ever made me feel like that before.

Like I could reach for the stars. And maybe, just maybe, hold one in my hand.

I was used to playing around in the dirt.

The dirty. The dusty. The invisible. The forgotten.

In the space of a few weeks we went from a team that had NEVER won a game - to almost unbeatable.

I wasn’t the best player on the team.

But I never ONCE felt like that mattered.

Because EVERYONE mattered.

Mrs Thompson made sure of that.

We only lost 1 game that season. Our second game of the season.

But it wasn’t winning or losing that mattered. It was the effort we put in. If we lost, we trained hard. If we won, we trained hard.

I remember Mrs Thompson talking about how much training we would have to do when we reached A grade. We were being groomed for the future.

A bunch of “losers” being transformed by the love and care of one lady.

At the end of the season, as we celebrated our Grand Final win, Mrs Thompson talked about us being a team. A team that sticks together. She was adamant that every single one of us move into a C-grade team together.

I cried.

I knew we were moving.

Moving a long way away.

To another state.

A city.

A foreign place.

I was losing my team.

I was losing my sense of place in the world.

I cried on that day.

I cried on and off for a time as I settled into a totally foreign land.

Then one day I packed away my tears and tucked them deep inside of me.

I never got to play netball again.

I’m not sure why.

I went back to that child in the dust. Lonely. Unlovable. Invisible. Useless.

Last Saturday the tears came again.

I wandered around the sporting grounds feeling like I didn’t belong.

All the emotion of those childhood days, flooding back to the surface.

Grief over what might have been. Over what I wanted to be.

A part of a team. A person that mattered.

It came out of nowhere. But the tears would be stemmed no more.

I sat in the car. Alone. Alone in a place FILLED with people. Alone and in pain.

And the tears came.

All I wanted was to work on my fitness.

To take the time I was at training and make use of it.

To enjoy some company and fellowship while I trained with the other netballers.

I didn’t know all of this lay hidden. Carefully tucked away in my heart. In a dark corner where no-one would ever find it.

I didn’t know that getting back on the court would bring with it a fresh wave of grief over what I lost. The sights. The sounds. The smells. The feeling of the ball hitting my hand. The sound of pounding feet on the hard surface.

The child within me cried out.

Longing to be wanted.

To be a part of a team.

To matter.

I’m quite a fan of Motivational Speaker Craig Harper. In fact, I subscribe to his blog so that I can get regular doses of his wisdom and inspiration. I’m actually kind of surprised that someone that is such a popular speaker and writer would give of themselves so freely by way of a blog that anyone can read and participate in. I think it shows a lot about his HEART.

This morning I read his post Mind of a Teacher, Heart of a Student and something within that post really spoke to me. He talks about a man he met at a conference he was speaking at named Bobby Cappucchio.

Here’s an excerpt from the post that really stood out to me:

It’s so incredible what we can do when we find a way, rather than find an excuse. There were so many reasons for Bobby to be anything but amazing and nobody would have blamed him. But he chose to live an amazing existence and to be the most he could, with what he has. And he has done it incredibly well.

I hope you do too.

At that moment it hit me right between the eyes that I really DO want more from my life. Those around me that have heard my story are quick to say that I haven’t had the easiest of lives. People haven’t always treated me well and I’ve allowed them to continue doing so into my adult life because I didn’t feel that I deserved anything better.

For a long time I felt that because there were people out there who’d had worse childhood’s than mine, any hardship I may have experienced didn’t count. It wasn’t the worst therefore it had to have been okay. I guess through counselling and having the support of professionals around me, I’m realising that there were things that weren’t OKAY and trying to say they were okay is actually hindering my recovery process.

It’s not easy because I’m very quick to blame myself for things that happen. Even now I have moments of doubt where I think that all of my struggles are in my head and a result of me misunderstanding my whole childhood.

I guess the fact remains that whatever intent my parents had, it didn’t change the fact that I FELT unwanted, unloved, insecure and worthless. It has taken a long time for my counsellor to get through to me that my feelings are VALID irrespective of how anyone else might view the situation.

I grew up feeling that my feelings were invalid. That I was too emotional and basically my emotions were WRONG. For those who don’t read my “For I Know the Plans I Have For You” blog, I wrote about one such experience from my childhood in this blogpost.

So, where am I heading with all of this? Some of you in your comments over the past couple of days have reminded me of the power of adversity to make us stronger. I feel like I’m ready for the adversity to be over so I can get on with the “being stronger” part of my life.

But we don’t always have that choice do we? Some people seem to go through life with knock after knock and how they keep getting back on their feet is beyond me. Lately I’ve been feeling like the wind has been knocked out of me and I’m not confident I have the strength to keep getting up after each knock-down.

Perhaps this is where my fear stems from in terms of weaning off my current medication. I’m ready to give in and accept a kind of “half life” rather than go through yet another round of knock downs and struggle.

But the human spirit is amazingly powerful.

Here’s another excerpt from Craig’s post:

What too many people don’t realise is that it’s the challenges and the discomfort that cause us to grow if, and when, we step up to the plate. As I’ve said before, pain is our greatest teacher if we choose to learn.

I’m not disputing the fact that we all face real adversity, real pain, real tragedy and real hardship even in our privileged lives (if you’re not starving, you’re privileged), what I am saying is that we can choose to be exceptional despite our situation, despite our circumstance and despite whatever challenges life throws at us.

I want to choose to be exceptional.

I want to CHOOSE to be exceptional.

I don’t say this lightly. I’m still afraid of what the future holds. I’m still working through issues and events that have hurt me and made me consider myself to be a worthless human being.

I don’t believe for a second that the road ahead of me is going to be easy. But I choose to believe that it is going to be worth it.

So, where to from here?

Farmboy and I have pretty much decided that I will “detox” from the medication I’m currently on, do a stint on nothing and then make a decision about whether to try another medication. I’m not against using medication to help with my condition. I AM against taking a medication that doesn’t help. Maybe what I’m taking now is helping more than we realise. Or maybe not. There is only one way to find out.

The plan - such that it is

I have another 2 and a half weeks until I begin working with my personal trainer. In this time I want to continue working on my fitness and strength so that when we do begin, I’m ready to hit the ground running.

Last night I actually managed to jog the full 3km that I’ve been working back up to. It’s frustrating to think that this time last year I could jog 5km and enjoy it rather than it being a chore. It’s hard not to lament my loss of fitness but I’m trying to focus on the future rather than the past. I’ve done it before so I KNOW I can do it again.

I will then have 4 weeks of training with my personal trainer before I next see the Psychiatrist and we begin the gradual process of weaning off the drugs. The poor girl has no idea what she’s getting herself into. I hope she doesn’t bale on me when I explain what’s happening. I think I *need* her now more than ever.

I am *hoping* to be able to maintain as much exercise as possible during the weaning process as it will help.

The future?

Right now, what the future holds is anybody’s guess. Not that any of us REALLY know what the future holds for us.

In terms of this blog, it will be “business as usual” as much as is possible. I will keep you posted as we go (need my cheer squad and support team with me on this one).

I still have fear and doubt. But I feel somewhat comfortable with the decision we’ve made. There are still some logistical details to put into place. But we have time.

I am thankful that I have a wonderful husband, a wonderful counsellor and all of you to support me through this. Never doubt that you are a valued member of my blog community. Each and every one of you.

{{{HUGS}}} to all.

Lightening

I’m a Perfectionist. There! I’ve said it!

You know, for a long time I thought there was NO WAY I was a Perfectionist. After all, I never did ANYTHING perfectly. So how could I be a perfectionist? I guess I kind of missed the point there for a while.

Recently a few of you pointed out this tendency toward perfection when I moaned about the disaster my tea cosy turned out to be. And you were right. I wanted it to be perfect. I missed the point. If my swap partner wanted a “perfect” tea cosy they could have simply gone looking for something mass produced in the shops.

After all, we can find all kinds of perfect items in stores can’t we? Racks of jumpers all cut in the exact same shape. Mass produced tablecloths and prints for the wall, right down to almost identical looking pieces of fruit and vegetables.

I guess somewhere in our striving for perfection, we lost something.

Uniqueness.

Well, Cate now has herself a totally unique tea cosy and one with it’s very own history even before it’s first use (as one of you kindly pointed out to me).

Up until now, my craft of choice has been counted cross-stitch. Over time I’ve had a number of comments as to how I can be bothered. I didn’t really understand why people thought is was hard to do.

In my mind, it was the perfect craft for someone like me who is unable to stitch 2 stitches the same. It certainly satisfies the perfectionist within as every single stitch is a nice even identical size.

I’d been contemplated giving some hand-stitching a go. Seeing Rhonda Jeans creations was certainly putting a yearning in my heart to be able to do something like that. In fact, I’ve been wanting to stitch this pattern for some time now:

It’s exactly the type of thing I’d like to hang on a wall in my home. But of course, I procrastinated on that. Partly because I wasn’t sure where to start with it but mostly because I didn’t think I could stitch “good enough” to satisfy myself.

So it was interesting when Marita sent me this:

I felt excited and challenged all at once. In my hands I had all that I needed to actually give this type of stitching a go. I could no longer procrastinate on the grounds that I didn’t know *how* to do a stitchery. It came with instructions. In fact, it came with EVERYTHING I needed to get started.

So I pulled it all out and began.

My stitches were uneven.

My lines wobbly.

I looked at what I had done.

It looked just right.

It kind of hit me that it was MEANT to look uneven and a little wobbly. ANY machine can make a perfectly stitched picture.

What a machine can’t do is instil thoughts and emotions into a creation. A hand-stitched item will always be unique. You’ll never find 2 the same. Just as you’ll never find 2 finger prints the same.

As I stitched, the colour of my threads made the bleak and empty looking sketch come to life. It hit me that stitching could be the adult equivalent to colouring in!!!! Remember how cool it was to colour in as a kid??? Okay, remember last week when you were colouring in? It’s like that only way cooler!!!!

Into each stitch went the kindness of human touch, the caring of a human heart and the joy of seeing a creation emerge.

Much more than simply stitching, I felt myself grow and learn as I spent time with this creation. I began to really understand how essential colour is when it comes to beauty. How life without colour is rather lifeless. And how life that is uniform and perfect can be rather dull and boring and well, lacking in humanity.

I guess that’s what I mean when I say there is beauty in imperfection. It’s a truer reflection of our own humanity. The fact that our failings bring colour to our life just as much as our successes.

Well, I’m still a perfectionist. But I am TRYING to see the beauty in imperfection.

Oh, and the finished stitchery I promised you I’d show you…..

Oh yes, the perfectionist in me noticed that I should have ironed it before I took the photo!

Now I just need to decide how I want to finish this. I’d like to hang it in my kitchen as part of my Christmas decorating so need to work out whether to frame it or what would be best.

Any suggestions would be most welcome.