Uncomfortable Zones

Today I'm going abseiling. Terrific. Little bit out of my comfort zone, but exciting, different, adrenaline filled.

Ridiculously I am going to be filmed whilst abseiling. For a short segment shown several times a day for weeks at a time on a local tv channel. All about ticking things off your Bucket List. So far there has been a lady learn to sail and a man skydive. Now me. Stay at home Mum goes way out of her comfort zone and abseils down cliff face.

I'm nervous about doing the abseil. Stepping backwards into nothing is possibly going to make me wee myself (just a little bit), but thats not what really scares me. It's the being on tv part that makes me want to vomit. The seeing myself on tv that sends a cold shiver down my spine. The possibility of me saying or doing something terribly embarrassing that will make me cringe for the next 3 years.

But I'm doing it anyway. Enjoying the rush of nerves and anticipation, over thinking what I'm going to say, excited and shitting myself all in one about this adventure. I'm so pleased that I'm putting myself out there. I'm so brave! It could all go pearshaped, but once again I can fall back on the knowledge that my family support and love me and think I'm alright whatever I do. So yay me and walking backwards off a cliff, here I come!

Meditation

Tonight I went to the first session of an introductory meditation course. I'll set the scene - held at the community room in the local library, flourescent lighting and creaky chairs, 30 pairs of ugly bare feet connecting with Mother Earth (through the brown printed carpet) surrounded by orange & grey stripey walls.

An overweight man with greasy hair introduces himself as Anthony, proceeds to explain some of the aims of Sahaja Yoga, points out our various chakras on a whiteboard marker drawn diagram. Anthony has a kind of Jim Jones thing going on and he fidgets, which is totally uncool. I'm seriously thinking of about bolting, but 2 things stop me - 1) There are various 'legitimate' Indian people here to help us with our meditating and 2) I'm much too far away from the exit, I can't bear the thought of all these people with ugly feet seeing me give up 10 minutes in.

He starts the meditation. It involves moving our right hand to various places on our left side and repeating different affirmations in our head with each spot. It lasts about 10 minutes and by the end of it I'm feeling reassured, relaxed, calm. Then he asks us to move our hand to hover over the top of our head to feel the cool air emanating....I'm not feeling it. My Kundalini has not been awakened. He asks for a show of hands and 3 bullshit artists raise them, the rest of us concentrate on our ugly feet.

Doesn't matter, it will happen, he says.

Then he puts on a dvd of the lady with the long name who was the founder of this form of meditation. She has a wonderful Indian accent and she is on a screen that's roughly 7 inches across. It's both difficult to see and to understand. Then a miniature cockroach runs across the top of the screen, then again, then back once more. It's odd.

Eventually they fade the lady's voice out and he asks for any questions. There are the usual suspects 'I couldn't understand her accent - it was a language barrier for me' says one particularly aussie lady. 'I don't know what I'm supposed to be achieving' says a man with a sceptical eye. Another man stands up, bows at the lady waiting by the door and leaves.

I'm tempted, very tempted to run with him but there are biscuits on a table for after and that's enough to keep me here.

Finally Anthony introduces a young, fit Indian guy to talk. He pretty much tells us all the same stuff the fat white Anthony did but in a more legitimate manner. He takes us through one more meditation, again about 10 minutes, similar to the first and again I feel calm, capable. I only do one set of pelvic floor exercises before I remember I'm supposed to not be thinking.

All this lasts for about an hour. They have barely said thank you and goodnight before people are leaving - many turning their mobile phones back on as soon as they stand up. What the fuck is that? Who goes to a meditation course and takes their phone with them?

Some of us hang around, sniffing for the free biscuits and orange juice. Various discussions about the lighting being a bit bright and why on earth did people bring their phones with them? Mingling with the 'staff' who are actually just volunteers who practise this meditation every week together in this very room. They don't worry about the lighting - they don't notice it anymore. Words like 'bliss' and 'thoughtless awareness' are thrown around. Exactly what I'm looking for, I think.

So I reckon there will only be half the amount of ugly feet next week, but I'm going back. It's a 5 week course, one night a week, but I'm going to be away for the last 2 weeks so that works perfectly - I can commit to this but not with too much gusto. I'm fairly sure it can't get much worse than this week and if it is, then that will be a great surprise. Look out Kundalini here I come...

3 things

Tomorrow I have three things to do.

Swim 250m. Cycle 10km. Run 2.5km. All relatively simple individually, join them together and what have we got - a fucking triathlon. A baby one, yes, but a triathlon nonetheless.

Months ago I heard about it through my gym. I entertained the notion of doing it, started jogging on the treadmill once a week, figuring if I can run I can finish it.

Kept jogging, about twice a week. Slowly, but steadily. Did some cycling classes, took the bike out for a few rides. The weather got hotter, I started swimming again. Amazing myself by pushing through & finishing 20 laps of freestyle - 1 whole kilometre of big arms! Not quickly, but correctly.

Now here I am, the eve of my first triathlon, shitting myself. Hearing a horrible voice in my head that says 'Why on earth do you think you can do this? Who are you kidding? Your too slow/fat/unfit to race a triathlon.'

I'm worrying, maybe that voice is right. Maybe I better not do it, in case I can't do it. See the logic? What if I come last? What if people laugh at me? What if I can't finish it?

So all this running, swimming, pushing myself out of my comfort zone has been leading me to this? I don't think so.

So I'm challenging everyone of those ridiculous thoughts with what I actually know. I know I can swim, ride & run. Maybe I haven't done all 3 in a session, but I can give it a try and see how I go.

I am slow, but I'm steady.

I'm a bit fat, but I'm also a bit fit.

Even if I come last, I've still finished.

If anybody laughs at me I'll give them the finger.

So there is nothing else for it. I'm doing it. I'm going to have my beautiful family waiting for me to cross that finish line and I'm going to give them all a huge red faced sweaty high five. And they are going to be so proud of me. And I'm not planning on racing anyone, but I am planning on finishing. I'll probably cry, but that's ok. And Ii it really hurts I don't ever have to do it again, maybe I can take up yoga for my next challenge.

Drop Off

3 weeks before school ended last term a note appeared in the classroom window. "Can anyone help? E's mum needs someone to drop E off to school each day so mum can get to work on time."

I know E and her mum as I used to teach E swimming and I often run into her mum as she is dropping E's little sister off at her family daycare house, 5 doors down the road from my own house.

So I'm obligated, I'm a stay at home mother who has all the time in the world to drop someone elses child off to school, I'm going there anyway, right? So I volunteer, feeling slightly proud of myself for my generosity and goodwill. One for the sisterhood.

She's dropped off at 7.30 each morning. School starts at 8.15, we leave about 8. Do the math. (I'll do it for you - 2.5 hours per week of childcare, I've spent some time on this.)

She's terrified of dogs. Especially ones that bark alot, jump up and generally intrude on your personal space. Oh I've just described Jess, our almost 2 year old blue heeler, who guards our fence from sun up til dusk and doesn't seem to understand E's resistance toward her.

"Whatever you do Don't Run," I yell from the balcony, looking down on them.

I do this every weekday as they come cowering in my gate. I understand their discomfort, but she's my bloody dog and I love her. So suck it up.

So by the end of week one I'm starting to feel an irritation creep up my spine as 7.30 rolls around each morning. I'm wondering if it would be rude to ask for some sort of payment, $5 a day, a bottle of wine at the end of the week, a book voucher? Something, anything, just don't let me be doing this for Nothing.

So much for my generosity and goodwill, it's out the window.

Lets cut a long story short. I didn't ask for any payment, I just sucked it up & took the poor kid to school. Plenty of thank you thank you so much from the mum but Nothing came my way of any value. No fucking bottles of wine, no flowers, no Nothing. I'm seriously pissed off, can't believe I've been taken advantage of like this. Sure I'll do a nice thing but you better return the favour. Thats the way I was bought up, to an extent. If someone does something for you, you pay it back in kind.

I've been stewing over this all 4 week holiday. Discussing it with friends, lamenting the bad manners of this Mum. All the while realising the new term starts very soon & neither E's mum or I have discussed the drop off. Ideally she would ring me, I'd say sorry can't do it anymore, cough your a cheap skate cough, bye then. She didn't ring.

So heres the part I'm really proud of. Last night, after jogging 3.15km on the treadmill (22 minutes of mental preparation) I rang her. Had a quick chat, apologised, said I could no longer do the drop off, good luck with it all. Very nicely and certainly Very maturely. Job done, finito, no more stewing, complaining, worrying.

I can't even tell you how easy it was. How good I felt after. How unlike me it is to tackle potential social discomfort head on and not end in tears.

So good on me. Not for the goodwill but for the good ending.

The thoughts come easily, but the answers don't

Been doing alot of thinking. Too much, possibly.

My attempts at Mindfulness are only successful when I'm in the grocery store, surrounded by food and products, immersed in choice.

So much of my day is vacant for thinking. Hanging washing out - I tell my body to suck that tummy in, listen to the neighbourhood noises - what can I hear? I listen, then find myself a minute later having an imaginary conversation with an old friend, or reliving any number of strange incidents that have occurred in my life.

Listening to the neighbourhood is completely forgotten.

My Post Natal Shrink is encouraging me to challenge my negative thoughts. Acknowledge them, then let them go. Become aware of them. Laugh at them. Imagine I was saying them to a friend (but I would never speak that way to a friend...?). Be mindful.

It's fucking hard. I have a well established pattern that has developed into something of an addiction, the more I know I should change it the tighter I hold on, terrified of what's underneath.

It seems a terribly strange concept, embarrassing almost, to actually like myself? Love myself? That used to be a put down when I was at school...'Oh Kelly, she loves herself, pfft'. Yet all around me I'm seeing people I once knew, older, younger, school mates and they all seem to be so together, so pretty, so capable.

I feel like I'm being left behind. Again like I should be more.

I wore makeup today, that wonderful mineral powder that swirls on and leaves one looking almost flawless, or at least one tone. I saw a friend and she complimented me 'Are you wearing powder? It looks great, your skin looks so good'. Which I struggle to take as a compliment, but I think it was one.

I've been reading some great books, a marvellous technique I use to avoid reality.

The Book Thief by Marcus Zusac made me weep, amazed me, touched me.

Currently I'm reading A Million Little Pieces by James Frey about an addicts recovery. I can relate, in a way, I'm actually finding it quite addictive...theres a line on page 43 I like -

"..for a brief second I feel strong. Not strong enough to face myself, but strong enough to keep going".

And so we go.

Gastronomical

The family and I have been suffering from some sort of gastro for the past 4 days. Some are vomiting, some squirting, some doing both. It's a terrible thing to see your children sick and not be able to fix it, a good reminder of what it is to be a mother when all you can offer is love and comfort.

However 4 days in and myself being one of the gastro sufferers the novelty of being Nurse Nightingale has worn off. I'm sick of my kids, sick of my husband and definitely sick of the back of the toilet door. In between caring for family I've spent what seems like hours contemplating the back of that door and my thoughts keep taking me back to the same place. This is shit. Literally. Totally. I'm desperate for someone to tend to me, longing to just lay in bed and feel sorry for myself for as long as my bowels will let me.

The best I got was a rub on the back from hubby, with the question - "Do you think you'll be better tomorrow?"

It wears thin, being the homemaker. Running the household. Home Duties. Often I feel moments of hysteria, where I really can't believe that this is where I am, somehow I've ended up some Stepford wife, albeit not a very good one - not thin enough, clean enough, committed enough.

Even worse my Baby Bonus money just ran out so I have no money to call my own. Hubby puts a set amount into a shared bank account each week and I am, I believe, a kept woman. On a budget. Yet the question remains, if I were to go back to work, even part time, who would tend to these home duties?

How dare I complain? My mother never would have, and I know, I know, there are people who long to have what I have. And most of the time I'm delighted by my lot, proud of myself, proud of them, I try to find a sense of achievement in dusted louvres. But evenings like this one, where I'm halfway to falling apart, it's just a pain in my arse.

Health

It's 5.30 on a Wednesday morning and my daughter can't sleep. So here we are. Her on the floor playing with a container of pins (it's too early for me to care) that make a great noise and me slumped over the computer desk trying to feel positive.

Theres not much to love at this time of the day. Sorry kid.

The worst of it is it's my own fault. My daughter sleeps well and is quite a pleasant baby so long as I stick to several golden rules.

No dairy. Milk & cheese have been easy to kick - it's chocolate that I can't let go of. My old friend. I went for 4 weeks completely dairy free and what a month it was - lighter, happier, healthy....Then somehow the chocolate has found it's way into my shopping trolley and I'm back on the gear, finding comfort in a brown bar. Meanwhile my daughter becomes more & more irritable, can't drop off to sleep, wants to be held all day. Screams like a newborn when she's not. Torturous. My own fault.

Then I give up the chocolate and think it's only fair I have a beer or 2 in the evening, just to take the edge off if you like. Turns out this is as effective as chocolate and we are back to her wanting much more of me than I can give.

So back to square one. Dietary control. Exercise. All that business of health. Maintaining positive thoughts, fighting back the negative ones that want to take control. It's just that its gonna be a long day today, I know it, and I can't even 'reward' myself with chocolate or beer! Looks like its a beach walk & a healthy dinner and perhaps even a few daytime kips.