So here’s me, taking a moment to appreciate how far we’ve come and how much we’ve done; for the amazing clients we’ve written for and the experiences or opportunities that have opened up for us. And to briefly reflect on how we balance children, work, home, friends, family and everything else in our lives.

Ok. That’s enough time. Back to work writing for me now (before the kids need to be picked up from school, taken to netball and football and life moves swiftly on again).

Enjoy this story from BUPA, written back in 2017. The article, as well as the period of my life it describes, feels like a lifetime ago.

Natasha

Fabulous isn’t it?

It resonated strongly with me, as I’ve been trying to write a piece – primarily for myself – about the losses I’ve experienced over the last 12 months. (I even hate the phrasing of that as it puts me in the centre of those stories, whereas I am really just a side character.) So while I cast these painful events to one side for now to muse on later, bear with me. I’m going to try this exercise to entertain you (and get out of my head).

See if you recognise this one.

The wind howled around us as my brothers and I huddled in the living room. Each fresh gust had a way of snaking its way under the doors and down the chimney, filling each small room with a fetid stench. We kept well away from the windows and hoped that the strong walls would hold.

So far so good, but my brothers hadn’t been so fortunate. 

My brothers had arrived on my doorstep earlier in the afternoon with tales of cyclonic conditions which reduced both their houses to rubble. Of course I welcomed them in quickly before the winds arrived to take their aim at my abode. I tried not to gloat, but secretly wondered as to how they each came to the decision to use such lightweight materials to construct their houses.

The wind eased for a moment outside, as the wolf took another breath. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in.”

As the winds swirled around us again, my brothers squealed with fright. I hoped that the house I had carefully crafted from bricks would continue to hold.

P.S. – If you replied two spaces to the question above, you’re wrong! And we have a series of frustrated editors to prove the fact!

I’m not quite sure how to unpack today.

This afternoon I got a call from my children’s school. My son had been pushed in an unprovoked attack by an older child. He’d hit his head against the wall. Some students and a teacher had witnessed the episode and corroborated the story. When he went back to class, his teacher asked that I be called to pick him up as she was concerned about my son. He was very pale, quiet and uncharacteristically emotional.

What’s worse is that my son and his friends have had a few altercations with this same child – mostly (according to the boys) all unprovoked. They all knew the boy had ‘anger issues’ and tried not to antagonise him or avoided him where possible.

When I received the phone call about lunchtime I was writing. I have a friend who is probably days away from dying. She’s about five years younger than me and we became good friends when she moved to Brisbane briefly, as our kids were all the same age.

She had since moved away but we stayed in touch. Over the past few years since her diagnosis I’ve been trying to support her as best I can from interstate. I’d been researching possible treatments, cures, medical trials – anything that might help her three small children have a mother for longer. I visited her in Adelaide last week and assisted her in collating cards that she’ll leave her children for each birthday she’ll miss, from now until they’re 21. In case you’re wondering – its 48 cards for the 48 birthdays she won’t be there for. It’s been a heartbreaking thing to watch another mother try to come to terms with.

When I received the phone call from my childrens’ school, I raced there. My blood pumping and head raging. I knew there was a history between these two boys and I felt the sting of injustice and the taste of righteousness on behalf of my son. The mummy lion (as my children refer to her) was released!

After picking up my son, we got some afternoon tea and talked. We spoke about the other child. Something about his name seemed familiar. Where had I heard it before? Then it clicked.

I’m involved with our school’s wonderful Community Care program. It means (when I’m not being the mummy lion) that I am one of the people who help to foster a sense of community among our school families. The idea being, that a connected community is a supportive one. Community Care also steps in where there is a need for more formal help, whether it be coordinating meals or rostering children’s pickups from school or distributing gift baskets from a local business to our most vulnerable families.

That was it. He was one of our vulnerable families. I don’t often – and try not to inquire about family’s circumstances. For one, because it’s absolutely none of my business and two because I think it affords a family a little dignity.

With a sickening thud, I realised I knew this child’s circumstances. I had met with his grandmother last year when handing out the Christmas baskets of goodies. She’d been so thankful, so appreciative of this gesture, which had so little to do with me (I was just like Santa Claus – I’d done none of the work in putting these together and I got most of the credit). When she came in, his grandmother and I had realised we knew each other. She was the sunny, smiling face that often met me behind the counter of our local shop.

She told me that her daughter had cared for her grandson as best she could until she had passed away from cancer two years ago. She and her husband had stepped in. Earlier last year, her husband had had a stroke and was severely incapacitated. That left her as the main bread winner and carer, juggling between the two and having to cut down the hours at work as her duties as carer increased. None of this you would have been able to tell from meeting her at her job – the smile never left her face.

This child at school who had ‘anger issues’ had lost his mother. The same scenario I am grieving over as I look at my friend’s imminent situation. A situation her children will mirror in less than a week no doubt.

Unfortunately this story doesn’t have any neat conclusions where they all lived happily ever after. I just know that I feel unbelievably sad about each situation. But despite what I feel, or whatever I do, this child will still wake up without a mum and my friend’s children will do the same very soon too.

– Natasha

I’m supposed to be writing about firewalls and hybrid networks today, but to be honest, I can’t keep my mind on the job. So I thought I’d pen (metaphorically) what is really on my mind.

You see, I’ve been supporting a friend of mine through her journey with cancer for the last four years. When I say supporting her, I mean I’ve been watching helplessly from the sidelines doing virtually nothing. I send the occasional message of love or gratitude and have tried to find medical trials which might prolong her life. It doesn’t help that she lives interstate and that ironically, I often can’t find the right words to say to her. But this is not really about me, is it.

Anyway, she will no doubt die surrounded by friends and her family. And it will happen very soon. But, in the end – and this is a concept I really only understood academically before – we all die alone. The journey of death is a very, very lonely one. 

Perhaps the saddest thing though is she’s going to leave her three young children. Over the weekend she’s been asking us to come up with ideas how we can keep her memory alive for her children after she’s gone. She’s writing cards for each of her children to be delivered for their birthdays, from now until they reach 21. For her youngest child that’s going to be 18 years of birthday cards that she’ll be reading without her mother.

I agreed that I’d try to collate some of these ideas for her so they can be printed out and enclosed with the future birthday cards. These are things like “sleep for a night under the stars” or “volunteer with a charity for a month” or “join in for the annual mother’s group dinner” with her close friends.

Anyway as you can imagine it got me thinking about my own children. What would I want my legacy be? What would I say to my own children if I was in the same situation? What small words of wisdom or life lessons would I leave them?

For me, I love the idea of extending them and exposing them to new experiences – even if I was not there to help them. Things like learning a musical instrument, or learning a new language or just knowing how to be comfortable on your own for example by eating a meal in a restaurant by yourself (no devices allowed). Or learning to serve others by doing volunteer or charity work.

There would be so much I would want them to learn, to know, to understand, that it’s hard to know where to start.

So apart from letting those close to you know how much they were loved, what would you say?

– Natasha

I can see your eyebrows leaping into your hairline, so let me explain.  Yesterday was a classic example.  I aimed to get to work early to meet a contractor.  So the kids decided to sleep in.  Mother guilt gets me every time they sleep in.  How many times have I read articles about sleep and brain development?  Too many times to wake a sleeping child, so I waited.   I waited until I was cutting it fine and then I shuffled them into the car with their pyjamas on and their uniforms under their arms.  I can do that because we have to drive at least 4 kms down our drive way and along a dirt road before we hit bitumen (welcome to country Victoria) so dressing in the car is an option if required.  But it has its downfalls.

I was just turning into the street where the school is located when a little voice from the back seat piped up and said, “Mum, it occurs to me I don’t have undies on.”  Really?!  It didn’t occur to you when you put your school shorts on?  I turned around.

With undies on, we tried again.  This time it was the cow’s turn to create a delay.  One of the steers was in the hay shed yard, while his fellow bovine mates hung around on the other side of the fence (an ominous sign that they might attempt to join him).  Now I hate cows.  They are beautiful animals but worse than kids without undies to work with.  There have been at least two occasions last year where I have had to list a reason for why my children have been late to school, and I’ve simply written “Cows.”  Bless.  Living in the country no one questions my sanity in writing this but me.

Sheep I can manage (who knew? I wouldn’t have said that 10 years ago, when we lived in inner city Brisbane).  But cows are too big, especially the steers.  A long time ago for work, I would fly a lot.  I often quoted the fact that you were more likely to be killed by a cow than have a plane crash.  I think of this every time I have a stoush with a cow.  

I was going to be thirty minutes early, dropping the kids off to school at 8.30am.  It’s now 9.15am and the cow has won, and I’ve called my husband in defeat.  We run a paddock to plate butcher shop.  When he asked what I expected him to do I suggested he close the shop and leave a note on the door saying, “Cows.  Lana’s called.  Need I say anymore?”  

You’ll be pleased to know that I did eventually get to work to meet the contractor.  As I got out of the car he walked across the carpark towards me.  He reached out his hand and said, “You must be Lana.  How’d you go with that cow?”

– Lana

I think its life that has me thinking so much about listening.

Often I wonder what it would be like if I just stopped talking, and instead, simply listened.  Life (for myself and so many others), has become so busy that focusing on completing tasks or delivering a certain outcome can shut off your senses so you don’t listen as effectively as you could.  Eventually you get so caught up on the treadmill that you don’t notice that your results aren’t as good as they could be, or alternatively you just end up exhausted.  Either way, it’s clear that this is not an isolated phenomenon.

The Slow Movement began to rise well over a decade ago (if not every other generation before, just in some other guise) and poor mental and physical health trends are epidemic.  Indeed, people who live in this laid back, sunburnt country work some of longest hours in the world.

So what’s this got to do with listening?

We don’t have time for it.  We don’t have time, and as a result, to be heard we focus on raising our voice rather than using our ears and all our other senses.  Eventually we forget how to listen and that has implications.  I am sure we can all share an anecdote or two about failing to realise what was really going on in a work or home situation because we didn’t stop to really listen to what it was that was being said; either verbally, in writing or through people’s actions.

So it makes me wonder.  What would happen if I just stopped talking?

– Lana

So although it is tempting to put my feet up and read a book (one of my favourite pastimes that I have recently rediscovered) I thought I should write a little. Stretch my writing legs, so to speak.  As it’s been a while. Good while longer than it should be… considering I call myself a writer (of sorts).

In fact, I hope you see more of these sorts of pieces soon.  Both Lana and I need to stretch our metaphorical writing legs and having a web page with a blog component to it, seems as good a place as any to pen some thoughts.

We’ve kept this page primarily work-based up until now, but I think you’ll see that change a little.  I’d like to jot down any old thing that comes into my head.  That doesn’t mean you’re going to be reading my weekly shopping list. Maybe, if I really get my writing boots on (see the links in my metaphors?), you might even see a short story.

(Also, following on from a post last year, I’d like you all to take a moment and just appreciate how hard it was for me to only put one space after each full stop in the above. I’m trying! Thank you for your indulgence.)

It’s about self-limiting beliefs.  I believe some may call it Impostor Syndrome.  You know those doubts that creep in questioning your abilities or that nasty little voice in your head telling you that you can’t do something.  The fear that you’ll be found out pretending to be something you’re not.

That’s them!   I have to admit as a fairly confident 40+ year old, I don’t hear them too often anymore (goodbye teenage years!)   I also spend much of my life trying to make sure my small children don’t fall prey to them (“You can be anything you want to be, my darlings!”) and yet, when I try to push myself a little – there they are!  In my head!

This picture sadly bears no resemblance whatsoever to me running.

My self-limiting beliefs were never more apparent to me than during yesterday’s Parkrun.  A Parkrun, for the uninitiated, is a 5km run.  The one in my area is held every Saturday morning and usually attracts around 250 or so runners of all different levels and abilities.   We shuffle our way around a beautiful lake and generally, it’s a pretty great way to start the weekend.

Depending on your level of fitness, you are either going to be horrified at the thought of willingly running 5km without anybody chasing you with a meat cleaver, or ever-so-slightly disparagingly be thinking “it’s only 5km.  I do 50km before I’m even awake in the morning!”

Me?  I currently fall somewhere between the two.  Well perhaps a little closer to the horrified / meat cleaver side still.

I cannot think of another way of prefacing this, without referring to my self-limiting beliefs, so here goes.  (See if you can pick them – hahaha!)

Although I have been trying to prioritise exercise in my life now for a good 18 months or so, I would not call myself a great runner.  I believe the term is “as slow as a herd of stampeding tortoises” – coined by some witty person who may have possibly seen me try to run.  Despite this and my stubborn tenacity to keep turning up to my group exercise sessions with the most patient trainer in the world, I have seen an increase in my fitness, tone and particularly my strength.  I’m sure there are other pluses, but they stay fairly well hidden to me.

Despite handing over a good chunk of change every few weeks, I do struggle with thoughts of whether I really belong in the group exercise sessions with all these amazingly active mums.  Most people there I’m sure might find me aloof, but it’s usually because I am trying to convince myself that I can be one of them, if I just turn up three times a week and push myself a little harder.  Then shrink into the corner waiting for the class to start.

So the stage is set.  I start the run with the exercise group, along with another 250 or so (I really want to say masochist, but I’ll settle for -) runners.  I run a pretty easy (albeit very, very slow) 2km’s then as I realise I’m almost half way round, the self-limiting beliefs start.

“Give up.  Start walking.  Who are you kidding, to think that you can run the 5km?  You’re not fit enough to do this whole thing!  Stop now then run a bit at the end.”

So I did.  The thing was, as I slowed to a walk, I also realised that I wasn’t breathing particularly heavily, nor had my legs started to burn.  I gave up because I believed I couldn’t do it – not because I wasn’t fit enough to go on.

And as I walked along in the warm morning sunlight, alongside that beautiful lake, I felt disgusted with myself.  I didn’t feel disappointed though – because I never really thought I could do it.  And, like ever self-fulfilling prophesy, I proved myself right.

So as I walked, I reflected on how much of my life I might accidentally sabotage by not believing I can do something.   Work?  Relationships and friendships?  What else?

I don’t have answers for you.  I didn’t have some great epiphany and decide from here on in, I’m going to believe in myself!  Because it’s not really as easy as the Disney movies lead you to believe.

But I’ll keep turning up to my exercise sessions in the hope that one day, I’ll surprise myself and actually find out that I can run at least 5km.  And perhaps when I run Parkrun again this weekend, I’ll try to quieten those voices and let me run at least another half a kilometre of so before I succumb to them.

Do you have any areas of your life that you struggle with?  Can you identify any self-limiting beliefs you might hold?  Perhaps by articulating them, we can identify them for the foolish and damaging things they are?

Your Write is turning 3!  And what a lot has happened in that short amount of time!

For a start, there are the geographical practicalities.  As the idea of Your Write took seed all that time ago, I was living in (and renovating) our little house in Brisbane while Lana had picked up and moved north with her husband’s work.  It was just in time to see the collapse of the mining boom in Queensland, taking with it many of its northern towns.

Always ready to turn her hand to anything, Lana once again packed up her family and while working, supporting her husband and family and selling a house in a flailing market, and moved to rural Victoria where they started farming.

This would have been difficult enough to do while juggling a business with your partner, but at the same time, I also decided to move house and sell two houses while enduring a few health issues.  I’m not going to name names, but there was one occasion where, dressed in a fetching, backless hospital gown, I may have made an anesthetist wait to put me under while I discussed a current project with a client… without letting on exactly why I was going to uncontactable for a few days.

It was an interesting time to say the least, but we proved to ourselves, that we could pretty much do anything we set our minds to!  So, over these past three years, our confidence has grown, not only in (and of) ourselves, but also in our business.

During this time, we’ve also seen the market change and grow almost exponentially.  We’ve made a few mistakes – luckily nothing too serious and learned so, so, so much.  Sometimes, it was building on and updating our knowledge, sometimes it was all so new, it was like working in a foreign language.

And whether by good management or good fortune (or perhaps a combination of both), we have now written for an impressive list of clients – a list which just keeps on growing.  We’ve worked with such giants as Coca Cola, MYOB, CGU Insurance, BUPA, Accor Hotels, Wotif, Rays Outdoors and InterContinental Hotels – just to name a few.

We’ve also had the pleasure of working with many local businesses too.  It is particularly to these locals that we’d like to thank for their support and faith in us, scattered over Queensland and Victoria.

So Happy Birthday Your Write.

Thank you for all that you’ve given us – and continue to give us.

Lots of love,

Tash and Lana