Body hate

I read an interesting article this morning

I'm there. Hate how my body looks and feels following the rules my spunky man set up for me. Working out no longer makes me feel powerful and in control. It's a chore. Something on the list that needs to be crossed off.

This article has helped me see what I've been searching for internally for months. Extrinsic factors never motivate. Motivation come from within. I'm going to focus on finding that again.

Dry rot and the Phoenix

My marriage was a farce. Don't get me wrong, I did love my husband. But I was misguided. I was under the impression that if he was happy I would be happy. I did everything I could to help him achieve his dreams. I held three jobs, did the housework, cooked and worked tirelessly on building our own home from scratch. I naively thought that if I did all of these things for him he would be able to pull himself out of depression and an internet addiction. I fooled myself into thinking that if I was the good, compliant wife he would love me. But I was wrong.

As time when by he became more abusive. He became violent. He could not control his temper. We were both miserable. AS the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months and months into years I was slowly dying inside. Infected with dry rot that he injected into me with snide comments and mock humour, I withered. My strength faded. My spark died. I became a zombie, going through the motions of life.

Everyone has a breaking point. Mine was coming home after one hell of a week and having to drag groceries inside, pack them into the fridge and pantry, put on a load of washing to attempt to get through Mount Washmore and finally sit down after midnight only to have the man that I married turn to me and say "make me a cup of tea". I snapped. I didn't yell in a maddened raging rant. I quietly stood up, walked to the spare room, curled up under the doona and closed my eyes.

That night marked the start of my slow progress of chipping away at the infected wood of my soul. Slowly excavating the rotten parts. Undoing years of emotional damage. Relearning my likes, finding my passion and rebuilding. Like with dry rot in a house, I know that I will never be able to fully recover from fifteen years with a man I should not have been with. But out of that terrible mistake I was blessed with the two most beautiful children in the world. So I do not regret it.

In contrast to my slow decay, I know that I burnt my husband. I left him. But in doing so I lit a fire under him that has seen him reborn. Like a phoenix, what has emerged from the ashes of that fire is a man who is now actively seeking his dreams himself. He is running a blacksmith shop, building fences, raising goats and pigs and sailing. The man is better without me; something that I knew for many years but, because I desperately wanted our marriage to work, ignored.

Three years after the end of our marriage I am still trying to dig out the deepest parts of rot. I am still building myself up from a scared and lonely girl to a strong, independent woman.

Passion

Recently I've been thinking about the importance of passion in a relationship. What's more important - passion or stability? Is it possible to have both? Or are they mutually exclusive?

Secrets of a gym junkie

I do not profess to be an expert on fitness. Though I have a Cert IV in fitness instruction, I have not maintained my qualification since having kids. I take my training seriously but not so much that it impacts my life overley. I am not good at eating clean. I try. I really do. But I have a love affair with both dairy and sugar so I don't win most days.

I recently read an article about 21 secrets of girls who lift. While I don't agree that I lust after trainers more than I do heels and I don't deserve a cheat day because I basically cheat every day; they are on the money. However, they did forget a few things.

1. We sweat. None of this glowing crap that chicks try to make you believe. If you train hard, you will sweat. It will not be pretty. Clothes will be soaked and it stings when it gets into a cut.
2. We have callouses on our hands from the bar. Get over it.
3. Our lives are driven by the adrenaline rush that comes from lifting (I get it from running too but there's no way I can run in Melbourne winter if I wish to retain the function of my extremities in perpetuity)
4. Food is always on our mind. We are almost always hungry. We eat five meals a day, not three and don't expect us to be kind to you if we aren't fed regularly.
5. We don't take kindly to people reserving equipment and not using it promptly. Nor do we appreciate those that sit on the machine texting or reading Facebook. GET OFF. NOW!
6. We lift more than some of the guys at the gym. No, I am not kidding. The men will not appreciate this. Their bad.
7. Just because we're strong does not mean we don't like it when guys treat us like a lady. Please still open the door for us and carry heavy shit from the car. It makes us feel special and loved.
8. On the flip side to the above, we are competent enough to lift and move the couch. Let us help you.

Through every storm

I drove home through an incredible hail storm recently. The noise was deafening. It (literally) drowned out my tunes. All I could hear was ice on metal as I navigated peak hour traffic. Everyone knows that the masses cannot drive in the wet. A little rain and all of a sudden lane changes cause havoc, people cannot use their indicators, they brake for no reason and accident rates increase. 

As I inched my way towards home, I had the overwhelming feeling that something good was going to happen. No, the traffic didn't miraculously part so I had a clear run home (though that would have been welcomed). But, as I came over a rise, navigating the madness that comes from a bus in the left lane and a tram in the right, the most vivid double rainbow I had ever seen greeted my eyeballs. It was incredible (the photo does not do it justice). The colours were iridescent and the stark contrast it gave against the previous encounter with ice particles bouncing off my windscreen was uplifting.

The analogy to my life was not lost on me. I had years of misery where I felt trapped, alone and cold. But I made it through the darkness and all I can see now is light. Sure, there are times when I lose faith in myself. There are times when I stumble. There are even times when I fall flat on my face. But the light does not leave me anymore. I am surrounded by my own glow. I carry a fire with me that I lost for a long time. I am stronger now than I ever have been - both physically and mentally. I have the brain space to see things with a logical perspective. While my life is far from perfect (I am still working towards having my babies with me full time) and there are many aspects I continue to work on (washboard abs are not forthcoming), I am truly at peace with who I am at my core.

The rain will still come and go from time to time. And that's a good thing. I will use it to water my internal garden. I will soak in the times where things are not going well rather than wallow. I see the down times in life as a chance to take stock. An opportunity for reflection and growth. I know that life is never going to be a glossy magazine fairy tale. And I am truly okay with that

Lost

Today I am having a crisis of epic first world proportion. I have a job, a beautiful home, a loving partner, gorgeous kids and a great family. I eat well, have access to clean water and time and energy spare to do leisure activities I enjoy. I am blessed with a truly wonderful life. It is not fitting, therefore, that I am feeling flat. It is not right that I am tired and feeling emotionally unbalanced. It is illplaced that I feel like I am wandering aimlessly. I feel disempowered. Lost. 

I have a constant uneasy feeling and I cannot seem to pinpoint it's source.

Inexperience breeds disquiet

My man recently pointed out that he acknowledges my "inexperience". While I think this was an attempt to be conciliatory, I feel deeply inept. I would not consider myself to be overly shy or naive. Admittedly, I am probably overly self-critical and I feel like my sexual inexperience is a liability but, in the context of the conversation we were having, I was left feeling totally inadequate.

In my usual style, I have pondered this at length in the last few days but am coming up short. I know I have had very few partners for my age (well, any age if I am honest) and I am well aware that my man has had more than his share of women but I figure that's the past and we should leave it there. Should I point out that he's slept around? No. I think that's inconsiderate. He's made his choices and I have made mine. I feel like I am being penalised for not being a slut.