Whatever you do, don’t fire me.

People get fired for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes they make sense and sometimes they don’t. One thing is always true. We aren’t wanted anymore. For whatever the reason, we aren’t wanted anymore. Let that sink in; you aren’t wanted anymore. “But I still want to be there.” It doesn’t matter. You aren’t wanted there anymore. Shake the dust off and walk on. What’s the dust? Resentment, anger, hostility, regret, bitterness…shake off these dust particles. They’re heavier than you think. They’re also unsightly. People look and wonder why you’re covered in dirt, not wanting it to rub off on them. Shake it off. Scrub it off. Do whatever is necessary to get rid of it. – David Horsewood.

It sounds punchy and very hard hitting but the message isn’t to wound or cause distress. It’s almost a little bit of tough love to get you on your next step in life quickly. So you can look back and say, ‘well … that was a blessing in disguise.’

I’ve been thinking about how I would cope with this kind of rejection and long story short, I wouldn’t. Being a people pleaser by nature, if I’ve invested even an inkling of effort into a relationship or job prospect and it doesn’t work the way I want, I feel deflated and crushed.


Side note to highlight the extent of my people pleasing
When I first moved to London I applied for what I thought was a reception job at a (bullshit) company called DS Global. After going through the three step interview process which involved scouring the streets and knocking on people’s doors asking for charity sign ups, I didn’t feel comfortable walking away. I knew I didn’t want this job and I felt duped that they would advertise it as a 9-5 desk job but I really wanted to prove to the interviewer that I was the right candidate. My competitive nature also contributed to me completing the interview course and getting the job but that main reason as to why I didn’t walk away on the first day was because I wanted to show I was the one. The one person they were looking to hire and that I could fit any mold that was presented to me. I quit 3 days later.


The idea that someone in the world wouldn’t want me for my skills, personality, talent or time is a really distressing concept that just doesn’t sit well with me. And it doesn’t extend to people either.

Fiancé and I went to Lady Dinah’s Cat Cafe to sip tea and stroke the cats one Friday afternoon. I was so excited because I had been waiting for one of these cafes to open since they first became ‘a thing’ in Japan and the day had finally arrived. After sitting patiently for half an hour it was clear the cats weren’t interested in me or sitting on my lap. The rejection completely killed me and drove me to thinking all sorts of crazy things like, ‘why don’t they love me? You’d think they could just pretend to like me. I thought I would be a great crazy cat lady? Great, now I can’t even get that cat Matt promised me when we move to Australia because it won’t even like me. Maybe it’s my perfume? I think it’s too warm in here so they don’t want to be near anyone … no it’s definitely my perfume.’

See! I can’t even cope with the rejection of a cat. Even reliving that experience is making me feel tetchy.

When I saw this quote it really made me think about what I would do if I was ever sacked. I’d like to say I would be able to cope with like a rational adult but the reality is (even after hearing this quote) I know I wouldn’t. I can see it now. I would start out frantically trying to explain all the reasons this was a bad move by the company in hushed tones. Throw a public fit. Smash some things. Lose a shoe. Accept that I’ve burn all my bridges. Emotional eat my way to a size 32. Live the rest of my life with seething aggression towards that company and the people who fired me.

I’m a mess .. the questions is, are you?


My body is not a lifestyle.

We’ve heard it all before. Your body is a reflection of your lifestyle. This kind of phrase is normally posted parallel to some buff, oiled up fitty doing a plank or a vague blonde showing her too good to be true ass.

It’s the bulk standard “motivational” picture that you may or may not have agreed with at least once. I know I have. I literally just got off my Facebook page to write this post about it. You see, I’m having a fat day. No, a fat week. I’ve not eaten anything particularly bad, I’ve been to the gym twice and I’ve got sore legs (walking as if I’ve shit myself sore) but the voice in my head has been particularly shouty with what he thinks of me.

Apparently I’m doing something wrong because he doesn’t think my body reflects the healthy “lifestyle” I lead. He thinks I should be slimmer, tighter, more like so and so’s girlfriend. I should be eating less of this, more of that blah blah blah blah.

And then I see this picture … Your body is a reflection of your lifestyle … And I die a little inside. Because if the internet says it then it must be true? Because if it’s on some piece of shit DEmotivational image I saw on my Facebook feed then it must validate everything I, and everyone else feels about me right? Because if I have a jiggly belly and off-centred boobs then I must be a lazy slob. And waking up at 5am four days a week to workout isn’t enough and I’ve got to try harder to make sure my body reflects the lifestyle of a dedicated athlete.

No, not today head voice. You aren’t winning this one. I’m taking a stand because I don’t think my body is a true reflection of my lifestyle. Yes I agree, that a body can reflect a certain aspect of your lifestyle particularly if you are an athlete or swim suit model. But what other areas are missing if all you can deduce from looking at me is that I am either a dedicated perfectionist or a fat lard?

Can you see just by looking at me that my personal mission each day is to make my man smile? Or that I prefer swimming to cycling? Can you tell that I am struggling with body dysmorphic disorder? Can you deduce, just by looking at me that I cherish spending quality time with people, being present?

If you can, then it is true at least for me that the body is a direct reflection of my lifestyle. But if not, could it be that my body only tells one of the many stories it has to tell? And the rest can only be learnt by talking to me, living with me, working with me, loving me and by being apart of my life?

Fuck a fake friend, where your real friends at?

Seriously though – fuck fake friends.

Fuck those who only want you to play pawn in their egotistical game of friendship chess. Fuck the ones who talk smack behind your back. Fuck the ones who never apologise. Fuck the ones who you always have to be in contact with for them to know that your relationship is valid. Fuck the ones who don’t understand what it is to connect on a real level. Fuck those people you can’t speak to without getting caught up in their drama. Fuck the people who never stand up for you. Fuck the ones who embarrass you. Fuck the ones who never grew up. Fuck the people who tell you ‘you’ve changed.’ Fuck the Queen Bees. Fuck the hierarchy. Fuck the ones who belittle your accomplishments. Fuck the ones who can’t keep secrets. Fuck those who medal in your life with the intention to hurt. Fuck the ones who can’t forgive. Fuck the ones who can’t forget. Fuck those who make you feel as if you have to stoop to their mental capacity to be a part of the group. Fuck those who think you have to talk about someone else to be interesting. Fuck the people who make you feel bad for being weird. Fuck the negative ones. Fuck the people you dread going to see. Fuck those who make you feel fat. Fuck those who make you feel like you’re too good for them. Fuck people who aren’t happy for you. Fuck those who bring the worst out in you. Fuck the people who make you feel like you need them. Fuck the small minded people. Fuck bitches. Fuck gossip. Fuck egos. Fuck jealousy. Fuck the flaky. Fuck the freeloaders. Fuck the people who tarnish your name. Fuck the people who take your shine. Fuck the ones who don’t bring out anything but the best in you. Fuck the friends who are disguised as your enemies. Fuck the ones who only call when they need something. Fuck the people who think you need them.
Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck a fake friend.


I’m not one of those ‘burn your bra’ feminists

I’m not one of those ‘burn your bra’ type feminists. You know the type that is in your face about important issues. The type that tries to get your attention on matters like breast feeding in public, ‘asking’ for rape, affordable day care for young children, legalisation of abortion clinics and how important industries like engineering and politics are heavily male dominant. No I’m not one of those pioneering women who change the world.

I’m more like one of those feminists that shares tidy pictures on Facebook regarding unequal pay differences between men and women (not saying this isn’t important.) The kind that thinks things shouldn’t be the way they are but never actually does anything about it – or worse – never backs the bra burning ‘extremists’ when they turn to me for strength and numbers.

I’m the type of feminist that rides the wave of inequality in a public environment (but obviously not in a confronting or obstructive way that may upset anyone especially the people that oppress me) and reaps the benefits of what my extremist brothers and sisters slave to achieve after constant battling and fighting and bra burning.

I’m the kind of feminist that doesn’t even know what the word feminist means.

If you as a woman or a man don’t have the audacity to drop the “I’m not a bra burning” prelude to the word feminist you are the enemy. You take the form of all those who get away with paying ME less. Get away with telling ME I can’t breastfeed my children in public because it’s ‘offensive.’ You stand on the side of all those who put every effort into making abortion illegal because you know what is best for my unborn child in my current circumstance.

You stand for keeping 80% of the world’s political power in the hands of men. You silence the victims of violent homes in Afghanistan. You tell Saudi women they can’t operate a car on the road. You drive the 50% wage gap between women of colour and men. AND YOU TAX MY TAMPONS!

It’s not your fault for being distracted by the sensationalism of bra burning in the 1960’s. It’s a pretty big thing to forget! But it is your fault for being blinded by the stigma that all feminists are extremists who burn bras for attention. You have allowed the sensationalization of one incident totally skew your idea of what it is to be a feminist.

Did you know that many feminists didn’t actually burn their bras in the 1960’s? Most women took less exciting but equally effective measures. They showed up to rallies, turned off Miss America, stopped wearing heels, took out their curlers and applied for male dominant roles even though they KNEW they wouldn’t get the job. All these lesser extremes were still equally effective in demanding equality, because that’s what they were after. The steps they took weren’t the message. The message was WE ARE EQUAL.

When you say that one sentence, ‘I’m not one of those bra burning feminists’ you pigeon hole the concept of feminism. You take away from feminists – past and present – who believe in equality for all. If you are a woman, don’t you understand that all these feminist actions are done for you? We burn this once real but now proverbial bra for you!

My point is, think about what is means to be a feminist. Think about how saying ‘I’m not one of those bra burning feminists’ creates a divide amongst a group of people who should be UNITED in their quest. There are no ‘bra burning’ feminists. There are just feminists who burned their bras.

Don’t shoehorn one movement and dilute the power of feminism in today’s modern world by not standing behind those fighting for your freedom + equality. Drop the act and drop the bra burning phrase because it doesn’t fly anymore. You’re either with us or against us.
You can’t be both.