He loves me

After yesterday's open heart blog post, I arose this morning feeling post operative and rather sensitive. I was home alone for the most part of the day as Patrick had a 5am start. When he returned this afternoon I was eager to speed up the healing process and asked if he could help me get through this sticking point. He obliged.

I proceeded to explain that while I clearly knew I was having an overreaction to yesterday's bum burner incident, I was struggling to move on. After distilling my cocktail of emotions, I was able to identify the key feeling that started the domino effect. I felt 'forgotten', which in turn took me to the familiar story of being unloved.

While I cannot recall the initial incident that wrote the script, I can certainly remember the many occasions when this reaction played out like a theatrical drama. It would only take the the smallest trigger for me to translate it into 'they don't love me' and from then on it was lights, camera, action - the show was on.

As an adult I know that we all have moments when we say and do things that inadvertently hurt those we love, but that doesn't mean we no longer love them. This leads me to believe that our emotional scripts have been written by the hands of our younger selves LONG before we earned our pen licence. Something happened that we (with all the wisdom of a four year old) translated to mean that we're in some way unlovable, and from that moment on it become our truth.

Patrick was utterly brilliant this afternoon. Knowing that the genesis of my feelings occurred in 1970-something, he was able to create the space that enabled me to explore this freely.

Result? I was able to separate his actions from my recurring 'unlovable' saga and reach a point of peace. To top it all off, he put his arms around me in a reassuring embrace and said things that were for my ears only... and left me in the knowledge that he love me.

Until tomorrow, don't be afraid to ask those you love to help you through a sticking point.

Grace xx

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Sugar Coated

Here in Australia, it is traditional to serve 'fairy bread' (pictured right) at children's birthday parties.

Fairy bread is sliced white bread smothered in butter or margarine, then sprinkled with sugary coloured beads that we call 'hundreds and thousands'.

While it's pretty, colourful and crunchy - one would seriously have to question it's nutritional value and what it teaches children about what we consume at celebrations.

I'm not about to stand on a soapbox and rant about this with a waving finger. I am simply exploring my own upbringing, how much I LOVED fairy bread and comparing where I am now with the advantage of 20/20 hindsight.

So what brings me to this point?

Remember how I said I'd been feeling really tired these last few days? It turns out that my insulin levels were through the roof and have been causing a domino effect, causing my pancreas and liver to go bonkers (Australian for crazy).

This completely puzzled me as to my knowledge, I have been consciously consuming low GI (Glycemic Index) foods for several weeks - I even pick the sultanas out of my weekend muesli (I have a super-smoothie breakfast on weekdays). I was instructed to write everything down to see if we could uncover what I might be missing.

Turns out, my gluten-free bread is higher GI than I am permitted and that different information sources have different values for foods I considered 'safe', like polenta (corn maize) - some say high, some say low, some say medium.

OH MY GOD WHAT AM I TO BELIEVE?

I am becoming frustrated with trying to do the right thing and finding out that it's those 1%ers that are undermining my efforts.

Then my monkey mind took me on a random nostalgic journey of sugary foods that I once consumed with no consequence (or at least I thought they had no consequence), and it brought me to fairy bread. I have vivid memories of the magical party treat looking all tempting and delicious at the beginning of a party - but by the end the colour had bled, thus staining the bread.

Is that what happens to us?

Are we like fairy bread that is bright and vibrant when fresh, then over time become stained by the hundreds and thousands of high GI foods that we've consumed without awareness? And can those stains ever be removed?

Where I'm at right now is looking at my reality - without sugar coating anything. It's a scary space to be in, but a necessary one.

Until tomorrow, ask yourself whether there's anything you've sugar coated that you could do without?

Grace xx

A winner, hot yoga and a half-birthday dance party

Congratulations Jaala, you guessed correctly, an eye, heart and ewe (female sheep) decodes to I LOVE YOU - well done!

Please go to my Blogger Profile Page and contact me via the email link so I can arrange to have your prize delivered. Just remember to let me know which prize number you'd like to claim and know that you can have it delivered to anyone, anywhere, anytime.

Well that was a bit of fun!

Okay, so what's new today?

I found a hot yoga place near here on one of those 'find your local blah blah' websites. As they're notorious for being outdated, I rang to see if their advertised 9.30am class was still running. They didn't answer, so I left a message (I still haven't heard back from them).

I was left wondering, "Will I? or won't I?" and then I thought, "Bugger it!" and went anyway. The freeway was like a car park and I very naughtily drove on the inside lane (which is supposed to be for emergency stopping, but I was emergency going).

I arrived at the studio three minutes past the scheduled start time. The door was locked. I could hear people talking and laughing so I gave a gentle knock, but it was in vain. I returned home feeling deflated. "Bugger 'em," I thought.

Upon entering my abode, I decided to empty my fridge of outdated, half mouldy and 'we'll never eat that in a bunker' food (as you do when you're rejected from yoga). I felt much better. Then I remembered that today is my half-birthday, remember them?

I know most people outgrow celebrating half-birthdays when they stop playing on the monkey bars, though I never did (stop celebrating half-birthdays OR playing on the monkey bars). The reason for this is that I have a cousin that was born exactly six months before me. As long as I can remember, whenever it was her birthday - it was my half-birthday.

Well today is her birthday - so a BIG happy 40th to my cousin Rachel, and a not quite as big '39 and a half' birthday to me. I'm celebrating tonight by going to a Zumba dance party at my gym. $10 entry, finger food, drinks and a master Latin dancer teaching us some grooves - what a perfect celebration - woohoo!

So it' s hip, hip, hooray from me.

Until tomorrow, decode 'eye heart ewe' to someone dear to you.

Grace xx

A rewind moment

Have you ever had a rewind moment?

It's like time stands still while a whole bunch of memories are played back in slow motion. You observe happenings of the past as though you're watching a flashback movie montage. Only this time, you know the ending.

You notice all the little details that you missed the first time. It all becomes clear. A bit like gazing at those magic pictures and all of a sudden you have a separation between the crazy pattern and the 3D picture. Once you've seen it, you can't believe that it took you so long to 'get' something that's so obvious. You have what I call, an 'aha' moment.

Well THAT'S exactly what happened to me today...

Saturday mornings, an hour before my French class, I go to a local café to do my homework and practice ordering breakfast with the lovely French waitress (is 'waitress' politically correct nowadays...?)

This morning I bumped into someone whom I haven't seen in eight months. Needless to say, we had a lot to catch up on. She asked what I was up to and I naturally progressed to talking about Project Grace 2010. The conversation turned out to be like a 'best of' compilation album that got stuck on track No. 48, 'When 99% equals FAIL'... and then it happened - the 'aha' moment.

I had a flood of memories, which felt like watching reruns of Count Down (Australia's MTV of the 70's and 80's) where I reminisced the many renditions of the aforementioned popular tune. I could see cover versions of the original (being the 99% maths test) that played out in different scenarios - a bit like having a different band, different film clip, but essentially the same song.

Not only had this song been playing in my life over and over again like a friggin' broken record (or skipping CD for you young bucks), it's been in the Top 10 for nearly 40 years - holy poop! (word 'poop' courtesy of Christy's comments - cheers)

Just as I went from 99% in maths to chronically failing, I could clearly see scenarios where the dreaded '99% equals FAIL' had contaminated specific areas of my life - which to this day, is still a problem. It's that bloomin' song again, playing in the background like drab, hypnotic ambient music.

THIS IS HUGE!!!

My weight issues and frustration over Nubsy (my abbreviation for 'Nubsy McNoodle Wanted A Poodle', the children's book I wrote and published in 2007) are two major sticking points in my life right now - and I can pinpoint the actual moment when a pivotal conversation took place that popped my happiness balloon. Essentially, it was the precise moment that DJ Poop started spinning that cruddy song, "99% equals FAIL" - and I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT!!!

Wow.

With this insight, I feel like 'I've seen the magic trick' (thanks for that metaphor Gaz). What opens up is possibility and freedom. I have taken over as DJ and am tossing out that outdated track. I am choosing what songs I want to play and when.

Until tomorrow, be your own DJ and play the songs you choose.

Grace xx

Repackaging

Yesterday I woke up with a brainwave...

"I'm going to change the way I view my time at the gym," I announced to my husband.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't like referring to gym as Jim and that I'm off to have an affair. It was funny in the beginning, but it doesn't work for me anymore. Plus, I like it when you come along with me."

"Then we'll have a ménage à trois," he said triumphantly - lightly chuckling at his jest.

"No. That's not it. You see, I really like the way I feel after the gym. I ALWAYS leave feeling better than when I arrived. It's just getting there that's the problem," I continued...

"It's like an obligation, something I have to do - and that's not inspiring to me. I need to repackage what the gym means to me so I am inspired to go. When you're inspired, you don't need to motivate yourself because you're itching to do it. Self motivation is draining. Being inspired is the opposite - it's energising. Instead of having to coax yourself to start, you're having to force yourself to stop... or at least pace yourself. That's how I want to feel about the gym. "

"Geez it must be hard being you," he interjected.

"It IS hard being me," I sighed. (That's before I had my 1% breakthrough)

I took the time to reflect on my attitude towards being active as a child. I was always outside playing. From the moment I returned from school it was off with my uniform, complete any obligations (or negotiate deals) for my 'get out of jail free' card, and I was out the door quicker than you could say "Have you finished your homework?" We played till sunset and begrudged the familiar call of "Kids, dinner's ready!"

It didn't stop there. Every wedding, family BBQ or staff Christmas party I was running around with cousins or newly made friends till I collapsed (usually under the table at the feet of my mother). I remained sedated till being carried upstairs and laid to bed (occasionally I would awake when our car reversed into the garage, but I adopted a charade so I could get a free lift to my room - very naughty).

Kiss chasey, tiggy (aka tag), backyard cricket, football, roller skating, riding bikes, British bulldogs, elastics, down-ball, hopscotch, skipping rope and 'mothers and fathers' (the latter probably the least active, but the most creative). I couldn't sit still for a second.

So, with this in mind... plus knowing how good I feel after I've been to the gym, I have now repackaged it as 'Play Time'. That's what the gym is for me. It is PLAYTIME - Woohoo! And the best thing about it is that I don't have to finish my homework before I go. Now that I am an adult (well, that's what my age indicates), I can choose to have my playtime before I start my obligations - isn't that fabulous?

So far, so good.

This morning I leapt out of bed and asked Patrick (my husband), "Do you want to come out to play?" to which he declined. Then I ran off (literally) and played anyway. Right now, I am feeling as happy as I did when I was that little girl who ran and ran and ran till she faked being asleep on her Dad's shoulder.

Until tomorrow, may you repackage whatever it is in your life that needs a new attitude.

Grace xx