Chapter 42: Dear Constance


* * *

One day I hope this page is filled with the words of Constance Hall. Originally I was going to beg her to write me a foreword even though she doesn’t know me from Bob. But life is life and I poured a year long plan down the toilet because I didn’t want to send her a half-arsed version of something I believed was worthy of her time. I thought I’d send it to her in January 2019. But then school holidays had my writing life put on hold and I presumed she was probably going through the same. So I waited until February. But then she started training for bloody Dancing with the Stars and how in the holy hell was she going to find time to share her opinion, let alone give a shit about some random trying to get a book out into the world? The woman has enough to deal with. In the end patience (dickery little arsehole that it is) has been the key. So I hand it over to the universe to weave some woo-woo magic in the hopes that my work finds its way to Constance and she thinks it’s semi cool, relevant and relatable enough to pen me an encouraging word. Hopefully she is in a space to receive it and see it for all the potential goodness it will bring to humans in general. Why Con? Because she’s a cool, courageous chick doing good for the world despite all odds and a pioneer of this unapologetically beautiful evolution revolution thing. Get on it. 

Dear Constance

I originally had that cemented with pride at the beginning of my book So You Are… Pregnant! It was my way of being appreciative in a passive, non-mosquito-y way to someone who had truly inspired me to get off my arse and tell my story without being a wuss.

Very early on I had a solid plan to finish off the book and approach you to publish it and/or collaborate on further topics in the series (which would still be an awesome partnership to forge). You would read it, love it, love my nutso sense of humour, ask my family to hang out in your oasis and we’d talk shit about our kids and all things goddessy, sit on the beach and write, you’d paint, I’d show you some Bollywood moves, maul your dog and baby with kisses. You know. Super casual hopes.

Many years ago something weird happened with my awareness of you in the world. I wasn’t a hater, I just seemed to skim unawares on the outskirts of your rise – like something was forcing my mind not to look or pay attention. I realised how bizarre it was when I started writing my story. It wasn’t until I’d finished draft 4023 that I finally bought a copy of your first book and the woo woo made sense. You sounded like me. You’d lived similar experiences as me. You were me. You were the voice of so many of us, hence your deserved success.

I became paranoid fearing the Queen army possibly calling my authenticity out – our stories are quite similar, but I got over it quick – because that’s the point. You bravely shared your story at a point in time when it still wasn’t totally “acceptable” for a woman to do so and in such a balls and all manner that generated a necessary revolution. One that paved the path for others to not only share but relate and connect through shared experiences – good and bad. Your perspective resonated with so many, just as mine does when I share it.

I too keep coming across the same collective trauma, ideals, joy and goals and my consistent driving force since I was a kid has been to help people thrive and heal through humour. It’s my super power and I’ve seen it’s effects light up women, men and children time and time again – in person and via the written word. So I went for it – mindful of not stepping on any of your lovely, creative toes and presuming I would never reach that level of success anyways. Now – none of it matters as there are so many women’s voices out there following purpose and passion. Comparing and competing is no way my thing – and you have proven time and again that embracing, elevating and empowering others is defo your boat floater.

At the very start of my journey you were a massive part of my goal setting plan thingy and I 100% believed that by the end of it I was going to drive to your home town and somehow get the manuscript in your hot little hands. I even concocted a SWAT plan involving my besties Uncle and Aunty to casually hand it to you in the baby aisle at Woolies. I didn’t need fangirly, stalker contact, I just wanted to make sure it only went to you.

I was fully prepared for you not to give a shit and probably not entertain the “publishing” element of my plan. If you were interested in that game you would have gone down that path already. But, I was so confident my tale would resonate, that you might hopefully want to meet me, realise I’m not an arsehole and chuck me a little blurb in return for a donation, or something like that.

In my mind, no matter what response I would get from others when I shared my master manic plan, I had never been so sure of something before. I was gonna do it and you were gonna read it and regardless of the outcome, at least I had a crack.

Lots of curve balls came both our way and to this day, I am still formatting the bastard book. But the little foreword that could – still remained in pride and place until 10 minutes ago.

The other day when I was watching an Insta story you mentioned how people constantly use your name to promote their own stuff and your tone was irritated and over it. My heart sunk. Of course that happens. Why hadn’t I seen myself in that light? Maybe because I didn’t consider it as a leg up – more an appreciative nod to someone I admire, without wanting anything in return. But was it really any different? In some ways it could be considered worse. A foreword in an actual book, set in stone (in print version at least) and if the book becomes popular I’ve put you in a position where you may feel obliged to respond and who am I to presume you even want or have time to give a shit about any of that?

I also realise that writing a post about it is of similar ilk, however, this was an epiphany moment, a reminder to be a decent human and it felt worthy of a share.

You were not only part of my plan all along, but the inspiration behind much of it. This is not in any way a ploy for attention, or a tactic to sell books, or drive traffic etc. It’s more a light bulb moment that no one is on tap just because you have similar ideals to them.

This has all come about from my chicken shit inability to communicate with other humans where I am in a vulnerable position to fail. No idea why I’m like this, I’ve been successfully failing most of my life. In the end – if I put my little faux foreword in – I’d be unravelling all the things I admire about you and why I find you so relatable. It would be a cheap move. If our paths are meant to cross they will. But, I’ll leave it to the stars.

So I thank you profusely in the THANKS and hope you can feel the McLovin.


%d bloggers like this: