Chapter 2: Dear Tererai Trent

Tinogona: It is achievable.


Dear Dr Tererai Trent

This was my awakening for 2018! There were a few books that helped me overcome my love of the vino and this one helped me overcome the fear of remembering who I was – other than an extraordinarily talented boozer. It fell from the heavens into my lap!

All the quotes that follow for some reason say it’s by Oprah Winfrey – she writes an amazing foreword – but the book is by the inspirational Dr Tererai Trent. What a beauty!

Go to Lewis Howes site and listen to this interview for inspo. It’s lovely and engaging. My kids AND my husband were intrigued and trying to keep their attention on anything other than a screen is nothing short of a miracle, so there must be some kind of magical pull involved!

I won’t even bother revealing how each quote below helped, the bookmarks speak for themselves and every second paragraph has gems like these. This book is worthy of your time.

What an amazing woman and an amazing tale. Tererai has definitely been a big influence on my dream chasing, getting this blog up and running, writing my truth as well as encouraging fearlessness to have a crack.

While her focus is on women across the world to take up their calling, discover and live their purpose, this is definitely one for men to read too – for their own understanding and for their own calling so that we can move forward together – bullshit-free.

There is nothing hippie-dippie about any of it. It’s raw, truthful and real. The takeaway’s are awesome.

The Awakened Woman came at a time I was sick to death of losing my shit and feeling like a failure in my forties and STILL lost. It helped me eliminate the distractions and crap in life and move forward.

Her words and her story pushes you to get out of your head, be brave and follow your path – even it it’s an isolating one. Even if you are the only one who believes in it. Even if others judge, poo-poo and think you’re insane. Her words gave me the strength to listen to my gut and to the signs and to the woo-woo – and just effing do it!!!

This was the tonic I didn’t even know I needed.

Eternally grateful and highly recommend The Awakened Woman, By Dr Tererai Trent and everything associated with this empowering woman. 



Chapter 1: And So it begins… again

I quit drinking three days ago. I did so on that specific date as my besties birthday falls on the 15th of the 3rd month and for some reason – of all the billions of dates and numbers I carry around in my head I always remember her date. No idea what year she was born, however – I figured attaching one of my favourite humans to a momentous occasion – my mush brain was sure to be triggered. Plus she’s a fricken legend worthy of the number 15.

Giving up booze is like giving anything up – drugs, cigarettes, junk food, reality tv, social media, gluten – just have something to replace it with. For me that was writing.

After taking a nearly twenty year hiatus on what was probably supposed to be my life purpose – it took giving up alcohol to welcome writing back. Goodie.

So here is where the journey starts. The hope is to pen an Historical Fiction and enter it into the Hungerford Awards. Bold considering I probably can’t write for shit and am most likely super, duper rusty.

However the floodgates of my really, really messy mind seem to have unleashed the memoiric demons of my first pregnancy and they don’t seem to be settling back down to suppression town. Bollocks.

Who knows where this will all lead. Who knows what will come of any of it – if anythinng at all.

My hope is I’ll make someone laugh, educate myself on everything that feeds my passion and with any luck – maybe see some success along the way.

Time will tell.

Prologue: Foul Mouthed Forest Children

“Holy Moly That Scared The Shit Out Of Me!”

…said my 6 year old son. Ah, from the mouth of foul mouthed babes.

As bed time drew nearer and my sober hands became a little edgier, a knot in my daughters ridiculously long hair was unyielding. The bewitching hour was nigh and I had managed to keep the plot loss to a minimum with every tool in my dysfunctional parenting belt. But then I hit a snag. Literally. Krakatoa erupted shriekingly so.

A bit of hairy history. My husband and I both come from thick crop growing stock (to clarify – upon our heads) and subsequently have bred little hair farmers of our own. My son was born with receding black tresses which randomly grew into the most majestic honey curls. The Balinese would call out to him with glee “Mee Goreng! Mee Goreng!”

I never set out to be a long-haired-hippie-boy-child kind of Mum – it kind of took on a high maintenance life force of its own. Chewed through a lot of hair product too.

He made for quite the pretty toddler who was often confused for a girl. It wasn’t a big deal until someone called him a her in front of my husband. That combined with photos from a dodgy dress up day of our bouncing baby boy was enough to tip the shears. So with much manliness, father and son swaggered to the barbershop for a chop-chop and it was farewell forever to our beautiful Blue Curly Sue.

The daughters hair took over from where the sons was hacked off and has grown into an irrational hybrid of Rapunzel and Medusa. It was okay when I had a shred of control. Now it’s like hunting down a hairy monsoon for a brush every damn day. And god forbid I plait it like Elsa when it should be like Anna and vice-bonkers-versa. But I digress.

So I’d managed to secure the target for a few minutes thanks to some strategic tv plonking. All was well until the knot I’d been working on fought back and the abnormal peace was disturbed by tangles and screeching. I jumped and before I could beseech calm my son channeled my thoughts. Verbally.

It’s funny when you hear a profanity come out of your child’s mouth, clearly and in context. It’s funnier when it’s an entire sentence you know has come out of your own mouth many times before. Not so funny when you do the sums and realise how many of those times have been in front of said child.

“Holy, moly…that scared the shit outta me.”

The reaction. Hysteria, tears of hilarity from me and absolute mortification from him. Poor little man. He had no idea what he’d said but immediately knew it was wrong.

I think I was more in shock that the day had finally come. There had been minor moments in the past six years where a few fumbled “truck”‘s, “spit”‘s and “banker”‘s were corrected and innocently brushed off.

My reliance on swearing as a means of communicating has always been an Achilles heel. If there is ever an opportunity where I can write over speaking I’ll take it every time to avoid exposure of a speech impediment I’ve developed because of it:

Foulmouthinitis Syndrome

It’s totally a thing. Watch this space for fundraising merch available for purchase soon, all proceeds go to the cause. Signed note of appreciation from my children for every donation over $10. They thank you.