My peace with discipline

I have always thought discipline was over rated. Perhaps because I have been surrounded by military men most of my life, I have always seen discipline as soul crushing and authoritarian. My mother taught me to question everything and to rebel if need be. (Funny story; I spoke to my Mum about that advice the other day and she laughed. Apparently she had never said that, but that was the meaning I took from her philosophy of not treading the trodden path. Anyhow…)

Growing up I hated the idea of being a sheep. The thought of just ‘swallowing’ what the authoritarians around me were serving up was horrifying. The irony is that I just ended up following alternative, self-appointed, authority figures instead. The discipline enforced by authority figures really is soul crushing. It makes no difference whether you choose the disciplinarian or not. Discipline enforced externally it is cheap.

Now that I am a parent, I have begun to understand the importance for discipline. No, I am certainly not one of those mothers who you see smacking her child (publically or privately), but my toddler needs a firm word every other minute or so. At 18 months he is already finding and pushing boundaries and I find that he is comfortable when he knows where the line in the sand is.

So, I think I have finally made my peace with discipline. Self discipline is an enriching quality that builds our confidence. It reminds us we are capable of good judgement and committment. It helps us remain strong in the face of uncertainty. Self discipline keeps us true to our inner compass. Genuine authentic external authority is similar. It helps us to develop the capacity for self-discipline and to decide where our own personal boundaries are. But authority and discipline for the sake of it simply crush the soul.

My goal for me is to cultivate my self-discipline by following my better judgement. My goal for my son is to always and only embody authentic discipline for him, and not to crush his burgeoning spirit with unnecessary rules.

My peace with discipline

I have always thought discipline was over rated. Perhaps because I have been surrounded by military men most of my life, I have always seen discipline as soul crushing and authoritarian. My mother taught me to question everything and to rebel if need be. (Funny story; I spoke to my Mum about that advice the other day and she laughed. Apparently she had never said that, but that was the meaning I took from her philosophy of not treading the trodden path. Anyhow…)

Growing up I hated the idea of being a sheep. The thought of just ‘swallowing’ what the authoritarians around me were serving up was horrifying. The irony is that I just ended up following alternative, self-appointed, authority figures instead. The discipline enforced by authority figures really is soul crushing. It makes no difference whether you choose the disciplinarian or not. Discipline is enforced externally it is cheap.

Now that I am a parent, I have begun to understand the importance for discipline. No, I am certainly not one of those mothers who you see smacking her child (publically or privately), but my toddler needs a firm word every other minute or so. At 18 months he is already finding and pushing boundaries and I find that he is comfortable when he knows where the line in the sand is.

So, I think I have finally made my peace with discipline. Self discipline is an enriching quality that builds our confidence. It reminds us we are capable of good judgement and committment. It helps us remain strong in the face of uncertainty. Self discipline keeps us true to our inner compass. Genuine authentic external authority is similar. It helps us to develop the capacity for self-discipline and to decide where our own personal boundaries are. But authority and discipline for the sake of it simply crush the soul.

My goal for me is to cultivate my self-discipline by following my better judgement. My goal for my son it to always and only embody authentic discipline for him, and not to crush his burgeoning spirit with unnecessary rules.

How I failed as a liberated woman (Google first and shoot second.)

I am a strong, independent woman of the 21st century. I am a card-carrying feminist. Don’t believe me? Ask anybody who ever jokingly told me to ‘get back in the kitchen’, or anybody who so much as mumbled a chauvinistic comment around me since I was 5.

Yes, you heard me 5. There is a story my parents enjoy telling of a christmas party that I attended when I was a child. My father was in the Navy and at the time he was working with Navy divers. Now, just to fill you in Navy Divers are crazier than cut snakes. Men only join the clearance diving team if they are over the top mucho wankers with waaaaay more brawn than brains. So back to the christmas party. This diver spilt a beer on me and my pretty party dress. When I asked him to apologise (as would be the civilised thing to do) he made a comment about not apologising to a ‘little girl’. Let’s just say that he didn’t live down the dressing down he received from a 5-year-old ‘little girl’, until he got his new posting.

My history of fearlessness and standing on my own two feet started early, and it only got worse as I got older. In year 6 I was reprimanded for highlighting the plight of women in Saudi Arabia in my turn of show and tell. My show was the book Princess and I read aloud carefully selected excerpts, which the teacher deemed ‘inappropriate’. In year 7 I was sent from the room for asking my religion teacher the position of the Church on teenage prostitution in Australia. And by year 10 I was already a member of a political organisation, only responding to the title ‘comrad’ and espousing a lecture to anybody who greeted me with ‘you’re looking good’ because how fucking sexist is it that the first comment we make to women (not men) is that their physical appearance is pleasing!

Now let us fast forward to the failure my 5-year-old self would have kicked my arse for.  I have never been good with bugs. Or dirt for that matter. I have always been a bit of a girly girl ( no, the irony is not lost on me) and I freaked when there was a hornet, in my living room. In a nano-second I had nothing but adrenalin coursing through my veins. Because this hornet was HUGE! And also, my baby’s Daddy is allergic to wasps and bees. So there is every chance my baby could have an anaphylactic response to a sting AND since we are at home without a car, such a response could be fatal. Or at least this was the train of thought that was on constant loop in my mind. So you understand why my body chose flight over fight.

This could have been a perfectly respectable Mamma bear protecting baby bear situation, but it quickly degenerated into a farce. I grabbed the baby and my blackberry (the weapon of the 21st century) and ran into the hall trapping the hornet in the living room & kitchen. Then I was afraid it would make a nest for itself in the toys or the couch. Imagining scenes of me returning to the room for food and water, only to be exposed 360 degree to the wrath of the hornet, I opened the door a crack to spy on it. Then I made a few calls for advice. My mother, from whom I inherited my feminism, could do nothing but laugh and tell me to ‘squish it’. Thanks Mum, I hadn’t thought of that. My Nan advised me to hit it with a broom. When I advised her that I didn’t have a broom, she was too busy trying to figure out ‘what kind of woman doesn’t own a broom’? and forgot all about the hornet. My Aunt had no advice at all, but she did decide to buy me a fly swatter for christmas. Woot!

I rallied my courage, donned a long sleeve shirt (in case it tried to sting me as I squished it) and snuck back into the room armed with a shoe. I was sure I could do it. I mean I faced my fear of heights by abseiling, I faced my fear of snakes by petting a python and I managed to make it through labour in a meditative state. I can be both hunter and gatherer. I am woman hear me roar!

Minutes later I ran screaming from the room and called for my partner, in tears, to come home and kill it. Which he did. = Fail.

I learned multiple lessons from this failure:

1. Australia has Hornets (who knew?) Australian Hornets are non-agressive nectar eating creatures that only sting to paralyse caterpillars to feed their young.
2. Ignorance is the root of all major fuck-ups. The better you understand your enemy (read situation, person or stinging insect) the more likely you are to find a reasonable solution without degenerating to tantrums or violence. In short Google first, shoot second.

7 reasons why gentler isn’t always easier

I like to do things the gentle way. I try diplomacy first. I move to reasoning second. I attempt healthy debate next. I am honest and upfront, slow to anger and always give the other the benefit of the doubt. By no means am I afraid of confrontation, standing up for myself or making a point (or making a scene) but only if it is absolutely necessary.

I haven’t always been this way. I used to yell first, insult second and always make a scene. I was clearly understood always, everybody knew where they stood with me and how I was feeling.

Having lived both sides of the coin I have arrived at a lesser known truth: Abrupt and abrasive is easier.

It is much easier to be closed minded. It is effortless to say what you think, when you think it. It is simple to assume your opinion is the only one that matters. It is easy to manage your relationships when you are looking out for number one; You are either hated for your rudeness or loved for your refreshing honesty. And for the most part you are respected for being frank and making your needs known.

Maintaining the same sense of honesty whilst being respectful, compassionate and gentle is much MUCH harder. Let me show you why:

1. To live the gentle way requires more strength of conviction, because you are aren’t yelling.
2. Managing your relationships with compassion is harder because you consider everybody’s needs.
3. Getting respect in a world that respects flashy and noisy is a longer road when you are humble and tread softly.
4. You require a bigger heart to live this way to extend the benefit of the doubt, time and time again without becoming jaded.
5. The balance between compassionate and doormat is an easy line to cross, so the gentle way needs much more self awareness.
6. To tread softly you must be willing to let go of others opinions, because you will inevitably be misunderstood by the abrupt and abrasive.
7. The gentle way teaches a profound sense of perspective; your immediate needs may not be as important as you had thought.

Which way to you live, rough and ready or compassionate and gentle? Have you found a balance between the two?

What would your tatoo say?

This is one of my personal pet peeves at the moment. Yes, I do need to get over it. Yes, I know I do it too. But being on the receiving end of it really just sucks. Yes I am talking about judging a book by its cover.

We have all been judged on the way we look since birth. Babies are assumed to be ‘good’ if they are chubby and  ‘unhealthy’ if they are not. If you put a little baby girl in boys overalls and take her to the park onlookers are happy to let the toddler fall, dust itself off and keep playing. Even if this child cries from the fall, you will most likely hear “Oh you’re alright. Up you get.” Change the same child into a dress and if she falls she will be immediately scooped up for cuddles and comfort.

There is no need to discuss the way we were all judged on appearance in High School either. We were all there. Like it or lump it our worth was dictated by our image. Furthermore we were all judged daily on everything from our hair to our shoes, and some bits in between.

I found a reprieve from the judgement, for the most part, in the workforce. Wearing a suit in the city to work and cute outfits out in clubs and bars my friends and I found a niche of sorts. The judgement changed from soul crushing to categorising. We were seen as young professionals, 20-somethings. Full stop.

Then I fell pregnant. It was like going back to school. Instantly I was viewed differently; less capable, less stable, public property. Suddenly people felt they had a say in where I sat, what I did, what I ate and how I dressed. Things they would never have said to me a few short months earlier.

I thought things would go back to the happy medium I discovered in the workforce when the baby had arrived and things began to settled down. It got worse. I now fit into 3 categories. However do I keep up?

1. When I am in casual dress I attract the label ‘Mum’. It is grossly assumed the only interesting thing in my life is my son. It is assumed that I have all the time in the world and no schedule to keep and that my time is not worth much.
2. When I am in a suit, with or without my son, I fit the category of ‘Professional’ or ‘Working Mum’. Instantly my time is considered precious and I am almost revered for my ability to ‘do it all’.
3. When I am out with friends without the baby I revert to my previous niche of ‘young professional’ or ’20-something’. Strangers in a bar for example see me as their kin and my cleavage is ogle worthy. Interestingly when a guy asks me what I am doing later and I reply ‘going home to feed the baby’ the cleavage is instantly non-ogleable.

I know it is way too much to ask. I know it is a fantasy that will never happen. None the less I dream of a day where regardless of which mode we are in, which uniform we are wearing, what setting we are in, people judge us only by our actions and words. But hell will probably freeze over first. Instead I think we could try harder to resemble books. Yup you heard me. Look like the books we treat each other like. I propose we all tatoo our personal mottos on our foreheads (like a blurb) so we can be quickly judged for who we really are.

What would your tatoo say?

7 lessons from letting go

We have all kinds of excuses for holding onto what hurts us. Millions of reasons why this is the only way. Examples why we have no choice but to do it this way. Justifications galore for clutching tight, even though the sharp edges cut into our grasping hands.

Maybe it is a good thing gone sour.

Maybe it is something you ‘should’ do.

Maybe it was perfect……. once.

Maybe you were just trying to do the right thing. And the text books are wrong this time.

Maybe you don’t know any other way.

Maybe you are scared of the devil you don’t know.

Maybe you are afraid because you don’t know what comes next.

Maybe you want to hold onto your victimhood.

Maybe it serves someone else – someone you love.

Maybe you are afraid of being judged.

Maybe you can’t bring yourself to face the truth.

We all need help, coaxing and support to get past our doubts. Some fears, despite the hype, are more than tissue paper-thin. I know the taste of tears of defeat. I know how it feels to surrender the thing that no longer works. I know the pain you are accustomed to feels better than the empty throb of loss. But it is a life lesson to recognise when to let go.

7 lessons I learned from letting go:

1. So many friends show up when you stop making love to enemies ( a Marianne Williamson quote that is so very true)
2. It hurts a lot at first to turn it loose. Then the pain eases. The pain is just the numbness subsiding.
3. You deserve comfort, dignity and peace. Life will never be rainbows and lollipops, so avoid the unnecessary pain.
4. Pain shows us where the lesson is. And where the chapter ends.
5. There is nothing weak about walking away when you need to. Many people don’t have the strength to do exactly that.
6. Nobody likes a martyr.
7. Admitting it hurts doesn’t make the ‘other’ bad or wrong.

What have you learned from letting go?

5 reasons why the loving answer isn’t always yes.

Are you a ‘yes person’? Do you find it difficult to say ‘no’, to assert your needs, to negotiate for what you want or to stand up for yourself? Are your boundaries all wrong, so they allow other peoples needs to be prioritised over your own?

If you are saying yes to all of these, or even some of these, my guess is that you are also very compassionate, nurturing and have a high emotional IQ. You are so focused on doing what is best for everybody and supporting those you love that you have forgotten single most important rule in giving of yourself; The loving answer isn’t always yes.

Sometimes the loving answer is:

• No.
• Do you think it could wait a while?
• Could you do it yourself?
• What support do you need to enable you to do that?
• I’m sorry, but I can’t.
• No thank you.
• Are you kidding?
• I know someone who could help you with that, their name is …
• That won’t work for me could we do this instead?
• I’m sorry but I have changed my mind/circumstances have changed.

The above alternatives to ‘Yes’ can sound like cop-outs or overly polite responses, but they aren’t. It actually takes far more courage to say ‘No’ sometimes than it does to say ‘Yes’.

Here are 5 reasons why yes isn’t always the loving answer:

1. You disempower the other by doing something for them when they could do it themselves.
2. You disrespect yourself when you don’t enforce healthy boundaries.
3. If you always say ‘Yes’, you will eventually run out of the energy to say yes when you are really needed.
4. It is far better to teach another a new skill or support them in a transition than to encourage  co-dependency.
5. If you are saying ‘Yes’ out of habit and not genuine compassion, it undermines the act of giving itself.

Next time you are asked for help, carefully consider the question before you routinely respond with your usual ‘of course I can’. Remember the loving answer isn’t always yes. And sometimes the odd expletive is more than acceptable

5 way to tell a goal from an ego trip

Goals are so very chic right now. It is normal to be working overtime, freelancing or consulting on top of your 9 to 5 gig. It is more and more common for people to own their own businesses or to be undertaking graduate study whilst working ‘full time’. These things are almost not considered a goal anymore. They are just what you do. Goals are what we do on top of these miraculous feats.

But more often than not goals are somewhat random end states that we consciously nominate, based on who we think we are at that time and who we think we want to be. Which in and of itself shouldn’t be a bad thing, right? Maybe. The catch is that most often we really don’t know what we want. We have a good idea of things that might make us happy. We know what would make our families proud. We know what would make our colleagues jealous. We know what we are interested in. So we make a guesstimate, at best, call it a goal and flog ourselves until we reach it. Not sounding quite so glamorous now is it?

I am not against goals. I am a coach. I spend a lot of time helping others to set goals.I also spend a lot of time looking into a person’s unconscious motivation, secondary gains, values, experiences, beliefs, fears and ego before I help them set a goal. Why? Why don’t I just write down the first goal that comes to their mind? Or the biggest goal they can think of? Or prescribe the most enviable, ostentatious goal applicable?

Because anybody can set a big goal and achieve it.

There is nothing special about big goals. Anybody can set the goal of working for themselves and achieve it. Anybody can set a goal of buying a luxury car. Anybody can travel around Europe. Anybody can plan a beautiful wedding. Anybody can get their body into shape. Very few can achieve a goal based solely in the ego and feel satisfied and happy at the end.

On the other hand very few people have the guts and humility to set a goal that has real and deep meaning for them and to work on that regardless of how it is perceived from the outside. Very few have the willingness to admit that really makes their heart flutter and to set about achieving it. So few are prepared to chase their dharma especially if it is something unglamorous like becoming a green keeper, raising children or nursing.

The easy ways to know your goal is not just serving your ego:

1. Are you drawn to it like a moth to a flame?
2. Are the steps towards your goal enjoyable?
3. Do you find your weaknesses become strengths in the face of this goal?
4. Do you find it hard to articulate why you want the goal, because it is just so elemental to your make up?
5. Do you feel as though the stars are aligned & that the road to your goal has been blessed?

We don’t know who we will be in 5 years. We don’t know what we will regret later in life. We don’t know what we will be proud of at 75. We don’t know if we will enjoy something until we do it. Our experience is so very limited and we don’t know what we don’t know. We can’t trust our ego on these matters. We can trust our heart.

Know the goal posts

Ask the question. Know the goal posts. It’s not just wise in business it’s essential for harmonious personal relationships to set boundaries, guidelines, to be clear on what is expected.

How do you know your relationship is healthy? How do you know your friend is living up to their role? How do you know you are delivering at work? How do you know what you can expect from family? Where does the obligation start and stop? How far are you ‘supposed’ to go? According to whom? Who drew these arbitrary lines?

Know what you need. Ask for what you want. Be clear on your deal breakers and enforce your boundaries. If you don’t know what the goal posts are, you will always be disappointed.

I’m wrong… a lot

My near and dear just died from shock at that title. If you ask those who know me well personally, they will tell you that one of my least favourite things is ‘being wrong’. In fact, few of them have ever witnessed me admit an error or mistake. But, despite my utter distaste for the experience, I am wrong… a lot. We all are.

• When I walk in a room I am sure everybody is noticing the flaws in my figure… I’m wrong
• When I think I can’t take it any more… I’m wrong
• When I think people care about when the last time I mopped the floor was… I’m wrong
• When I think I have nothing intelligent to say… I’m wrong
• When I think I simply must do everything… I’m wrong
• When I think the world will stop turning if I take a break, put my feet up and have a cup of tea… I’m wrong
• When I think feeding people will cure their ills… I’m wrong (but at least they are fed)
• When I think it matters if my son’s shirt matches his pants… I’m wrong
• When I think I have remembered everything… I’m wrong
• When I think I can be calm when we get lost en route to a new destination… I’m wrong
• When I think I can please everybody… I’m wrong
• When I think no one is listening… I’m wrong
• When I think I understand… I’m wrong
• When I think there are enough hours in a day (I am writing this at 12.01am)… I’m wrong
• When I am convinced I am not good enough… I’m wrong
• When I think raising my voice helps… I’m wrong
• When I think I suck at learning languages… I’m wrong
• When I think something is more important than responding to a call for “Mumee!”… I’m wrong
• When I think change is an external process… I’m wrong
• When I think I don’t have time to meditate… I’m wrong
• When I think I should feel guilty for eating chocolate… I’m wrong. Very wrong.

Care to share what you are wrong about?

Your heroes are fallible

Your heroes are fallible. Be they mythical, fiction or human they are flawed. Despite their flaws you saw something in them worth admiring. Herein lies the lesson. You too are flawed and you too are worth admiring.

One of the greatest influences in my life is just under 4 feet tall. Yet more than once she stared down (up) fully grown men, and won. She buried more boyfriends in the war (WW2) than I care to recall. She dared to date a black man when it was an excommunicable taboo. She raised 4 children and miscarried 2. She buried her husband after watching lung cancer steal his very breath. She did ‘men’s work’ during the week while the men were fighting WW2 and was chastised for wearing pants to church on Sunday.

I love her humility.

Her utter fearlessness.

Her bottomless compassion.

Her selflessness.

Her ability to be stronger than iron in the face of adversity and gentle as a lamb when some needs a soft place to fall.

Only she was diagnosed with advanced Alzheimer Dementia yesterday. Her humility and selflessness have evaporated she is always anxious and even curt. She barely registers the emotions of those around her and is oblivious to the needs of anybody but herself.

The tears streaming down my face now feel like a burning betrayal to the woman she used to be. Who would have told me not to waste my tears over something I can’t change. I am struggling to find the lesson in all of this:

Am I to understand what who we are and what we do is to some extent out of our control?

Am I to understand that there is inherent balance in the universe and we must all be selfless and selfish?

Am I to learn to love this new incarnation of her personality despite it all?

The best I can come up with is that our heros are fallible.

12 ways to know you’re doing ok

1. You breathe deeply when you realise you are so tense you forgot to breathe.
2. You get so frustrated that you laugh.
3. You get the urge to move when you are stressed. Walking, running, even punching (a punching bag or pillow) are good ways to move you from a stressful state to a better one.
4. You want to walk away when you feel like you are going in circles.
5. You have shown super-human patience at least once in your life.
6. When you’re seething you know just who to call to calm you down. And you have them on speed dial.
7. You find time to help a mate out, even when you’re so busy you forget to go to the bathroom.
8. You have the self control to be pleasant to the checkout-chick even when you are having the worst day ever.
9. You immediately apologise when you snap at friends and colleagues because you are stressed.
10. You can keep your cool long enough not to call your boss/parents/friend an asshole to their face.
11. You have the presence of mind not to shop, get married or make any big decisions when you’re angry or frustrated.
12. When you are in your darkest moment… you walk on because you recognise that it will pass.