Look at this photo! Wait, no don’t.


“Say cheese!”
I say from behind the camera.
My safe zone.

It’s no secret, anymore, that I don’t like photos. I’ll take a selfie- rarely. I’ll take a photo with the kids or my partner, sometimes with friends. But notice that it’s, I’ll, take the photo. Ya know – up high, angled, no body shots.
I was flicking through our photos the other day and I realised that, at a lot of important things, or even just somewhere nice, I’m nowhere to be seen. Photos act as reminders to memories, I love looking back at photos. Whether it’s of; my parents before they had my brother and I, back in my more confident days, or back when the kids were younger. It’s fantastic. But I, for the silly reason of being self-conscious, don’t get in them.

We went away to Batemans Bay, NSW, for a few nights, after Christmas. It was such a refreshing getaway, I just want to go back. We went to the beach, a zoo, Putt Putt
golf and plenty of other things – I felt so uncomfortable doing.
When we got to the zoo, I took a photo of the girls and manchild at the entry. mogo

“Your turn” he says.
“MY TURN!? What the.. no, I’m alright, time to go in.”
“Not this time. You’re getting photos, I don’t care, get in”

So, with a crappy feeling in my stomach, I walked over and I got in a simple photo, with the kids, at a new zoo, at a new memory. Throughout the day, my partner forced me to get in a whole bunch. In every one, I am either standing behind the stroller or my eldest, or crouching, or lets be real – standing behind something or in some way, as to hide part of my body. BUT – I got in the photo. It’s actually bloody great; I already find myself looking back at the photos and think ‘yep, so glad he made me do that’.

No one else has to see the photographs that I don’t particularly feel all that great about – unless someone else has the photo and they decide to upload it on Facebook and tag me- WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS!?  But it’s good to have them, for me, for the kids.
I know of some people that are in the same frame of mind as me on this, and if you’re another, then please – get in the photo. It might not seem important to you now- maybe not to you ever – but it could be to someone else.

Everyone has someone they love pass away, a shitty part of life, but a part of life nonetheless. When I feel really down about a passed away loved one – I look at photos. It’s sometimes nice to even look at photos of myself with that loved one. But what hurts is when there isn’t any. Sounds superficial, but it does, it fucking sucks.  So yeah – let’s just do it. Get that photo. If you really, really hate it – I guarantee, in the future, you won’t. Someone-someday will even be thankful for it.

Self confidence is a big, big topic for me. Photos is just one, minuscule section. But I’m not going to rush myself.
Someone said to me the other day “Aw, well you should be alright with it all now – that’s what you’re writing about”.
Yes, it is what I’m writing about, but I’m still taking it one day at a time. I may get in a photo today – but feel like a giant potato tomorrow and not get in one. Get my point?
I’m learning to accept myself. Whether that takes weeks or frigging years – I’m trying.

♪ Let me take a selfie♪
…With an angle and add a filter.

Facebook. Instagram. Comparing. Repeat.

Social Media

It’s quite late, the kids and my fiancé are asleep. I complained to myself all day about being tired but as soon as the time comes, i’m wide awake in bed, staring into the dark. So, I reach over and grab my phone- again.

That’s me. Every. Single. Night.
I find myself scrolling through Facebook, not even looking at anything, just pointlessly scrolling. I then close it, go onto Instagram and do the same thing. After I do that, I’ll look at the time, lock my phone, put it next to me and close my eyes. Knowing damn well that I’m going to open them in 10 minutes and get back on my phone.

Eventually I start looking at those ‘instafamous’ people. The mum ones or the fitness ones- I bet all of my savings –all 5 cents- that at least 1 of you reading this can come up with someone that I’m talking about.
Those ridiculously fit, tanned, rich people that you look at and think – fuck. I need to stop eating so much shit- if like me, you say that and then immediately start thinking of what you’re going to eat and do the next day.
‘OK, right. That’s it. Tomorrow, I’m going to have one egg, some spinach and mushroom for breakfast, do 100 sit ups, walk for an hour and meal prep…Maybe make some healthy smoothies.’
HA HA HA. No mate. Don’t lie to yourself. Unless you’re not like me and actually do all that. If you are someone that manages to keep your word about all that, good on you.
I always say such unrealistic things after looking at those people that have clearly, been looking after themselves for years.
The next morning arrives and I realise I’ve slept for about two hours, I’ve only got three eggs, the spinach is off and my eldest has emptied out all the mushrooms throughout the fridge. So, I make the kids their scrambled eggs and I have a coffee – not too strong cause let’s face it, I don’t want to have to go to the toilet straight away. Too much information? Sorry.
The rest of the day I eat whatever I can find because, I don’t prepare for the week when I grocery shop. I find whatever is on special and BANG, chuck it in the trolley. Not literally. 9 times out of 10, I shop online.

ANYWAY- enough rambling on.

I have a tendency to compare myself when doing the whole, night time social media thing; surely i’m not the only one?
Whether it’s comparing myself to the mum who seems to have everything organised, works a 9-5 job yet manages to have a clean house all the time. Or comparing to those people that manage to look frigging awesome every day.

Look, I know it’s actually quite normal – stupid– but normal, for people to compare themselves, in some way.
We’re all different. We all have our own struggles, and social media is social media.
People only put on what they want you to see. Nobody is going to put a photo of their biggest insecurity/dislike on Facebook. ‘I really hate my scar here, and the cellulite around it’.
Nobody is going to put up a post about when they fight with their partner. ‘My wife and I went out for dinner tonight, she said I looked at a lady for too long, so I said fuck off and now we’ve been fighting for 4 hours and i’m sleeping on the lounge.’ Actually, scratch that – some people might post that, but not many.

So, let’s try this.
If you’re like me – let’s try to not compare so much, or maybe – we can try compare in a different way.
‘Oh she has a nice body, that’d be nice’ is different than saying ‘my body is so shit, I wish it looked like hers, maybe I’ll only eat lettuce.’
Personally, i’m going to accept the fact that comparing is just something I do. I’m not going to hate myself for doing it anymore. I often cause myself more trouble, by feeling guilty for comparing.
Let’s accept that sometimes, you are going to say things like ‘I wish I had her hair’ or ‘wish my house looked like that’ and that’s okay.
But don’t beat yourself up over someone else or something else. You are you. What you have – be grateful for.
Change the way we compare – and then eventually, hopefully – we won’t compare so much.comparing

It’s Just a Letterbox


I wait.
I see the mail arrive, and I wait.
‘Just go get it man,’ I tell myself.
I sit down on the lounge, I look at the time.
I open my blinds a crack and have a peep around.
“Mum, what you doing?”
I look over at my eldest who is eagerly waiting, thinking
that someone must be visiting.
“Oh nothing. Thought it was raining” I lie, as the back door is open
because it’s a sunny, beautiful day.
I wait.
I go about my day, but I wait.
I wait for poor manchild to come home from work,
and just like every other day, no matter what time it is when he gets home,
he checks the mail and brings it inside, on his way in.
Ahhh the relief. I didn’t have to get it.

I realise it’s just a letterbox. Not even that far from our front door. But for some reason, these days, it seems a long ass way a way.
When I do, on the rare occasion, muster up enough courage to check it, I put on a cardigan, no matter the temperature, wash my face, redo my hair and try so hard to not look at anything else besides the mailbox.

It’s crazy isn’t it? How something so small to one person, can be a massive thing to another?  I never really thought about things like that, until  I was the one feeling these weird anxieties. I guess you would call them that. Some may understand, and others , will just think I’m a fucking idiot, and I’m sure in time, I’ll be fine with that. Because I was one of those people that kind of thought, wow, that person’s just crazy.

Being brave- doesn’t always mean the same thing to people. You might think jumping out of a plane is brave, another might think that going to the printer at work is brave. No matter what your idea of brave is – own it.
Which brings me to my challenge.
Getting that damn mail.

I am going to get that mail today. I am going to go out there in my clothes, that are covered in my kids breakfast and baby dribble, I am not going to redo my hair. Yeah, I’m still going to wear a cardigan – but hey, one step at a time, right?

Challenge yourself.
Whether small or large.
Want a promotion at work?  Get off Facebook for 10 minutes and send those emails. Yeah I see you doing the sneaky Facebook scroll, it’s all good – pretty sure your boss would be too.
Want to save money? Put all of your $5 notes in a safe place and don’t touch for at least a couple of months – I need to take my own advice with that one.
I’m sure you all get my point.

Small steps, amazing destination.
Enjoy your day, and let me know what challenges you decide to put up for yourself!!

Welcoming a New Start

Another night of binging Netflix, scrolling facebook and stalking fit people on Instagram, oh yeah, I better not forget the occasional google – “can I become rich by eating donuts and having naps?”. Every morning, a little bit of regret gushes over me. I wouldn’t be this tired if I would just go to sleep when the kids did.

Welcome to me. Want the run down? Probably not but here it is anyway, it’s okay you can skip it, I promise not to be offended..maybe..not offended much.
My names Kasey, 22 years old, two daughters and a fiancé/manchild. I’ll introduce you guys to my family a bit later on.
I stay home with the girls, typical 1950’s. Except I suck at organisation, don’t wear an apron and manchild helps out heaps when he can.
I’m insecure as hell, nervous, honest and to be frank, I’m not quite sure what else. See, the whole reason I’m starting this, is not just because I’ve always wanted to, but it’s because I need to.

I’m the kind of person who will stare at a message for at least 30 minutes before sending it, adding a haha even when I’m being serious. The kind of person that will judge myself, but not someone else. All too often people are their own worst critic, and I’m trying to learn to be my number one fan- confident, but not a cocky asshole.
I want my daughters to love themselves, but how can they learn to do that, if their mum stares in the mirror for an hour pulling at her clothes and changing her outfit 5 times? Monkey see,  monkey do. Also the type that doesn’t do certain things, in fear of being a bad mum. I have much to say, which is another reason why this will help.

I want to share my journey, my life, so that it may help another. If there’s anyone at all that can relate, anyone that can get a bit of motivation or even just for something to do at 2am in the morning when they can’t sleep, then how great is that!?
I need to share this so it’s out. Out for the world to see. Out for people that hate or like me, for those that I do and don’t see, do and don’t know. You get the point.
I need to share this to help me overcome all the things that I always say I’m going to, but never do.
I need to share this so that I can find me. So cliché, yes I am aware.

Being comfortable in your own skin is actually so hard to do. I use to get annoyed by confident people and now I admire them. It’s funny how your perceptions change of others when your view of yourself changes.  Typical problems with weight, parenthood, anxiousness and down right silly phobias, I will conquer- I will TRY. Try being the key word because, simply trying, is a big step for me. But, I need help, I need a venting area, a place where, hopefully, someone can read and relate too. ‘Why don’t you just get a diary or something?’ Well because I’ve tried that already. Maybe, just maybe, having this ‘blog’, public, so that any Billy, Bob and Susan down the street can read it, will motivate me. Motivate others too. That’s what I hope for, but if not then boo that sucks, at least I tried, right??

If you’re still reading this, thank you. If you would like to follow the journey, please do so. If not, that’s fine too.  This is just a start line, I hope you’ll be there for the finish!

Im actually freaking the hell out typing this because I’m so afraid of peoples opinions, its crazy. But in saying that, it’s one of the main reasons I’m doing this. To get the fuck over it.
Will I actually post this? Who knows.
 – Oh look, I actually did.