I made one of those passive aggressive posts over the weekend:

“It is a wild world, and I just don’t want to be a part of it anymore…”

Or something to that pathetic and cryptic effect.

I thought I’d take a moment to explain what the actual fuck is going on in the corner of New Zealand I like to call Dee-land.

I started the year with a new diagnosis. Still working out medications, which is strange, as medication is not something I take (aside from generation one antihistamines like Benadryl for sleep, supplements for my anemia and occasionally Ritalin for keeping my A-D-Deeeeliciousness under control) very often.

There are some side effects that are normal for this medication. Hand tremors, thirst, sleep. I am thirsty, but have no other “normal” side effects.

I have had a number of not normal side-effects.

The long and the short of what has happened is I have almost completely lost my joy. I have a very short fuse. I no longer crave human contact of any kind, let alone the insatiable desire I had for hugs, smiles and connection, even 5 weeks ago when I started this regime.

So, I’m a bitch. And you know what? I kind of like it. Here’s a recent photo of my “not amused” or “WTF” face… It is kind of actually my face now.

I feel no need to carry on chatting beyond the point of saying what needs to be said. I don’t care what every single person is doing or why. I do not feel in any way responsible for the bullshit and stupidity that is rife in the world (it still gets me down and makes me want to do something of course), and last… but CERTAINLY not least… for the first time in 30 years I do not crave death or have suicidal thoughts countless times every single day.

Now I’m faced with a conundrum.

My children miss “fun” mom. I think my husband misses the old me, but it is difficult to tell because he’s so busy lately. I’m not sure what my friends think, because for the first time in my 38-year history, I’m not deeply concerned with how other people are feeling all the time.

So do I keep on this trajectory and hope that it changes or settles down and my short fuse and lack of empathy or even interest in the world around me, or do I go back to the old me.

I’ll tell you what. Even thinking about going back to the way things were makes my eyes sweat. All the confidence and noise masked a metric shit-ton of self-loathing and anxiety, and I don’t want to have to continue to live trapped in that bubble of neediness and self-hatred.

But I miss craving hugs. I fake hugs now, and that’s really fucking weird for someone who used to need human contact like most normal people need air. And I miss dancing with the kids in the kitchen while we cook dinner. And I miss belly laughs, and benders, and highs, and lows, and feeling hopeful almost pathologically optimistic.

I miss me. But I hated me. Like PROPER fucking HATED myself.

I’ll go back for more discussions on options, and I will try and figure this out, but this short break from truly craving death, despite knowing cognitively how selfish and ridiculous those feelings are/were… I can’t begin to tell you what kind of relief I feel.

So, to those closest to me who have born the brunt of my bitchiness, I am sorry, but I am not sure that Dee the pushover who needs or wants a cuddle will be returning. And to the many WONDERFUL and supportive friends who have DM’d me and offered words of kindness and support, I thank you so much! Your warmth is the only thing that has brought light into my dimmed heart these days. The meds have me feeling like most of the world is populated by fuckers who just wanna fuck people for their own fucking gain (the medication has done nothing to curb my swearing BTW) and knowing that there are good, kind, wonderful people who have genuine concern for crazy asses like me, well it is buoying.

So what would YOU do?

Would you carry on and try to learn how to trust people again without the veil of optimism that the previous un-medicated state used to allow? Or would you give up and try something else?

Feel free to be as judge-y and opinionated as you wish if you’re going to comment.

I’d like some fresh advice on this.

“You guys are really busy.” or “I don’t know how you fit it all in!” I hear this or some permutation of this every day.

You know what. I ALSO do not know how we fit it all in, and I can quite confidently say I am entirely fucking overwhelmed and my brain actually broke while I was in the shower this morning.

Here’s how it played out:

For 10 blissful minutes, it was just me, my Lush products, and jets of hot water.

There were no meetings, no computer, no phone, no kids… and for once in a blue moon, not even a Phteven! Generally my husband and I shower together , owing predominantly to our unwavering dedication to conservation.

Then again, maybe not. Who the hell are you to judge?!?   Jokes.

Anyway. This morning, it was just me. A whole shower with nothing but Dee!

That short shower was a chance to think, and here’s just a sampling of what danced through my overly full brain:

Something needs to be done about the old trees, the new trees, oh and what about the bees. Then there’s all that stuff with employees. I know what I need to do, but I am so tired. So incredibly tired.

Kids, kids, kids… Okay. School is starting. They’ve got their stationary, they know who their teachers will be. 4 kids, 7 activities, and 4 adults to share the ferrying. This can work. We can do this. Takes a village to raise a child. We have several of each in play at any given time. We’re okay. We’ll be okay. The kids are going to have a great childhood (mental Trump impersonation) It is going to be GREAT.

And then, it happens. The fear of fascism crashes in, and I think about the Islamic travel bans, the right to choose being removed, and the thought of already vulnerable women being made to feel like genuine criminals if they are in a situation where termination is the only option they can reasonably abide. How can we have been thrust back in human, environmental, social and scientific advances so rapidly by a reality television spectacle? America may have fucked up a few things, but no one deserves what they are going through right now. When is the world going to respond? When is China gong to respond… What’s going to happen.

I’m genuinely frightened for the future, and I have no idea what I can do about it. Can I do something about it? I wish someone would upload a manual… I’d read the shit out of that.

Special topic. What shall I do my paper on? I wish I could do it on Norway or Iceland. They are fascinating on so many levels. Can’t believe we will be in Norway in less than a week. And we even get to speak! What an honour… You know, I think I’ll research new markets. New things are important. Important and risky. Risky business.

It is quite amazing how many people seem to be interested in our business. The business we do and our personal situation. I wonder how everyone in Matakana got the impression we were selling. Quite strange hearing back from our neighbours that they’d heard the same. People sure do like to talk. Even if they are talking shit. I’ll never give up the treehouse. It is our haven and we could quite comfortably retire there. Funny how rumours start. If that’s a rumour we have heard, I can only IMAGINE what kind of shit and smack talk gets perpetuated about my crazy ass. Sigh.

Do I care?

Unfortunately yes, I absolutely do.

Shower off. Towel down. Back into the startup trenches…

There are a dozen more things sitting on the tip of my brain day in and day out. I get to feel fairly impressively fucking useless as friends fight cancer or shovel through incredible mountains of shit that they landed in through no fault of their own. It is impossible to help everyone, and I mean to be a better friend and just even listen or engage, but life happens and time runs out to do the things I want/need to do every day.

Most of the time I can cope. Today, ten minutes to myself broke me and I am going to bed early in the hope of rebooting and being able to wake up tomorrow and be able to suck it up and just keep climbing the fucking mountain Phteven and I started out at the base of in March 2015.

Thanks for reading.

The first thing that feels like I need to get off my chest before going into a full-blown girl power tirade, is this:

2016 was pretty shitty for a lot of people. It was one of the busiest, saddest, happiest, most difficult, and best years I’ve had in my 38 turns around the sun.

I managed to cram about a decade worth of shit into the last 12 months, but also did some epically dumb stuff and dropped a lot of the balls I’m always juggling.

The proverbial mom ball is as huge and heavy as a large medicine ball, and that’s the one I have dropped most impressively in 2016. Having a vagina means that no matter how equal my husband and I are, and no matter how important our combined dreams and career are to us; “The children need their mother!” and the world needs Steve’s big brain and track record for changing the planet because he gets tired of waiting around for someone else to do things.

This is not a complaint.  It is an observation.

So, where was I…

Yes, it was a busy, BUSY year!

Between Kiwi road trips, international travel, kid wrangling, PRing, wifing, studying, socializing, charging into the future, and HEAPS of sleeping (or just being in my big comfy bed, exactly the way I am as I write this) I got distracted from my writing, which is one of my most favourite things to do in the whole world. More writing is the only measurable New Year’s resolution I will be making.

I will, however, be cramming as much, if not quite a bit more, into 2017. Top of this list, is I will be kicking my appreciation, adoration, and enthusiasm for women into the highest of high mother fucking gears.

A friend we spent NYE with in Paihia made me promise that this year I read the Constance Hall book, so I shall put it in the list of stuff I am gonna demolish in 2017.

There are so many amazing women on this planet. I am lucky enough to know a few hundred of these women, and a few dozen of them very well indeed. My tribe is lit. My women are amazing. My life would suck without the support, honesty, laughter, Love and tenderness I receive from the goddesses in my world.

Throughout history, badass bitches have led the charge and changed the world in various schools, disciplines and arena. My forefeminists had to fight hard for the rights of their daughters, sisters, mothers, and friends, and themselves.

Feisty females such as Émilie du Châtelet and Ada Lovelace were documenting a vast array of scientific and philosophical discovery and observation hundreds of years ago, and busting misogyny with their intellect and passion.

Suffragettes fought and sometimes died working to earn women the right to vote. They were railing (quite rightly) against the trappings of misogyny in a world where men held all the cards (and the land, and the positions of power, and often the education, and the money… I could go on) so that I could be free enough to share my thoughts and opinions as I do so eagerly.

There’s still so much bullshit to shovel through before gender and/or sexual orientation are neither here nor there. People ought to be able to be whatever brings them bliss. They ought to be able to not be judged on the kind of junk that they are packing, but rather by the content of their character, their deeds, their abilities, their resilience, and perhaps more importantly; their kindness, tolerance and sense of humour.

It seems to me that settling for equality or pay parity seems unimaginative, unambitious, and lacking in vision. Women the world over ought to have the freedom, knowledge, and opportunities to spend their lives feeding knowledge and passion and contributing to the world in any manner they see fit.

Men ought to be able to do the same.

Some of the biggest obstacles to that level of awesome include jealousy, fear, ignorance, and insecurity. Women can be plain mean at times. Both victims and perpetrators of cruelty have reasons seeded deeply in the tapestry of their lives for being as they are. I think we’ve all been guilty of being either bullied or the bully. We are all vulnerable to making poor decisions and treating other people (like women who threaten us, or confound us) like shit.

I think the world would be markedly better if we could just fucking stop doing that.

People are fighting battles we know nothing about. In 2017, try to build others up with sincerity, praise and gratitude. You’ll find that it reflects fairly intensely back at you when you do.

I realize a lot of the people reading this already know all of this stuff. I just wanted to get it down in writing that this is going to be a year for building up and celebrating the brilliant and beautiful souls I am connected to in personal, professional, perhaps even spiritual ways.

You get out there and be all the you that you can be ladies. We’ve all spent enough time feeling scared, anxious, tired, denigrated, gaslighted, misunderstood, or any other range of shitty feelings from any number of sources, even in our own homes and social circles.

A kind word from the heart of someone you respect can change the trajectory of not only a day, but in some instances, and entire life.

Let’s all be the change from bitching to building.

Happy New Year.

XXOO

I’m having a nice sane spell at the moment.

We went on a road trip a couple of weeks back and got to see some of my kindred EV spirit animal people (and their pets, and their children, and their cars…). That lifted my spirits a lot. I also got to travel with some of the team and one of our partners. I’ll call him Tom to keep his identity somewhat secret.

So driving along with “Tom”, we were shooting the breeze (well, you might find this difficult to believe, but I did MOST of the talking) and then the issue of mental health came up.

Now “Tom” is one of those incredibly chilled out kinda guys, who never seems to get overly excited about much. He is calm under pressure, and doesn’t blow his stack and get too excited about things that make me shake/rattle/explode with enthusiasm.

We were driving along, and I mentioned quite brazenly and with more than a pinch of sarcasm:

“You may find this IMPOSSIBLE to believe, but I’ve got a few diagnosed mental health issues…”

“Tom” nearly busted a gut laughing out loud. Once his laughter subsided enough that our conversation could continue, we had great chats about our experiences with friends and family who cope with depression, anxiety, and any number of mental health issues.

This is the way we should ALL feel about mental health I think.

Yes, I am batshit cray cray. Yes, I sometimes make terrible decisions. Yes, my weaknesses can also be my strengths. Most people with mental health issues don’t spend too much of their lives in a zone where they pose much of a threat to themselves or others. Annoyance? Yes. A genuine threat? I don’t think so for the most part.

So today as I walked around Pak’n’Save dancing outrageously and having an excellent time talking to my verbose 2 year old son James, I thought to myself: “How fucking lucky am I to be nuts enough to have fun with my son while grocery shopping… That’s a pretty great thing, and I Love that about me.”

As my husband cowers in a separate room to me, because today is red zone day and the start of a three day period of sporadic behavior, laughter, tears, and sometimes anger (PMS, or PMT for those in the know) I thought I’d open up the laptop and take a moment to celebrate being a content and crazy lady.

Yay for eccentricities.

Have a great day, and thanks for reading.

XXOO

It is Wednesday, the… erm… somethingth of September.

I have three massive assignments due in the next fortnight.

They aren’t all due until between early and mid October, but, because I am leaving New Zealand for an epic mother/daughter trip from the 1st of October, I need to be realistic and get them in before I go.

There’s a massive international EV event kicking off basically on Friday, so I’ll be up and down the country doing some of my favourite things (talking to other EV geeks and taking pictures and selfies and such).

I currently weigh 64.4kg which means I have plateaued for about two months now.  I’ve got a goal of <55kg and know that I could reach it if I exercised even a little bit and stuck to my 5/2 diet better. I won’t say I am failing, nor am I a raging success in this area.

I miss EVERYONE!  Seeing people I like at sustainable events for a fleeting moment, or when I drop kids off or pick them up from playdates, or at the mall, cafe or even watching people’s lives happen on my social media feeds.  It makes me pine for summer evenings on our deck or over at my friend Rebecca’s house by her pool.  Or sitting in the kitchen with Nikki and Andrew at their ridiculously tidy house (Love you and your OCD Nikki darling!).  Or going further back into my history, meeting up at Galbraith’s ale house for some cheeky pints with the geek squad… I miss socialising for socialising’s sake, and not being thrown out of my comfort zone and into networking events where I drink too much and drop a C or an F bomb at inappropriate (and frequent) intervals.

The children help put dinner on the table and clean up after at least 5 nights a week.  This small and significant change in lifestyle (we used to randomly throw food in their direction, while ferrying them around from pillar to post or plopping them in front of electronics for hours on end while we worked) has netted excellent results.  We are also trying to play cards or board games with the kids, but I often fall asleep before 7:30pm (directly after dinner) because my sever anaemia and whatever depressive episode has settled in means I am a total sleep slut and can’t get enough z’s lately.

I’m making plenty of mistakes and hopefully learning from them.  Trying not to make the same mistakes over and over, but that’s not always successful as some of my stupid is well and truly entrenched, and it takes a lot of effort to change it.

Marriage is okay.  Steve’s a champ when I am down, and I’ve been a mess for months now.  Joy returns for moments and then the weight of the world gets heavy again and I get all EMO and shit.  Totally boring and I wish there was an off button for the stress and anxiety.  Writing it down makes me see in black and white how ridiculous and indulged I am, and is a good kick in the pants to build a bridge and get over myself.

Some people we Love are going through the hardest possible shit I can ever imagine.  There’s no manual on what to say.  No matter what your spiritual or general belief structure, tragedy, illness and grief defy comprehension when they hit close to home.  Sometimes, terrible shit happens and it sucks, and it isn’t fair, and everyone gets their turn to be on the receiving end of life altering tragedy… But I hate it.  I fucking PROPER hate it, and I hate that hurt has to play such a huge part in the lives of some beautiful, kind and loving people, while relative comfort and very little struggle can sometimes be the lot for people who are not so kind or helpful while journeying down their life path.  It defies all human understanding and it makes me very sad and angry.

I’ll post this without sharing in on social, because it is just a meaningless meandering, more of a journal entry than a blog.  I just wanted to feel the rhythmic tapping of the keys as I wrote free form for a while.

Have to go collect the kids now.

Last week was one of those weeks.

We all have them.  The “I think I may not have the metal to do this anymore.” kind of week.

The frustration was punctuated with a few excellent moments and some really unpleasant and/or uncomfortable ones.

So, one of the things about me is, I hand out advice like the Panda Express hands out samples of orange chicken on toothpicks.  Thing is, I don’t always follow that advice.

Here’s a taste of some of my favourite bits of advice:

• Be kind, everyone is fighting a hard battle. (I know this, really I do, and I try to be kind but wow I can be a venomous bitch when things go wrong… If I am pissed at a person, they don’t have to spend any time guessing about it, they will know pretty quickly)

• Pick your battles, and when you do choose to fight for a cause, kill ’em with kindness. (Um, every injustice in the world is a cause I swear I’ll get behind one day… Feeling that way all the time is freaking EXHAUSTING, and I know heaps of people who suffer from the same thing.  The kill them with kindness thing I can safely say I work pretty hard on for the most part though.)
• Comparison is the their of joy. (This. Is. Completely. True.  Tend your own garden and  enjoy reaping what you sow, and don’t forget to share when you have a surplus)
• Sometimes, all you can do is chuck it in the fuck it bucket and move on. (This is the whole subject of the blog…)
• Whenever you are given a tough choice, or any choice for that matter… choose the thing that helps assure you are not being an asshole.  (This is something I practice hourly, not just daily. I actually use a different word for this particular saying, it starts with a C, but I thought this was good enough for effect)

So, while my lashings of awesome advice often consist of suggesting that people should give less fucks, I realise we all need to prioritise.  We also need to shovel through a bit of shit from time to time, but knowing when to let go and throw things that do not serve us, is a skill and a necessity.

This weekend, I had the pleasure of seeing a couple of very dear friends on Friday, who I hosted sporting my most very flash black track pants and oversized hoodie.  Then, on Saturday, I got to see more wonderful humans, some of whom went to high school with my beloved Grumpy husband. One of those humans had become my bestie and has caught two of my babies (she’s a midwife) and I got to hang out with her doing a whole lot of nothing. It was pretty great.  Sunday was a two-year-old birthday party with one of the two Kiwi families I have firmly adopted. I LOVE them and they are truly family and it was a brief but brilliant chance to catch up with them.

The conversation was on high rotate all weekend:

“You guys have been busy!”

“How long are you in the country for this time?”

And the regular updating exchanges of news about our kids, renovations, ski trips, travel, social events, work, mutual friends and the fact that being a grown up is a bit shithouse on some levels.

Perhaps the best thing about the entire weekend was this:

I got to be myself.  My strange, awkward, loud, sweary, PJ wearing, weekend self.  No secrets, no filter, no shame, no worries.

Did my friends enjoy every moment basking in the glory of me?  Probably not.  I tend to tell the same story over and over, and I can get distracted in the middle of conversations.  Was it awesome to hang out, even briefly? You bet your ass it was.  Because friendship and family are something I take pretty seriously and they do NOT end up in the fuck it bucket.

There’s dozens of people who I hold in my heart and think of every day that I haven’t been able to lock in an any actual face-time with in what feels like FOREVER.  But rather than feeling bad about it, what does Dee do?

She chucks those feelings of guilt in the fuck it bucket and moves on.

I do not put my friendships there, but I do put the rather unhelpful feelings of guilt and insecurity in there, and whether it is a month or a decade between visits, I know my true soulmates and I will pick right up and have an amazing time together.  If not, then our reason, season or lifetime has run it’s course, and we can both cherish the memories.  Moving on.

There are things we’d all like to chuck in the bucket, that sadly, just can’t go there permanently.  Things like bills, jobs, chores, study, deadlines.  They can sit in the bucket for a bit, but you have to take them out, dust them off and deal with them at some point.  The magic thing about these things, however, is that just getting them done is much easier than the stress we feel while avoiding or worrying about doing the menial but important shit we all have to do.

This isn’t a blog telling you to trivialise real stuff like grief or change or life in general.  I just wanted to share with everyone, this observation:

The older I get, the less I care about trivialities that used to really stress me out.

I’ll end with some stuff that got chucked squarely in the bucket over the past few days:

I was told by a friend that someone I thought liked me has been running around smack talking me and calling me a flake.  Where does this belong?  In. The. Bucket.  Along with any effort to be friends with this person above or beyond smiles and exchange of niceties at the mall if our paths cross.

Um… there’s a really long list of stuff that went into the bucket but as I go through it in my head I realise it won’t serve me or anyone else to share too many examples.  Must protect the innocent and all that.

Anyway.

Whatever shit you might be shovelling through, big or little, good or bad, keep shovelling, and also separating into important or fuck it bucket.  I hope you have the chance to embrace the important bits like the Love and memories that you’re building while you walk this world.  I hope you have a job or a hobby or a purpose that fills you up and is not always a chore.  I also hope that you get to actively stop worrying about things you needn’t be concerned with, like keeping up with the Joneses, hanging out with people who don’t feed your soul, or going to events or places you don’t really like because you feel like you should.  You know what is important to you, and as long as you’re actively trying to NOT be an asshole, I bet you’ll be able to put a few things that have been bugging you into that big ‘ol bucket.

Have a wonderful rest of the week, and THANK YOU for reading.

XXOO

I’m all alone.

Well, sort of. I am in the lounge at Brisbane airport after a wonderfully fun and productive day with our suppliers. Lunch was magnificent. I got through a little bit of work, found out that we have to travel to Munich mid October for a European conference. I adore the team here in Brisbane. We can speak candidly and I trust them. Beyond that, their product is beautiful and kicks ass.

So after a day of comfort, friendship, and social and business interaction, I find myself alone (except for my constant companion social media).

I like it.

People watching is the activity of choice. It is really quite fascinating just observing people living their lives. Airport lounges and airplanes have become like my natural fucking habitat lately, so I am almost watching my environment unfold like a skip on a record. It isn’t déjà vu. It is just mind numbingly familiar.

There’s a couple next to me, pre-kids. They look to me like they are about 18 years old but I guess they’d be around 30 or so. She’s playful and he’s got all the trimmings of a mega nerd. Watching her tease him is making me miss Grumpy.

I walked up to get some sparkling water and sweets, and overheard a large group of 7 or 8 people who were obviously on the third or fourth round of drinks. Sounds like they are at the pitch and finance stage of an interesting start-up project. I liked what I overheard very much:

“Listen, we just have to tell them that we aren’t fucking assholes. The world is full of assholes, and we’re trying to do something fucking amazing!”

I say that all the time. I liked him. Another day I’d have certainly introduced myself and joined them for a drink.

There’s also a woman who looks as though she’s in a lot of pain. She’s had a fair amount of work done and has expensive sunglasses and perfectly coifed bleach blonde hair. She also has a walking stick. I wonder what her story is. Perhaps she’s recently suffered a small stroke. The pain after such an event can be crippling.

Everyone has a story. Often, I muscle my way into that story in places like lounges and hotel bars. I find people fascinating. I’m fed by the connections I make as I crash, head first, like a bull in a china shop through this life.

I’m keeping myself to myself tonight though, and just watching. Watching, and fabricating stories for those people who pique my attention.

In a few hours I will land in Auckland, and arrive home to an empty house. I’ll sleep for four or five hours if I am lucky, then collect my daughter from the friends who are watching her while we are away. I’ll arrive in my office, feel loved and overwhelmed, and I’ll try and makes some useful decisions and observations. OH! And I will also be hosting our friend Zac, who I met years ago, standing in line for the key-note speech at a WWDC event in San Francisco.

The hours will melt into days, weeks, months and years. Adventure, heartache and euphoria will all be frequent companions.

For now, I’ll just post this train of thought and throw in my ear buds and listen to some Gorillaz, as that’s the kind of night this feels like. A Feel Good Inc. kind of night.

Thanks for reading.

XXOO

Cruising is NOT good for the environment. I totally get that.  They’ve made massive strides in energy efficiency and environmental policy, and some cruise lines have excellent corporate responsibility packages that encompass saving turtles and whales, and being decent to their staff and the places they visit, but really… it is pretty shithouse to ferry a bunch of fatties around the globe for no better reason than their leisure.

I am saying this as one of the fatties they frequently ferry around, so cool it if you’re feeling offended by my candor, I just wanted to make it clear that I realize that by cruising I am a special flavor of hypocrite, as between vacations I champion good energy and environmental practices and policies. I applaud any and all change to more intelligent and sustainable practices, and the cruise industry is moving toward sustainability and corporate responsibility in various ways and on with various levels of success.

So, with that elephant in the room out of the way, I’ll get on with a meandering review of our trip so far.

We started in Sydney.

People-watching on cruise ships is a particular kind of fascinating. I’ve been cruising the 7 seas for nearly a decade now. My first experience was a Norwegian Cruise Line (NCL) trip through the Mediterranean and Egypt for my 30^th birthday.   We missed our kids, and aside from one couple with a small child from Texas, who we are no longer in touch with, we only hung around with staff and crew while on the ship. It confounded us that guests couldn’t hang out with crew and staff then, and continues to do so now. There’s always a way backstage if you give enough of a fuck though, of this I can assure you. I’ll keep my sources and knowledge of this fact to myself for now though. So yes, fraternizing still happens across the divide, and it is more frequent on some ships than others. Guess it depends on how “tight a ship” the captain and officers choose to run. (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.)

As was the case on our last cruise without my husband, I have the two Grandmother’s (and this time my dad, who the kids call Poppa as well) to help kid wrangle. That trip we had a super sweet suite on NCL. We did Hawaii and it was beautiful. I kept the baby while the grannies wrangled the three bigger kids. We saw volcanoes, turtles and felt very much at home as the Polynesian culture in Hawaii echoes so much of the Maori culture that is so sincerely dear to me.

Okay, so, back to people watching.

The boat is populated almost entirely by Kiwi and Aussie punters. You all know I adore Kiwis. Obviously.

I have to say though, I fucking LOVE Australians too. If you know me IRL, you’ll know that I take more than a bit of an exception to the racism and misogyny that can occur out in the open and behind closed doors on the big, red, desert, forest, and generally diverse continent across the Tasman sea from my doorstep.

Yet, Australians are so fun-loving. So earnest. So friendly. So loud. So absolutely endearing.  It was “formal night” last night, and it takes on a completely different meaning for Australians and Kiwis than it does for Europeans or Americans.  Everyone looked well turned out, but colourful and comfortable as well.

Here’s a couple of snaps from the elevator:

The main foyer and all the spiffy looking Antipodean cruisers

James’ cutie little chubby fingers on the glass as we headed back to the room (we weren’t dressed up)

So yes, I adore Aussies, here is just one story of why: Standing in line to grab some food on the very first day, some woman was yelling at some kids to slow down as they rushed through in the buffet restaurant.

I asked if they were her kids.

“I don’t know who’s fucking kids they are, I’ll parent any kids I see though.” Said in a thick Queensland Wales accent.

And I beamed. A relaxed, maternal, sweary mum just like me. You don’t come across them as easily in the USA and Canada. I know they exist of course, but the thing about Canada and the USA is that the swearing ice doesn’t usually get broken until the second or third date, and almost certainly NEVER just standing in line to get some potato salad.

We talked for a minute or two, I found out she was a teacher, I told her I was really happy with the culture here as the staff don’t work for tips as we Kiwi and Australians don’t tip, and kids are free to be kids and roam the ship without being herded back to their parents. “Seems to me that North Americans give too many fucks in general, and they sure wouldn’t appreciate it if someone else yelled at their kid generally.” I said wide-eyed. “This suits me much more than the USA run cruises, and especially the Disney cruises.” I said.

So, back to a couple of stories about people watching:

Kids on this ship roam around in little gangs. The ages range, but I dare say they are left to their own devices to travel in packs from as young as about 8 or 9 (younger if there are a few pre-teen or young teenage kids to look out for the small ones as far as I have observed.) Kids are on an adventure on this boat. There’s hundreds of the little parasites, and they find friends and have ALL the fun. This is what childhood should be like! Not a constant stream of adult supervision and cotton wool wrapped scheduling!

What else is worth sharing with you? OH YES! There is a gorgeous little toddler who looks exactly like Phyllis Diller. It is equal measures cute and disconcerting. She’s very well behaved, and her parents look pretty chill. I wonder if they think she looks like Phyllis Diller, or if they know who Phyllis Diller is.

There’s a thousand other stories worth sharing, but I will leave it there for tonight.

Later, if I can stay awake, I will share a blog on our day in Lifou New Caledonia.

Here are a few more pictures, and I’ll see you back here sooner rather than later I hope.

Have a super week.

Thank you for reading!

XXOO

Dee

I guess it is a little like the flu.

You don’t have control over “catching it” aside from taking necessary health and hygiene precautions.

Yes, there are mental health hygiene precautions… I’m sure you can Google it, or we can delve into it in a different blog one day.

Perhaps it is also contagious, I think it may be, and I’d prefer not to spread it any further if it is.

So later today, I am removing myself from Facebook for a few days. As I am currently fighting the urge to put up those open ended “WHOA IS ME! GIVE ME LOVE” posts that we all adore so very much… So I shall spare myself the embarrassment and YOU the discomfort of that bullshit by removing the temptation for as long as it takes till I can trust myself to get back to my role as a social media speed bump, with more cheer than queer to share with the world.

I did want to share my depressive episode coping tips, particularly for the dozens of friends who have recently reached out to wish me well or have shared their own struggle with the beastly bastard black dog.

There’s a deep and unbreakable bond between those of us who battle this bullshit. Not having to explain, but being able to swap stories of sadness, is a sacred tie that binds us. Important drunk (or regular not drunk) dials and messages I have received (or given) in my adult life, with friends who simply could not fight the urge say: “hang in there”, or to reach out and share their struggles. I appreciate each and every one of these conversations. Cherish them even. It means that people know I am crazy and aren’t afraid to reach out to me when their own crazy sets in. That realization is one of the very few things that have raised a smile on my sullen face of late…

Too many people that I know and Love are currently coping with some level of sadness. One of them, who is very close to me geographically, emotionally and genetically, spent the afternoon with me yesterday. We are both waking up at 4:00am every morning without fail, and stricken with a sense of doom, and a deep and unrelenting anxiousness that sits in our stomachs like a brick. We do not, however, manage to get very far from our warm beds, despite waking so early.

She suggested we might all be suffering from some sort of mass depressive episode at the prospect of Trump. That’s the kind of quirky humour us basket cases can appreciate. Dark, raw, and maybe more than a little bit true. It feels like we are on the edge of something. Revolution, war, massive change, I have no idea, but I am not prepared for a major shake up of any kind.

One never does know how long an episode will last. It is also impossible to say how often they will hit. It had been well over a year since my last big shake up (or down would perhaps be more accurate). Sure there are triggers. Mine has been too much candle burning at both ends, and too many opportunities, and too much of everything really.

Too much kid stuff. Too much stimulation. Too much success. Too many failures. Too much, too often, too many, too loud, too busy, too hard to handle.

And there’s Dee off the deep-end for an indiscernible length of time.

Comparison truly is the thief of joy. The thing is, I look around at people and things, and read those fucking uplifting motivational memes all over the place. “Keep going” or “You’re powerful”. Well fuck that. We all keep going, and going, and going, but sometimes we need to stop and recharge, and there’s no shame in that.

Plus, I am constantly reminded that I could never do all the things that I feel like I should or could do, even if I had 3000 years in which to do them, as well as kick ass time management skills.

I do not have kick ass time management skills.

So there’s that.

And then there’s watching people who can prioritize and feeling absolutely jealous. Everyone on the planet seems better at holding their tongue than me. Everyone on earth seems more in control of themselves than I feel (even children!)

Worse than jealousy is the self-hatred that comes from worrying that anyone may take a peek into my life and be sad about any aspect of theirs.

THEN there’s the realization that there is true suffering, and the utterly self-induglent and pointless incapacitation is just, well… embarrassing really.

So here’s a few things that I have learned (and admittedly do not always put into practice) in the nearly 3 decades of dealing with depressive episodes:

• Booze and drugs (aside from prescription obviously) must go, go, go until your joy returns.
• Up the water and herbal teas, down the caffeine and sugar.
• Force yourself to move. Walks in nature are the absolute best, but even a trip to get groceries or forcing yourself to get out of the house and run errands. I implore you to keep moving. The gym or swimming or a jog or bike ride would be absolutely amazing, and are a bit to ambitious for me this week, but if you can, then DO!
• Seek help. There’s no shame, many organisations have an EAP, or call on one of the many support networks including lifeline (0800 543 354) and there is a wealth of resources at depression.org as well.
• Self care. Don’t be afraid to say no to extra things, and find the time and money for a massage or to get your hair done… a little bit of self care can go a long, long way.
• Laugh if and when you can. Even if it feels hollow and fake, even the act of smiling releases some good endorphin things apparently, and I can assure you the joy will return.
• Talk about it. Find a safe and trustworthy person (ideally a professional) that you can offload onto. And let it out. You’ll find that you aren’t as weird as you think, and if you are weird, they can help you to manage that in a systematic and encouraging way.
• Hang. In. There. I mean it… Stay with us. Even if you need to take a little bit of time away from work to cry and let the illness work its way through your system. Stay with us. Stay safe. And if you are in a position that you cannot trust yourself for any reason, you must find a safe place with people around, or have someone you know and trust with you always. Do this. Because you are worth it (even if you do not currently feel that you are)
• Know your brain is not on your side right now. The self-speak that you are shoveling through is probably mostly bullshit. We’ve all got baggage and we’ve all been on a journey, and when you are on a genuine down swing you CANNOT trust the bullshit your brain is feeding you.
• Spirituality.  Seek it, embrace it, meditate on it… The knowledge that there is something bigger than our own understanding can be very healing and helpful when the depression flu comes to call.

There’s more advice, but I have a personal goal to never go over 1200 words on a blog, and I’ve passed that already.  Hope this was in some way useful to someone.

It is just a smidge after 6 months since Chelsea took her life.

I’ve taken a screen shot from her Facebook wall, which her daughter keeps updated.

Chelsea was AMAZING at Facebook.  She always made me giggle, and she had so much to give and share.

I woke up after dreaming about swimming through warm, dark water… and I needed to write down the empty that I feel thinking about her.

New Years day 2016 I was on the banks of the North Saskatchewan river with my four children and soulmate (husband) Steve.

Snow. A huge bonfire.  Babies, cousins, laughter, and a text message from Australia:

One of my five best friends on the planet sent me a message, which I received while transferring clothes from the washer to the dryer at my aunt’s house.

“Chelsea killed herself.”

And now, there is no more rolling laughter (cackles) from her belly.  Now her beautiful, vivacious daughter is left to navigate what I remember as the toughest times in my own life, without her single favourite human.  Now there is no more Chelsea selfies.  Now there is no more her when I visit Brisbane.  Now the planet is a somewhat quieter, and absolutely a less wonderful place, because one of the many angels on this earth couldn’t fight anymore.

I realise how mellow dramatic this may sound. But fuck.  I miss her, and I do not for a second hate her for taking her leave.  I wish every day that she could have held on, because I know she had more to do here on earth.  And the absolute rock bottom she was feeling would have passed… And then it would return… And I just wish she was still here because the world was better with her in it, even if she never felt that it was.

Now I am reaching out to anyone who might stumble onto the words I write and imploring you to hang on, because death is really, really, really permanent.

The very last time I saw Chelsea was a few short weeks before she left this planet.

I told an amazingly funny story about how my beloved husband sometimes wakes me up to initiate sex.  Oh my word, did Chelsea laugh at this story… She had a great laugh.

She didn’t want to die.  She just wanted to stop all the pain and suffering and be free…

Chelsea honey.  I am so glad I knew you.  And I miss you, and I hope that you know that the world was richer with you in it.

If you are in New Zealand, and you need to talk, call lifeline on 0800 111 757 to talk to a trained counsellor.

Hang on.  Because the feeling you are feeling will give way to joy again, it really will.

The day of Chelsea’s funeral, I was driving to and fro with my God daughter Olivia, who adored her Auntie Chelsea.  The day was a blur, and I remember sitting in Chelsea’s favourite seafood restaurant, looking over the water to the island where she was when she took her life.  I sat with Steve, and I remember reading that David Bowie had died.  That day is burned into my brain.  Her funeral. Her friends.  Her family.  Her pain.  They are a part of each and every person who shared that day.

While I was driving around running here and there, Chelsea sent me a song on the radio and I wept:

My daughter and I listen to this song often, and I don’t think the tears that come when I think of her will ever run dry.

Brie Honey… I am sending you so much Love.  Angela… I don’t know what to say or do, and I know that you are grieving so hard and I can’t do anything but let you know I am here if you need me.

Shaun.  Thank you for being my friend, and thank you for the intertwined lives we have lived for well over two decades.  Please hug your beautiful girls, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.

Chelsea.  You are missed.  You are Loved.  You are a part of us all forever.