Tag: vulnerability

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Do they make a pill for a vulnerability hangover?

I’m sitting here feeling a little queasy, a little anxious and just all over blah. Kind of like a hangover after a big night, but being that I’m nearly 6 months pregnant and sitting here braless, in pants almost the size of a fitted sheet, it can’t be booze. Suddenly, I realise what my issue is; a vulnerability hangover. Gross.

I recently started recording episodes for my very own podcast called ‘Can I Get A Refill?’ (Dropping late April on all major poddy platforms…no apologies for shameless plug). And tonight I released a one minute teaser reel on insta. I’ve been in hiding a bit in recent months because I’ve had a really difficult pregnancy. Other than the first trimester seeing me couch-ridden with extreme morning sickness (all day and evening mind you) it’s been the remainder of the pregnancy that’s been so challenging. I was born with a neuro-muscular disorder called Myotonia Congenita. It’s a bit technical to explain, but basically every single skeletal muscle in my body from my eyelids and tongue to my arms and legs, go very rigid and stiff if I’ve been stationery for more than 60 seconds. It’s been incredibly difficult but somewhat manageable, to the point that I was able to hide it from anyone I never lived with for most of my life. What I didn’t know, however, was that it would greatly increase during pregnancy and there’s nothing I can do about it. I spent last year doing singing gigs, high intensity workouts, running up the sand dunes and travelling Europe. This year, I need a walking stock to hobble around the block and require assistance from a loved one to cross any major roads. To say that my mental health and self-esteem have taken a hit would be the understatement of the century.

So I’ve been spending a lot of time laying low, trying to just push through this challenge and focus on the excitement of meeting my son in July. But putting up a video where I talk about vulnerable things, letting people hear that my voice is slightly nervous because it was my very first episode and new things are scary, posting a video of me where I look about double my size since many people last saw me (fuck you baby…I mean hormones), and just basically attempting something new that I might not nail and people might laugh at…is a little fucking scary. Hence the queasiness.

(GIF courtesy of https://memes.getyarn.io/)

I was feeling a little ill and having an out of body sensation, but then I caught myself. I didn’t say or do anything I don’t believe in or am ashamed of. My current condition that’s deteriorating my muscles (temporarily) is not my fault. Not being able to exercise the way I’m used to is entirely out of my control. Gaining weight and having hormonal shifts when you are literally creating and growing a human with your body is completely normal. I might put out a few shit podcast episodes. I might look back and cringe at my early attempts. I might not get many views on my reels or downloads on my episodes. And many people might think I look and sound shit and they might feel the need to write that in the comments (Fuck you, if you do btw). But you know what? Maybe none of what I’m feeling has anything to do with anyone else. Maybe it all has to do with the pressure I put on myself and the unrealistic standards I hold myself to thanks to my perfectionist personality.

The first episode of my podcast is about diving in and trying new things. About starting something where you’re at and not waiting for the perfect circumstances (because they don’t exist). It’s about being brave and how courage is not the absence of fear, but pushing through in spite of the fear.

(GIF courtesy of https://getyarn.io/)

Anything that I’ve ever been proud of myself for, has been done in a moment of fear. When I dug deep and found the real Steph and let her Wonder Woman that shit all the way to the end. My greatest fear in this world is mediocrity, living with regrets, always wondering what might have been. I don’t love that I get nervous. I don’t love that I suffer from acute anxiety. And I sure as hell don’t love that I think far too often about what others might think of me. But you know what I really love about me? That I’m tenacious. That now as an adult, I try all the things I ever wanted to try. That’s what victory looks like to me.

If the first episode of my podcast is about trying new things, then it’s super apt that my voice sounds nervous, particularly at the beginning of the episode. I can’t imagine that anyone would expect me to be brilliant at my first attempt at something. As stated in the episode (which you’ll be listening to of course so you’ll get to hear this), WD40 stands for ‘Water Displacement 40th Attempt’. You realise what this means don’t you? That they had 39 failed attempts before they perfected it. If they gave up on the 15th attempt, the whole world would sound like creaky doors! But the 39 attempts were not failures of course. They were part of the success. They were crucial stepping stones.

We’ve become so accustomed to seeing hi-light reels and finished products on social media, that we’ve almost completely forgotten that anything worthwhile in this life takes effort and patience as we learn and grow. I feel like Mary Poppins’ cleaning scene set us up for unrealistic expectations of the work that would be involved in adult life.

(GIF courtesy of https://tenor.com/en-GB/)

I’m currently embracing my vulnerability as I try something new and dig deep for courage. On a project that is bringing me so much joy and creative fulfilment and hopefully will bring others some entertainment and healing (as I say out loud in my morning affirmations). I’m currently embracing vulnerability as my body and appearance take a massive hit, whilst I perform the ultimate miracle of bringing a child into this world.

As for my fitness, my social life, my youthful energy, my singing career and my love of a good bottle of Veuve, they’re not over. I’m choosing to think of myself as a sling-shot in the pulled back position, just waiting for the right time to launch. 2022 saw me working 3 jobs to get myself into a better financial position and I knew that it would be the grind year, just as I knew that 2023 would be my year of reaping the rewards. And it was, in spades! I entered 2024 with very few short-term goals because I knew this would be my time to go inward and embrace my feminine energy as I sit in my ‘being’, rather than the ‘doing’. And that’s OK. Life, like the weather, is seasonal. Not every year can be all about the celebration, some years have to be about putting in the work. Not all the years can be about striving for success, some have to be about rest and cooking up creative ideas. Rest is always a crucial part of success that many skip.

I watch a really great vlogger on YouTube called Shayla Quinn, who grew up in Southern California and moved to New York City about two years ago, which is when I found her content because my phone is playing NYC content 24/7! I’m obsessed! She said something that I always think of because I relate to it so much. She said that she loves that NYC has 4 very different seasons because Sunny California is basically Summer all year round. And you can literally see her struggling to walk her dogs in the snow or hating how the sun sets so early in Winter (I hear that girl), but she loves the different stages because the dark and the cold helps her appreciate the warm and the bright so much more. I literally could not agree more! I’m always so excited when a new season starts. I’m loving life right now because as a tired pregnant woman, the heat was getting to me and I just adore the cosiness of Autumn. I love watching the rain on the leaves outside my window as I work, I love playing Harry Potter ambience music on Youtube, I love all those bullshit Pumpkin Spice Chai Latte drinks at Starbucks (decaf for this anxious bitch please).

Seasons of your life are exactly the same. Sometimes you need to hibernate, sometimes you need to create and sometimes you need to celebrate.

I’m embracing the stage I’m in and I’m also acknowledging the struggle of losing mobility at the moment, and the massive impact that’s having on multiple areas of my life (although my hot pink walking stick is kinda hot). But I’m also so grateful for the endless love and support around me, and I look forward to hanging out with my kid next year, hitting the gym harder than I ever have, and getting my stride back as an independent woman.

I’m learning to find some patience, sit in the uncomfortable and embrace this relatively new concept of vulnerability. Because as a very wise Dianne Wiest says in Practical Magic, “With the sweets, come the sour”.

(GIF courtesy of https://gifer.com/en)
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Taking home the gold in mental health

If you’re in Sydney at the moment, chances are you’re glued to your couch watching the Olympics because let’s face it, you’re in lockdown and there’s fuck all else to do. But also, the Olympics are God Damn awesome!

After setting the benchmark for the rest of the world on how to handle a pandemic, the tables have turned for Sydney; we’re into our sixth week of lockdown with numbers continuing to climb, people of all ages being infected with the virus, not enough vaccines to go around, small business failing and yet to see a cent from the Government, and simply no clear end in sight. Cheering home our victorious Olympians has provided a small spark of hope in an otherwise eerie world.  

Let’s start with Emma McKeon taking home enough medals to have ranked herself as an individual Country on the medal tally. Scoring her 11th Olympic Medal of her career, she’s broken Ian Thorpe and Liesel Jones’ record of nine each (ahh Thorpie, you’ll always be the King of my pool…that came out a lot dirtier than I intended, but how good is it having that champ back on our screens?!)

We loved watching Kaylee McKeown slay that pool then drop the F-Bomb in a poolside interview (Aussie Royalty). Logan from Logan taking home the first ever Gold in BMX Freestyle after building ramps in his backyard and subsequently pissing off his neighbours (might be in for a few less noise complaints now). And I’m pretty sure the number one image in your mind of these games is Ariarne Titmus’ coach; throwing around his mask like a stripper’s G-String and dry humping a barricade in celebration of his protégé’s epic victory. This man is my absolute spirit animal and Boxall, mate if you’re reading this, would you consider hiring yourself out to non-sporting types such as myself? I just think I’d be a lot more successful in life if you were walking behind me and pumping me up as I went about my daily affairs. COME ON BRUNO!!!!!

(GIF courtesy of vulture.com)

Can I get an Amen for the 62 year old Andrew Hoy, taking home a Silver and a Bronze in what was his 8th Olympics, becoming our oldest ever Olympian? Sixty – bloody – two!!! You’ll never catch my 38yr old ass complaining about a burpee ever again. And a dude from Hurstville competing on the world stage in the Table Tennis event.  I spent the first twenty-something years of my life in Hurstville! I could have passed our very own Forrest Gump in the fresh produce aisle at Coles, we could have squeezed the very same avocado! You don’t know.

My big waterworks moment came from watching Peter Bol’s family partying like it’s 1999 from back home in Perth, watching on as their man continues his pursuit of Olympic glory. His family fled war-torn Sudan when he was only 4, eventually settling in Australia, without speaking a word of English, in the hopes of creating a new, safer life for their brood. Now families all over Australia scream his name from their living rooms, edging him closer to that finish line. Today, I’m a very proud Aussie indeed. Can I get an Oi Oi Oi?!

Like anything in life; with the sweets, comes the sours.  The amount of pressure on these young athletes, from themselves, their coaches and their Countries at large, is perhaps too much for anyone’s shoulders (even those giant swimmer and gymnast shoulders). The high-highs and the low-lows of such a highly competitive field can very often take a large toll on one’s mental health. I can barely watch my screen knowing that someone has trained hours on end, nearly every day for the last four years (or many more) only to stumble on a hurdle or fall off the uneven bars. I can’t bring myself to look at their face as all of their hopes dash before their very eyes. To spend years perfecting your craft and having, in some cases only a few seconds to prove your worth is just a ridiculous amount of pressure. I know my mental state wouldn’t handle it.

This year, we watched two of the absolute best athletes of our time; Naomi Osaka and Simone Biles put up their hands and admit, it’s too much. I can’t cope, and I choose my mental health.

Let’s be clear, in every single situation, we should always choose our health; physical, mental or emotional. Time and time again.

(image courtesy of reddit.com)

Yesterday at work I was having a chat with one of my favourite colleagues (just so freaking excited to see another human being in the flesh!) We were discussing this very topic until he mentioned that he thought Biles was a cop out because she took someone else’s place in the squad and didn’t go through with it. Argghhh a dagger through my heart! I was crushed that he had taken this view, especially given that the last few weeks, he and I had spoken at great lengths about our extreme concern of everyone’s mental health during the pandemic. We had both been studying the increase on suicide rates over the last few years and fear that the extreme isolation during lockdown could tip anyone over the edge who was already struggling to keep it together.

Here’s what kills me, if Simone Biles pulled a hamstring or broke a leg, everyone would be standing and applauding her brave exit from the floor and just ‘understand’ that she could not physically continue. No one would question it. It would just be a given that she was ‘unfit to continue’. Then why, when it comes to mental health, do the Keyboard Warriors awaken from under their pile of Uber Eats bags to condemn the perceived weakness of someone who is simply exercising her right of self-preservation? This clearly demonstrates that the stigma of mental health is still alive and well.

I can only imagine it’s because it is invisible and therefore un-measurable by others.

Having spent my entire life with a neuro-muscular disorder (that’s a whole other story for another time) I can guarantee you that most people will always doubt what they can’t see. I look fit, I have defined muscles and workout a lot, so when I can’t move because my legs freeze up, people think that I’m ‘faking it’. When I can’t open my eyes because my eyelids have frozen, people think I’m goofing around. When I can’t respond to a question because my tongue has gone stiff because I haven’t spoken in a while, people think I’m being rude (that one hurts the most – I freaking love to talk more than anything in the world!) Even just recently I’ve experienced grown men thinking it’s funny to make fun of the way I walk upstairs, thinking I’m doing my best impersonation of Frankenstein. I used to get really worked up or I used to pretend I was tying my shoelace or looking for something in my bag, these were in the days before I was diagnosed and just didn’t know what to tell people. Now I calmly say, “No, I was born with a neuro-muscular disorder, this is how I walk”. They never know what to say after that, and they never apologise, they mostly look confused and I can see their brains trying to figure out if I’m joking or not. If I had my leg in a cast, or was in a wheelchair, they wouldn’t look confused. I then continue my slow and difficult climb up the stairs at my own pace, reciting the words over and over in my head “I’m doing the very best I can, there’s no need to rush”.

I can’t express to you the relief I felt when my condition was given a name (Myotonia Congenita, in case you want to look it up). It was so freeing. I still get upset (that’s actually a huge understatement). Every single day of my life is hard, physically and emotionally. Simple tasks are often quite impossible for me. But I no longer carry the burden of hiding my disability or apologising for it in order to make someone else comfortable. I can simply be me. In all my perfectly imperfect glory.

That mindset and diagnosis really would have come in handy during Primary School when a substitute teacher didn’t believe me when I said I couldn’t run after standing still for so long. She thought I was a bad child telling lies. She subsequently grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me along the cement in front of all of my peers. My legs were covered in cuts, scrapes and blood. But they healed. The damage that particular situation did to my mental health, never healed. I never told anyone that story until I was in my twenties. I guess it took me that long to realise that it wasn’t my fault.

When you doubt someone’s story, especially their struggles, you’re not only preventing them from healing, you’re adding shame to their already heavy load.

As a person with a seemingly hidden disability and my own share of mental health issues, I am so proud of Naomi Osaka and Simone Biles. They are so brave and so smart in the choices they have made. They’ve essentially taken one for the team. Their actions could set in motion a whole new movement of kindness and compassion. Which could create a world where no one will ever be afraid to admit they need a time out. This could very well save lives.

Osaka and Biles don’t owe the general public anything. They don’t owe us an explanation for their pain, the same way my colleagues don’t need to know when I have period pain or when I can’t get out of bed because depression has sapped the strength from every muscle in my body. I use to text my bosses a really long-winded explanation for when I couldn’t make it into work, and when it was depression, I’d always say I had a stomach bug. Now, I just say “I’m unwell and can’t make it in today”. If you’re unfit to work, you’re unfit to work, no apologies or long-winded explanations required. I guarantee you, the world will keep spinning and no one will remember that day you had off, in five years’ time.

(image courtesy of tennis.com)

I think sport is a wonderful recreation to be involved in, and full credit to anyone living out their dream. That’s truly magical. But sport is not everything. It ‘s merely one facet of an athlete, in their already rich tapestry of who they are as a person. I hope that when they retire, they realise that there is a lot that they can offer the world, not just their sporting skills.

I was recently in hospital for a routine procedure in which my body encountered a slight complication. In my heady state of anaesthesia and feeling like hell, I remember calling out to the nurse who had spent the most time with me. She stroked my hand and stayed with me until I felt well and I just remember thinking, “Well shit…footy players run into work and have 80,000 people cheering them on. These Doctors and Nurses work so hard keeping us well and alive and no one applauds them when they walk into work.” It’s a topsy-turvy world.

Once I got home, I sent those Doctors and Nurses a box of choccies and a card telling them that the people of Sydney are so blessed to be looked after by people like them. Not all heroes wear capes, but heaps of them wear scrubs.

Here’s to the trailblazers. The brave and the vulnerable, the kind and the compassionate. The broken and the healers.

And to you, reading my words right now. If you’re struggling today, I’m so sorry you’re in pain. I hope that tomorrow is a better day for you. One full of hope.

This really is such a beautiful world.

(image courtesy of https://twitter.com/phlpublichealth)

If you or anyone you know needs immediate support, contact Lifeline on 13 11 14 or via lifeline.org.au. In an emergency, call 000.