Well done! You made it to the end of my written self-indulgence, how are you feeling? Do you need a shower? A wine? A sedative?
Me too.
I guess this is the part of the book where I tell you what I’ve learned, where I provide the silver bullet to happiness and fulfilment, a succinct summary for you to put in your pocket and live your best life with.
Sorry, you guys, I can’t do that – I’m not Oprah.
Yet.
I do feel some sort of responsibility that you at least get something useful from my book other than my inability to track my menstrual cycle, visions of my hirsute lower half and a handy guide on how not to crash a funeral, so the following will be the ‘self-help’ portion of the book. On the subject of the self-help book I wish to say, dear reader: NEVER EVER BUY THOSE BOOKS!
[Editor’s note: Em, we have many respected authors in this genre, can you please rework this sentence?]
Look, I’m sure there are maybe two good self-help bibles and if you really benefit from them, great, who am I to tell you to stop? I just feel there are a lot of opportunistic vultures out there who write these books filled with empty, new-age bullshit that prey on the overweight, lonely and clinically depressed, and deliver nothing more than some inspirational memes and a step-by-step guide to blaming yourself. These chirpy morons are cashing in big time – we’re spending in the billions per year on this crap.
[Ed: Okay, I think that is actually more offensive; let’s just keep it as it was.]
Parenting!
(I hope the use of the exclamation marks makes this subject seem friendly and approachable. Imagine me in sensible slacks, crocs and a skivvy if that helps.)
As some of you know, being a small person’s legal guardian can be equal parts ball-tearingly frustrating and gut-wrenchingly exhilarating. It can take your breath away and have you questioning all you hold dear in the space of ten minutes. I don’t profess to be an expert on the topic, I readily admit that on occasion my kids eat cereal for dinner and wear bathers for undies, and yet I get asked about parenting at least once a day. The following is a handy guide to the things I feel are important when raising young people.
Let me stress that I’m not a parenting expert, I’m the opposite of that, so . . . a parenting moron? No, that doesn’t seem right.
Em’s ten thoughts on parenting
1. Tell your kid when they stuff up.
Real-life example: ‘Odette, putting my mobile phone in the microwave was a bonehead thing to do. Can you please tell me why you felt that was okay because I am here to tell you – it so wasn’t.’
2. Tell your kid it is okay to stuff up.
Real-life example: ‘I accept you were trying to do a scientific experiment to ascertain if phones melt, I love that you were interested in finding out the truth. Having a crack at stuff is great, just ask me first because: giant electrical fire.’
3. Speak to them how you want them to speak to you.
I have really had to work on this one, mainly because ‘sarcastic bitch’ is my default setting. If your kids are being rude little arsehats, it may be time to look at how you relate to them. I did and things have taken on a much gentler tone in my house.
4. Get down on the floor with them.
We’re all guilty of remote-control parenting but kids bloody love it when you get down on their level; it allows you to fully engage. I know it seems like a punishment at the time but I promise, five minutes into building Barbie’s dream house you will be all about Ken’s den and the curtains in the day room.
5. Give them good food.
This one is so important. I know sometimes it can be tough and fast food is easy, you just need to think about all the chemicals, sugar and crap you are pumping into your small person’s body. If you teach them good food habits early they will always have them. My parents did and for that I am extremely grateful. At the time I resented the home-cooked, market-fresh wog food. All I wanted was a packet of Twisties, a Vegemite sandwich and a Prima. My parents maintained the rage and as a result I have pretty good eating habits. My kids will too.
6. Read them good books.
Recommendation: Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus is perfect for all ages. It is the best children’s book almost ever. In fact, anything by Moe Willams is super rad, he appeals to all ages.
7. Teach them the importance of actual gratitude.
I don’t go in for this ‘I’m a mum, it’s just what we do’ business. Who says that? Who says that as mothers we wipe shit up, work, cook, drive, clean, drive, drive, drive, because we’re programmed to do so out of some kind of natural maternal instinct that kicks in the moment they pop out?
Bullshit.
I think some children believe that it is in their mother’s DNA to love soaking their skiddy jocks, ironing their shirts and baking the entire class gluten-, nut-, wheat-, dairy- and taste-free cakes for the fete. Sorry, dickheads, it isn’t.
(I’m sure your child isn’t a dickhead, I just got a bit caught up, forgive me.)
Alls I’m saying is make sure they thank you for all that you do and mean it!
8. Pick them up when they fall.
Emotionally, physically and spiritually. Be there. Kids need to feel safe in order to be smart-brave. Smart-brave: I’m going to try this new thing without fear and do my best and if I fail I know I’m still loved.
9. If you fuck up, admit it and try again tomorrow. Kids forgive and forget in the blink of an eye.
Kids almost see it as a novelty when you admit to making a mistake. It is good for them to see that even Mum and Dad screw things up occasionally.
10. Love them till it hurts and then a little bit more.
That’s it, nothing new or groundbreaking here. I tried to keep it simple, concise and devoid of wankery. I believe that parenting gets overcomplicated a lot of the time and I know we are all guilty of comparing ourselves to other parents and feeling as though we come up short. Some of us only post the highlight reel on Facebook – our children beautifully groomed and our houses immaculate – when in reality that shit took three hours to set up. I, like most of you, am doing my best to raise kids who contribute to the world. Kids who are kind to animals and those who are most vulnerable in society. The important part to remember is, you’ve got this. If you yell at your kid to make yourself feel better, that’s okay – you’ve got this. Refer to number nine on my list then do number ten. See how it works! There is room for forgiveness and improvement, two crucial ingredients when trying to parent. Sometimes we get it gloriously right and sometimes the children are still awake at 10pm with no food for lunches and no clean uniforms.
Relationships!
There is no way to sugar-coat this: healthy relationships are fucking hard work. Times that by infinity if you decide to get married.
It is hinted at, written about, studied and mumbled, but I don’t think enough married people are saying to other married people, ‘My relationship can be a clusterfuck of disappointment, frustration and finger pointing.’
Which reminds me. Hey, you guys: Sometimes my marriage is a clusterfuck of disappointment, frustration and finger pointing.
(I really love the word clusterfuck. It is powerful, heavy and desperate all at once.)
There are thousands upon thousands of relationship experts giving us unsolicited advice on how to spice up our marriages, listen to our partners and generally have a dream union. No-one mentions what to do when you’re in an epic stand-off with your other half over whose turn it is to clean up the dog’s spew. ‘Not mine!’ you each declare, so the aforementioned spew sits for days, congealing on the bathroom floor into a circle of stiffened yellow stomach lining. That is the shit that tests marriages more than anything, the battle over whose turn it is to do the crappy menial everyday tasks. At least it is in my house. Add kids, and your life becomes about existing not living, you just get through days rather than experiencing them.
My biggest gripe with my family is the amount of work I do to keep us going vs the amount they contribute. When I get sick, which isn’t often, my contribution to the machine that is our household stops for a few days. Cue the wheels falling off the entire operation. I resent this, I resent that the dickheads in my family can’t seem to pick up the slack for two days, that the washing gets to an offensive level, there is no food and the house looks as though we are squatting in it.
Inevitably I will crack it with Scott. Our arguments usually involve me being disappointed with his lack of effort and him feeling ripped off and thinking that I choose to see the glass as half empty when it comes to him. He says I am too hard on him and that my standards are unrealistic – and he’s totally right. You didn’t see that one coming, did you? In response to my accusations he usually says, ‘I did enough, everything is okay.’ Yes it was, but not my version of okay. When I ask him to do something what I mean to say is ‘Please do that thing exactly the way I would do it.’ I like to scrub the toilet bowl until it cries for mercy; his version of that is flushing it and lighting a match.
Don’t even get me started on the toilet roll war. Call me crazy, but I don’t call placing the new roll on top of the holder doing it right!
Serenity now. Serenity now.
I share this with you because I want you to know that my marriage can be hard work. I feel that if more of us admitted that to each other, there’d be less pressure to be in a perfect relationship to begin with. We’d stop holding each other to unrealistic standards. Maybe you aren’t going on romantic date nights like so many therapists recommend but maybe you got through the day without flipping the love of your life your middle finger while silently mouthing ‘go fuck yourself sideways’ and you’re both lying silently on the couch together holding hands.
Cute.
My relationship can also be the bedrock upon which I build my emotional foundations. After losing Nana and Uncle Hayd, I’m pretty sure I would have folded in two and given up if it wasn’t for my husband’s support. I love him, he loves me, we love our kids and sometimes that breaks my balls and sometimes it makes my heart burst with joy.
It’s not always bad, but it can be and that’s all I really wanted to say.
Single?!
Okay, I am just gonna lay this one out fast and loose because I know you are over the avalanche of information out there for single people.
When confronted with a potential romantic situation, choose wisely, don’t resist it or assist it, just let it happen. No game playing, no dating rules, no deep analysis – just let it be. Expectation usually leads to disappointment.
Also, and this is the IMPORTANT PART: Say what you mean and mean what you say. Then there can be no confusion, about anything.
So in summary:
1. Choose wisely.
2. Let it happen naturally.
3. Be honest.
4. Expect nothing.
Go into every new romantic situation with this intent. It puts you back in control, you will have the hand (as explained to us by George Costanza), you will hold the power of Grayskull.
I am about to throw a question at you and I want you to absolutely, no-fooling answer it truthfully. Be honest with me.
How much time do you spend thinking about how you look?
Sticking to the rules of the game and not hiding anything, I shamefully admit that I think about my appearance about eighty per cent of the time and I’m bloody sick of it. I estimate I vow to start a new diet three or four times a week. This usually coincides with me not fitting into a dress, seeing myself in an unflattering light or trolling my friends’ Facebook photos and thinking how much better they look than me. If I come anywhere near a reflective surface I scrutinise what I see.
The thing is, I’m not really sure who I am trying to look perfect for. It’s as though I think I have a team of hot people following my every move Big Brother-style and any time I slip up physically they will announce it to the world. Obviously, I don’t, and it is high time I got over myself. I did some research (read: typed ‘what percentage of women are unhappy with their appearance’ into Google) and found one study that said ninety-seven per cent of women in the UK were not happy with themselves physically. NINETY-SEVEN FECKING PER CENT!
I know that most ladies have areas on their bodies they would like to improve – we all know the trauma of going shopping for bathers and jeans – but I’m not sure many of us actually examine how much time we’re spending thinking about these things and why we do it. Who do you want to look good for? I can’t answer that, I don’t know why I torture myself over the wobbly bit of skin around my belly button that occurred after childbirth. I’m not quite sure whose approval I am looking for – are you? Is there a Holy Grail of optimum hotness that, once reached, the voice of God bellows, ‘Nailed it!’ and then we can go and eat a pack of Tim Tams and be done with the relentless pursuit of perfection? I am exhausted, wrung out and defeated by the constant stream of bile my brain dishes out to my body. I am still embarrassed to have admitted to you how much time I spend thinking about how I look, but it needed to be done. I think of all the other purposeful and positive things I could have been doing with that brainpower instead of the punishing body-hate vortex I’ve had it caught up in.
Does any of this ring true for you? Perhaps I am the only one who has been spending a ridiculous amount of energy giving myself a hard time about the way I look. I’ll accept that, but I highly doubt it.
So I went in search of ways to improve on this and found a ‘helpful’ list on wikiHow called:
HOW TO BE MORE CONFIDENT WITH THE WAY YOU LOOK (FOR GIRLS).
1. Look at yourself in the mirror every day and say one positive thing about yourself.
Em, you have very straight teeth.
2. Reward yourself with chocolate.
Say what? Really? This will help me improve my negative self-talk?! Consider it done!
3. Go for a relaxing walk around the mall.
Are you shitting me? Have you been to one of those places recently? Screaming children, harassed parents . . . I am pretty sure that is where the impending zombie apocalypse is beginning and is slowly spreading as we speak. I think you got this one wrong, wikiHow.
4. Be happy. Even someone gorgeous looking, when sad, is not attractive.
Really? I’m pretty sure that if Miranda Kerr pouted with sad eyes she’d look sultry and sexy and I’d just look like a maniacal idiot standing next to her smiling.
5. Go for a new look.
Dude! I am trying to love my current look that is why we are here!
Okay, so wikiHow wasn’t all that helpful, but I am determined to spend less time thinking about my thighs and more time on my Harry Potter erotica fan fiction.
Yes, I write Harry Potter erotica fan fiction.
As if that surprises you!
TRUTH-BOMB ALERT: I didn’t want to include the part about me being an elite junior athlete in this book, however it was just such a huge part of my life from the ages of six to eighteen and played such an important role in shaping the person I am today, that it felt wrong not to. I’ve been thinking about why I was so reluctant to write about it, to go back there, and I think it’s because I feel as though it didn’t pan out as I think it should have. I fell into a deep depression after my career ended due to my own stupidity. This whole book could have been dedicated to my love of track and field, it really was all I thought about and how I spent the majority of my time. Looking back, I didn’t know how good I was, I didn’t appreciate that I had some pretty special skills, I just remember always being super hard on myself and looking towards the next goal. I won state champs after state champs and never stopped to think, Well done, mate, that’s pretty ace. I wish someone would’ve nailed me down and made me feel some pride. I never felt good enough, and I had a burning desire to prove some imaginary force wrong about me. Perhaps that was part of my drive. I may not have got as far as I did had I felt comfortable with who I was as a person.
Fuck, I need a rest. I’m very upset writing this, I’m just going to type what is happening for me now and see where we go. I feel extremely sad for that little girl, for young teenage Em who broke herself trying to prove herself. She was lonely, strung out and hollow a lot of the time but bloody capable. She was the queen of putting on a brave face, she very rarely failed. When she did, she came down so hard on herself, she would actually punish herself. She would deny her body food for days. Her wonderful body that gave her so much, and she punished it on a regular basis. She had the most awful, internal dialogue too. She regularly told herself she was useless, slow and, yep, not good enough.
Okay, I’m sobbing now. Jesus, I hope my publishers have put aside some serious cash for therapy, this is ripping open wounds I didn’t even know I had.
Thus ends the self-help portion of the book, I hope you got something out of it!
So that’s it, I’m sobbing as I write this because it means I did it, I got to the end of this fantastically exhausting and rewarding thing that I set out to write. (Yes, dear reader, as you’ve probably now established, I cried many, many times writing this thing that you’ve almost finished reading. How do you feel I’ve gone? Can you flick me a tweet or a FB post or an email when you get to this part please? I’d like your feedback . . . Only if it’s nice. Ha! Seriously though, go do it right now.)
Thank you for reading my words, I hope you laughed, and I’m sorry if you cried. I’m so glad we found each other. Connecting with other like-minded people is the reason my career got a bit of a boost. I also put in a shitload of hard work but at its core, finding my crew and giving them the good stuff enabled me to begin building a career that I really love. To do all those things I told Scotty I wanted to do way back in 2011 after I’d left Perth and had to start again.
Writing this book has forced so much reflection. I’ve spent the twelve years since competing in Australian Idol furiously working, my head has been down for so long I forgot to look up and around. I’ve been my own worst enemy at times, I realise that now. If a friend of mine were to lay out the things I’ve accomplished over the past decade and refused to acknowledge or celebrate them, as I am prone to do, I would actually slap them. I guess I’m afraid that if I stop to roll around in a little bit of success, the universe will punish me for being so smug and throw some lightning my way. I somehow got in my head that acknowledging success meant that I would no longer strive to achieve it, that it would trigger a tidal wave of pent-up laziness in me. I want you to know I’m just having these epiphanies as I type these words.
Fuck, I need a drink.
Wait! Is that the sentiment I want to end the book on? Probably not. How about I just leave you with my favourite quote from Teddy Roosevelt? Yes, I know that usually happens at the start of the book but stuff it, why start playing by the rules now?
Thanks bitches, from the bottom of my black heart – thanks.
Spend yourself in a worthy cause and get in that arena. (That will make sense once you read the quote.)
Your pal,
Em x