0 comments on “You Made it Through Warrior…”

You Made it Through Warrior…

It was rough. It really was.

But you holding ‘getting over it’ on your own. It doesn’t mater how much you know, or how skilled you are, even heart surgeons cannot perform open heart surgery on themselves. Therapists see therapists. Trust me. They do. I see them. They see me. We are simply not meant to do it alone. 

I know what it’s like to feel like no one can help.

That no one understands.

0 comments on “5 Steps to a Breakthrough”

5 Steps to a Breakthrough

I love the work of Tony Robbins. I have read so much of his stuff, watched hours and hours of his work and listened to so much of his wisdom on CD’s and podcasts. And next year I hope to attend one of his seminars! #onthelist

If you haven’t heard of Tony Robbins, you might want to do yourself a favour and get acquainted. He is a powerhouse, a game changer and a man on a mission to help folks undo their pain and live a full out life!

0 comments on “The Beginning of the break: Part 2”

The Beginning of the break: Part 2

I don’t actually know how many parts there are to this break. And I guess I will only know when I continue to unfold them.

So, the break part 1 I wrote 21 days ago now. And in my last blog on this, I said I would be back the following week to finish it off [here if you missed it…].

So what has happened that has gotten in the way of that?

I don’t know if you believe in metaphysical stuff [If you don’t know what metaphysical is…] but after this little experience I am certainly curious enough about the real connections.

So. I wrote about the pain of worry and anxiety that first year of trying to conceive.

And I kid you not, the following day I got excruciating back pain and sciatic pain. Pain, that I can only describe as contractions. Like birthing contractions. Except, there was no reprieve from the contraction. It was just one long epic contraction. Fucking painful.

So painful, that it took me to the doctor. A place I don’t usually go much these days. But I went. I get x-rays. Scans. And it revealed that I have a bulging disc that presses right on my sciatic nerve. Like all day long.

But what does this have to do with writing about something that happened 11 years ago?

Here is the thing with stored pain.

The body remembers trauma. Science tells us that. It ain’t no hokey pokey deal anymore. It remembers and holds emotional pain. In the cells. Trapped. Waiting for release.

And, seemingly, when the body speaks to us, in a way we cannot ignore, as in the way of excruciating pain, it seems we are offered an opportunity to heal the old wounds that have been just waiting. Waiting for love and attention.

So my back and nerves call. And I listen.

I was 7 days overdue with our first bub. It was the middle of January in Australia and I was huge and swollen and big and uncomfortable and nervous. The longer that bub was in there, I knew the bigger they were growing, making it all the more difficult to get out.

So we met with our Obstetrician and decided we would go for an induction. To get things moving.

In we went. All prepared to have this baby, effortlessly and quickly.

Effortlessly and quickly. I mean, is that true? What the fuck?

But we did. Naively we walked in. Laughing at the events to come.

The gel went in. Off we went for a walk. And within about 45 minutes, the contractions began.

Exciting. It’s happening. After all that time, something was happening. Pain was happening. And off we went back to the hospital.

Fitted with a contraction monitor, my husband would watch with great interest as the little drawing needle would begin to head north. “Oh, this is a big one” he would say. Not surprising to me of course given they were happening in my body.

And on this went for hours. Hours and hours of the up and down. 5 minutes a part. Like intense. And still, no dilation.

“What do you mean it isn’t working?”. I belted out 6 hours in.

“Your cervix isn’t dilating”.

Oh great. I am fucking broken. I can’t even get a baby out of this body.

“So what now?”.

“Well, I think we prep you for a caesarean section”.

“A fucking what? But, this isn’t in my plan. This isn’t what I have researched. I didn’t pay any attention to caesarean section blah blah in antenatal classes. Fuck. No. This can’t be happening”.

And then whomp. Another fucking contraction. Oh the pain. The tears. The snot. The pain.

It was happening. I asked for some more time. Just to see. Surely it would work.

I was given more time. And nothing more happened, except I ended up in more pain and more anxiety.

So, I surrendered to the wishes of the doctor and I before I knew it, I was being wheeled around to the operating room with not gas, not drugs, not pain relief, just a fuck load of pain.

The anaesthetist came in and calmly talked me through what would be happening. At that stage I I didn’t give a shit frankly. I just wanted the pain to stop.

And the wish I desperately made, came true as soon as I curled up into a ball, holding my contracting belly while the gentle doctor gave me the numbing syrup. And the pain, it just dissolved.

I cried with relief and soon, I was capable of speaking. And soon I felt calm. And soon I would hold my baby.

In less than half an hour, I was united with our baby. Big baby. Healthy baby. And the next chapter unfolded.

We became parents, and in the moment I made a decision that I would hand my life over to be of service to this baby and it would be my job in life to provide everything he needed. Always.

In that moment, I gave no thought to the unprocessed pain my body hadn’t expressed. The cutting off of the pain, that seemed to lock in. And lock down. Quite possibly waiting for a time when I might revisit it. To release it.

So it is not a surprise to me, when I visit my acupuncturist and I am asked to describe the pain I say, “Like an unending contraction”.

When I lay on the bed and the acupuncturist checks the meridians that the pain runs on, I am told, “Isn’t it interesting. The exact route of your pain is exactly where we treat women who are in labour”.

“Get out of town”. I say. “Huh, well of course it is. And what is interesting is that it all began to be painful when I started writing about my pregnancy”.

“Might be time to finish that story. To transform the energy?”

“I think you are right”, I say.

And here we are.

Who knows what will happen with my pain. But what I do know, is that;

“Owning our story and forgiving ourselves through the process is the bravest thing we can do.” Brene Brown.


So, my precious body. I am so sorry that I was mean to you and spoke harshly about you because you didn’t meet my expectations.

I am sorry for hating on you. I am sorry for not listening to you. I am sorry that you tried to talk to me and I didn’t listen.

I am sorry that you had to endure what you did and then were ignored. For all those times when you wanted a relationship with me and I never thought you deserved it. That you weren’t good enough. That you didn’t act like I wanted you to.

I am sorry. And I ask you to forgive me. And I invite you to pass this pain now. I hear you sweet one. I hear you.

I love you and I am sorry.

Forever yours. Jen. xxx


My guess is that this wont be the last time I apologise to you.

In a culture that bread suck it up and get on with it, I know there are so many times I ignored you. Left you completely unloved and depleted. And for that I am sorry too. I promise that I will continue to do the best I can to take care of you. Nurture you. Love you unconditionally. It is of course a work in practice.

And I know that you are still learning to trust me, after I have neglected you so much along the way. I’m going to put in the effort to restore the trust. Gently. Ever so gently.

Not wanting to race head long into making changes. That is old way.

New way. To be with you. Not challenge you. But be kind to you.

Dearest body, I love you and I am sorry. How can I make it up to you?

“Just be kind…that is all”, says my body.


And the journey continues….


0 comments on “It Really Does Matter.”

It Really Does Matter.

Each Friday I have committed to sharing my Five Faves for Five Weeks.

Yes, it is kitchy, but this is Five Faves Friday. Week two!

This week, I am giving you my 5 reasons to share your story!


Believe me. Don’t believe me. Read my stuff. Don’t read my stuff.

But it matters to me to write. It matters to me to share my story. It matters to me that people know they are not alone.


You. Your story. It matters! It matters to me.

And people need to hear it!

I’ll tell you why!

I write pretty passionately about some topics.

I can get pretty ruffled by other topics and I speak my heart, thoughts, body on them.

I can be outspoken. Opinionated.

And I can be judged for it. As I can judge others.

Recently I received some unsolicited advice from someone I was sharing with about some mothering stuff. Being a mum. The role of parent.

This person, beautiful to the core, didn’t have children.

And her advice, was as the advice would have been before I had children. Except she said, “I know what you mean”.

And I smiled.

In all her excitement and desire to help, (which I really didn’t need or want) she blurted out a whole lot of stuff that, well, left me a little like….”Um, thanks for your thoughts on this” And as I walked away mumbled to myself, “Come talk to me after you have had children sweet one”.

I saw me as a younger version of myself. Desperate to help. Even when I wan’t asked for it. Fixers. Big hearted folks. People who care. We all do this.

God knows how much in my life I have done it. And what a gift she gave me.

This life thing.

Often as we are finding our way, we seek council. Support. Advice. And fuck I admire those brave enough to ask for it!

But we have to be mindful of who we seek for advice.

I wouldn’t be going to a mechanic to get advice on my Spotify account usage.

I wouldn’t be going to a swim instructor if I wanted to write a book.

Well, I might if that was their passion, so never say never I suppose.


Elizabeth Lesser in her book Broken Open tells of a time when she was looking for some advice from Spiritual Teacher Ram Dass.

Elizabeth lead with, “Can have your advice on something?” To which Ram Dass replies, “Only if it about being a man, who has never married and isn’t attached to material things. Much beyond that, I don’t know. I can only speak of what I have experienced”.

Some boom humility there.

I don’t know what it is like to be a single mother, even though I was raised by one.

I don’t know what it is like to be divorced. Even though my parents were.

I don’t know what it is like to have cancer, even though I worked in Oncology.

I don’t know what it is like to be adopted. Even though my mother was.

I don’t know what it is like to lose a parent to death. Even though I have stood beside friends who have.

I don’t know what it is like to be a man, even though I am married to one.

I don’t know what it is like to be bullied. Even though I was a bully.

I don’t know what it is like to be homeless, even though I was in foster care.

I don’t know what it is like to care for someone who is in chronic pain, even though I studied it at university.

I don’t know.

But I am interested. SO interested. SO interested. Intrigued. Mesmerised.

Five Reasons Why Sharing Your Story is Vital.

  1. When you share your story, you show people an alternative way. You give alternative perspectives. And people be like, “yeah, I’m going to try that”.
  2. I can’t live all the lives that can be lived. To have all the experiences. To share all the adventures.
  3. You offer a way for others who may be lost in the same wilderness as you were.
  4. You provide the opportunity for others to say, “Me too” and then they don’t feel alone.
  5. You leave a legacy. People will get to know the real you. Not the glossy, public you. You allow people to get to really SEE you.


You get yours.

I get mine.

And they get theirs.

And you will vibe with some and not with others. And lets agree that we can be okay with that. Without anyone being better than or less than. Just different.

So, if we ever meet, I will want to know who you are, what your story is and I will want to remind you that your story, your experience matters. I will seem nosy. Intrusive even. But it’s because that is important to me.

I’m not the kind of small talk chick. I can do it, but it exhausts me. 

And I am reminded, after my little encounter recently, that I will never pretend to know what it is like for you in what you are going through.

And even though I might not have experienced any of the things you have, I will try not to tell you how you should do your life. I am a fixer. I will always be one. So I will want to help. But I will try my best to meet you where you are.

So if you read what I write and be all like, “It’s all right for you isn’t it…but you don’t know what it’s like to be…..*insert your life experience*” I would say, I agree. I have no idea. But I still would love to hear all about it anyway!

If you have a story to share, that you think may benefit others – because god knows people need to find their people – let me help you set up a blog. Or a film an interview. Or, I don’t know…help you find your written words….anything!

Your experience matters. 

You matter. 

Big, big love



Oh and P.S……

…..Before anyone gets upset that I am putting down the value of non-mothers opinions, let me embrace you and let you know…some of my most biggest life influencers and role models are those without children. Oprah. Marie Forleo. Kris Carr. xx