My six year old son wants a six pack

My beautiful son is in his first year of Primary school, and he is changing.

You see, my son is becoming his own person. He spends a lot of his time with his teacher and his friends at school, he has thoughts and experiences that I know nothing about. I can't limit his world any more (nor would I want to), and he has stories to tell me about the schoolyard that sometimes leave me in slack-jawed disbelief.

It all started last weekend, at a birthday party for one of his schoolmates.  One of the ladies was telling us that her son, who has an older brother who is 14, goes into his room of a night and does sit ups and push ups so that he can get a six pack. I was amazed that a six year old would be so concerned with his body, but thought it was harmless enough.  I mean, there's nothing wrong with a bit of hero worship and wanting to be healthy, right?  Well....the conversation quickly continued about the boys in the playground ALL wanting six packs, with the boys deciding that those who had the six packs  were good, and anyone who didn't was bad.

There is a bit of a gym culture at our school among the parents, but that's not unusual, and healthy as long as not taken to excess, right?  I mean, I try to stay fit but I'm never going to be a gym junkie. Shopping is my cardio, and my beautiful hubby has a full on manual job, which means he doesn't have the time or the inclination to go to the gym.

Yesterday, my son came home and dragged the scales out of the bathroom.  "Mum", he said "I need to see if I am fit or not.  Am I fat?"  What the actual heck?  I thought that this was a conversation I would just not need to have with him, especially at the tender age of six!  He pulled up his shirt and said "I don't have a six pack, it's good to have a six pack mum".  I whipped out the laptop and fired up the Height and Weight charts for six year olds - and showed him that he was in the 100th percentile for height and the 75th percentile for weight.  "You know what this means, mate - you are just right.  Your weight is exactly what it should be for being healthy.".

I think I reassured him, but I was still confused by our conversation - so I brought it up with one of my friends at the school concert last night.  She told me that her son had taken Christmas beads into his bed with him and was sleeping on them.  She told him that it was dangerous to sleep with beads, and he said "But mum!! If I sleep on these beads they will go into my skin and in the morning I'll have a six pack".  She was horrified!

Seriously? Is this a thing? If this is happening to the boys, what are the girls saying to each other?  I guess there's a lot more images of physical perfection in the media and society as a whole feels a lot more compelled to be fit and chiseled.  When I was six, all I can remember is running fast and playing with my friends. I certainly didn't worry about whether I was fat or not. All I can do is reassure my son that his body is strong and healthy. Are we too obsessed with bodily perfection?  I don't know what the answer is.....but I'm fairly certain that it doesn't involve a six pack on a six year old.

Christianity and Halloween

So, Halloween has got me thinking about what I believe…and whether I have to justify it or not.  I’m a Christian, but I think my sub-category is radical/liberal.  Identifying as having a faith is a bit of a minefield these days.  So, yes….. I’m always going to be one of the first to say that I am a bit of a radical – that my Christianity is kinda left field.  I believe in Marriage Equality, I am pro choice, and I recently - *gasp* - took my son and a friend trick or treating.  In some people’s eyes, that makes me a Christian in name only.  Really?

I’d understand this attitude if I took to the streets with a sign saying “the Devil ROOLS OK!” and was dressed in a devils suit.  I wasn’t. I had black on, with funny glasses, and my son and his friend were dressed as ninjas.  Because we haven’t gone trick or treating before, I took a huge bag of lollies for the neighbours to give the kids…. For me, it was more about the lollies and having fun.  I understand that life is serious, and that there is evil lurking.  But, must we imbue every fun childhood tradition with EVIL and SATAN where there is really only a bit ‘o’ fun?  For me, the important thing about Christianity is that Jesus was a dude who loved us sooooo much, that he died for us and the rest of the world, so that we would have everlasting evidence of how much God loves us.  It was all planned.  It’s something that sustains me when crappy things happen.  God’s love…it’s strong.  It’s a lot stronger than a pair of devil’s horns and a plastic bucket with a pumpkin on it.

So much of what’s wrong with faith these days is making judgements about how we worship the big guy in the sky, or if we believe in him at all.  My gorgeous mum knows how much I struggle with the attitude of “you must believe or it’s the fiery furnace for you” – she says that only God knows what is in a person’s heart and what their relationship with him is.  That makes me feel better – God is the one who is in control – not me. It’s not my place or anyone else’s to judge where God fits into another person’s life…or to dictate what they believe or the choices that they make. 

A couple of years ago, my husband Richard and I attended the funeral of a loving, kind, Christian woman who lived a gorgeous life of love for others, regardless of their faith.  A perfect opportunity to tell the non-believers there more about the God who helped her live such an amazing life. ….But unfortunately, one of the members of that congregation used the opportunity to address the captive audience about the small matter of their un-savedness.  Fiery furnaces and eternal damnation were mentioned, along with a sprinkling of saliva as the fervent and fired up speaker doused this dear lady’s memory with lashings of guilt and judgement.  I don’t think many of those people will return to church.  To me, that’s not what God is all about.  God is love!

I recently wrote in my blog about my two younger sisters and their approaches to their personal walk with Jesus.  The upshot of it is that our views are vastly different – but we haven’t yet come to blows over the Christmas dinner table.  Despite our differences, or perhaps because of them, we all still worship the same God. We believe that God has his hand on our lives, that he sent his son Jesus to die for our sins, and that he is the way to have a relationship with God. Same God, but very different people. So, please don't switch off when you hear that we're Christians. We may have the same core beliefs, but there are many different flavours.

 

Different flavours of Christianity

So - once upon a time, there were three sisters.  The eldest had red hair and was prone to anxiety.  The middle sister also had red hair, and was very private.  The youngest had blonde hair and was a happy girl, with a touch of worrying.

These three girls are my sisters and I - we are 36, 34 and 33 respectively.  We are all Christians, although we are all very different Christians, with very different lives.  I was thinking about Christianity and how a lot of times, it gets a bad rap for hate, scandal and greed.  I wanted to let you in on how it's possible to worship Jesus and God in a way that is genuine and honest to you, and yet to be very very different in the ways that you approach your faith.

Let's start with me, because let's face it - talking about me is one of my favourite things to do.  I had a lot of years away from the church - where I was out living the party life, drinking and kissing boys and getting myself into terrible trouble.  During times of terrible trouble, I'd turn to God and start going back to church. I'd try to repent and to stop making rude jokes, to help out with the youth group and stop binge drinking.  I lived a bit of a double life, advising the girls to wait for their true love, then going home and getting changed into lurid outfits and hitting the town.  I had a spiritual awakening about nine years ago, when I realised that I had to stop living a double life.  I'd been praying for a husband and yet my younger sister was the one who got engaged first.  I was terribly angry with God, but didn't realise that my partner in the bridal party would go on to be my husband.  It was like God said to me "huh, do you think I'd leave you all alone to make this decision? Here he is, the one you were waiting for - I had it planned all along.  Why didn't you just trust me?"

So, I've learned to trust God and during the time when I had intense and severe Post Natal Depression, my faith developed. I realised that God had a plan and a purpose for my life, and that I had to stop thinking that I could know what was best for me - that I had to trust him and just do my best - learn to stop trying to control everything...to surrender and let go absolutely.

These days, I attend church with my hubs and son, teach Sunday school, support gay marriage, am pro choice, love dirty jokes and movies with Kirsten Wiig in them.  I've learnt that I don't have to say goodbye to my racy sense of humour - God gave it to me for a reason....but that I do need to learn where to unleash it. I am very open to other religions, and have seen lots of people have spiritual experiences that don't involve Jesus.  I struggle with the idea of one true faith, but I know that I can't not believe in Jesus.

The next sister had a period of illness in her early teens, where she suffered terribly with Chronic Fatigue.  During those dark times, her faith developed, and she was one of those well balanced girls, who concentrated more on her books and her faith than boys. Our mother's faith was also an amazing example to her, as it has been to all of us.  She got her license before I did, and had a wide circle of friends.  She was always interested in other cultures, and wanted to travel.  Funnily enough, as the one who didn't really care about boyfriends, she ended up with the most interest.  Perhaps it was because she wasn't interested? Perhaps because she trusted God with the outcome? She studied hard, became a vet, and whilst she studied, she traveled the world, had lots of adventures and lived in America for a year. 

These days, she lives in a small country town, and attends church with her husband and five children, was the first of us to be married and have a baby. Although she's settled down, she has by no means settled, she took her first born to Japan and is always scheming the latest trip to visit friends far and wide.  She supports a number of organisations that ensure the rights of unborn children, mothers in need and those who have had terminations and who need counselling.  She's loving and giving and prays endlessly for the members of our family.  She holds a bible study in her home and sends her children to a Christian school.  Her husband preaches in their church and they frequently discuss the bible and how to better follow God.  They don't observe the traditions of Santa, the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy, and have requested that the family not give their children any characters that could be seen to have magic at their core.  No Power Rangers, No Ben 10, No Fairies. 

I don't always agree with all their decisions, and they don't always agree with mine, but our Venn Diagram of faith overlaps in many areas, and we are able to respect the other's opinion, even though we may not agree with it.

Moving on to youngest sister.  She and the middle sister attended many christian camps and workshops in their teen years.  Youngest sis is a very talented cook, and catered for many church camps, and was happy and cheery and loved organising her friends into races and active things.  She got her drivers license earlier than I did, and was often the designated driver to parties.  She was more social than middle sister, but still studious.  She studied hard and excelled at Uni.  Her faith developed during a difficult time, when she was the only child left at home and things were very busy in the family business.  She would probably have liked a boyfriend, but I think the cautionary tale of my unhappiness with chasing boys and her faith made her content with what she had.

These days, she is an Assistant Minister at an Anglican church in Sydney.  She's an accomplished cook and is a very caring lady.   She wears the full frock and collar (when necessary), but when she was ordained, she wore a pink shirt and high heels, when everyone else was in black.  She is moderate, and believes that life is hard but that God is grace.  She is a big fan of Harry Potter, Dr Who, The Big Bang Theory and Legally Blonde.  She often runs 14km a day, lost 40kg over two years and is addicted to the bustle of city life.  She loves technology and is incredibly funny.  She has a black cat, Max, who she adores, and lives with two very cool flatmates.  She is infectiously happy and loves "Miranda" more than I do.

Despite our differences, or perhaps because of them, we all still worship the same God. We believe that God has his hand on our lives, that he sent his son Jesus to die for our sins, and that he is the way to have a relationship with God. Same God, but very different people.  So, please don't switch off when you hear that we're Christians.  We may have the same core beliefs, but there are many different flavours.

What is your experience of Christianity?

A message from an ex-dancing queen to Em Rusciano

I have been thinking a lot about Em Rusciano's post on Mamamia yesterday. - http://www.mamamia.com.au/parenting/im-not-a-mother-first-and-a-person-second/

And, it brought up a lot of stuff for me.  I'll admit it, first I went all judgey, and wondered why she was still going out when she had kids.  And then, I realised that she was right - she has the perfect right to dance on a podium, get dressed up and enjoy a night out.  Why does it bother me so much?

Why?

Because I can't be that mum.  And, that comes with a bit of grief for me.  As readers of my blog know, I'm nine years sober and mostly happy about that.  But, to have a sustained sobriety, I have to avoid the old places.  I have to check myself before I literally wreck myself....it would be all too easy to fall back into drinking to make me feel good about myself, then ending up a messy wreck, doing things I don't like with people I hardly know, losing my self respect, probably losing my marriage and perhaps even access to my son.  Yes, it was that bad at the end. My husband and son have never seen me drink, and I never want them to.

I know from my friends in AA, that if you go to places where the drinks are flowing, that sooner or later, you'll drink.  As the saying goes, "there's only so many times that you can sit in the hairdresser's chair before you get a haircut".  My life has had to change because of my illness, and mostly, I'm okay with that....but it makes me feel different!  Which, I guess I am....but I realised that I had a message for Em, as I read her article.

Em - you are foxy, and go girl, for going out and partying.  That's great that you can do that without compromising your family and relationships.  (Apart from those nosey parkers who judge!)  But, just because I'm not on a podium dancing, or because I can't have drinks with the girls, doesn't mean I'm a party pooper.  My life is different to yours, but I like to think that I'm still fun.  So, even though you say that you have little in common with the 40 something mums at school, try sharing a racy joke with them occasionally.  You might be surprised....we might have been waiting for the opportunity to make you laugh.  Don't judge a book by it's un-sequined, non-podium dancing cover.

Love,
Deb xx

Total Control

Does anyone else out there remember a movie called "She's Out of Control"?  It was a totally awesome 80s movie, featuring a makeover that made a shy, bookish girl totally irresistible to the opposite sex.  Her father, played by Tony Danza, freaks out about this, and tries to stop it by a tactic that he calls "Total Control".

Like most control freaks, he's doomed to failure.  And I was thinking about poor old Tony Danza in this film, and how "Total Control" doesn't work. At all. In fact, it makes things a lot worse.

You know there's a metaphor coming, don't you? Yes, well...those who know me, will know that I am somewhat of a control freak.  Not the control freak who has to have a clean house. That would be nice.  Mess, I can live with, but when people start doing things in a way that I don't like, I'm not so cool.

And I have learned to evolve from this.  Back 15 years ago, I was a very very judgemental 21 year old, who thought that most people were "sheep" and that "it would be so much easier to be stupid, as I wouldn't be troubled by all these agonising thoughts".  I was also a grammar Nazi of the highest degree and judged books by their covers.  Needless to say, life wasn't easy, as I catapulted into many other people living their lives and doing things that I didn't think were right.  I judged, I judged hard.  And the one I judged the hardest, was myself.  I hated lots of people, places and things, but the one I reserved the most hatred for, was myself.  I never knew why.  But from the age of about 8, I can remember viciously hating myself and who I was.  Wanting to be someone else.  Watching other people and finding out the right and wrong ways to do things.  Trying to imitate them. Not trusting myself, not knowing who I was, but knowing that whatever it was that lurked inside me, it was damaged and untrustworthy.  Other people had the answers.  But not the stupid people.

It wasn't much fun being trapped in judgement like that, and over the past 15 years, I have sought various therapies to combat these disordered ways of thinking.  And I like to think that I'm fairly evolved...but do you know what? I'm still a victim of "Total Control".  I don't like just going with the flow...unless I decide to.  I hate surprises.  It has been brought to my attention by my brilliant psychiatrist, Dr Chakrabarti, and my clever mama, that I still try too hard to manage the way that other people see me.  I love myself these days, but I still want to control the way that you see me.  I still want a barrier between us. I still hide.  I still want people to behave the way that I want, but I reserve the right to change what that way is at any given moment.  No wonder it is confusing to be in my head, let alone in my life.

My past is littered with friends who I have totally confused by my inability to be real with them.  My insistence on managing how often we contact each other.  My insistence on the interactions that we have. My anger when things don't go my way. My repeated attempts, when we grow apart, to bring us closer together, to prove that I am cool and funny and interesting....that end up looking needy and even frightening.  I am scared of how much I want to be liked, how much I need social interaction and roles in society to prove my worth and my function.  I must manage socialising or I fear I will cease to exist.  I don't trust that at my essence, I will be satisfactory.

I realised yesterday that I think if I don't chase people and convince them to be my friend, that I won't have any friends.  How screwed up is that?  A friend of mine recently withdrew from friendships and obligations, and I didn't understand her thinking. How could she do that, how could she trust that people would still remember her.  I remember her saying that it was a way of trusting God more.  And I now totally and completely get that.  God does not want me to live in isolation, he has made us for relationships with each other.  But the thing is, that he wants to be first.  He has amazing, wonderful, beautiful things in store for us that way outweigh the pitiful attempts that we make to manage and control our own lives.  And I think I've reached that point.  I keep ending up at the same spot..and saying "If I do the same thing, perhaps I'll get a different result"...which, as we know, is in-freakin-sanity!

I'm scared, but I'm ready to let go. I want God in control of my life and I want to stop being Tony Danza.  No more "Total Control". 

I want to give God all of me and see what he has in store when I stop orchestrating my life and the way people see me.  I have been made this way and put in this place for a reason.  Time to start living in the sun and stop hiding in the dark.

Love
Deb :)

This is where it all began

Chapter One.

My life began the way it continues to be - with a family who cherishes me.  I was always supported, always given love and had two parents who had fun together, and with us separately.  They brought us up to believe in God, and Mum especially always had time to listen to us and our feelings.

So why did I feel so scared all the time?  I guess I've always been predisposed to anxiety.  It's in my genetic lottery.  Many generations of my ancestors have suffered from the black dog and his worrywart relatives.  I believe I was destined to walk the journey that I have.....although it took me a long time to find acceptance about who I am and why I am the way I am.

I remember being terrified for a large portion of my life.  I was scared of school, scared of leaving my mum.  The only time I wasn't really scared was safe in the bosom of my family.  I was an extrovert at home and an introvert in public.  I was so shy, that I couldn't speak a lot of the time, and had a good line in blushing.

I didn't go to the toilet or eat my lunch a lot of the time at Kinder (first year of school), because the mean boys stood outside and said they were going to catch and kiss us.  A well adjusted child would have potentially just went in - I was a bit prone to going to extremes, and so developed a fear of men that kinda still haunts me to this day. 

See her? She's 6, but she's scared of the photographer and the big flash.  I can see the fear in my eyes.  It's actually my standard smile!  When I was 5, we moved to Papua New Guinea, and lived on Igam Barracks in Lae.  Dad was in the army, and working as a doctor.  I suppose there was a lot to be scared of, the threat of violence and being in a different country.  I don't think it really impacted me adversely, but I did continue my fear of both boys and toilets.  I didn't go to the bathroom at school at all, because there were no doors on the stalls.  I remember one horrendous day on the bus, when I couldn't hold my bladder any longer, and peed in my pants.  I was sitting over the aisle from my younger sister, Jen, and watched transfixed, as the yellow trail crept along my seat, and dribbled onto the aisle.  The trail worked its way towards the bus driver, then as the bus gained momentum and lurched along the streets, it doubled back on itself, and headed towards the big kids down the back of the bus.  Jen and I stared at each other in horror.......and sure enough, soon one of the big kids noticed.... "Who did a wee in the bus!!", they gaped in disgust.   Funnily enough, that's where my memory ends. I suppose that I got off the bus all wet, or put my bag behind me.  I certainly don't remember being particularly traumatised by it.

What I do remember being traumatised by, is the boys who lived on Barracks.  I was constantly scared of them. I don't really know why. I don't know what I thought they would do to me.  I do remember one of mum and dad's friends teasing me, and I was very worried by what he said.  "My, isn't she a tall girl?",he said as he smiled down at me.  I ducked my head and flushed.  "She's a lucky girl", he continued, "She's got nice long legs that will help her run away from all those boys who are going to chase her!".  At this, he laughed uproariously.  I was gripped by anxiety.  Boys...chasing me? Again? Like Kiss Chasey?  I pictured myself running really fast and the boys chasing after me.  What would happen when they caught me?  I didn't like to think about it, and resolved not to talk to any boys.  That way nothing bad could happen.

It probably didn't help that I was the eldest of three girls.  We socialised a bit, and I sometimes played with the boys on barracks, but I didn't really trust them.  At any stage they could start to chase me, or do something strange.  Boys were different to me and I didn't want any part of them.  I had a best friend called Jordana, and I would hide beind the bus seats with her and pretend we were husband and wife.  I liked that a lot better than playing with the boys. 

In 1984, we returned to Australia, moving to Canberra, where dad got a government job.  I started Year 3 and after a bout of pneumonia, moved schools to Trinity Christian School in Waniassa.  I struggled with socialising and making friends.  Apparently, the way I started a lifelong friendship, was to approach a girl, pin her up against the wall and say "I'm going to kill you!".  This continued until I started saying "I'm going to kill you, but not today", until apparently the death threats stopped completely and we became friends.   I don't remember this at all, but it fits in well with the idea that I was somewhat of a lonely, mixed up girl.  Again - none of this was visible in my family (that I'm aware of) - at home, I was the oldest, I was happy to play games with my sisters and have fun with my mum and dad.  I didn't know that usually people aren't two different personalities at home and at school.  More was coming, too. Puberty was coming.....what fun that would be! 

****

Thinking about you, thinking about me..

Hmmm.  So, around the time of my birthday, I always go through a period of assessing things.  Where am I at, who am I? Do I have enough friends? Am I the only one who thinks that?  I remember when I used to go out drinking, if one of my friends got a boyfriend, I'd always be worried that I wouldn't have anyone to go drink with.  I think it's a feeling that still pervades me to this day.  The feeling of being not quite good enough - feeling like everyone else is having a big party elsewhere and they're all friends.

I think in the psychological world, they call this feeling "Paranoia".

And yeah, cause I've been in therapy for a while, most of the time...I know that this feeling isn't real.  I know that parenting and motherhood is a solitary game, most of the time.  That you have to trust your instincts, that you have to make decisions and be happy with the decision that you've made.  I also know that a lot of mums suffer from guilt.  And I wouldn't like to say that I'm the guiltiest of mums, but I think I'm up there.  Alex has been having lots of problems with sleeping and nightmares lately, so much so that we are taking him to a child psychologist to talk through the fears that he has.  I am terrified that it's my fault!! That I've somehow damaged him and they're going to find out that I've done a crappy job.  But, in my rational mind, I know that I have done the best that I can.  That Alex is a well adjusted little boy, who is a little shy, and who has a vivid imagination.  That's where the nightmares come from....I've even had that clarified by my best friend Jen......who had similar nightmares at a similar age - and as far as I know is leading a pretty creative and successful life!

So I need to stop doubting myself.  Another favourite way of doubting myself is to look at the relationships that I have, and the ways in which I've let people down....the ways that I could have done things better.  I was watching the Lion King with Alex on the weekend, and that Wise Old Baboon cracks Simba on the head.  Simba says "that hurt!" and the Baboon says "yes, but it's in the past! You can't change it, but you can learn from it"  So the next time he goes to crack Simba on the head, Simba ducks.  He learns from his hurt.

Do I do that? Or do I just hurt from my hurt?  I've been going over and over my dramatic exit from Weight Watchers.....and the people I hurt.  And the hurt I feel.  So much hurt.  And is there a point to going back there?  I still miss the friendship that I had with N and L, and if I'm honest, the kudos that came from being a Leader.  Alex asked me tonight again, "why did you fight with your friends, mum? Why don't you work for Weight Watchers anymore?"  and I told him - "buddy, mum wasn't very good at being a boss.  She didn't like telling people what to do".  I have very high standards of myself...and I want everything to be perfect.  And I started to realise that I would put in way too much time ensuring that my clients were receiving the perfect service.  That I'd think about them after hours and plan how I was going to help them and meeting their needs.  That I was going to be the absolute best at everything.  And if people didn't do things the way I wanted them to, I tried to be nice about it.  But I hated having to ask. I wanted them to know the right way (my way) to do things. Instinctively! Without being told!

Oh...and I wanted reassurance constantly, that I was the best.  Because I felt like I wasn't doing enough to be good, to help.  I realise, looking back, that I was always asking them to prop me up. That I was always relying on them to help me. And that I wasn't necessarily giving that back.  I like to think of myself as kind of evolved when it comes to my emotions.  But it's going back over things like this that makes me realise that I am controlling.  That I am inflexible.  That I am limited.  That I want people to agree with me 100% of the time or I feel like crap.  And that's not their fault.  It's mine.  It's something that I need to fix.  And I can start by stopping the comparisons.  Who cares if I have enough friends? Am I a good friend? Am I so worried about being perfect that I am an imperfect friend?  My flawed and skewed perception of myself cuts me off from so much.  But I can learn from this.

I can start to solve my own problems, and to be open to imperfections. Soooo much of my life has been opting out of things that I'm not good at.  Not even trying, because I dont' like the way that coming last feels.  And it's not about doing stuff that I hate...it's about living life.  A life without fear.  I have so much fear.  And it makes me angry.  Because I'm terrified that I'll be rumbled for the fraud I am.  But what if I'm not a fraud? What if I'm the authentic me, the one that I don't think is good enough? And if I say "this is me, warts and all, the way God made me". and be proud of that, instead of waiting for the moment when I feel good enough.  Living life, as me, and not looking around to see what everyone else is doing. Being happy in my own company, and taking each day as it comes. 
I'm terrified that Alex is afraid, because I spent so much of my own childhood being afraid.  But learning to accept that fear, and triumph over it, is a battle that only he can fight.  As it's a battle only I can fight.  I alone can do it, but I don't have to do it alone.  My relationship with God gives me great comfort, if I would only let it. I try too hard to do it all myself, to be perfect before I come to God, or anyone for help.  I would much rather be the helper than the helped.  But that's arrogance. Of course we need help. Everyone needs help. Being vulnerable is not a crime...it's a necessity.