Master Deflector

“You’re like an excited puppy”, said a partner, years ago.

I thought that was delightful. She didn’t.

I’d been on the receiving end of back handed comments like this before. The frowns of people who found me too loud, too ostentatious. The silent "shhh" when talking about an idea that excited me. The frustrating phrase, "calm down", directed my way, when I'd bounce in all-excited.

Sometimes I wonder if there was a shield I could have worn when I was growing up and in my twenties that didn't take critique to heart. It really did take me ages to realise I was capable of building that shield myself - instead of waiting for people to "get" me.

But, over the years, I’d built a sort of shield, one where I’d hide a part of myself, to make other people feel more… comfortable.

At work, I’d talk about, well, work. (As a workaholic that suited me just fine as, to be honest, I didn’t have anything else to talk about.) At home, I’d make frivolous chat with my partner, to avoid a challenging conversation about how I felt we’d outgrown each other. And socially, I’d talk about what other people wanted to talk about, because, I thought I told myself it was ‘easier’.

I became a MD: master deflector.

'Work' me and 'errands' me.

'Work' me and 'errands' me.

In my twenties, I whispered to a therapist I hadn’t many friends I felt ‘got’ me.

I’m an introvert, I wanna go deep and I was stuck in conversations about brunch and the weather.

“Have you given them a chance to get to know you?”, she asked, in that way therapists do.

I scrunched up my face and tilted my head. “Huh?”

“When you reveal yourself to others”, she said, “it gives people an opportunity to get to know you.”

I sighed. “I guess I feel like I can’t trust myself”, I said. “Like, if I tell them one thing, I’ll end up being totally inappropriate and end up telling them all sorts of crazy shit.”

“Maybe”, she nodded, encouragingly. “And what would happen if you did?”

“I guess they’d figure out I’m a bit of a freak”, I laughed.

She smiled, encouragingly. “Maybe.”

After years of being a work robot, instead of crying in the loo and hitting the treadmill at midnight to process my emotions, I tried out this radical act of being myself at work. I tried ‘connecting’.

“How was your weekend?”, a colleague asked.

‘I don’t care’, I thought, ‘and neither do you’.

“Good”, I said. “Um, Fine. How was yours?”

‘Shit. That’s what the therapist told me not to do’, I thought.

We continued to have a stale, one dimensional conversation she didn’t care about, and I didn’t care much for either.

I tried again.

“How was your weekend?”, she asked the following week.

“Um, good”, I said. “So, I kind of have this queer Labradoodle share thing going on?”

She laughed. “What!?”

“Yeah”, I continued. The teleprompter wasn’t on anymore and I had to freestyle. “Uh, so, like, he kind of has four puppy moms?”

“Omg”, she said, “I have to hear about this.”

Over the years we had some hilarious moments. I shared Morrissey’s weight loss journey, our favourite Netflix series and she taught me about the value of ankle cleavage, how crotch covers (also known as long singlets) make you look skinnier and where to get amazing pizza (Lazer Pig if you must know).

Revealing myself had filtered out the BS, and we were having real conversations. If, that is, you count pizza recommendations as real conversation and let the record state that yes, I do.

When you're a bit unusual, bit different, or you have an idea and can’t see in what version of reality it would fly, or the people in your world tolerate you instead of celebrating you - getting the courage to say whatever the fuck is on your mind kind of feels like an act of badassery, but doing anything about it seems kind of like career suicide.

The irony is of course, that you only get better at something by doing, um, something in the first place.

My awkward stumble out of ‘how was your weekend’ conversations failed for the first few attempts, but with practice, it got easier. Because confidence isn’t a personality trait: it’s a skill. It gets built by small incremental steps that reinforce doing something slightly different was a good idea in the first place.

I mean, no one (I sincerely hope) was googling ‘when will Rachel Service put Beyonce analogies on the internet to describe her feelings’. I had to put myself out there first. I had to do what I’m terrible at on Tinder. I had to make the first move. 

I was telling a colleague over lunch recently how, since creating Happiness Concierge, once a blog, now a business, complete strangers were trusting me with some of their darkest secrets. How people in super senior positions with important sounding titles were telling me they feel like a fraud at work. That their marriages were suffering. How early childhood trauma continued to affect their behaviours around stressful situations. And how, the more candid I was with them about my biggest regrets in life, my biggest screw ups, the busier I was becoming.

I told her how people from companies I’ve never ever thought would ‘get’ what I’m doing were saying ‘come into our workplace and do your thing, our people need to hear it. How I'd always felt like my fuck ups would resonate with people but it’s kind of that thing where you need evidence until you really really believe it.

“Oh yeah", she said, over sushi. "You can’t trust a leader who doesn’t have the ability to express regret. When someone expresses regret, they’re revealing themselves to you. And you’re more likely to trust them. Think about it: can you really trust a leader who doesn’t have the ability to say they effed up?”

I knew from the people I had met they felt isolated, surrounded by people but feel like very few people could see what's in their head. When they came to me, I'd marveled at how onto it they were, and had even asked why some had come to see me. It was validation they were after. That whole 'I see you've screwed up in the past so I feel like you would understand what's going on with me - can I just get a sense check that the way I'm feeling is... normal?'.

Aaah, normal. I'd love to know what that looks like. I think it just means that you're not alone. 

In my Mojo Sessions, I’ve often observed how one of the most validating part of the experience appeared to be when people were given an opportunity to own their narrative. When they were asked to attach a language, or a catch phrase, to put previous experiences and thoughts patterns into something they could ‘own’.

In therapy circles, it's known as 'to name it is to tame it'. I think that's why actually doing something about a shitty situation is so hard for so many of us. Do I really have to own this? Can't someone else do it?

It's hard work but it's also scary being yourself, I have discovered. It can have consequences, I have discovered, too. You might lose friends, partners, lovers. How others perceive you might change. Opportunities to what is expected of you might dry up.

Maybe all of that will happen.

But the question we gotta ask ourselves, I think, is less ‘who’ or ‘what’ do we want to be defined as (or in comparison to), and more ‘what is the price I’m willing to pay to not be myself at work, at home, with friends, family, loved ones’?

If there’s little consequence to your financial, emotional, spiritual, physical and mental safety, there’s sweet all motivation to change anything.

But, if you feel, like I certainly have, that there’s a disparity between your private and public self, that you’re spreading yourself thin because you’re being lots of versions of yourself for others and that you are mentally and emotionally disintegrating to make others feel more comfortable, well guess what?

You end up paying some form of price.

Be it opportunity cost (because you’re busy doing stuff that doesn’t actually serve you), financial cost (you’re only earning as much as you’re perceived worth and that influences how you see yourself), cost to your emotional, mental stability, an eroded confidence over time, and in some cases, your physical safety, too, or even burnout from just being insanely bored.

Jeremy Sherman writes, “The instinct to survive is strong. The instinct to alleviate fear is stronger. It takes discipline to hitch ourselves to sources of mojo that actually promote survival.”

Discipline, huh. Surely, being 'ourselves' doesn't have to be work? 

Same brand: just different flavas. Like people!

Same brand: just different flavas. Like people!

Well kind of yeah.

Feeling like I could be myself, without fear of judgement, consequence, isolation has been an insanely slow process. It was scary, awkward, stumbly and strange at first.

But over time, owning my actions, acknowledging other peoples judgements says more about them than it does about me, finding my people and finding a creative outlet - has actually kind of set me free from the anxious thoughts in my mind.

I guess the difference between my naive, full of energy, fearless, ambitious kid-Rach; my stuck-in-my-head and blaming others 20's-Rach; and my current mid-30’s being a grown up who DGAF what other people think-Rach is the shield I’ve created for myself - and maintained at painstaking lengths - which protects me, no matter what people say or think.

I didn't realise until recently that I could create that shield for myself.

That it gets stronger the more badassery you put in the tank, the more you hang out with your people who reinforce you're not alone, that there are other people out there who think and act like you do.

And it has been this, tiny, internal, act of badassery that has started a snowball effect in my confidence, how I see myself, and what I've been able to achieve. It has affected every factor of my life. (Save love and finances. One step at a time, people.) 

Tonight, as l looked for a Saturday night series to watch, I came across this interview with Drag Queen, Peppermint. She’d come out as trans recently; a seasoned drag queen had told her that was great and all that, but, “she’d never work in drag again.” 

“But that’s not true”, said the host, Michelle Visage.

“I know that now”, said Peppermint, “but that [phrase] scared the shit out of me. For years. I still worked but… It made me push them to opposite ends of the room… I didn’t think being a drag queen and a trans woman would ever mix. But know I know… these things can co exist: if that’s who you are.”

And that’s who she is.

So I guess the question is, if you're reading this is: who are you, really?

Are you gonna hide behind the shield you've created for yourself to protect?

Or create a new one new to protect you as you make small, tiny, brave acts of badassery?

And what's gonna happen one, five, ten years from now if you freaking don't? Are your loved ones still going to be around to see you become the badass of your own freaking life?

I'd love to know your thoughts in the comments below or via email


Truth juice

It’s strange, isn’t it, how you can find yourself revealing truths about yourself to strangers that you mightn’t even share with your closest friends.

I don’t even drink, but last night, I found myself sipping on Rosé, the first time in years, with three people I hardly knew. If this is the year of pleasure, I thought, maybe I could lean and bend in new ways to see what happens.

The Rosé that started it all.

The Rosé that started it all.

There were four of us. One in a long term partnership. One divorced. Two single. All women.

When I rocked up, one said, "we were just talking about online dating. What's your story?"

We got to the juicy stuff pretty quick. I told them about my confronting and eye opening pleasure workshop last week.

We shared stories of cringe-worthy and 'I'm not proud of myself' moments on dates. We talked about why Australia + NZ doesn’t have a dating culture. We talked about rejection and how it impacts confidence. We discussed why we are collectively useless, generally, when it comes to telling someone they don't do it for you. We cheers-ed to rockstars who had dumped us well. We grumbled about ghosters who had faded us, leaving us to second guess ourselves and wonder what we had done wrong.

We talked about our own assumptions of what we felt we ‘should’ do about intimacy, in relationships and in relation to pleasure, the idea of marriage, commitment, monogamy, polyamory - and what we actually wanted to do.

After drinks, we ended up at a nearby diner, licking our fingers and mumbling over fried chicken. One of the group, my newfound confidantes said, “you know what, I can’t remember the last time I talked about sex. Thank you.” 

Visual aids from last weekends pleasure workshop with Cloud Gate Therapeutics. Did you know there's a nerve that goes from your brain, through your body, into your gut and into your cervix?

Visual aids from last weekends pleasure workshop with Cloud Gate Therapeutics. Did you know there's a nerve that goes from your brain, through your body, into your gut and into your cervix?

Experts say the biggest shifts within yourself can only happen when you’re in a new environment.

They say the brain needs to be taken out of the ordinary, or face a major catalyst, trauma or change, for your brain to rewire and say: I reckon there’s a different way I could be thinking about things. Research tells us the most traumatic, depressing, hurtful or least fun experiences can actually serve as the biggest contributors to change (if we're willing to change the narrative around what it means to us after going through grief and acknowledgment). 

There's also evidence to suggest we need connection with other individuals, we need to have an emotional response to a consequence, and we need to feel we're not alone to spark action, too. Case in point: Jennifer Kates, Director of HIV-related policy at the Kaiser Family Foundation, said at a panel back in 2007 her first political actions were motivated by personal relationships with those living with AIDS. 

If it's true we need a change of environment, to be surrounded by people with different perspectives, to have an emotional awareness of what's bugging us, I rekon that’s why we see therapists, we get drunk and ramble to strangers, why we end up in places we don’t expect and why, I ended up in a room with 20 other women last weekend, allowing a complete stranger to tell me I was beautiful and deserving of intimacy.

Maybe it’s why my courage rocks up when I’m usually out of Melbourne, or on a plane, or in an expensive boutique where I can't afford anything, and perhaps and it’s why I shared my inner darkest fears and thoughts with three women I barely knew over fried chicken last night.

Twice this week, people in my network apologised after what I had thought was a really super fascinating discussion about what was going on in their head.

"I feel like we talked about myself the whole time", said one. "Sorry about sharing all that", said another.

I was miffed: hadn't we just had a super interesting discussion? Emotions, in my opinion are like any other human need, like food, shelter and belonging. And if you need to outsource that (recommended) - I totally fucking get it.

Maybe they were experiencing a vulnerability hangover; associated shame on the realisation they'd stretched themselves, or done something for the first time. 

It's not uncommon to have a physical reaction to saying things out loud for the first time, like throwing up or feeling dizzy after a 'aha' moment. Your body, subconscious mind, your brain and your gut are insanely, and cleverly, all linked to one another. They talk to each other. If the brain can't figure it's shit out, your body will start acting up. If your body is going through change, it can affect your cognitive abilities.

So why do so many of us feel so remorseful after using our Big Words?

I didn't feel any shame about sharing my inner most secrets with those kick ass women. But I did wonder why I wasn't so brave with my own immediate network of family and friends and why those rockstars who had opened up to me, had not long after, felt the need to apologise for getting stuff off their chest.

But I do know why. It's something I find really hard to do myself.

Recently, on addressing my relationship with money, I realised I hold back telling what's really going on with close friends not because they're incapable of being super accepting, loving, supportive, but, for so many years I shared my inner most secrets with therapists, acupuncturists, personal trainers. People I paid. So, until recently, I felt like friends should send me an invoice after listening to me.

Also worried, and do worry, about yabbering on about myself. I worry friends will think I don't have my shit together.

I also realised what I'm super used to is actually categorising friendships or relationships into categories I already know (friend, sister, colleague, new person) - as opposed to something that continually evolves, just as we do.

It's tempting, maybe absurd to think you're the only one capable of changing, especially when people in your immediate network aren't reflecting the things / activities / ideas you want to do more of. But there's something really cool that can happen once you start getting curious, and dipping your toe in the scary conversation pool.

It was reassuring and helpful to hear Mel Robbins, the author of The Five Second Rule [above], talking about her marriage challenges, expectations and navigating what her role was as her kids grew up that "each phase of your life requires a different version of you". 

Being open, talk about my anxiety, depression, body image demons, fears with people in the internet was easy.

But saying those things to the people who know me, love me, respect me and want me to be OK is actually becoming one of the most scariest things I've ever done / trying to do more of. 

Earlier this year I did a Values Audit. I felt like I'd used up all my mojo and I wasn't clear on where to next. I created a list of words that resonated with me. Courage, Relationships and Power.

I want the courage to use my grown up words with people I know and love. I want relationships that fulfil and enrich me. And I want to use the power I already have, to use words, the thing I'm good at, to help other people, as well as building more rewarding relationships.

It's literally my job to use Big Words to help others find theirs. Maybe we could all try, collectively,  little harder to help each other find ours, in real life, too. 

Good luck out there, rockstar.


Wine and Therapy

Last night at Wine and Whiteboards, Penny Locaso said, “to solve a problem, you need a definition.” The idea of these talks is to learn from other peoples perspectives but it’s also a lesson in listening.

We discussed whether happened in America could happen here (general consensus was that it was already - we’re just in a bubble). Could that same Xenophobia, racism, fear of otherness, finger pointing at non white people happen in Australia? Hasn’t it already? Why are we obsessed with the US election yet ignore what’s happening in our own back yard? Why are white people called ‘ex-pat’s but non white are called immigrants? Should we really be surprised by the result in the US?

Babe town in action - Penny Locaso. 

Babe town in action - Penny Locaso. 

We talked about studies we’d read, articles we’d seen, headlines we’d absorbed, the filters that guide our thinking, our assumptions and of course, our perspective based on personal experiences. We talked about how shame, anger, fear and violence are linked and examined our own relationships with shame around money, family, community and the irony of a group of white women talking about these issues on a Friday night over wine, as if we had any insight into otherness, being from middle class backgrounds.

A while ago I read an article in The Guardian about a prison psychiatrist who said said they’d never seen an act of violence not perpetrated by shame. We talked about the link between white anger, poverty, and what happens when you’re in survival mode and you’re taught that everyone is your competition for a job, to survive. How ‘abundance’ is something that perhaps people who can afford brunch think about. How it’s easy for us to judge other peoples hardships, and to make assumptions about them, but impossible to put ourselves in their shoes, or intellectualise their pain, struggles and also their fears, their anger, because it was deeper than them yelling racist slurs, or being fearful of the Other.

If anger really is about shame, and Brene Brown students can help me out here, maybe we’re pissed off about the US election because we’re not doing enough here to help, to change the conversation in our own backyards, and we (I) feel guilty about this, too. But, you know, not too guilty to give up abundant brunch.

A really smart cookie said this at one stage: “I grew up poor. And if you don’t know about how money works, and you don’t know how to look after yourself, you’re fucked.”

This one stuck with me. I know how to (finally) look after myself, but I earn ok money and I still don’t know how money really works.

From the facilitated discussion run by Penny's colleague, Rob.

From the facilitated discussion run by Penny's colleague, Rob.

I didn’t want to use this post to preach about looking after yourself, but it did turn some cogs in my brain. If we’re lucky enough to be able to get money, or be able to look after ourselves, maybe we should stop being so hard on ourselves.

Maybe me, sitting with these other intelligent, well read, thoughtful and kind men and women, maybe this is, kind of, our way of therapy. Because the discussion wasn’t actually about solving the problem, although I did hear some cracker ideas. It was about being heard, listening to each other and saying to one another: you perspective and experience matters, too.

A therapist once said to me: ‘the fastest way to feel better is to help someone else’. And last night, for a brief moment, you know what? I didn't feel any clearer on how to solve that giant cheeto problem. But - I also felt hopeful that by learning more about how the world works, I'd be living in the dark slightly less and be remotely helpful in some little way in future.

Thanks Penny and Rob for a really interesting discussion. More info on their sessions here.

Uber isn't a Bank (Sadly)

“That’ll be $12”, the bearded hipster said.

“Twelve dollars for two coffees?" I said. “That can’t be right.”

But it was right. Some cold brew iced coffee actually more expensive than espresso because blah blah I wasn’t listening because I was too annoyed at having to listen to the explanation and what that meant about me as someone who entertaining (and who did) buy it.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have even listened to how much my designer coffee was costing. I'd blindly tap and scroll my phone. But I’ve been working on my relationship, or lack of attachment, to money, lately. 

Morrissey the Dog agrees: $12 is nuts.

Morrissey the Dog agrees: $12 is nuts.

"I’m feeling anxious", I told a friend recently.

"I’ve got lots of expensive things coming up and I can’t save to save myself. Every time I get money, I want to give it away or spend it on something. It’s like I can’t hold onto it", I rambled to her.

She told me she’d be my money sponsor. "You’re going to fill in a spreadsheet every day", she said to me, like an addict who knows the first step is admitting you have a problem. "You’re going to keep all your receipts, and, at the end of the day, tally how much you’ve spent each day."

A few days later, dutifully, smugly, I filled out her spreadsheet.

Day One: $600. Day Two: $150. Day Three: $8.50.

"That can’t be right", I thought. "How the hell did I spend $600 in one day?"

Sucked into an Internet Banking loop of last years bank statements, I discovered my greatest weakness. It wasn’t fancy shoes or designer coffee.

It was UBERS. Twice most days, every day for most weeks.

"Fucking jesus", I whispered to myself.

Last year, keeping tabs on my outgoings wasn’t really my #1 priority.

Happiness Concierge went from a fun little project into a business with customers, which meant money started coming in - but I hadn’t switched mentally from ‘awesome hobby’ to ‘actual business’ in my head, or my bank balance.

Truth is, I was still in shock that people wanted to pay me to do something I exploded with excitement to do every day.

It felt like I should have to suffer for it, like I'd done for years, getting underpaid and overworking myself. As a mentor said to me recently when I said how Happiness Concierge was going - and growing - she said "Rach, money doesn't have to be hard, you know."

But I figured, as long as I was moving forward, that ‘one day’ I’d get my shit together and organise my inability to save for a mortgage.

In Sydney this week I tried exercising restraint to see what would happen if I made more time for living frugally.

I public transported my ass around Sydney and stared lustfully at the Ubers that passed me. And I was sitting on bus en route to a meeting when a girlfriend called.

‘I just saw you’re off to Singapore!, she exclaimed. ‘You’re killing it!’

I munched on my complimentary bread that came with the takeaway salad I had with me. ‘Mmm’, I said. 

"I’m actually eating my packed lunch on a bus", I told her. "I’ve been spending four times the amount of cash on Ubers than going to the gym last year so I figured I better get my shit together."

"Duuuuude’, she said. "I used Ubers as my excuse to to run late all of last year."

"God listen to us’, I said. "How middle class is this conversation." 

"Mnyeah", she said. "But at least we’re not boring".

That was reassuring. I mean, my passport was about to expire just before an international trip, my Medicare card was three YEARS out of date, and, as my beautician recently schooled me, apparently my bikini line is out of date, too. 

("Nobody do triangle anymore", she said back then, frowning. "Oval now. Everybody do oval".)

Well, at least I have an Oval bikini line now. I’m not completely boring, I guess. 

I realised I’d spent 2016 thinking I didn’t deserve the money people paid me.

I felt like I was good at what I did, that had the ability to do it, that I was qualified, and so on. But what I didn’t have, until this year, was the inner, sub conscious belief, that inner confidence of: I DESERVE THIS.

I mean, it wasn't luck that created Happiness Concierge, nor did opportunities to speak and travel fall from the sky. It was a series of decisions, I made, based on my belief systems about who I am as a person, my values and what’s important to me, that got me on that plane every other month to a new city. That got me speaking to a crowd completely terrified. That made me write all of my feelings and blast it out to the world.

For the first time since I started Concierge, I started to realise, yes, I had what I wanted, I knew what I was capable of, but I hadn't yet felt like I DESERVED IT. 

That's white middle class guilt for you though, I guess.

I had made a choice to be completely oblivious to money for most of my adult life. 

I focussed on how to get money to pay the bills, but not how to keep it.

I realised I had become anxious that day, talking to my friend about saving cash, because I was realising something about myself that I was ready to address, or change.

I wonder whether our anxieties tell us something about ourselves that we’re ready to tackle head on, before our brains can catch up and tell us we’re about to have a break through.

I suppose it’s kind of like that moment before you throw up. When your brain hasn't yet told you to bolt over to the toilet bowl.

Maybe those feelings of panic, those moments of night sweats, or those subconscious terrors move into our conscious because our brains have finally reached the maturity and confidence to deal with our ugly, uncomfortable shit. 

Maybe the lesson in all this is teaching our conflicted, tired, hard on our self selves that, all the good stuff that comes our way doesn't come for free. Otherwise we would have aced, it - right?

The good stuff as we know, comes because of the small, incremental decisions we make every day, based on our values and beliefs about ourselves. What we want. What we feel we can do. And what we feel we deserve.

What if we looked at anxiety as a positive thing, as our bodies, brain and subconscious all talking to one another. That they're like the awkward teenagers at the disco trying to figure out how to talk to each other. It just comes out as verbal diarrhoea at first.

What if, when presented with an attack of the panics, instead of hiding it inside, we told a friend about it.

What if we felt cool about asking for help and instead, said, "hey, I'm feeling this ball in my chest. Can you help me work through it?"

I do not love spreadsheets.

But what I do love, is the feeling that I have a friend who cares so much she would give me the gift of a very, very boring spreadsheet.

She's not boring, by the way, in case you're wondering. She is very, very, far from boring and SHE has her shit together.

x Rach

Perspective: you rock.

A few months ago, I did a Powerlifting Competition. 

Not because I have aspirations to be a competitive lifter; moreso to give myself a goal, work consistently towards it and to achieve something new. It was motivating slowly making gains every week and I was getting good at it.

When I was training, I felt like the most powerful version of myself. If I could lift many many kilos, I thought, there was nothing I couldn't handle at work or at home. It trained my physical and mental strength.

The day after the competition, I thought I’d take a few days off. Then, after that, I thought 'I’ll take a week off'. And the next week, I did exactly the same. 

And so it went for the next three months. I didn’t go to the gym at all. 

After training consistently and eating pretty much the same thing everyday for six months, all of a sudden I didn’t have a goal to work towards anymore. I just didn't have the mental capacity.

When I did return to the gym, I was weaker and I was bummed.

Experience had taught me prior if you take time off training, you can’t dip back into it straight away and expect to be in peak performance, so not being able to lift the weights I used to was a bit depressing at first, but nothing I hadn’t anticipated.

But, despite logically knowing it was sensible to avoid injury to move slowly back into it, and understanding from experience taking a break means your body needs time to get back to where it as, returning to somewhere where I used to slay and then feeling rusty was a bit of a downer.

It’s like when you leave a job where you are the big fish and then you start a new one and all of a sudden you need to learn all these new systems. You feel like you have no idea what you’re doing and all of a sudden you start to doubt whether you should have gotten this new fancy job in the first place. You know you'll get the hang of it eventually, but for the first few months, you feel unqualified and unproductive

Despite me routinely telling myself it would take time, using logic not emotion to get back into lifting, there were a number of times I felt like giving up because it felt like I wasn’t good at it. 

But to be good at something shouldn’t be the reason you do it (although it is a lovely side effect to doing something consistently). 

As a number of flexible types have told me, leaning into an uncomfortable yoga pose actually paves the way for you next time. Feeling uncomfortable - and being ok in that uncomfortable space - tells you you're improving your physical and mental resilience.

In his book The Way We're Working Isn't Working, Tony Schwartz suggests that if the definition of physical fitness is how long you take to recover, perhaps the definition of mental resilience is how swiftly you can perform after an emotional setback. 

Schwartz suggests the ability to think rationally and clearly under stress relies on the individual being able to regularly recover, rest and rejuvenate their mental, physical, emotional and spiritual selves. Without rest and rejuvenation, the individual can't perform in a way that is constructive, insightful or helpful to others. Individuals under stress, without rest and perspective, are more likely to act out of line in other words.

It made so much sense. Coaches had sent me home before if I turned up without eating or sleeping enough prior to training. One coach had ordered me to sit in the corner and stretch because I was too tired and was going to injure myself. I could only get stronger, if I ate enough and slept enough, they had all said. Without rest or food, I might as well be throwing the money I was paying them down the treadmill.

So when I stopped training, instead of mentally resting, I filled in my space time with all things not rest. Work, writing, speaking, socialising, eating (lots), and well, mainly more work.

I did it because that's what I knew.

For so many years work (or feeling "busy" or "productive") defined me. Performing at work became so ingrained in my identity I lost perspective and ultimately burned myself out three times. So let's just say flicking the switch from training for a competition or nailing a work presentation to popping along to an art gallery hardly came naturally to me.

Operation Fun.

Operation Fun.

So, over the last few weeks, I've been testing out ways to rest my mind and find pleasure outside of work. I bought an alarm clock to (attempt to) ban my phone from my room. I asked friends for book recommendations and took those to dinner instead of checking my emails over a curry after work. I took myself on dates to the movies.

I felt the impact of all this when I went back to the gym just recently.

With rest, sleep and perspective on my side from the New Years break, lifting those smaller weights didn't bother me so much. In fact, I felt kind of thrilled to be able to just want to go to the gym again and to enjoy the feeling of not staring at a screen or checking my emails.

And I thought of something a trainer had told me last year, after coming into the gym mentally exhausted from a massive week.

"I don't care how you perform when you're feeling good, Rach. I want to know how you respond when you're having a bad day. All you need to do is pick that weight up and put it down."

"All I need to do is pick it up", I smiled to myself this time. "All I need to do is pick it up."