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Personal Development

embracing-mediocre

My Instagram feed is like my wardrobe – eclectic.

There’s no one particular theme to the accounts I follow. I tend to gravitate to those whose creativity, or style, or perspective, or habits, or environment, or language inspire me.

Then there are the simpler accounts, casual personal accounts like my own, owned by wonderfully mediocre women like myself. Who take the photos with their phones, some snaps blurrier than others and the kids are usually dressed by themselves and not a sponsor* (*If you’re a brand who sends clothes to InstaMums for features– holler, my kids are size 3, 7 & 8).

These unprofessional, personal, heartfelt accounts, I think, are imperative to my Instacommunity.

They remind me of games I might like to play with my children again, or a beach I haven’t visited in a while, or give me insight into what a Northern hemisphere Christmas must be like. They also aren’t polished to the point where I wish my life or house or kid’s wardrobe was more like theirs. Their spaces and days are similar enough to my own. It’s a little bit of ordinary that I need to see, so that I do not get trapped in the habit of comparison. As I frequently tell my children, “comparison is the thief of joy” (Thanks Theodore Roosevelt).

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new-years-resolutions

If I had to confess my true gifting in life, it would be writing lists.

Writing lists is my forte, my jam, my favourite thing. If I could create a list that starts with, “write a list”, then cross it off, my life would be complete.

Every year, as far back as I can remember, I write a New Year, New Me-style list that exceeds all hopes and expectations. It’s the usual suspects; every year I aim to be thinner, more fit, more organised, speak a new language, stick to a budget, read 145 literature books, travel to 27 countries, drink 30L of green smoothie every day and teach my dog how to speak Spanish.

What I don’t love, and is not my gifting, is the hard work that it takes to make those resolutions…resolute.

I love being thin, but mate, I love doughnuts. I want to stick to a budget, but Kitchen Warehouse is having a sale. I want to get fit, but it’s too hot to walk today. I want to travel, but I just spent all of my money at Kitchen Warehouse.

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motherhood-pride

About 18 months ago, I was tagged in a Facebook post to participate in the “motherhood dare.”

You know the one: someone dares you to post one photo that makes you proud to be a mother.

I struggled with this. I flipped through the photos on my phone, but felt that none of them reflected pride. You see, it didn’t matter how cute the photo seemed, I remembered what happened behind the scenes just before or after it was taken. The tantrum or the complaint or some form of defiance from (mostly) one of them and the way I reacted to it.

I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t particularly enjoying motherhood at that stage and definitely did not feel proud.

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acting-toddler-growing-boss

We’ve all been there. It’s almost nap time but for some reason, we’re buzzing through the grocery store trying to grab a few items. That’s when it hits. The terrible twos. The toddler who was so sweetly holding your hand is now laying on the ground screaming, kicking their feet, angry about what, you’re not quite sure. The struggle continues either until you make it through the line, into the car, and finally to their bed or when you give up and let them have that *cookie, action figure, pack of gum, etc.*

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