Zoey Martin

Escape

Posted on May 18, 2013 2 Comments

In a little less than an hour I will be getting in the car and driving down to Sydney to pick Kate Says Stuff up from the airport so we can celebrate her Voices of 2013 GLORY.

And I get to leave my decidedly emo children in the capable hands of their father tonight. Perhaps because they sense my impending departure, they have spent this morning reminding me of just how much I like a break every now and then. Thoughtful creatures.

I have two phones, two portable chargers and I am ready to annoy you with incessant photo taking. You’re welcome.

And Kate and I get to test out our barefoot trainers together because although we are training partners she lives in Ballarat, Victoria and I live in Central Coast, NSW. Awkward.

When I told my husband we would be running together, he looked at me like I was MAD and said ‘a night away and you’re RUNNING?! I’d be having something to drink.’ I wouldn’t worry about that. I have a bottle of wine in the car. I am nothing if not prepared.

It will be too short. These things always are.

But the next time I’m having a rough day I will remember blogger SHENANIGANS and I will smile.

That negative self-voice that says unspeakable things

Posted on May 17, 2013 7 Comments

One of my favourite people, Nat from Easy Peasy Kids, tweeted tonight about negative self voice, and how it’s a bit crap.

And she’s right. It is a pain in the freaking ass.

I replied that it is. I knows no reason, or logic or kindness.

But it got me thinking about my own negative voice. The one that tells me everyone is mocking me. The one that tells me I’m not good enough. The one that tells me I’m a shitty writer. The one that tells me I’m a bad mother. The one that tells me no one really likes you anyway. That one. It’s a bad friend. But it’s hard to shake that bitch loose.

When I was a teenager simple interactions with shop assistants would haunt me for days. Thank you, negative voice. If I misheard them, or fumbled for my money, or missed a joke. Ridiculous things. That said shop assistant who sees a gazillion people every day would never give a second thought to.

I worked myself out of that paralysis through self CBT. Or my version of it. Which was basically me repeating the logic of how my feelings weren’t based in reality, until I believed it. Almost. And it helped. But the remnants of it linger on still. And it doesn’t take much to cast me back into that place.

I remind myself of things, often.

A lion doesn’t lose sleep over the opinion of sheep.

I don’t worry about what other people think of me, because I don’t think of them at all.

What other people think of me is none of my god damn business.

And it works, mostly.

But I wonder. I think that in all of that negative voice, there is a combination of what is neurotic crap and what is self doubt. And while I could live without the neurotic crap, I think I’ll hold onto the self doubt.

If you never question yourself, you never change. You never want to change. If you have no self-doubt then there is no reason to evolve. To aspire to something a little bit greater for yourself. A certain amount of self doubt is necessary. Up until the point when it paralyses you, and then it is no good.

I’m poor with taking criticism from others. Not because I don’t see it. But because I do. And it’s nothing that I haven’t said to myself a hundred times and my version was crueler, nastier and less diplomatic.

A long time ago, when my blog was still very young, I wrote (for another site) about how you needed ego armour. And you do. You need to have an unwavering belief that you can offer something unique. But in the long run self-doubt will make it better. That negative voice? Will make it worse. That negative voice will make it paralysed. That negative voice will make you second guess everything. That negative voice will stop you from being who you are.

Sometimes, the line is hard to find. Like self doubt is in cahoots with your negative voice and they are plotting together to throw you off the scent.

But the upshot of the negative voice is that no matter how cruel someone on the outside is, I’ve already faced it. A hundred times. And my negative voice has been far more vindictive than any other person could ever be. No matter how hard they tried. They can’t really get in my head, because a mean ass bastard already lives there.

There’s no room for anyone else.

More than you can handle

Posted on May 15, 2013 3 Comments

The theory is you will never be given more than you can handle.

You might think that you can’t cope with it, but given the challenge, you will rise to the occasion.

It’s not always the case.

In the Bhagavad Gita Arjuna begged Krishna to show him his true form. Not his human form. But his true form of God. And he did. And it was so overwhelming, so awe inspiring, so horrifying that Arjuna, the great warrior, fell to his knees, pissed his pants and begged Krishna to show him his human form again. It was too much. It was beyond his ability to cope with it. To appreciate it. To understand. To be at peace with it.

And Arjuna was his greatest disciple. You can only imagine if the awe and horror of God had been shown to someone else, who loved him a little bit less, who followed him with a little less devotion, someone who was less of a warrior.

I like to think that all I need to do is remember my spine of stainless steel, straighten it, be who I am and I can handle anything. Sometimes it’s true, sometimes it’s not.

But sometimes it’s ok to be like Arjuna and be perfectly human and fallible.

First you trust, then you forge forward.

Today I wanted to crawl into a warm corner and hibernate. I wanted to hide under my blanket of depression warfare. But instead, I giggled with my toddler, I got my work done, I snuggled with my preschooler and kissed her grazes and I laughed with my friends.

And tomorrow, I will straighten my spine. And I will imagine that the spirit of Arjuna flows in my veins.

Like you mean it

Posted on May 14, 2013 1 Comment

Say what you mean.

Expect others to do the same.

I have no time for lowest common denominator.

No time for it.

Lowest common denominator is a waste of everyone’s time.

Better to aim high and fail big than to aim low and succeed.

Failure has been my biggest teacher. Everything that I have learned that was worth it, I learned from failure.

Failure taught me that perfectionism was bullshit.

Failure taught me that I was human.

Failure taught me that I could do better, try harder and aim higher.

Failure taught me that I could change.

That I could change something core. Not something ancillary. That I could take something and be a better person, instead of a mediocre one.

And people. Infuriating, frustrating, perfectly human people. Some will tell you that you are a bad mother. That you are a bad person. That you are worth nothing, except mockery. That you are a joke. An inconsequential footnote. And some will lift you up when you can’t stand. Some will understand when others are too intent on being obtuse. Some will always get your jokes. Always. As if they can see deep inside, in a way no one else can.

But I can only hope that I will never be afraid to fail. That I will always reach for far more than I could ever possibly achieve.

Failure is an old friend of mine. I hope we keep one another company for a very long time. Because it’s not how many times you fail, it’s how many times you straighten your spine of stainless steel and get back up.

I’ll be getting back up. And I will say what I mean. And I will expect the same from everyone else. Lowest common denominator is not something I do.

Failures are trophies.

Reflection

Posted on May 13, 2013 8 Comments

I believe you can see photographers in their photos. If you can’t see them, I think they are probably doing something wrong.

Leaving a piece of yourself is important. To tell a story. To leave a moment of truth in your wake. To leave something behind in the image. To invest something of yourself.

Life is about risk taking, I think. Anything worth doing, is worth taking a risk for. Including leaving pieces of yourself behind in your work. Sometimes imperfect work. Sometimes it might not say something fantastic about you. But leaving a trail. Leaving a touch stone. Well, that’s worth it.

Down at the lake there used to be this reflector on one of the bridges. And when Riley was little she used to touch it every time she passed. It’s gone now. I don’t know why. But Piper often touches the mark of where it was. It left a piece of itself behind, even after it was gone.

I leave pieces of myself all over the place. It’s not for other people. It’s for me, to remind myself, that I was there. That I invested something. That I risked something. That I was able to find a tiny bit of faith.

Because faith is like falling in love. You can’t prove it, but it’s palpable. And it is. And it doesn’t change. Faith is underrated. Sometimes too much stock is put in what you can see, and touch, and prove. But I put my stock in faith. That thing that you can never prove, but you feel it in your bones. Like a promise that can never be broken.

I’ve been on the other side too. Shattered faith. Broken promises. And a world turns on its head and is black and lifeless and pointless and ordinary. But I choose faith. I choose to hope for the best, even if makes me foolish. I’d rather be foolish than cold. I’d rather be foolish than resigned.

Some things are worth the risk. If you are not willing to fall flat on your ass and look like an idiot, then maybe the thing that you are working for isn’t worth it. Or isn’t worthy of you.

Sometimes you just have to fall. Someone might catch you. You might save yourself. Or you might hit rock bottom and build a fortress. Or you might find out who you really are. But first you have to fall. First, you have to risk all those broken bones. And trust, that the fall is worth it. The pieces of yourself that you leave behind are worth it. The fall is everything. Without it, you are just standing still. And nothing good will ever come from that.

Alone

Posted on May 12, 2013 7 Comments

Yes. Alone time was my present on Mothers Day.

I went walking, took photos, watched a movie. ALONE.

I always enjoyed my alone time before children and I enjoy it more now because it’s so rare.

I’ve heard people occasionally say about mothers who stay at home ‘you won’t know what to do with yourself when they are at school’

To which I respond. Bwahahahahahahahaha

Don’t worry. I’ll know EXACTLY what to do.

Light Bulb

Posted on May 9, 2013 7 Comments

blue-sky

The other day when I was procrastinating on Facebook, Five Frogs Blog shared this great article. It’s called 6 Harsh Truths That Will Make You a Better Person. It’s well worth the read. Well worth it.

It was a bit of a light bulb moment for me. I won’t do it justice by summarising it here, but the crux of it is that it doesn’t matter how nice you are, what your intentions are, what kind of person you are – all that matters is what you actually do. And that everything in you will fight change, fight to keep the status quo. All those defense mechanisms are primed to reject criticism so you can stay exactly the same and never improve. And after all of that what are you left with? All the excuses in the world to do nothing, interpret all criticisms as insults so you can reject them and reassure yourself that you don’t have to do anything because you are a good person.

So what do I do? It’s an interesting question. It’s not about money or work. It’s about what do I offer, what am I actually good at?

I have a very strong lazy streak. If I can find an easy way to do something I will. But I also have a very strong persistent streak. I do not accept that I can’t do something I put my mind to. Even if I suck at it. Because for most of us we all suck at something in the beginning. Persistence is worth far more than talent.

So what do I do?

I mother. I’m not interested in diminishing that. I make two little people feel loved and safe and cherished. I play games with them that I freaking hate, because they love it. Probably my most despised part of the parenting malarky is the whole cooking business. Feeding them EVERY DAY. Which is obviously one of the most basic things, feed them. If anyone has had their cooking spirit crushed by a fussy eater you’ll know what I’m talking about. I teach them. That’s probably the most fun part for me. And I watch them grow away from me into their own self.

I write here. In a way that is wholly myself. It feels more that way since I ditched the commercial aspect of my space here. And I try to be as honest as I can be, even when it doesn’t necessarily make me look good. And I try to make the words sing my song for me. I don’t explain the song. But I try to sing it.

I started an online magazine called The Shake. With a lot of help from my friends. A lot of help. People who do all sorts of things just because they believe in my vision. That’s a pretty amazing thing. It’s not something that I could ever take for granted. But I can see it growing and building and developing and it kind of takes my breath away.

But you know what the best part is? I was inspired by what I read. This is the beginning.

And as far as The Shake is concerned, I haven’t even warmed up yet.

True North

Posted on May 5, 2013 6 Comments

Home has always been a strange place to me.

I moved around a lot.

People ask me where home is and I don’t know what to say. I was born in Byron Bay, before it was popular. I lived in Sydney and Melbourne and Fiji and Northern California. So when people ask, I don’t know what to say. I’d like to have a place that was home. But I don’t think I’ve found it just yet.

Time passes, as it always does. I hear the wind in the trees. Telling me it’s Autumn. And time slips away from me as it will. I see my babies grow gangly and tall in front of me. The bottom of their feet knocking my knees as I carry them around when they are tired or just wanting to be held.

I wonder if they will know where home is. I wonder if I have done enough to make them feel that we might not have a home just yet, but I am their home, forever. I hope they know that, as they grow. And are embarrassed by me, and resent me. One day they won’t tell me how much they love me. They will say how much they hate me. That’s the trade off. They won’t need me as much. But they probably won’t realise how much I gave to them until they have children of their own. And if they don’t have children, they will probably never know. And no matter what happens, what choices they make, I hope I can be an ever fixed mark.

When Riley first started to walk she would touch a reflector down at the park every time she passed it. It’s gone now. For some reason, it was removed, I don’t know why. But I see the shadow of it there. And I remember how she used to touch it as she passed. I hope I can be that touchstone for her as she grows. I hope she can tell me the truth, even when it’s ugly and uncomfortable and know that some things never change.

I hope that her and Piper grow together and not apart. Riley has a hard time calming down when she’s upset. Always has. Perhaps, always will. She bemoans the fact that Piper can calm down so easy, and she can’t. But Piper can turn that around for her in a matter of seconds. Their connection is not something that I understand always, but you get to glimpse at it occasionally. I hope they get to keep that. Or at least, hold the knowledge in their hearts that it was there. I hope that I can remind them that they cuddled one another in their sleep when they were both just babies. And if they were sleeping on opposite sides of the bed, they slowly move closer until they were sleeping together in a sisters’ embrace.

I hope that they are home to one another, when I no longer am around to be their home. I hope that they know how heart-breakingly kind they were to one another as babies.

And if I could do that for them, well I think I could be happy with what I achieved as a mother. I wasn’t the best at playing. I wasn’t the best at cleaning. I wasn’t the best at cooking. But if I could give them their true north, like my mother gave me. Well then, that would be truly something.

True North.

Not a place. It’s just people. People are home, more than any place could ever be.

My brother is true north. My mother created that. Even though I didn’t grow up with my brother. She created something beautiful in the face of adversity.

Imagine that. And on mothers’ day I will probably get her something meaningless, that falls horribly short of everything she’s done. But she created a home, where there was none. A permanent home. An ever fixed mark. I wish I could give her something more worthy, more substantial. Something that says I know who you are, and I know what you did.

And one day, I hope that my girls will give me something meaningless that belies the truth of how they feel. But more than that, I hope they find their true north, wherever that my lie.

My way

Posted on May 4, 2013 5 Comments

I was writing this article for The Shake about whether or not you needed to be ‘on brand’ as the social media experts say.

And it occurred to me, mid typing, that I hadn’t chosen my brand. I’d just gone out and been human and flawed and hypocritical and inconsistent and my brand had kind of chosen me. And maybe it wasn’t something that I was actually proud of. Maybe it wasn’t something that I’d like to stick my name to after all. Because it wasn’t purposeful, it wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t picking the things I wanted to be known for. And all of a sudden I’m known for things that I never, ever intended. And now that I’m aware, it will probably take awhile to change that. If I want to.

Really, it reminds me of my running injury. I know. More running. Stay with me. I had a lot of really good advice about resting the injury. About allowing it time to heal. I went to see the physio. I did all of the things I was supposed to do. But it wasn’t getting any better. Until a couple of days I woke up and I thought fuck it. FUCK IT. I’m going to ignore all the advice and just do things my way. Which is I don’t wait. I find a way. Sometimes that pans out for me. Sometimes it doesn’t. But it’s my way. So I found some insoles with arch support because I figured it was worth a shot. And changed my running style. To something entirely awkward. But something that meant I could run with a whole lot less pain. And a leg that didn’t hate me afterwards.

So the way people see me isn’t something that I would necessarily choose. It’s not all my best attributes. It’s not positive. It’s not aspirational. It’s weak. It’s insecure. It’s strong. It’s dramatic. It’s with an inflated sense of self. It’s unhinged. It’s emotional. It’s mistake-ridden. It’s hypocritical. It’s not backing down in the face of giant adversity. It’s uncomfortable. It’s awkward. It’s weird. It’s so flawed you can see the fault in the bones, shining through my skin.

And I guess I’m ok with that.

Because fuck it. That is my way.

Falling

Posted on May 1, 2013 2 Comments

The first time I ever met the intake nurse when I was pregnant with Riley and they were doing an assessment, she said to me ‘you look like a confident person’.

And I am a confident person. I am contained. Things rattle me. But they do on the inside. Like I have a cage around me. And the cage rattles, but I stay still.

I thought it was funny on GOMI the other day, I was referred to as having a high opinion of myself and having low self esteem. And the truth is, probably both of those things are true.

I travel along, having a high opinion of myself and then sometimes things back up on me. And all I can see is the great big mountain of mistakes that I have made that people can’t forgive me for. Or even if they could forgive me, they see it as a defining feature. Something that doesn’t move, or change or alter. And it overwhelms me temporarily.

And I can see what they see. How far I have fallen short of the vision I have for myself. And for awhile that’s all I see. It stares at me, like I’m looking into a never ending crevasse. Which is all white snow and black space and nothing that lies in between.

But it’s not real. I am grey. I will always be grey. I will never be white snow or black space. I will always lie somewhere in between.

There are lots of things I value in people, but as I get older and perhaps more weary, loyalty is the only one that means a damn. There are a lot of things that are forgivable. Almost anything is forgivable, really. If I can understand it, I can forgive it. Disloyalty is not something I understand. But it doesn’t mean I won’t try. Trying is worth it.

My shin splints acted up today. Just when I thought I was over it. And perhaps only other runners will understand the sadness of not being able to run, when it’s all I want.

Tomorrow I will wake up. And the sun will shine on the chubby cheeks of my toddler and reflect off the blue eyes of my first baby and nothing else will seem to matter so much.

But today I’m falling into the crevasse of white and black. But I am grey, and it is not who I am.