Living in social purgatory because it’s not safe to exist online in a social media world.

A phone with social network icons showing on the screen
A phone with social network icons showing on the screen
Photo by Tracy Le Blanc from Pexels

It's another weekend at home and my husband and I are curled up on the couch watching television. I scroll through social media, staring at the laughing, happy photos. The people are all so shiny, completely oblivious to the way that someone with nefarious means could track their every movement out and home again.

I used to be like that. Living in an idealistic world. That was before a relative with paranoid schizophrenia had targeted and attacked me…

Are society’s prefabricated patriarchal ideals of parenthood tearing our families apart?

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“We were so happy until we had children.”

I sat with another girlfriend at a cafe as she regaled the story of her painful separation. Our children played on the equipment in front of us, my husband chasing them, and I wished we could order something stronger than the coffee in front of us. The last 12 months had put relationships and parenthood in a pressure cooker. She went on.

“I know you wouldn’t understand,” she eyed me and swirled her coffee, getting ready to level me with the kicker, “You have a husband who actually wants to be a…

It’s time we gave value to the unpaid work of raising our world’s future wealth and capital

Pexels Image by August de Richelieu

I was raised in a traditional family structure and my mum and aunts left me with one mandate: “Get out.”

They told us they loved their children and they loved staying home. Their truth was though that these women felt they had no voice and there was no societal value in anything they did.

I remember my mother telling me: “I raised my children but now they are grown, I have nothing.” They raised their children, but it was only recognized as a ‘labor of love’ not work.

There was no recognition for the hours they did. There was no…

Navigating loneliness in a coronavirus world

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A pervading sense of social isolation and loneliness has echoed throughout the world as we shut ourselves off from loved ones and our communities, all to tackle one major universal task: stop the spread of COVID-19 and keep our communities safe. Borders shut down, businesses closed their doors and the world stopped to hold its collective breath.

With little time to prepare for this social isolation and shutdown, governments and communities worked hard to prepare for the socioeconomic and health impacts of the COVID-19 (SARS-CoV-2) coronavirus pandemic.

We spent hours glued to television screens and clicking refresh buttons on news…

“…when she could endure life no longer, her voice came and set her free”

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There is something safe in being someone else. In dividing ourselves into pieces to hold our experiences, memories, joy, pain and trauma. Two separate selves: a public and private self. The person we are and the image of who we want to be. The person we were and the person we will become.

A Public and Private Self

I’ve lived my whole life as a divided person. I was taught from an early age that my private life needed to remain private and that in public I needed to pretend to be someone else. I grew up as a girl who was despised, hated and…

And after 7 years of parenthood they still hold true

Pexels Image by Domenika Roseclay

I never wanted children. A funny thing for a mostly stay-at-home mother of three to admit. Certainly not something that one can simply bring up at the playground when their fellow parents are complaining about all the reasons that parenthood is nothing like they imagined. They are exhausted, broke and barely feel like humans anymore. Their toddlers demand constant attention, their teenagers constantly roll their eyes at their advice and experience, and personal space and goals have taken a backseat to the titles “Mom and Dad”.

I cannot share their complaints. I knew what I was in for. I knew…

Learning to re-parent myself through the aftermath of trauma while parenting my children

An open door to a beach through a room with a dirt floor, jagged rocks and broken wood.
An open door to a beach through a room with a dirt floor, jagged rocks and broken wood.
Photo by Harrison Haines from Pexels

Parenting opens the door to our own childhoods. We see the sweet tiny faces of our children and we reminisce. We cannot help it even if we don’t want to. I never wanted to. My childhood was shut in behind a locked door that I locked firmly closed for a reason. Trauma, abuse and a mountain of guilt lurked behind it. A reality that I never wanted to live in again. I had survived it — that was enough.

In the most unconscionable ways, though, parenthood forces that door open. Not quietly either. It tears it off by its hinges.

The resilience and life experience that reaches far beyond ‘a gap’ on my professional resume

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I have spent months applying for jobs. Months giving the practiced, approved, answer for why there are gaps in my resume. Why I haven’t been working, writing and focusing on my career.

The majority assume that its because I am a mom and because I gave into a biological need to procreate and extend the human race. I can see them shutting down when they come to that conclusion. They sink back into their seats and their eyes glaze over. Instead of asking insightful questions they start wrapping the interview up. I sigh inwardly and keep a smile plastered to…

It’s TIME to dedicate your most precious resource to your health

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How much is your health worth? Its a big question that I have been asking myself lately.

I am not talking about dollars and cents. There is absolutely no doubt that the phrase ‘put your money where your mouth is’ is being put into practice worldwide. There is an entire industry dedicated to fitness and health that is steadily. In the U.S alone profits exceeded $96 billion in 2019.

While these statistics prove that we have been willing to lay out the cold hard cash to support our health there is one commodity that we are still not dedicating: our…

A fundamentally flawed lesson I will never forget and will always want to.

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Content Warning: Visceral Descriptions of Abuse

I will never forget that night.

I was 3 years old. Pulled out of bed in what felt like the middle of the night. I was disoriented and foggy. Before I knew what was happening, I was smacked. Flogged is probably the right word for it.

“Tell us where it is.”

I shook my head. My mind was clear now. My father was talking about my mother’s wallet. She had already shouted at me about it before bed — now my father was home. I didn’t know where it was. I hadn’t taken it.

Bronte White

Australian. Writing on mental health, family, parenthood and self discovery. In Invisible Illness, Illumination, In Fitness and In Health and Modern Parent.

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