What you really, really want…

Diversity Women Socialize Unity Together Concept So tell me what you want… What you really, really want (aha aha – get your Spice Girl on honey). I’m going to give you a little pep talk alright? I’ve been doing this gig for the past 4 years. In that time I’ve been encouraging you to keep on going. But here’s the thing that I know about women who experience anxiety. They have got a whole heck of a lot of excuses.


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The lone cow…

Lonely African American Woman With Group Go Other Girls Outdoors

Coming back from the Sunshine Coast after having had my hair done (ala Reese Witherspoon style I tell you!), I took a sideways glimpse as I was driving.

I watched as these cows were all lined up, one behind the other, strolling behind taking it all in.

Then I noticed there was one off to the side. She was looking around and at one point wandered away from the group of cows.

I saw one cow look back at the lone cow.

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Fit in or F*ck Off.

punk woman

When I’m driving in the car another personality comes out.

The one that drops the ‘F’ bomb when someone cuts me off, or the one that MAY speed up to the back of the person who had previously been tailgating me.

My anxiety is pretty good these days but the car brings out the worst in me.

Anyways, I pull up at a set of lights and there’s another ‘F’ bomb on the back of a white ute.

The sticker has a picture of a map of Australia and inside of the map it says ‘Fit in or F*ck off.’

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Puke! {Tales of a stomach bug}

Flynn sick

I got the phone call.

Flynn needed to be picked up from day care. He was sick.

I rescheduled my coaching clients and took a breather to make a cup of chai tea to take with me.

It was after all shaping up to be quite a strange day.

It started with a morning sess of yoga, which was absolute bliss.

Then went downhill faster than an aerial skier ready to take flight.

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Feeling Wobbly?

Afro American Girl Doing Sport

I stripped off my yoga pants and tops and delicately placed my cami bra and undies on the hooks in the shower at the yoga studio.  Praying that they wouldn’t fall into the shower water below.

There was only a spot outside the door for the rest of my gear.

Enjoying the warmth of the water after a yoga sess felt good.

I heard someone outside the door.

I talked to myself (in my head).

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Are your thoughts effecting your health?

Young woman with many thoughts on a purple background

As I sit here typing this on my day off from school, hacking up half a lung and not being able to sleep because the tickles on my chest are that of the not so good kind (*cheeky wink*), I get up from the couch, dust the tissues to one side and sit up at my computer to type to you.

Got to love the little toddler child for bringing home a cold from a recent birthday party.

I had a hunch that when the other child squeezed him tight and then coughed directly in his face that this was all going to go down badly in the Braybrooke household.

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Do this one thing to kick shame to the curb!

Close-up of young woman consoling depressed female friend at hom

My hands were shaking like a leaf in the wind.

My heart was pounding in my chest like a drummer beating her sticks against her drum.

I hit the Facebook Live button with a feeling of nervous energy.

You see after last week’s Facebook Live on ‘When you’re jealous and have anxiety’ I had so many people inbox me to tell me how much the tips helped.

There was also one from my ex.

And you know what it rattled me.

It peeled back the wound just a little bit further, knocking the scab a little and making it ooze just a little bit more.

So when I got onto the Facebook Live I was a little nervous.

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Confessions of a jealous ex wife

jealousClick, click.

Scroll, scroll.

My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach like the Titanic to the bottom of the sea.

I feel the slow descent of my spirit as I see my first husband has now remarried.

I’d only popped into Facebook to have a quick look. I was curious after all as to whether he had aged ungracefully like the rock stars of old (*cough* Mick Jagger style).

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How I got better after a year of sickness with this one simple hack

Laughing African American Girl With Afro.

It was a Saturday morning and I was on a phone call to my own awesome life coach. My eyeballs hurt like there were stabbing knives in them. After all, I hadn’t had a good sleep the night before. I was tired but wired and trying to do all the things: social media, writing my coursework, coaching clients, marketing, emails, and then juggling mama/wife life and teaching.

All in the name of getting ahead and living the freedom lifestyle.

I wanted to do work on my terms but I wasn’t haven’t fun anymore.

I was doing things in the name of ‘consistency’ and ‘routine.’

I have to write a blog post this week, I have to send out that email, I need to craft offerings better.

Do that course, or see that person.

I got onto the call with my scratchy throat and could feel the sneezes just building up inside my nose like a chimney that needs a good clean out.

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Fine China

Cup of coffee in woman's hands with bright pink manicure

The broken tea cup lay,
Shattered in the bin,
Discarded by someone who didn’t understand,
It’s true beauty.

‘It’s just a cup’ he said.
‘But it is my favourite’ the girl cried,
‘You can always get another one’ he continued.

No you can’t.
This one was beautiful.
And everything beautiful gets taken away from me,
It’s discarded into the bin, tossed aside like last night’s cold dinner.

It was special,
It invoked inspiration,
It reminded the girl of childlikeness and awe,
It was limited edition,
No more were made.

And here it lay,
Broken, shattered.
Apparently, meaningless.

But it wasn’t to the girl,
The girl loved beauty,
She longed for it,
She tried to find ways to bring it into her cluttered, busy, disorganised life.

A cup of tea in that cup,
Was bliss,
It transported her from an adult,
Into a wonderland of hopes and dreams.

She dreamt with that cup,
She wrote with that cup.
And now here it was broken,
No longer needed, no longer regarded,
Just discarded.

‘It could be replaced’ he said,
‘No it couldn’t.’

By Diana Braybrooke ©


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