THE SLOW DEATH OF THE WOMEN WHO ACTUALLY DON’T GIVE A FUCK
When I say ‘anything’, I mean –
The everything which is not the ONLY thing, which is me simply being in the dance each day, with God and life, of being me, closest peeps somewhere near to me in time or space, and doing what THEY came here to do, and through it all, in some way, just letting my message out.
But the markers of success? The ‘here I am celebrating again’ balloons and milestones and fancy pantsy carry on which, every day, seems to be more of a ‘this is how we do’ of the online coaching world?
Bleugh.
Kill me now.
If you see me celebrating a milestone with big balloons to reflect whatever, know that they got me, the zombies are here, and no doubt they came from Melbourne. Haha.
Somehow I’ve made it to nearly 20 mil created online without a single balloon number involved.
I feel like every day when I look through my feed it has become even more ‘same-samey’. The neon lights thing. The flippity fabulous hair thing. (That one has got me from way back even though yes I have absolutely participated in it too lol!). The ever more glamorous festivities surrounding, I dunno, every possible thing that occurs or almost occurs.
I hate all of it.
I LOATHE it.
I despise it.
And I despite the part of ME which has at times felt the need or surface based want to play into all this stuff, like – what?
I know exactly like what:
Like I’m still that little girl in the schoolyard, so insecure, so unsure, so longing to be like the pretty cool girls and YES I WILL DANCE LIKE A SHINY PUPPET IF IT MEANS I’M ACCEPTED.
BLEUGHBLEAUGHBLEAUGHBLEAUGHBLEAUGH FUCK ALL OF IT.
It was NEVER who I was anyway.
And the only times I’ve played into all this stuff is when I’ve not been fully in the raw unleashed power of ME.
Which is probably why I hate it, it reminds me of a ME who isn’t backing herself.
Of course,
it’s always all about me 
Speaking about me,
and this whole industry,
don’t even get me started the endless fucking repetitive focus on what next money goal was accomplished.
Who the fuck cares? Gross! So BLAH! Well, apparently I care since I post that shit all the time.
Kinda like when I was binge eating my way through my twenties,
and I HATED what it did to me,
yet apparently got more out of it than what it cost me, since I kept doing it!
Or maybe it was just like being stuck on a ride you can’t seem to get off of, watching every exit speed every faster by as the train just.picked.up.pace, and you just kept ACCEPTING that this is how it is.
I hate it.
Do you see other industries where people are continually fucking talking about how much money they made that month?
I don’t mean nobody should ever talk about it.
I’m all for celebrating the big milestones that mean something to YOU.
I just wonder, when I see all this shit endlessly consuming people, if that IS actually a really true excited soul vibe for that person, if the fabric of their very DNA is lighting up with joy, as THIS is the thing they’ve been waiting to see come in for so long and it really MEANS something,
or if it’s less of that and more of ‘phew. I’m validated, once again. Membership re-confirmed! Or starting to be earned’.
I mean –
you can feel it.
And that’s what I hate most of all.
The frequency with which you can FEEL when people are in their real and raw truth is ever rarer.
Which is kind of great, actually, as those badass AF rough diamonds who I myself actually most vibe with, stand out more.
The women who ACTUALLY don’t give a fuck, as opposed to the ones who say that sort of shit, which is nearly all of you.
Sure,
maybe somewhere on a deeper level there is a you who truly doesn’t give AF, and who is ready and willing to share her unadulterated soul truth, bloody and meaty and gross and ROAR.
But you’ve been strangling her for years.
Probably with the string of a shiny helium balloon.
And soon she’s gonna be dead dead dead and gone.
As for that ACTUAL 1% within the 1% within the 1% of you out there,
I SEE YOU AND I AM SO FUCKING GRATEFUL FOR YOU.
What’s funny is, you (and God, I hope this is me as well, and I hope I do this for people, well I know I do, but I also know I’ve had my moments of playing in to being one of the pretty polished perfectly dull-preneneurs), you still might post some nice pretty shit.
Some glam or luxe shit.
And celebrate your shit!
Of course, why wouldn’t you?! I’m not making these things bad.
I’m saying – WHERE IS THE ACTUAL ESSENCE OF YOU AND CAN WE SEE IT UNDER ALL THAT PRETTY COLOURED WHATNOT!
Those of you who actually light the world up with what’s IN you, yes, you may from time to time name and claim and shout out your accomplishments, your cool stuff you are able to bring in to your life, your next level FAAAAABULOUS vibe, and so on.
But through and beneath and all around it all, and what is really THERE about you, is the blood of the thing.
The raw,
juicy,
dripping down your throat and neck,
BLOOD of the thing.
THESE are the women who light my fire.
Many of them teach on stuff that’s not even remotely what I myself am called to learn or read about.
Many of them are not the ones with the ‘big big money’, or whatever.
And yet I can’t look away.
Because they’re actually DOING IT FOR MOFO SOUL.
You can see that this is a person who is IN the thing.
Creating dancing swirling with the vibe of who they actually are, and TRULY not giving a fuck about any other mofo thing, while simultaneously knowing she can have whatever she damn well DECIDES.
The rest of you,
give give giving your life to one day be good enough, to stay like the other girls, to keep up with the apparently approved markers of what a lovely little online coach type of gal looks like,
GO BURN YOUR SHIT TO THE GROUND.
The world actually does want the real you.
If she’s still in there.
And as for me,
I’m happy I make the money I make. I’ve been skint and I’ve been wealthy and I’m happy to stay on the wealthy side and keep growing it. I’ll continue to buy fancy shit as and when the mood actually strikes me. But I couldn’t care LESS about the whole bells and whistles of it all, I hate it hate it hate it.
Give me my nice cars and house, sure. I like ’em 
And then pretty much every damn day in my denim shorts or gym gear, sitting around with nature and my people and my words.
Books piled up all around me.
Grungy messy raw and somewhat disturbed art.
Days of ignoring the whole world,
until I no longer want to punch it in the face,
and just the simple freakin’ knowing that I once again somehow, messy or random or whatEVER, managed to do the mofo job of being me,
and unleash something that reached in and grabbed you by the soul,
or else ripped whatever TF else it is you’ve let in there out,
and ate it alive.
That’s the life for me.
\
