PAMPER PARTY at your home !

One of those days

"Wakey Wakey, Lazy bones"

A rude awakening. I open my eyes to the morning light, wondering whose voice it is today. 

It's Fear. "Good morning, rise and shine" he says as he draws back the curtains

"Oh its you" I say wearily.

"I'm here too" said the quiet shy voice of Love, but Fear talks over her, as usual. 

"C'mon, get up - we have so much to do". He drags the covers off me. 

Love just rolls her eyes as she pulls the duvet back over herself. 

I step out of bed and Fear trips me up. 

"Ha ha gotcha!"

I am tearful, wobbly, raw.  I look longingly at Love but she's fallen back asleep. 

Fear drags me to the bathroom and as I look in the mirror he snidely tells me how rough I look. 

I stare at my reflection, searching for Love's best friend Kindness, but only the Evil twins rock up - Bossiness and Meanness. 

"Good morning", they chirp simultaneously. 

"Why are you two so perky?" I ask, but they're too busy inspecting my frizzy hair and sniggering. 

"Ok we have a busy day ahead of us- let's get a move on shall we" says Bossiness as he orders me into the shower, whilst Meanness gives my naked body the once over and makes some comment to the others out of earshot. I pull the shower curtain around me but can still hear them whispering about me.

I wash and dry myself quickly. My energy is flat but they usher me into the bedroom to get dressed.  My clothes feel too big and I wonder if I have shrunk in the night.

"Wow you're very small today" sayd Fear

"Look at the state of you", quips Meanness "You can't go out looking like that"

"We haven't go time for all this messing" says Bossiness. "We have to get things done, remember"

We go downstairs and there is Significance looking at his watch.  "What time do you call this ? We are so busy. Let's Go Go Go. Chop Chop" 

"What's the plan of attack?" asks Fear

“Well clearly this Loser is incapable of organising things today so we’ll have to do everything for her” says Meanness. “We need a meeting” and they huddle together, each of them shouting over the other.

No one notices as I sneak out and go back upstairs.

Love is awake. She’s sitting in bed reading and drinking tea.

“I’m tired”, I tell her. “I can’t do it today. It’s all too much”

She draws back the covers and beckons me in. “Well, get back in here with us, my dear" and I notice Kindness in there too. These two are inseparable after all.  I get in and Kindness speaks softly;"That bunch of fools will be fine without you today" as she starts stroking my hair and my face.

“Don't worry, we’ll look after you today" says Love. "You need some nurturing. Some rest” and I start to relax as she cuddles me.

She looks in my tired, tearful eyes and whispers “Darling girl there is nothing you need to do or be today. You are enough without the Busyness. And sometimes you just can’t do it and that’s ok. Now rest your weary heart, my dear and start again tomorrow. We’ll stay with you” and Kindness nods with her.

And I sigh as I fall back asleep in Love’s arms, feeling her rocking me gently, whispering my name.



Beautiful Grief

I see her sitting quietly on Her bench softly crying. 

She seems oblivious to the tears mixing with the rain water on her face. It's dark. 

I approach her. “I see you” I say silently, but the inevitable “Are you okay?” is what actually comes out.

“Of course not” her eyes reply, but the lie “I’m fine” is spoken.

Neither of us believe her.

“May I sit?” I speak, with the rest of the words hanging in the air;“...May I quietly witness your pain ? Will you show me your truth?”

Her heart raw and open responds. “I will show you. It is too much for me to carry alone tonight”


She sips on her bottle. Archers. The sickly sweet smell transports me back in time for a moment and I lose my presence. She offers me a cigarette then when I refuse, apologises for the smoke.

“How did you see me?”. She seems surprised

I tell her I see a lot of people sitting on this bench in their grief. Remembering.

“I come here to be with Her.”  

“Do you talk to Her?” I ask

“All the time”

“What does she say?”

“Many things. Usually she asks me to come and join her, but I haven’t managed it yet”

The ‘yet’ hangs between us.


And she begins to talk. Stories and memories about Her. She was only 16. Her young life cut short by That Man. We all know him.  He took 22 with him in total. The senseless tragedy of Our City.  I feel anger again.

The empathy is stronger now. “That is fucking shit. The pain you must feel. That is really fucking hard”

I am surprised at my Lioness. My language somehow hoping to connect with her rage in the vulgarity of her pain.

She shows me a video of Her singing at a school concert. Her voice is pure. Stunning. ‘There must be some mistake’ I think - She is so real on the screen. So alive

“She was so beautiful and so strong” she tells me

“She must take after you”

She snorts.

But I mean it.  How beautiful she is, sat here in the rain consumed by this cruel grief.  I see so much love in her pain. The despair and unfathomable sadness has so much grace to it. It’s all there blurred together.

She talks. Almost like a Confession. How she’s plans it. How her brain has decided that she must also stop Being. How every time she has tried, she gets saved at the last minute.  

To me it is a great wonder the pills remain untouched in her pocket.

Given the choice between this Life without Her or Death - I am bewildered why she would choose to stay.

‘What stops you?’ I want to ask; ‘Why would you, when she’s calling you so loudly from the Other Side?’

But I do not dare in case my asking sparks her into action. Nudges her over. And for a moment I panic. I move into Fixer. Helper. How can I stop her? How can I save her ? I’ve been put on her path tonight. But what the hell can I do ? Show me. Show me. Show me...

Luckily she’s tired. It won’t be tonight

We both know

I feel relieved. She feels weak.

Maybe tomorrow


I selfishly ask “What are you going to do now?”, shamefully signalling our meeting is almost over. I am relieved when she tells me she’ll go back. 

She pauses. “Thank you - you are so kind”

“It is me who should be thanking you. Thank you for showing me it all.”

And we walk back. Mostly in silence but with some awkward snippets of small talk. The Vulnerability gone now. The intimacy forgotten between us. 


As she leaves, I embrace her and hold on a little longer.

Perhaps for myself rather than her.

As I’ll never know whether she’ll make it. 


Bad Blood

For the first time ever in my life last night a man (my man) bought tampons for me. This month I have the worst period I've had since I was about 16, when I used to faint regularly in church because I was so weak from blood loss and anaemia. Last night after watching a film on the sofa, I had the mortifying realisation that my period was so heavy, the blood had leaked through my Super-Duper-Mother-of-All-Tampons tampon, my knickers AND my jeans. Luckily the sofa escaped looking like a scene from Chainsaw Massacre and I managed to leg it to the bathroom without further damage.

Then as I sat on the loo, the panic set in as I realised I'd used an entire box of tampons that day, and that I didn't actually have enough to get me through the night. Surely all the chemists where I usually buy the Extra Super Plus Plus (!) variety that my Day 1 required, would be closed at this time of night. 

I went downstairs and burst into tears.  My lovely man was soothing, telling me this was a particularly bad month. I felt vulnerable and embarrassed.  My insecurity goaded me to ask if any of his ex girlfriends had it ‘this bad’ to which he sweetly replied No.  Great, now I was filled with worry AND huge shame as well.

Then he valiantly declared that he would go to Tesco, even though it was 9 o'clock at night (in my brain fog I’d forgotten that unlike the supermarkets in NL, over here they’re open till Stupid O’clock AND there is an ENTIRE aisle full of Sanitary Products! ) Wow what a man! So he went and even returned with a bar of Dairy Milk.

So why did I feel embarrassed?

Image result for rupi kaur period

A while ago, this image above of Photographer and Poet Rupi Kaur’s fully clothed woman lying in bed with a period stain was deleted twice by Instagram because it didn’t 'follow their community guidelines', which prohibit ‘sexual acts, violence and nudity’ and apparently menstruation related pics.  Rather fabulously, this ridiculous response from the Social Media site only grabbed Rupi more attention (hurrah!) and the photos were reposted with an apology, and indirectly more exposure all over the world.

But when I saw the image - I remember also feeling shocked and a bit scared, I suppose.  Like ‘I can’t believe she just did that’.  It was closely followed by the delayed reaction ‘Good on her’, but my initial feeling was definitely shock.  And shame, since this was an image that I could have personally posed for hundreds of times over the 27 years I have been having periods. I’ve seen it all before. I’ve changed outfits and bedclothes and scrubbed mattresses, as I’m sure ALL women have, but I’ve never spoken to anyone about it and I’d definitely never seen images before Rupi’s.  So why is it so shocking ?

I guess in any other situation to have that much blood coming out of a part of your body WOULD be shocking ! Christ, we would probably ring an ambulance or at the very least head over to A&E to get stitched up.  But this is something that’s happening internally on a monthly basis.  That we have to just GET ON WITH. Periods are meant to be invisible. And I also want to keep mine invisible. I do an extra check of the toilet after I’ve flushed to remove any trace of blood, that God forbid another human might witness. I hide tampons secretly in my jeans’ pocket if I am going to the loo for a change.  Once on the bus whilst rummaging in my bag, a tampon fell out and rolled down the aisle towards the driver and I did nothing! I just sat there with my cheeks getting redder and redder, hoping no one had noticed.  What the fuck?!! 

And even now, in this relationship with my loving boyfriend I felt relieved that he hadn’t seen any blood and was only witnessing the aftermath of my pants and jeans soaking in the kitchen sink, which was bad enough. And HE didn’t give a shit (in a nice way) - he wasn’t bothered.  It was ALL me. I felt the shame, the embarrassment. I was the one who tried to block him seeing me scrubbing the red stains as he came in the kitchen. I was the one avoiding eye contact as he left for Tesco.  And then on his return I was so over-the-top grateful to him - profusely thanking him and apologising for ‘having to put up with me’ ! What ? Like it was some sort of traumatic ordeal for him to buy tampons. But certainly he was the first man who has ever ‘done that’ for me.  I couldn’t even ask him - He was the one who offered and wasn’t the slightest bit fazed! So clearly it’s ONLY ME making it out to be a Big Deal.

Or is it? Are there other women out there who feel the same? I have no idea! Cos we don’t talk about it !!

I think I first remember the embarrassment when the ‘Tampax Lady’ visited our school in the 80s and took all the girls into a room separately.  I don’t remember it EVER being mentioned again!  I like to think that no longer happens nowadays and the boys are also included too in the Period Talk.  But maybe I’m wrong as perhaps that would still be embarrassing for the girls?  I’m a 43 year old woman and clearly I’m still embarrassed. 

My fella told me, on his return from the supermarket, that there’d been a small gang of 20-something women sniggering as they overheard him on the phone, checking he’d found the right tampons.  Is it that unusual to see a man buying sanitary products ? I guess so.  But then I have never asked a single ex-boyfriend/friend/work colleague or even my Dad/my Brother in the past. So what do you expect?

So women of the world - perhaps it starts with us. To talk amongst ourselves. To the men. To our kids.  Boys and girls. This taboo will only change if we speak out. And normalise our monthly cycles.  And NEVER EVER talk in code about ‘Auntie Flo coming to town’ or pronouncing the word ‘Period’ like Victoria Wood’s classic sketch !

And to perhaps take the lead from our men, who would be happy to pick you up some Lil-lets next time he’s in Boots. Because HE doesn’t care. He just wants to make you happy. And feel like he’s needed. And appreciated.

The final part of Rupi Kaur’s statement to Instagram (to see her response in full click here: was this: 

“In older civilizations this blood was considered holy. In some it still is. But a majority of people, societies. and communities shun this natural process. Some are more comfortable with the pornification of women. The sexualisation of women. The violence and degradation of women than this. They cannot be bothered to express their disgust about all that. But will be angered and bothered by this. We menstruate and they see it as dirty. Attention seeking. Sick. A burden. As if this process is less natural than breathing. As if it is not a bridge between this universe and the last. As if this process is not love. labour. life. selfless and strikingly beautiful."

She uses the word BEAUTIFUL ! About periods ! Pppffff what the fuck ? That is certainly NOT a word I would use! So apart from Rupi, perhaps it’s some of us with the problem.  The Women. We’re the ones judging our own cycles. We hate our PMT. We hate feeling weak. We couldn’t possibly call in sick at work because of ‘Period Pains’. We cry in the toilets away from The Boss (male or female). We hide away. We compare ourselves to our friends and their cycles. We shame ourselves ‘So-and-so doen’t get it THIS bad’.

There’s also now Women judging Women for STILL using tampons and wasting MORE plastic when they ‘should’ be making their own recycleable sanitary pads. So we buy a Moon-cup off Amazon then start judging ourselves again for not being able to get the bloody thing up there. We judge other people talking about their cycle.  Perhaps you’re judging me? And on and on it goes...

Feeling shameful. Keeping Quiet. Staying Invisible.

And I almost didn’t write this post. My ego was telling me I’m attention seeking or that I’m being a Victim trying to get sympathy for my ‘Bad’ periods. When actually it just didn’t want me to write about it because its still a taboo topic.  I have always felt weird and uncomfortable saying the words bleeding and blood in relation to menstruation. Yet I’m happy to post about the more ‘mental’ aspects of my cycle - trying to normalise PMT and educate myself (and others) about this PMDD which some of us suffer from (which ALSO shockingly my female doctor had NEVER heard of!..I digress).

So perhaps the root cause is that (some of) us have a problem embracing our feminine, celebrating our cycle and reminding ourselves that this is a sacred process.  

I invite you to look at this photo again. Did you also feel the shock factor? Did you find it confronting even just for a minute?  Imagine if it was a photo of YOU that had been posted.  And acknowledge how YOU might feel about that. Would there be some shame and embarrassment? Disgust ? Or could you see it like my new hero(ine) Rupi does - that it simply represents love, life, beauty?

So next time, there’s an ‘incident’, I shall be repeating her beautiful words - “My womb is home to the Divine” as I’m scrubbing my pants in the sink. Or perhaps I’ll ask my Man to do it whilst I go to Tesco..... Too far ? 



The first rule of Red Tent is you do not talk about Red Tent...(So let's talk about ME instead!)

I facilitated our first Red Tent meeting last night.  In case, like me, you were also thinking it was some particularly flamboyant camping trip (Kill. Me. Now) - A Red Tent is a gathering of women usually around the new moon to support each other and be there to reflect on life.  I finally got round to reading Anita Diamant’s legendary book of the same name a few months back and I loved the idea of woman coming together, particularly in that energy of the New Moon when we can be susceptible to extra bonkerness, overwhelm, manic-ness (is that a word? I didn’t want to type Mania!!), emotions, weepiness, over-tiredness, and that antsy feeling where you feel a bit trapped in your own body. So I set up the group and 12 beautiful souls came together last night and a Community was created through the magic of us sharing our truth in vulnerability.

Traditionally The Red Tent is so called because all of the women’s menstrual cycle would be in sync with each other during a particular phase of the moon, so during this time The RED (clue is in the name) Tent would be the place where they would all gather to physically bleed together and release their menstrual blood into the earth for 3 days, before returning back to ‘normal life’ with the men and the rest of the community.  And during this time these women wouldn’t lift a finger, would relax and rest with their sisters (I get it - periods are exhausting!) to just talk, laugh and cry together in this sacred tent during their 'Moontime'. A bit like last night - only in place of the tent (did I mention I HATE camping) it was held in my mate’s warm, cosy living room and luckily for her furniture, without us all bleeding in sync together.  

But it was beautiful.  I was so touched by the courage of them all - especially as some people had only met for the first time that night and already dared to share things from deep in their heart, that perhaps they have never told people close to them.  To witness and hold space for them felt like a deep honour and something even ‘miraculous’  when the relief was acknowledged amongst us of realising ‘Shit, I’m not the ONLY one who feels like that’. 

But when I got home I was relaying SOME of it..(what goes on in Red Tent STAYS in Red Tent!!).. to my fella, I explained that we would be taking it in turns to host(ess) the monthly session. He said. ‘Wow so you don’t have to run another one for a whole year’.


As soon as he said it I felt nervous AND excited. Scared AND relieved. Happy AND worried.

I've noticed recently that the balance of me actually receiving space/love/time/listening ears for ME has got so wonky. Don’t get me wrong, I have some amazing, supportive, healthy, balanced equal friendships,  but the more events I’ve been running , the more I’ve found myself caught up in a cycle of giving and holding space for others and not finding situations back to receive that for myself. It’s probably happened by default, given that the work I do as a Kundalini yoga and Reiki teacher and therapist etc, but perhaps there was also an element of me being really comfortable with it being a bit one-sided.  Perhaps there was some safety in that imbalance for me as it meant I could indirectly do some more intimacy avoidance?  Where I didn't have to share back?  It’s ironic really that I facilitate so much Connection in the stuff I do (Shameless Plug: The next Connection Experiment starts in October if you want to join!) and yet I end up feeling lonely like I’m the one washing up, alone in my kitchen at my own party, with everyone else dancing in the other room ! (That has actually happened). Like I’m happier on the sidelines, not getting involved but secretly longing for that connection FOR me too.

Perhaps it comes from being a shy kid? Perhaps its from the fact I’m an Empath and get overwhelmed by the energy of Too Many People and have to retreat to recharge. Perhaps because I class myself as an introvert.  Or because I want to be in Control or because I like being so independant? Or perhaps the excuses are a cop-out and I’m just scared.

Whatever it is, recently there has been a deep longing in me to be also seen and heard. To NOT have to be there for others ALL the time as I’ve started to resent it a bit if there was no equal energy exchange back (i.e payment/balanced friendship).  People sometimes expect me to support or be there for them almost ‘on call’ and despite sometimes feeling swamped or overwhelmed by this - I have to take full responsibility and simply learn to strengthen my leaky boundaries so that my energy isn’t getting depleted when it feels one-sided.

This has also shown up in my Meditation Practice.  I am outing myself on here that so far, I have ONLY had any kind of practice because of others and not for myself. What I mean is that If I have a Reiki client or a yoga class or a workshop where I have to be on top form to support others - I will take time to meditate, protect myself, clear out my energy and put on my Batfink Love Wings to be able to ‘hold’ whatever gets thrown at me.  Bring it all to me - your tears, your shame, your doubt, your anger, your trauma, your fear - I can handle it. I will see you and hear you and accept you. You can say or do or be anything you like and I will be here loving and supporting you.  But on the other days, when it’s just little old me, the morning practice and any kind of connection with The Universe gets thrown out the window.


Even to the extent of making a brew -

Other Person: “Do you want a cuppa?”

Me (practically running to the kettle): “I’ll make it”

BOOM DEFLECTION! My work here is done. What on earth is that about ? Feel free to insert your own analysis - but I’m sure there’s loads of us like that.  Perhaps the Martyr in you recognises the Martyr in me ?!!

So FINALLY, after holding the group last night I GOT it - that I have to invite stuff in for me. More balanced friendships, more intimacy, more presence and listening, more support, more nurturing, and more cuddles for ME too.  And that starts with me, next month around the new moon, learning to share for myself and open up in this brand new women’s circle. I can’t wait! And since there are no sleeping bags, portaloos and rainy campsites involved, this is probably the first actual Tent I am genuinely excited about. 


The Waiting Place

'...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting'

Dr Seuss (‘Oh the Places you’ll Go’)

 ‘Oh the Places you’ll Go’ is my favourite Dr Seuss book - I don’t know how many times I’ve read it and yet still I feel so uncomfortable when we get halfway through the story and he arrives at The Waiting Place.  I desperately want to skip over to the next page where he escapes and gets back to ‘the bright places - where Boom Bands are playing’...

The Waiting Place.  Perhaps you know it. Waiting for happiness, waiting for a new job, waiting for more money, waiting to feel good about yourself, waiting to fit into those skinny jeans, waiting for the love-of-your-life, waiting to get pregnant, waiting for Saturday, waiting to feel peace... the list goes on. Wishing our lives away to some point in the future which may or may not happen. 

I’m there today. I woke up feeling completely flat as the realisation dawned on me that I literally have no plans today. A small moment of relief came when I remembered I have to pick my fellas’ son up from school. Followed by the thought ‘That is 8 hours away!!!’  8 hours of nothing. Of waiting for 4pm. I DETEST the Waiting Place.  

Some of you would be overjoyed to have 8 precious hours for yourself. With nothing to do. A friend of mine is booked up until November. Everyday. She would be delighted to have the day off.  But not me;  I feel nervous and there’s a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach.

And what has actually changed since yesterday ? I am still the same person in the same life and yet I woke up to a changed state simply because I Have Nothing To Do today.

I gave up working 9-5 (cue Dolly) 10 years ago. Since then I have always had numerous jobs and have been extremely lucky in being relatively comfortable in The Uncertainty of Not Knowing where my money will come from each month. Apart from the odd 3am wobble, I have learnt to (mostly) trust that I am always abundant and to release control about where my next client will come from. And luckily for me, they always DO come. Turns out The Universe DOES actually provide. 

But in the past The Fear was always financially based and today it is different. It is still a similar feeling - Dread, Foreboding, Empty.  It’s partly Guilt. That Everyone Else is at work. But that’s not totally it.

This is a regular feeling in the Guesthouse of Kate Roberts (google Rumi’s poem if you don’t know it) every now and then, usually after a flurry of activity and events in my business; And I wake up completely anxious because my diary is TOTALLY EMPTY. 

I despise Not Being Busy. I am a doo-er.  I love it when Proactive Paula is in town and its all Go, Go, Go and I can..




I feel happy, connected and in flow. Ooh I’m busy today ! I’ve got so much to do! Wearing Busy-ness as a badge of honour.  I LOVE being Busy.

So TODAY, Thursday 6th September 2018, purely based on the fact that technically I have nothing to do until 4pm - I am declaring myself officially Pointless.

The Existence of Kate Roberts is completely Futile!  

When did we start defining ourselves by our To-Do lists or our jobs or how busy we are?

I think so many of us can relate to this.  Its part of our society.  Like theres kudos in being busy.  In one of my old jobs in Recruitment we used to have to work till 8pm on a Wednesday night.  We all resented it so much so that I doubt anyone ever actually did any work for those extra 2hours but still there used to be this unspoken competition to be the last person out of the building. None of us left on time at 8pm. It was frowned upon to be the first to leave. There was also an unofficial rule hidden in 'banter' of being called a ‘Part-timer’ if you left at 8.01pm. What on earth is that about ?

And I would work the weekends sometimes. Sending an email to The Boss to make sure she knew I was in the office On A Sunday and making sure that Everybody else knew about it on the Monday morning, even though nobody else actually cared.  Wow, give that girl a pay rise. Actually it wasn't about the money - the Braggy Bertha in me was content enough with just feeling all smug and significant about how Busy she was in comparison to her Lazy Linda colleagues daring to have a whole weekend.

So what’s it about ? This feeling pointless simply because I don’t have anything to do? Why has DOING become my purpose anyway?

When I went on Mastin Kipp’s ‘Enter The Heart’ retreat we did an exercise to find our Purpose.  Having lost my job 2 months earlier I was well excited thinking that I’ll finally get the answers to the question what do I want to be when I grow up !!

During a meditation he asked us to recollect events from our past when we felt happy. Random memories popped up for me of a Family Holiday in the Isle of Wight in the 80s, A visit to Ayres rock in the 90s and a few days earlier; trekking up the top of an inactive volcano overlooking the clouds in Maui. 

When we came out of this trip down memory lane, he asked us to write a list of adjectives to describe the emotions in each of these moments.  They were all similar feelings: Joy, peace, happiness, gratitude etc but we had to pick the most powerful 2 feelings for ALL of these moments in our life so we could work out our Purpose - as he casually dropped in the bombshell line; ’....given that purpose is something you ARE not something you DO’.

Um? Could you just repeat that again for me ?  You’ve lost me, Mastin. Purpose you say ? Its related to BEING not DOING ? WHAAAAAAAAAAAT ??

He then proceeded to write on a whiteboard the following:

‘The Purpose of my life is to __________ myself and my higher power and feel the _____________ that results, whilst inspiring others to feel the same’

We had to fill in the blanks with our Top 2 feelings based on our Happy Place memories.  Mine were Love and Connection.

So let me get this right, my purpose on earth is purely to love myself (and ‘God/Source/Spirit/Them Lot’) and experience connection as a result of doing this. Oh and my mates will also benefit by indirectly getting to feel the same thing?

BOOM. That’s it. My purpose is to love myself. FULLSTOP. Nothing else mentioned: no jobs, careers, businesses, contribution, legacy, possessions, titles etc.

Just one thing on the To-Do list: BE LOVE

This goes against everything we know. All the bullshit we’re told about what defines us. What gives us a sense of worth. A sense of purpose. Why we are needed in the world. 

The point of us is LOVE.

Our Purpose is LOVE.

So today, I am going to try and remember that and not have a wobble about who I am and what I bring to the world.  And just LOVE. And that is the only thing on my To-Do list.

Turns out today I have the Best job in the world, after all.

Better get to it....