Friday, September 30, 2016

I decided to befriend my bod.

I decided to befriend my bod.

I laid on the couch with my daughter who was curious about my body, no idea of the pressure to be perfect, just curious of this body thats different to her own.
Giggling at how my skin wrinkles and stretches. I was explaining that Mummys body is pretty darn clever, it made you and then fed you!

I realised in that moment, I had a revaluation. I don't care how my breats were when they were 18 years old, my breast have done more than just peeking out of a low cut top now.
My stomach has carried, created and birthed two beautiful humans by ceasarian.
Stretched skin and all.
I am now proud of the strength my body is giving me, pushing myself to learn things I never thought I would. My 'mum bod' doesn't change a thing, it doesn't slow me down, it doesn't make a difference, so why let it?... And it definitely doesnt change who I am inside.

I am not just this body, I am so much more than what is in the face of everyone else. I am deeper and I am blessed with the skin to be seen. I am blessed that my body has gone from A to Z and back again, my body has had two babies, fed two babies, has had two cesareans, my body has partied, my body has been young, my body has aged, my body has been 40 kilos heavier, my body has danced and swam and ran, my body has been overseas and back again, my body has been on planes and boats... my body is me!
 And I like me!
I have found me!
And I am proud to be me!

Body, what if I obsessed about all the things I liked about you instead?

-Harley xx

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

This is why I won't be sending her to your dietician, doc!

I sit here and write a list of everything my daughter has eaten in the last day while I'm sitting in a society filled with body issues, self confidence issues and eating disorders!
Yet here I am feeding into the idea that everyone needs to be stuck between the lines of what society has built around us. In a box of what people should look like. Even if they're healthy and happy and eat more than anyone else in the household.
I do this while watching over my daughter who is only one years old.

One years old and you want her to see a dietitian.
The first time I refused. I know my daughter eats enough. She eats, and eats... And runs and runs. She's perfect, she's healthy, she's alive, we're both acing her life.
The second time you booked her in to see the dietician I was made to feel that I was a bad parent because again, I didnt see the point. But yet somehow the mother guilt took over and here I am writing a list of what exactly my daughter has eaten in the last 24 hours because you want proof that I feed my child...
 because we live in a society that is too worried about people's shapes and sizes.

Here I am refusing again, because this goes against everything I am striving to teach my daughter.
That every body is beautiful.
That every body is normal.
That every body comes in all different shapes and sizes.
That I won't let my child be sculpted by society's perception of what we all should be.

My child is smaller than 'average', my child is beautiful, my child is perfect... and I will not give in to your screwed up view on that we should be all be in one sized fits all cage.

So fuck you society and fuck you doctors, don't you realize that this is how it begins??

This is where it starts, this is where it begins, this is where we develop the thoughts about how we should or shouldnt be like with our own bodies. This is how we begin to feel that our body is not good enough. This is how we talk ourselves into thinking that society wants our bodies to be so much more than what we were blessed with.

We go on and on about how we need societies views of perfection and beauty to change, especially for teenage girls, but we're still trying to sculpt everyone to fit into a screwed up BMI chart which has been proved to be a complete inaccurate measure of body fat. Go figure!
This is where it starts, when you decide to send my one year to the dietician. When you make me feel like a bad parent for not sending her. And when you want me to write a food diary and watch everything she eats.

She is the way that she was made, she is the way that she was supposed to be, she is the body size nature intended her to be...

So this is why I won't be sending her to your dietician, doc!

And screw your food diary.

Harley xx

Sunday, August 28, 2016



Ruling my own life and cherishing every single moment. Making the most of it and becoming obsessed with it. Waking up with ambition and smashing goals.

Queening. Building my own self confidence and not relying on anyone else for it.

Queening. Building a successful business while raising babies, by myself.

Queening. When I'm feeling down all I have to do is straighten up my crown and get on with life.

Queening. Being so busy obsessing over my own life, I'm not obsessing over others.

Queening. Knowing the difference between right and wrong.

Queening. Knowing your worth.

Queening. Knowing what you want and chasing after it.

Queening. Knowing your strengths and weaknesses and using them for greatness.

Queen. Beauty. Ambition. Confidence. High Standards.


- Harley xx

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Let's end the best mum comps!

Lets face it, birth is not a glamorous walk in the park. For me, it was brutal. For most it's brutal. No matter how we gave birth. And not one birth is more brutal than another. A VB or CS. Actually, most of the reason I went for an elective caesarian with my second was because I was so shit scared of a VB. I was also shit scared of my emergancy ceasarian. But when people say "oh you're lucky , I wish I had a caesarian" I cry inside. Yeah... I loved having my insides slaughted. It was so fucking fun I decided to do it again.

Let's stop the birth competition, the feeding competition, the pressure to be such a perfect mum that if we don't live up to our own standards we see a huge spike in post natal depression in society. This is the same society that tells us that things like cellulite and stretch marks, which are natural processes of our bodies are gross.

Let's stop thinking we don't mother enough compared to Mother Theresa.

 Let's stop getting caught up in objectifying mothers that mother differently to you or us or anyone else.

Let's just all drink wine, acknowledge how crap some days can be and Hi-5 each other with our arms that don't stop waving for another half an hour.

I have surrounded myself with encouraging, passionate, dedicated mums that mother like goddesses, and on bad days, they mother like bad arse goddesses!

 I caught up with a friend the other week who didn't do her hair. Her excuse "I thought stuff it, it's only Harley, she doesn't care!". I can't put into words how much I loved that sentence. I'm that friend that doesn't care! And I don't, I don't care if you're wearing makeup or not, I don't care if we catch up in your PJs, I don't care how you feed, and I certainly don't care (providing you're okay!) how you birthed!

Your neighbor screaming at their kids is doing amazing, you're girlfriend you no longer talk to is still doing amazing no matter how much you don't like her right now and YOU, YOU my dear are doing amazing.

Harley xx