If you saw this woman standing next to you as you both wait for your morning skim milk café latté with one sugar would you ask her if she was OK? Or would you politely look the other way as you wonder if you do actually need that white chocolate muffin with raspberry sauce for morning tea?

I reckon I’d be thinking about that muffin but secretly wondering if she was OK. How did she get that bruise? Did someone hurt her or is she clumsy and walked into a door? I’d also wonder is she was wishing I’d ask her if she was OK. What if she wasn’t? What if she really, really needed a stranger to ask her how she got that black eye?

This photo came up on my instagram feed this week and it’s of my insta-friend (as in, we’ve never met IRL but would totally be awesome BFFs if we did) Samantha. Samantha didn’t walk into a door. And no-one hurt her. But no-one has asked her if she’s ok either. She’s looked like this for a week and not a single person has inquired. Politely or otherwise. In fact, the only time someone did was when they jokingly asked her husband if she’d ‘walked into a door’? That’s right. Her husband!

Now I’m not here to throw shade on our fabulous men-folk but it’s a fact that in Australia women are at least three times more likely than men to experience violence from an intimate partner. The overwhelming majority of acts of domestic violence and sexual assault are perpetrated by men against women.*

Samantha said it’s been a really interesting experience walking around looking like she’d been beaten up.  “No-one has asked me if I’m OK. Not even HR at work. There have just been a lot of whispers and questions asked to other people, but none to me directly. I’ve been stared at down the street, on the tram at my daughter’s school. People just look away. They don’t want to get involved.”

Samantha also told me another story about a friend of hers who was in a similar situation with two black eyes (sustained from a fall) and her friends talked about it behind her back in shocked whispers; “Surely her husband wouldn’t do that?” They were right, he wouldn’t have. And he didn’t. But they didn’t ask her either.

So back to that white chocolate muffin.

How do you broach the subject of potential domestic violence with a stranger? How do you politely let someone know that you care and can help if they need it? And, regardless of if you’re on the receiving end of domestic violence or a simple personal mishap that sees you looking like a victim of violence, how do you take a stranger inquiring after your wellbeing?

It’s a minefield of political correctness, social etiquette and basic humanity. But like Carrie Bradshaw might say, I couldn’t help but wonder…should we just ask anyway?

Head on over to Simply Kim on Facebook and have a chat. I’d love to know your thoughts.

PS – Samantha ignored a dry bit of skin on her nose which turned out to be a squamous cell carcinoma that required a biopsy, a plastic surgeon AND a skin graft. Not to mention leaving her with a black eye for a week. Her advice is not to ignore random changes on your skin and to also politely and privately inquire about someone’s wellbeing if you have any concerns. She would have happily preached to them about the importance of regularly checking your skin.

FINAL THOUGHT: If you do ask are you prepared for the response? What would you do if someone DID need your help. Read up here.

References and useful links:

• * I got these facts and statements from here https://www.ourwatch.org.au/Understanding-Violence/Facts-and-figures
• Get educated on what to do if you need to help someone here: http://www.dvrcv.org.au/help-advice/guide-for-families-friends-and-neighbours
• www.ourwatch.org.au
• www.lifeline.org.au
  
• www.cancer.org.au

If these words mean something to you then please feel free to share them where ever you like. Click on the image and save it as your own. Steal, copy, adapt, plagiarize. Make them yours. I don’t mind. The message is the same. It’s time. x

If these words don’t resonate with you then you may be on the wrong blog.

[text version]

To our LGBTI friends (or as I like to call you…‘friends’),

Get married. Get divorced. Live in sin.
Raise families. Stay single. Love who you want.
I don’t care.
What I do care about. Passionately.
Is that you live your life, your way.
Everyone has that right.

I do not support the Australian Government spending my money to make you feel less than who you are.

I want them to spend that money to put food on the table of the needy and to build schools for our children and to give homes to the homeless.

I do not support the Australian Government wasting years debating an issue that has an inevitable outcome.The time to reform the Marriage Act is now.

I want the Australian Government to spend no more money.
To spend no more time.
To just get it done.
Love is love. Love conquers all.
The Australian people stand with you.

“Comparison is the thief of joy”, or so the saying goes.

I can’t tell you how many years I’ve wasted comparing myself to the lives and bodies of others. And finally…finally at 45 I’ve managed to light a fire that I am proud to call my own. Lately, I feel like Tom fucking Hanks in Castaway when he beats his chest having created the fire he needs to survive alone on an island; “Look what I have done!”

Like many women I am prone to insecurities, feeling unnecessarily vulnerable and allowing the opinion of others to get in my way of achieving what my heart truly wants. And because of all the wasted years comparing myself to others to figure out what it is that I want, I’ve got a truck load of weight bearing down on my heart …which makes it really hard to actually know what my own opinions are at times. Surprising I know, given I’ve been writing a blog for a year which is pretty much all about my opinions.

Earlier this year I decided I needed to fix my wardrobe situation. And by “situation” I of course meant “I have nothing to wear and feel like crap”. So off I went to a two-day styling workshop that promised to help me to “get me and my truth out there confidently, so I can make a difference in the world”. You can read my original post here. I had planned to write a follow up post on what I assumed would be a brilliant and uplifting experience. Instead I finished those two days $1,500 poorer and felt silly that I just didn’t get it. So I fell into a hole and stayed silent because quite frankly, I had nothing nice to say.

It’s taken me three months to figure out what went wrong for me on that two-day experience. I was amongst a dozen women who were pretty much just like me (probably not as awesome, but lovely none the less!). We were mothers, single girls, professionals, women with hardship, women with high flying careers but mostly we were individuals in size 10, 12, 14, 16 or who-really-cares.  The problem was the women who ran the event weren’t. They were an army of highly-stylised women each one of them wearing the very-hot-right-now black capes and the same shade of fuck-off-red lipstick. I felt like I’d stepped into a goddamn Robert Palmer video.

Anyway, I chose not to review the course because, as I said, I didn’t have much nice to say about it. The point is I figured out where I went wrong in choosing to do it in the first place. While I love to surround myself with like-minded people I often make mistakes in who I look up to or go to for advice. I end up comparing myself to these highly-stylised women and just made myself feel unhappy. Like, two bottles of red wine unhappy!

I read this awesome column from the super awesome Jane Caro on the weekend that pretty much nailed it for me. Here’s a grab about when she went to an event with an inspirational speaker:

“After a largish breakfast (which most of us wolfed down), we listened to a motivational talk by an Olympic gold medal winner. She was tall, she was blonde, she was Amazonian. She was also a good speaker, damn her baby-blue eyes, and she proceeded to tell us all about the demanding and relentless training program she had followed to prepare for the Olympics. It was all about overcoming mental and physical barriers – you know the sort of thing. Anyway, as I watched this female paragon talk, I noticed what was happening to the audience. They, like me, were older, shorter, rounder and wearier than the gung-ho young woman at the microphone. Olympics? Get real! We were all simply happy to make it to the couch and a glass of vino at the end of every day without having gone insane. Far from being inspired, I watched the women wilt. This speaker was making them feel worse about themselves…”

So back to Tom Hanks on that island…I have decided to light my own damn fire! Which is actually not that hard when I apply a few basic principles:

1) I am no longer comparing myself, or my life, to anyone else’s
2) I will no longer take advice from someone about superficial things that don’t really matter.
3) I’ll surround myself with people and media that actually elevate me to be ME…just the way I am.

No-one needs to feel less simply because they didn’t win the gene pool lotto.

SIMPLY KIM’S SUNDAY LUNCH WITH DEV (Melbourne)
Sunday September 10, 12noon – 2pm(ish)

TICKETS HERE

If you can relate to this post, and have ever felt less at a time when you thought you should feel more, then join us for lunch. This blog is turning one so the champagne will be on me.

Let’s get together and lift each other up, share secrets and enjoy some fine food with the company of people just like YOU.

I am also beyond thrilled that maverick, vigilante and non-fuck giver extraordinaire Catherine Deveny will join our soiree to offer her special brand of inspiration.

Catherine Deveny is a force of nature if ever there was one!  I met Dev in 2011 at her first Gunna Writer’s Master class (and I have the coffee mug to prove it). It was a day designed for writers who aren’t writing and at the time that described me to a tee. It was love at first sight and I’ve followed her writings and stayed in contact ever since.

Dev thrills and terrifies me in equal measure. She’s a prolific writer, comedian, author, social commentator, educated, opinionated, entertaining, sassy and most importantly not afraid to be exactly who she is. She is the only person I have ever met who honestly gives zero fucks about what anyone thinks about her.

She grew up in Melbourne’s Northern suburbs as one of six kids from a very working class family (or “povo” as she calls it.) “I was the fat, noisy girl from Reservoir whose thighs rubbed together when she walked.”

Since 1995 she’s called Coburg home where she has dubbed her place the Atheist Kibbutz. She’s a mother to three boys and is not married to her partner, Anthony who she calls Bear. They’ve been together for 32 years with a 24-year break in the middle (ask her and she’ll happily fill you in).  Dev and Anthony had a Love Party last year, which was a wedding with no God and no Government. “I was a 90 kilo, 47 year old bride in a $260 dress on a bike. No Spanx, no fake tan, no dieting, no botox, no fillers, no gifts, no seating plan, no name changing, no marriage.” Read about her special day here…it’s a joy.

She has been named in the Top 100 Most Influential Melbournians and in 2014 one of her texts was used in the HSC exam. Which is ironic given she scraped through her own HSC English exam with a score of 51%.  You might have read her columns in the Age (before they sacked her after nine years, for being too provocative). She’s a Melbourne International Comedy Festival favourite with shows that regularly sell out. She’s appeared on Channel Seven’s Tonight Live with Steve Vizard, Full Frontal, ABC TV’s Good News Week, BackBerner and Q and A (you know …that scary show on ABC where smart people debate important things and we mere mortals struggle to keep up?), Network 10’s Rove Live, The Wedge and skitHOUSE and The Project. She performs regularly on radio and television around Australia and was a popular fill in broadcaster on 774 ABC Melbourne. In August 2012 she appeared in the Emmy award winning Go Back To Where You Came From on SBS television with Angry Anderson and Peter Reith. It was also in 2012 when Cardinal Pell threatened to sue her over a tweet.

You can find out more about her at her website where there are links to her words and TV appearances and all sorts of fun stuff – highly recommend!  http://www.catherinedeveny.com/ 

The reason I want her to have lunch with us is because she is the antithesis of every fucking cookie cutter inspirational role model that we get exposed to in the media when we embark on a weight loss or wellness program. Dev leads an incredibly active lifestyle. She cycles everywhere (including to her own wedding!), she’ll probably turn up to lunch with her bike helmet still on. She regularly runs 10 kilometres and is responsible for introducing me to Enell (bras for big boobs, look ‘em up ladies!). Good food and a healthy attitude are also cornerstones of her vibrancy. Basically she inspires the fuck out of me and I want you to meet her.

I also have no idea what she’ll say because she won’t take a brief…so I’m living on the edge. Want to join me? CLICK DEV’S GUMBOOTS FOR TIX

I bought a plant on the weekend and it reminded me that keeping things simple really is key to a happy life.

I’m a self-confessed simple girl. I don’t like a lot of fuss. I don’t like complicated processes and I don’t like agonizing over decisions. I like to set and forget the annoying administrative jobs in life like paying bills, health insurance, superannuation, dentist appointments (and let’s be honest, I’m really really good at forgetting about those altogether!).

Like many of us, I get overwhelmed really quickly when there’s just too much going on. Too many things on the menu. Too many conflicting ideas about what’s good and bad for your health. Too many apps to help you track stuff. Bloody hell, there’s even too many varieties of canned tomatoes on the supermarket shelf. Just too much.

When it comes to decision making, my solution is simple, because like I said, I’m a simple girl. I make one decision and stick to it until it’s no longer working for me. For example, there are always conflicting views on nutrition and weight loss. There have been for years and there will continue to be as long as there is a market for insecurities. My stress-free choice is to follow one expert view and trust in that to help me make a simple decision. I don’t agonise over making wrong decisions because I’ve already opted to trust someone who has the experience. It’s less stressful for me and while my choice is working for me, I don’t question it. If it stops working for me, I’ll look elsewhere. That’s called free will my friends.

I’ve been trying to live my life this way for a few years now – mostly since I became responsible for making sure a small human is fed and watered (and sheltered and loved and all that palaver!). When you have kids in your life (or a husband!) you need to keep things simple because your time is precious. It’s a commodity that you trade in order to stay sane. So I trade complexity for simplicity – all the time.

My new plant, which I chose in precisely 90 seconds, is an example of this.

A dear friend gave me a gift voucher for my birthday. It was from a plant nursery that we visit frequently for their onsite café with cubby houses where we can forget about the kids…I mean lovingly watch them frolic …while we catch up. My friend knew I was in the market for plants because I’ve just moved into a new house that is crying out for green stuff. So she bought me a gift voucher. Nice right?

Well…over the years I have wasted many many gift vouchers simply because I get paralyzed by choice. The shop is my oyster and I can put that voucher towards anything I want. Except I don’t because I can’t fucking decide! I couldn’t even choose a candle when my husband thought he was being sweet (he totally was) by getting me a voucher from a fancy schmancy candle shop. I walked in twice over the course of three months trying to pick something and in the end I let the bloody thing expire. How freakin’ dumb is that? And that’s just one example.

Sorry, back to the plant… I walked in to this plant shop on Sunday and I knew that if I spent time wandering around the glorious greenery I was going to come home with nothing but bitter disappointment and the voucher burning a hole in my handbag (which, by the way, is the SAME bag I used as a nappy bag because I can’t decide on a new one almost two years after I’m no longer carrying around nappies!). I also arranged to meet my friend there, the one who bought me the voucher, so I absolutely HAD to enjoy spending her present to me.

So I walked up to one section of plants that I liked the look of, checked that they were hardy, set and forget types (keeping plants alive is not my forte) and grabbed the one off display that was already nestled in a nice white pot, took it to the counter and went and had my coffee feeling bloody marvelous that I’d just made a quick decision without agonizing. And it’s a lovely plant. And it doesn’t matter if I don’t think it’s still lovely in a month (if it actually lives that long). By then I will have moved on and it’s just a fucking plant. I’m not curing cancer. I’m not orchestrating the take down of a tyrannical government. I’m not causing grievous bodily harm. It doesn’t matter if I change my mind. It’s just a plant.

And that’s kind of how I look at simple decisions these days. It’s just a plant. No need for lengthy discourse about it. Just make a decision, enjoy it and get on with something else. Like having coffee in the sun. Or having your weekly meal plan sorted. Or making sure you exercise every day at the same time. As Nike say – Just Do It!

In my experience, making a quick decision, having a routine that helps alleviate day-to-day decisions and keeping things simple are great ways to keep stress, anxiety and depression at bay.

Of course there are times in life where deliberating over decisions is a worthy and necessary use of your time – not everything in life is a plant! But many day-to-day things are simple; we just over complicate things and live in fear that the grass is always greener (and clever marketing prays on our inherent desire to constantly look over the fence).

Sometimes our quick decisions may not be the best ones. But that’s life. And that’s OK. There’s always next time, and there’s always another plant on the shelf.