Having a bad day? Happens. Sucks. Sorry about that.

But, it’s yours and I don’t necessarily want to experience the day you are having.


Most folks can get up of a day and decide to make the best of it. And they go about their daily, although it might not be awesome, in fact, it may actually be what some may consider pretty fucken awful, with an upbeat mindset and a tenacious take on its possible outcome.

They will whistle happily through scrubbing someone else’s toilet and cleaning their home, knowing their kids are getting closer to having their studies paid for, despite having to go home and do it all again for their own family, or push hard through a night shift of backbreaking work knowing their family will have a better life for it. They find time to interact with their loved ones and cherish the sweet mangled looking artwork their babies spoil them with after a long day.

Because these are all blessings.

And then, there are others, who no matter what comes their way, will have a crap day. They will find their coffee to cold, even if someone else made it for them with love, their food won’t make them happy, even if they are lucky enough to be eating in a restaurant. They will find that their job sucks, even when it is someone’s dream position, their kids are behaving like trolls because they keep needing to talk to them and showing them silly drawings.

Because life is crap.

Because for some, the sun won’t shine, when others bask in its warmth in the self-same spot, on the very same day. Perception is everything. Attitude is damn close second.




Yes, I’m yelling. It’s something I wish I had had yelled at me more often before I woke the fuck up a bit and started owning my shit, my happiness, my life.

We CHOOSE how our lives roll out. We CHOOSE how our days rollout. We CHOOSE how our relationships rollout. All of it. We have the choice as to whether any one given moment or interaction is good or bad.

So when you chose to attempt to hand me your bad day, you are telling me very clearly that you are not capable of handling your own shit. It has nothing to do with me. At all. It’s your day.

If I have wronged you and we need to speak it through, then let’s do that, like adults. Talk. Openly, honestly. Lets map out how we feel, own those feelings and accept that they have NOTHING to do with each other. It’s how we CHOOSE to respond to an action someone else has taken. Again, not something I have MADE happen. It’s something you CHOSE.


Maddening hey?


It’s all totally true though.


I nearly lost my mind beginning to grasp owning my shit. It was one of the most horrible things I have ever experienced. Because I had to accept and sit with ALL OF MY OWN SHIT. The stuff I had handed out so liberally to the world for years and years.

It was unbearable at points. Realizing that when I had a “why the fuck don’t the people who love me buy my stuff and support my business, can’t they SEE I’m struggling?! moment (because I had made sure I had put out enough victim vibes for them to have noticed!?) and the “I’m ALWAYS supporting them and pushing their stuff online, why don’t they do it for me?!” thoughts… Well, horrible fact.




Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero.

They don’t. And NOT because the world is cruel and unfair. But because YOU need to sort YOU.


Fuck me. The amount of time I lost my shit trying to grapple with the sheer horror of not being able to ladle my crap onto someone else, or just the world in general (thanks Facebook) was beyond measure.


Until one day, it just started to make sense. My shit is mine. My shit is mine. MY SHIT IS MINE.


All mine.

Every decision I have made to date has brought me to where I am. The good ones, the not so awesome ones, the downright piss poor ones. I’m here because of me.

Yes, shit stuff has happened. Really shit stuff. And it hurt, like fuck. But what happened after, is ALL ON ME.

Nothing anyone has taught me, by the way I have interacted with them can make me less me. Sometimes, it has caused me to doubt myself to the point where my life has veered off course yes. But that was MY decision. Despite how much I wanted to blame them for it. Mine.

Their actions were theirs. Yes, they affected me in unpleasant ways. Yes, it changed the course of my life. But that was because of me. Not them.

Survival mode

Fight or flight…not a great place to think. It’s all action. Many people function from this space. Many have to. But in the same breath, many don’t and still choose to. It becomes a way of life, and we find a way to validate keeping ourselves in a state of perpetual panic. We invite the chaos in because it’s the perfect distraction.

It knocked me sideways when I was told by a therapist a few years back that I was choosing everything that was happening to me. And that I was choosing for my life to be chaotic, hurtful and unmanageable. I was choosing to live in survival mode LONG after any reason to fight or flee had passed.

Because I was choosing to LIVE my past. And keep fighting fights long lost. Every day.

It was time to admit I was running. Not because something was chasing me, but because I didn’t know how to stop, nor did I want to. Running was way easier than sitting with pain and dealing. Admitting I was in control. When I wanted was someone to blame for the utter cock up my life had become.




New wave of panic. But this time, I had to feel it. See it. Deal with it, because once you realize that you are the only one actually steering the ship, grabbing the wheel is innate. Navigating through the squalls and swells of my own chaos and discontent taught me the reality of just how many folks I needed to say “fuck, I am SO sorry.” to.

And I did.

Anyone I felt that I truly did wrong or hurt with my tsunami of bad life decisions, I have taken the time to sit with, apologize to and settle with.

The freedom was tangible. It felt like something I could hold, hug, admire and lift up, perhaps to light my way to a better place.

Waiting for someone to save me from my own bad decisions, from my own chaotic life, had me waiting for most of my life, as it drifted by is a cloud of victimhood and bitterness.

I can only hope that knowing and living this truth now, halfway through my life, allows for my babies to see what it is to live with the freedom of owning your shit. Having accountability for your actions and reactions. Teaching your daemons to sit and stay when commanded, and the power of knowing, with every fibre of your being that







With love and respect








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