How to Autograph Curveballs

Sometimes in life, you're just cruising along, taking it easy, getting from A to B and then something happens to jolt you back to reality - a curveball is thrown in your path from left or right field you can't really tell because it all happens so quickly. This is exactly what I was faced with a few weeks back.

There I was, driving back into town from a meeting to pick up my daughter and do a few jobs before returning home for lunch and heading out together for an appointment. My plan didn't quite pan out that way however. The universe had other plans. It unleashed a driver on the same road at the same time as me.

A driver who was so focused on the love of her life being on the other side of the road, she wasn't looking where she was going and wasn't aware I was in front of her and that she needed to stop at the roundabout. There was a car in front of me and thankfully I didn't hit them.

As I was shunted from behind by the loved-up driver, the words "WTF" flew out of my mouth automatically. Somehow I managed to pull over safely and get out of the car to investigate the damage. In the scheme of things, a new tailgate on the car was a small price to pay. It could have been worse, much worse. After all Miss 4 has been telling us it's time for a new car, even though this one is not yet 12 months old!

I took myself off to the hospital to be checked out, just as a precaution. I felt fine, but wanted to make sure Baby Phillips was okay too. In accident & emergency I was cleared to go home. However I was due for my ante-natal appointment that afternoon and the midwife said she wanted to see me before I left.

When the A & E Nurse told me I could go, luckily I insisted on seeing the midwife! I was sent over to ante-natal and put on the CTG machine to be monitored for an hour. The CTG was picking up mild contractions, so I needed to stay and be monitored for 4 hours. A note to all the mums-to-be out there - any kind of car accident requires that you be monitored by CTG for at least a 3 hour period.

The contractions weren't painful. But they were regular - coming every 10 - 15 mins with intensity. As I lay there in the stark white room my mind started to wander down the "what if" path. Then I realised that I was playing scenarios through my mind that I didn't need to. I started focussing on the outcome of delivering a happy, healthy baby at full-term, as opposed to there and then at 31 weeks.

I remembered I had downloaded some relaxation music on my phone, so I pulled this out and started to play it. As I listened, I breathed deeply and focused on my desired outcome. Surprisingly enough, the contractions slowed down and then stopped altogether. Finally I was able to go home to my own bed. I was exhausted, yet pleased that I didn't need to be sent to the larger hospital in the area. I would go back the next morning just to check things were okay and if the contractions came back that night, I was to take myself to hospital immediately.

There were a few lessons learned that I'd like to share with you in the hope that when you're faced with a curveball situation, may help you get through a little easier:

• Not everything is about you, sometimes things just happen
• No matter how carefully you plan, there will always be obstacles in your path
• Take responsibility for you and your actions (it can be so easy to  blame others and go into 'victim' mode)
• Manage your mental state - focus on the outcome you want from the situation , rather than getting caught up in the drama of the moment
• Wherever you go, make sure you take some relaxation/meditation music because you never know when you may need it!
• If in doubt remember to breathe - DEEPLY
• 

Joining the dots

Over the past few weeks I've found myself with a pair of knitting needles in hand, making beautiful things and going into the deep meditative state the seems to come to me when I knit. I was contemplating where my passion for helping others take charge of their thoughts, learning to love themselves for who they are and helping them to make their mark on the world had come from.

My thoughts took me back to high school, Grade 12 to be specific. Memories of playing my trumpet with the band outside a church at the memorial service of a young man who lost his life too soon. An empty chair placed in our row where he used to sit, his trumpet there, but he was not. I remember anger surfacing inside me and the struggle to hold back my tears as we played Michael Jackson's  "Heal the World", a song he completely detested.It all seemed so surreal.

 A beautiful life, a beautiful soul, he had much to give the world, yet he battled with the demons of anorexia. Unfortunately his heart stopped while he was in Brisbane, waiting to seek medical treatment for his condition.

This wasn't just a fellow band member. This young man held a place close to my heart a couple of years earlier. He was 2 years younger than I and my friends thought I was crazy for having feelings for someone younger. After all, he was in grade 8 and I was in grade 10. Lucky for me, succumbing to peer pressure never rated highly on my radar, as shy as I may have been, I didn't need the approval of others even then.

I recall a young guy who was funny, warm and cheeky, with gorgeous chocolate brown eyes,  who never ate at lunch breaks and was constantly obsessed with what he weighed. I knew it was unhealthy, I didn't know how to help.  I was just there with him, those few months of our short-lived high school relationship. He was the first guy I really slow danced with at a school social and I still remember the smell of boy sweat as we danced close together. Young, innocent, pure and  simple teenage romance.

There was a time that he was admitted to hospital in Brisbane for treatment and had been away for a significant period. It was around the same time the band had travelled down there to compete in an annual festival. He ran away from hospital for the day and came to watch us play in the Queen Street Mall. Band and music were important to him. I thought he was such a rebel, but it was heartwarming to see happiness in his eyes that day.

Upon us returning home, I approached one of my friends for his address at the hospital, as their families were close. I wrote him a letter. I had purchased a purple gel pen especially to pen my words on the Anne Geddes paper I had secretly taken from my mother's desk drawer. I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted to feel connected to him. I wanted him to know that he mattered, no matter what the status of our relationship. I wanted him to know people cared for him and he had a place in this world.

My rebellious mission was getting the letter to the post box without my mum knowing what I was up to. Quite a feat considering we lived out of town! Somehow I managed to make up an excuse one day to go downtown after school and post it. I was so nervous as I dropped it into the big red box.

When I heard the news of his passing those couple of years later, my heart sank. I was deeply saddened that he'd lost his fight for life. I secretly vowed and declared that the loss of his life would not be in vain. Since then I've had a strong desire to create a legacy in his honour to help others, to help make resources more readily available for those who need them in regional areas. I just didn't know how I would do it.

I realise now since walking my own path of life and completing my coaching studies, taking care of our mental health is such an important thing. Had he been afforded the opportunity of having these resources available to him, it may have given him the opportunity to work through the demons of his mind that were controlling his relationship to food.

So Nick, this post is dedicated to you. You are often in my thoughts and a small piece of my heart will always hold special memories of you. These memories bring a smile to my face. There have been many times where I've wondered if you are my guardian angel, somehow watching over me, protecting me, softening life's blows. As I continue on my journey of life, helping and guiding others whose paths cross mine, I'm  aware of a young life that was ended too soon. I use this to propel me through life on the down days, the tough times, the difficult times. Your memory lives on xxxxx