“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players” – William Shakespeare.

If you were watching your life as ole Shakepeare has described it – like it is a show of some description, how much would you charge people to come watch? Would you be selective about who was in the audience – who you allowed to have a seat? Who you asked to join you on your stage and participate? Or would you leave the doors to the theatre wide open and hope and pray that people actually showed up because you just could not deal with noone wanting to look at your show. At you.

I was 14 when my high school boyfriend told me “I’m glad I never heard you sing. I bet you sound really bad”. And just like that – the lights went out on that scene and I stopped singing infront of anyone. I would whisper the words to the songs on the radio if in the car with someone, or in family setting (unless alcohol was involved where inihibitions were removed). I wouldn’t even sing infront of my kids. I fucking love singing. And when I was alone in my car would belt out the tunes like I was worthy of a bloody Golden Guitar. One single statement, from one single person who hadn’t even HEARD me sing, and that was the end of that. The fear of not being good at it shut me down. Fast forward to now and I am singing my heart out at any given opportunity. I have music on and am singing from within minutes of waking up in the morning. I sing all damn day long, and I’m THAT chick you see walking the aisles of Woolies singing to their ’90s beats. Want to come in my car with me? Congratulations, you’ve just scored a seat to my concert and admission will be charged accordingly.

So what changed?… Well I made a choice. I remembered I love to sing. Good, bad, indifferent, fucking purple – doesn’t matter a pinch of shit to me what your opinion of my voice is. I sing because I love to, not to please YOUR ears. It pleases me and it doesn’t matter if it pleases you. I made a choice. I didn’t go back and change tapes or any of that other deep shit I’ve been writing about. That’s just not necessary here. I made a fucking choice. I love to sing so I’m going to. The end. A friend reminded me last night of words I had said to him last year. Words that he says changed his life. And now my own words get to change mine too. He said remember Kylie, you choose what you allow in. You choose what you allow to affect you. That your past doesn’t matter. Stop looking back, the answers don’t lie there. Make a choice right fucking now that you are enough. Huh. That really is simple eh? That you don’t need to know where the fear started, why, who said what. Someone else’s inability to see your worth does not make you less worthy unless you believe it does. You can choose in this moment to believe that you are whole. To fucking REMEMBER that you are whole. To remember that you love to sing.

“Shame no longer has a place to hide. I am not a captive to the lies. I am not afraid to leave my past behind. Oh, I won’t be shaken. No, I won’t be shaken” – Josh Baldwin (stand in your love).

I’ve been sharing some heavy AF stuff lately, and as it shifts I’m feeling so much lighter. So much more whole. But Sunday night threw me. I had started to unpack some heavy shit around men, and allowing myself to be seen by men. But I hadn’t completed the integration process. I hadn’t finished grieving and expressing my anger. I was still very open, exposed and raw. My mate had invited me out for a night with them,, and although I felt fragile I didn’t want to let her down (even though she would’ve understood), so I went. I was fine for the first hour, there was noone at that pub. But when we went across the road to the club it was packed with an event. Men everywhere. And they were looking at me. I was covered up, jeans, boots and a long sleeve shirt. No cleavage, no nothing to look at. Yet they kept looking. I felt the anxiety growing. I just wanted them to stop looking at me. None of the looks were overly sleazy or anything, they were just browsing. But I didn’t want to be browsed at. Within half an hour it was unbearable and I had to leave, bawling as I rushed back to my car. Came home and cried like a baby. Yep. That outing certainly was premature for me in terms of readiness. Part of the shifting of that stuff was in removing the shame around the teenage experiences. I have nothing to feel shame for. Yet my first experience with a male seeing my naked body was shameful, and it involved me grabbing at something to cover myself up. And it was a deliberate looking at me. I was told you don’t speak about that. You lied. No I did not. And yes you fucking do speak about it. Because it is not my shame to carry, it’s yours. You don’t want your behaviour to be spoken about – choose better behaviour. That first experience for me shaped how I went on to perceive my physical body, and I behaved accordingly. It was something to be covered up, ashamed of. Only a few weeks ago I had a man say to me that someone elses inability to appreciate my curves didn’t make them any less sexy. And that struck a chord. I actually hadn’t considered that. I had only ever seen imperfections and shame. I was still seeking validation from outside people to tell me that I was attractive, because I didn’t believe it myself. But that’s simply because I hadn’t even really looked at myself. And when we seek the validation from others, we will never truly know our own worth, our inner or outer beauty. When we believe others get to decide if we are enough or not, we give away our power.

In the conversation with my old mate last night I had the light bulb. I was hung up on shifting the fears, changing the beliefs, re-recording the old tapes. But my words from the past were bang on. Just choose differently NOW. Fuck your past, you’re not going that way. There’s a reason the rear view mirror is smaller than the windscreen eh? I choose what I see from now on. So I spent the day naked. I stood infront of the mirror and not just looked at my body, but admired it. I noticed things I’ve never seen before and realised holy fuck yes, I am sexy AF. I always was. Because I say so. Your opinion of that is not my fucking concern. I started sleeping naked, because I can, and pyjamas were always a way to cover up the beauty that is my body. It really is that simple. Identify the beliefs. Identify where you are short changing yourself. And choose differently.

“Time stands still. Beauty in all she is. I will be brave. I will not let anything take away what’s standing infront of me. Every breath. Every hour has come to this. I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling, dont be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I’ll love you for a thousand more” – Christina Perri (A thousand years).

Your body is your home. You decide if it is a place of beauty or not. People will throw their own shit around for sure, but YOU decide what you allow to stick. Chuck some coconut oil on that bad boy and let it slide right off. If you feel a wobble, identify it. It’s habitual to start with. Just a little knee jerk – no biggy. Forgive yourself for the wobble, steady yourself, and rise again. Your inner being has been waiting for you to come home. She/He knows you are worthy beyond measure. Absolute pure perfection. You are exactly who you are meant to be. It’s time to increase your admission charge. Fuck, go get a bouncer to make sure only people who are damn worthy of seeing you in all your God given glory get in those doors. You are fucking perfect. Everyone wobbles. It’s what you do with the wobble that counts. I’m a work in progress too. We all are.