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A thank you to readers, messengers and sharers. A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows that epitomise the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 19 of a series. For a recap of Parts 1 to 18, click here. So, this may be the last post for a while, for reasons that will become clear in due course. Thank you to those who've stuck through an almost 20-post monologue of births, deaths and marriages - and one cake. This series was written in past tense, and has now caught up to the real world, currently March 2024. Some things have been great. Our wedding (take three!) is set to go ahead, the curse (so far) appears to be lifted. I've still got some bloody great friends and know I will 'til the day I die. I finally got my act together and lost the Covid 10kg (for how long I am unsure, as I type this while eating my cheese and pineapple pizza). I've been lucky to go on some awesome interstate holidays and for the last blissful six months, the footy has not been on. Some things have just been in the middle. I keep saying I love Melbourne for the culture, but still haven't found time to see Triennial or the summer night markets. I keep trying to find out if I'm the most entertaining slash most liked client of my therapist, which apparently, the point of therapy is not to 'win it.' My teeth whitener hasn't worked because I refuse to give up coffee and bolognese. I have an endless to-do list and I'm never, ever in the mood to mop. Some things have been terrible. My beautiful dog slash child Maple was diagnosed with terminal cancer (lymphoma), and her treatments are costing a flight to Europe every three weeks. We had an unsuccessful embryo implantation attempt, and the news for both of these horrible events was delivered in one 48 hours period. It led to a period of depression and apathy in general, although weddings, Taylor Swift, hot weather and people around me have been a welcome respite. Right now, life is a little in limbo. I feel on the precipice of opportunities and life events that could be wonderful - wedding, child, career. But these are three things that have also been taken away time and time again. So the hope is there, quietly, anxiously. I told my partner I realised I'm always clenched and keep needing to remind myself to relax my body, does he do that too? He was like no- that's just you little anxious micro! Baby steps. So all I can do now is wait and hope for the best. Whatever happens, happens. I may do one more update of the wedding - one, because it's happy and fun, two, who doesn't love stalking weddings, and three - I don't like that this has ended on 19, 20 is more rounded. So one more update in a month's time, and then in due course when I can speak in past tense rather than present. Thanks for sticking with me, letting me use this blog as free cathartic therapy, and allowing me to share our story to date. Storytelling in all its forms, from Indigenous rock paintings to film, music, blogs and spoken word is how we communicate, connect, learn and empathise with each other and the world. So thank you for letting me share mine - so far. xx Jess. --- Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

Just freeze your eggs and you can totally have kids later, yeah? A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows that epitomise the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 18 of a series. For a recap of Part 1, click here. You know, I haven't really thought about where this blog series goes. Hopefully winning $200m in the lottery and living happily ever after (people who say money doesn't buy happiness definitely already have money. Because it definitely makes me very happy). But I digress. We had gone through months of research - countries, agencies, legal ramifications, costs, financial documents, loans, counselling, everything. I won't bore you all, but doing all that while both working full time jobs.... it's a lot. It still is. I've actually forgotten what it must be like to have no life admin to do. Is this being a parent? As previously stated, for various reasons, we found Colombia was looking like our only feasible option. To be honest, we didn't love it - neither of us had even been to South America, we didn't know many people who had, and the reputation is somewhat stereotyped in the media as to our visions of what it might be like. It just made the whole thing feel even harder, more foreign, more weird, more difficult. It appears you can look into international surrogacy two ways that I know of - through an agency, or directly with a clinic (like an IVF clinic). A clinic is cheaper, but you need to organise everything yourself - a lawyer, your documents, your embryo transfer, your insurance, you manage everything. Considering we were dealing with human life in another country, we didn't want the risk, and so looked into an agency who would take care of everything from A to Z. Again, it's all very weird. The amount of information you need to hand over to strangers about you, your life, your relationship, your medical history, your finances. Everyone you know is very intrigued, because of course, they care about you, but also, it's so different and unusual and interesting. We would both go through phases of updating people, and real story fatigue when yet again something went wrong or was unsuccessful. I tell people now - it's like asking someone so, how you going after the terrible break-up? Maybe nice to check in over a cup of tea. Don't ask it when they walk into a bar for a good night out, yeah? Part of this process, or even us doing IVF in the future (as I was now 35) was preserving embryos. I had done it once already - for those who don't know (I had zero idea) this is a similar process to egg freezing, where my eggs were extracted. If you're freezing solo, that's it. For embryo creation, they are combined with your partner's sperm and turned into embryos. If doing IVF right away, they'll put one back in the woman. We chose to freeze while looking at options. As we did not get as many as we hoped, we did this twice. I will also use this a PSA for people, particularly women, looking at freezing eggs or embryos, not as a doctor or health expert, just as someone who's done it. I will say, we are so lucky to live in the 21st century and have this science available to us. I mean, honestly, being able to freeze embryos, check for disease, and to help people become parents to healthy babies is beautiful and magical and incredible. But it also isn't a guarantee. I think lots of women think, 'Oh, I'll just freeze my eggs,' if they aren't ready for children, or haven't met someone they want to have children with. And it's fine as a precaution. Just be very clear with yourself that it isn't a guarantee. For example - my first 'round,' I had around 10 eggs. Out of these 10, six survived. Of the six, only two were successfully combined with sperm to make an embryo. Two. The second time, I got 14 eggs - the most of anyone that day. (Side note, I told my younger sister that I Won The Hospital. She called me Monica and hung up. But I did win!) Of those 14, only four survived. Of the four, just one became an embryo. One. And of these three embryos - it's not guaranteed they will work. It's just a guarantee that the others WON'T. So it's worth looking into. It's just worth understanding that it may not be a 100%-dead set-contingency plan. So we had three hopeful little embryos that we weren't really sure what we were doing with. Perhaps hoping I was magically cured. Perhaps not. But they are there, waiting. So are we. --- Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows that epitomise the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 17 of a series. For a recap of Part 1, click here. We had met and matched with an Australian surrogate. Just as I started the IVF treatment for egg collection, she bailed on us. We were at a complete loss, ending 2022 with hope, only for 2023 to begin with a round of IVF injectables in our freezer, roughly 10K out of pocket on a surrogate that was not going to continue. Our meet-ups had gone well, and all seemed positive, she was so self-assured and on board that we all felt really happy for the year ahead. After we signed and started egg collection back in Melbourne, after months of psychological evaluations, mandatory legal appointments, blood tests, health consultations, Zooms, messages and a whole trip to Perth, she ended up saying that it was too much with her own daughter's pregnancy and bowed out. While it made sense, this was after going dark on us with communication - which when you're starting egg collection injections, put me in a panic - demanding we pay for her to get individual counselling, bailing on shared appointments, and acting what I felt was passive-aggressively online. It wasn't the reason, but the way she went about it. Why have us fly out to Perth? Why tell me to go ahead with the egg collection? Why sign all the documents when you knew? It was difficult - here you have a stranger that feels like an angel on Earth, willing to do such a thankless thing that will change your life, and then it is taken away. It's hard to be mad at them, after all, they were doing YOU the favour - but I had to then cut off all communications. It was too painful. To be honest, it felt like miscarrying all over again, to have the hope and then have it taken away. Again. We decided to do the egg collection and embryo freezing anyway. I was 34, we would need them at some point. I was lucky in that my egg collection was uneventful - I wasn't sick this time, and we ended up with two embryos for freezing. But if someone even gently asked how it was all going, I would just start crying uncontrollably. I was a mess. I was crying all the time. I cried when I woke up and I cried when I went to bed. I cried in the shower, at work, in the car. I dyed my hair blue. We were both depressed, and were just so over it with the year already starting on such a downer. On top of this, I just felt so, so, incredibly stupid. I HATED telling people what had happened, like I was some f*cking idiot who truly believed some stranger from the internet was going to carry my baby. I felt like such a moron talking about it with friends, with family, external relatives. I felt like everyone thought I was making things overcomplicated, too dramatic, too stressful, too weird. I'd see posts online that if you need a surrogate that's disgusting, and 'some people just aren't meant to be parents.' I have come to think that this is only something either people with kids, or people who don't want kids, could say. I felt done with the idea of altruistic surrogacy, where the 'power,' for lack of a better word, was all in their hands to change their mind at a moment's notice. I just wanted to pay someone, properly, above board, with a reputable clinic where the woman was in control of her body and decisions, and do it well. Like, LET'S GO. --- Convincing my partner wasn't easy. He wanted to look at all the other options, and said no matter what, it was about us being together. The last bit was beautiful, but I just wasn't ready to give up. I needed to know I had thrown everything I could before admitting defeat, knowing my life just felt empty now without being a parent. And the thought of making my partner childless just felt unimaginable to me. He HAD to be a dad. And I HAD to be a mum. It just might have to be done a different way. ---- I dusted off the overseas spreadsheet. Though the decision making process was tumultuous, we both finally got on board and explored options, which actually took months. Just like with adoption, there are many forms, companies, and legalities. Countries where it is legal, countries where it 'isn't illegal,' and countries where it's full-blown human trafficking. Then in these countries - do they accept couples who are unmarried? Gay? How do your embryos get there? How do they find these women? Do the women consent, are they taken care of? How long does it take? How much does it cost? How do we know it's legit? In terms of the last question, I mean, I still don't really know. Proof from people you meet with babies, I guess? We met many agency reps online - some English first language, others not. A lot was very transactional - you get x many goes for y much money, you pay a if this happens, b if this happens. I won't lie - it's all very weird. We decided together that we didn't want any agencies that didn't allow contact with the surrogate, as we wanted to be able to check in and know she was okay. After hearing horror stories, we didn't want war torn countries, so that cut out Ukraine and the fear in nearby Georgia, which were the cheapest options. We couldn't afford Greece, Cyprus, Argentina or the USA. We wanted Mexico (Cancun! Spring break!) but they said embryos can take a year to get in. So that left us with Colombia. --- Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

In desperation, you start to trust your heart over your head. A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows that epitomise the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 16 of a series. For a recap of Part 1, click here. One Facebook group I joined was women offering to be surrogates. I saw one post that caught my eye - a woman from Perth, who said she had now had her children, but wanted to be pregnant and give the joy of parenthood to someone, or someones, who needed it. I got in touch. She answered. --- Even now, writing all this, I feel nuts, like what I will write sounds like one of those weird stories you read about in That's Life alongside 'My crocodile ate my husband's penis' or 'I married my father's long lost twin.' But it all happened. I supposed when you're desperate, you'll do anything. The woman, who I will call Beth, seemed... weirdly normal. We chatted a bit on Facebook Messenger, and quickly moved to video to make sure we weren't catfishing each other. I didn't get it. Beth was... not strange and not just wanting money? She was late 30s, a teacher, who had kids young. She seemed to be a kind woman - she had many rescue animals, volunteered with kids, and had loved pregnancy. I have read that the body can make women feel this way in their late 30s, early 40s, either as a sign that in olden times, they would have grandkids now, or before menopause, when its your body's last hurrah. I don't know if any of that is true, but perhaps it was where she came from. She said she had had two great pregnancies, and wanted to do it again after reading all the stories of people who couldn't. It seemed it was going to benefit her with her work leave financially, which hey, happy if she had outside motivation. I was still gobsmacked that someone was willing to do this for a literal stranger. We kept chatting, about the surrogacy, yes, but also just banter - TV shows, our lives, travels. We became what felt like friends, it was all very easy, she had a no-nonsense Aussie-mum kind of attitude. Once we had all quote unquote 'committed' to each other (legit, you have to ask if they're talking to anyone else like you're dating, it's so cringe) we got in touch with a clinic here who facilitate this type of arrangement. As alluded to in my last post, it's not like, LET'S GO, which is pretty much my mantra alongside 'YES I WANT TO COME TO BALI/GO TO THAT MUSICAL WITH YOU.' (Except Cats. Never, ever Cats). Over the next few months, all three of us - Beth, my partner and I - had to undergo psychological interviews, legal interviews, blood tests, health tests, medical questionnaires, personality questionnaires. While it was painfully irritating and slow and expensive, it felt we were moving. In December of 2022, we decided to fly to Perth to meet her - we just had to be sure she was really there, and actually a real person! We were lucky enough to stay in a friend's place, and made a trip out of it (side note, Perth is amazing). We met up with Beth a few times - once at a lunch, which maybe was a tad awkward, but fine - and again at a restaurant with her daughter, who, at 18 or 19, was pregnant herself. Beth didn't seem overly pleased, but it was happening. They would be like Father of the Bride II, pregnant together! We reiterated how it would work, where we would do everything (we were happy for her to stay in Perth and we would keep flying over), how we could pay for everything, how incredibly grateful we were, how we wanted her to feel comfortable with anything she needed, anything we could help with - meals, child care, transport, money. We left feeling really positive, and I came home and started the IVF medication, ready for my egg collection. The next week, Beth bailed. --- Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

#sorrynotsorry Our real V Day hero. Image: Warner Bros. Pictures February 14 means one of two things: a day of love, or who gives a f*ck, with people falling firmly into one of either category. As a lover of themes, weddings, compliments and presents (my love language is: all of them), I think it's a fun little way to say I love you. But I may be in the minority, with only 23% of Australians planning to celebrate Valentine's Day this year. Why do we celebrate Valentine's Day? While the origins of the day are mixed - for a Pagan fertility ritual to a patron Saint Valentine who would marry lovers in secret - the holiday can be traced all the way back to the third century. What led to sending romantic sonnets and poems soon amassed into an industry worth $480 million. The argument against Valentine's Day On one side, the argument is, why is there only one day to show love for your partner, friends or family? This should be everyday, I don't need to commercialise how I feel. And in theory, of course, this makes sense. Every day, we should tell those we love how we feel, try to alleviate their stress, do something nice, give them a hug, get them a treat, give them a compliment. But, you know. There's laundry to fold, and a kitchen bench to clean (seriously. There's always a kitchen bench to clean), and the dog needs to go to the vet and the kids need their lunches and that report for the boss is due and I need to work out but I also need to watch the latest episode of my show and so sometimes it just... slips away from being front of mind. I could go on a date, or I could sit in my room and watch My Stories. I should sit and ask about their hopes and dreams, but I need to listen to the finale of my true crime podcast. She busy. Why we should celebrate Valentine's Day My point is, sometimes life gets in the way, and while you should of course never let this completely takeover, a day to really let love in isn't so bad! Just like we should always be conscious of our energy usage, but we are more so on Earth Day, or always think about Women's Rights, but they're at the forefront on International Women's Day, and while your mum should be celebrated 24/7, there's extra attention on Mother's Day. Valentine's Day can be that gentle reminder to take a moment with those you love to reconnect and just enjoy each other's company. It also doesn't just have to be a significant other - my late dad always gave me a chocolate rose or bunch of flowers, and I've adored spending Galentine's Day with my girlfriends on February 13. Why not? Love is one of the most powerful emotions on Earth. Battles have been fought, wars have been won, poems have been written and songs have been sung. To me, Valentine's Day is more a reminder to take some time for you and the person or people you love. It isn't about spending a lot of money on gifts, crazy extravagant dates, meals or declarations of love (although note to my partner: I'm not averse). It's about saying, hey. I'm taking a moment, away form the distractions of life, to acknowledge the love I have for you every day. It could be at the top of the Eiffel Tower, or it could be eating your favourite home cooked meal on the couch. How it is done doesn't really matter. But there's nothing wrong with acknowledging momentous occasions in life. In between the work, the chores, the schooling and the sleep, there's the celebrations, the holiday seasons, the births, deaths and marriages, the graduations, the promotions, the winning, the losing, the concerts, the trips, the couch chats and yes, the day of love. Why not? Because without them - both the celebrations and the downturns - this is what creates a life of love and everything in between.

A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows that epitomise the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 15 of a series. For a recap of Part 1, click here. The stress of the two pregnancy losses was taking a severe toll on our relationship. You need one to try to be strong for the other, and in our shared grief, we just couldn't. We were determined that after everything, this would not be the thing that broke us. With both versions of our wedding cancelled twice, the two pregnancy losses and the two family deaths, we decided we needed a break. While some restrictions were still in place, overseas travel was back. We took a much-needed trip to Hawaii - basically, the honeymoon before the wedding. It helped us with resetting, confirming our love for each other, and figuring out how the f*ck we were going to move forward (it also confirmed how expensive Hawaii is - go to Bali instead). As anyone who knows me would vouch for, in stress, I go into Full Planner Mode. You lost your passport and wallet? I'll make a list of everyone we need to call, photocopies needed, police reports, transfers required. You missed your flight? I've mapped out how to get there by land, rail and sea, let's go. So with this, I threw my stress into options. After adoption and fostering were put in the 'later' basket, I began to research the world of surrogacy. Anyone doing this will tell you - it's a club we're in that we never wanted to join. For the uninitiated, surrogacy is when a woman volunteers to carry and deliver a baby that is not her own. I used to think it was gross until I actually understood how it works. It can be 'traditional' - her egg and the 'father's' sperm, or 'gestational' - someone else's egg and sperm (embryo) meaning she has no genetic relation whatsoever. Think of it as you and your husband make a cake, and cook it in your friend's oven. The gestational is what I was researching. Our baby, still. But who would do this for someone? In certain countries, like the USA, Colombia, Greece, Mexico, Cyprus, to name a few - it's much clearer. A woman can volunteer, is paid handsomely, there are contracts, and everyone is aware of what is happening. In Australia, where we live, it is only legal to do 'altruistically' which means, you cannot be paid to be a surrogate. The surrogate mother (SM) should not be out of pocket - so you can pay medical bills, clothes, medicals etc - but no 'lump sum' for doing this. The argument against is around human trafficking, which I can respect. However, if consenting adults can do it all altruistically - which takes months of IVF, psychological screenings, legal screenings, presenting in front of a 'panel' to determine if you can go ahead - why shouldn't she be paid? In my view, everyone else makes money - the IVF clinic, the lawyers, the psychologists - everyone except the person actually doing this for someone else. My point is, I became pretty obsessed. I made pages and pages of spreadsheets of countries, clinics, costs, timelines. I joined many Facebook groups for different countries like 'Australians doing surrogacy in Georgia' to find out more. I felt crazy, but at the same time, was learning so much I felt equipped to give a TED talk on the topic. My partner was hesitant. He was extremely concerned about the welfare of the potential SM - we both had nightmares that she would be in some sort of Taken scenario. What we really wanted was either a) someone we knew or b) to do it in the USA, where we could communicate both in our native English, everything is above board, in a place we had travelled to and knew well. Unfortunately, who would want to do a? We didn't ask, how could we? Most our friends and family had been in the middle of having children themselves. How do say, hey. Want to have IVF surgery, get fat, feel unwell for nine months, not drink or have soft cheese or sushi, talk time off work, have a baby - but then, give it to us? For free? (Enquire within). And with b, costs for surrogacy in the US started at around $250K, which was obviously impossible. It felt impossible even without the zero. So I kept researching, he stayed stressed and concerned about what was a foreign, weird and strange process. I dragged him to seminars and meet-ups, just wanting to 'fix' what was broken. One group I joined was women offering to be surrogates. I should also stress - in Australia, it is illegal to advertise for a surrogate too. Most the women in this group were from African nations, or it all felt a bit scammy. But I saw one post that caught my eye - a woman from Perth, who said she had now had her children, but wanted to be pregnant and give the joy of parenthood to someone, or someones, who needed it. I got in touch. She answered. --- Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

Have you ever wondered how foster care works in Victoria? A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows that epitomise the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 14 of a series. For a recap, click here. --- After two pregnancy losses and realising that adoption was in no way going to be a smooth process, we were told by many to look into the foster system. People around us - adoption agents, doctors, psychologists - said it was 'much easier,' that it was quicker, and it was a way to help vulnerable children in need. I would say from my limited experience exploring the system, the above is both correct and incorrect. At one stage, we looked into fostering a child, or children. We still are open to it. But what we didn't realise is everything that goes along with it. The Victorian foster care system, sometimes called state care in other regions, is assisting in housing and caring for children who, for a range of reasons, cannot live at home. This can go from a single day to ongoing care, and you are there to provide food, clothing, shelter, and emotional support to children in need. It sounds as though it can be incredibly rewarding for all parties, providing a safe haven for children who need it. It is also a great option for people who may not want to have their own or commit to long term, but want to help out when they can; for people who couldn't have children or adopt for various reasons; or people who have been through a similar system themselves and want to provide care. There are a few 'versions' of foster care in Victoria. Emergency care is when you provide a safe space for a children, or children, who have been removed from their home and need a place to stay. It may not be long term. Respite care is taking a child or children who already have foster parents for a weekend or short stay. It is designed to give everyone a bit of a break, commonly for children who need extra support. Short term foster care is when you look after a child or children who may be awaiting a decision to go back home, or another placement based upon the courts. Long term foster care is, in a way, similar to adoption - a placement to become the child's legal guardian for all intents and purposes until they turn 18. The long term care essentially makes you a parent, but there are some differences to adoption - there are no name changes, they are not legally your 'child' after 18 (for issues such as inheritance), and in some instances, you may choose for the relationship to discontinue. When you adopt, the child is yours as if you had them biologically. We did some research on the above, and had a few online meetings with a foster care service. I know after our discussion that at this stage of my life, I would not be able to handle emergency or short term care, or long term without a court agreement that they were 'ours.' The idea of getting close to, and loving, a child that could be taken away from me would just be too much for my heart to bear. Knowing that I could have a child for four weeks, months, years, only for them to leave, was not something I knew I could cope with at that time. We were open to respite care, as all parties know it is just a weekend, and there is no confusion. The foster lady also really wanted us on board - my partner could take a little kid fishing or boating, take some kids to movies or Luna Park, and back home they go. But to be honest, while lovely, and still something we would like to do down the track... it wasn't enough. Not for everyone. But for us. We also have looked into long term care, and it is still something we are considering. However, for both this and adoption, it is a fairly long process. Interviews, tests, house inspections. You need a room ready for the child (which we presently don't have solely, it is also a WFH office) which I can understand, but not many people have a spare kids room in case one comes by, ready to go! The idea of having an empty kid's room also makes me feel very sad. They also prefer that the child placed with you, and same for adoption, is the youngest. So if we had a baby, they wouldn't then go out of their way to place a 7 year old with us, which had us disappointed. She also said that by the time a child gets to long term care, a lot of the time, they have been through the system. This is a child who may have gone in and out of foster homes and back home again, and now for a final reason, needs a long term placement. They are tired, traumatised, and deeply affected by this upbringing, as anyone would be. "For instance," she said, "We may give you a call and say, we have an overtly sexual 12 year old girl, or a somewhat violent five year boy. Will you accept them into your care?" Would I? Immediately, again, you feel like a massive piece of sh*t. They need people like us, you think, to help them on the straight and narrow. Be the hero they need, provide that love and support. The other side of me gets frightened and doesn't know that I'm a big enough person to handle it. Again... this could also just happen with my own biological child, so just go with it. Also... I couldn't help but think... what if we don't like each other? She said if things don't work out you can call, but I thought that must be even more awful for the child. What if it had already happened to them 12 times? There's not really a 'try before you buy' situation. This kid is thrust into the home of people they don't know, and may not like or gel with... and it goes both ways. Also, without a court order, there are a lot of rules on fostering. For instance, many children stay in touch with their families, with face-to-face catch ups (not on your property) or online, and these relationships are encouraged to continue. The foster agencies can also help with taking kids to school, welfare payments, and if any party is struggling. Training is mandatory. Without a court order, you cannot, for example, take the child away on a holiday interstate or overseas. Even if you wanted to go within your state, you need to call and let the agency know. Any adult who will be around the child needs to have been vetted first - even friends you may have pop round, who may be at a holiday house, etc. This all makes sense, but it does just add to the complex nature of it all. These children will have come from traumatised backgrounds - mental, physical, a lot of the times both. They may have coping mechanisms including outbursts, being withdrawn, violence, overly emotional, learning difficulties, social difficulties, that you need to help nurture. I will say - if I am incorrect here, I am very happy to be wrong. If you are reading this as someone who knows the process much better than I, have gone through it, know it, please do reach out, I am still learning. It is a lot. It is still something we think we may do at some point. We just weren't sure if it should be our first stop with no experience as parents, particularly in complex matters, without a room specifically ready, and without wanting to cause any more hardship or disruption to these children's lives. I wanted a child I could nurture and raise from infancy into adulthood, that no one could take away after everything else had been taken. I wanted to help them settle in at school, not a poor 12 year old who arrives, is thrust into a new room and school and is forced to just go with it. How unsettling for them. I'd hate my foster parents too, especially if they tried too hard to parent me or give me rules or did weird rituals I didn't understand. So we thought, and decided to put it not in the yes, not in the no, but in the not right now. And then we thought we found our solution. Next: Conversations at Brunch | I think they're doing... surrogacy?! | Part 15 --- Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

Just head to the baby market and like, get one? A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows of the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 13 of a series. For a recap of Part 1, click here. --- You just gotta get out there "I don't get it... why don't they just adopt?" Be honest. Have you ever felt this way about people you've heard are doing 10 rounds of IVF, having trouble conceiving, doing surrogacy, or have given up on having kids at all? I'll be honest: I have. Before I started our family-making process (at risk of overusing the word 'journey' like an Australian Idol contestant) I would hear of these stories and think, man, why don't they just adopt? There's so many kids out there who need a home, why are people so obsessed with their own DNA, or, why have five of your own kids when you could help another? As I've since learned, the only people who actually say this are those who already have their own biological children, or those who have no f*cking idea. When I was younger, and things like marriage, a house, getting taller and kids were tick-offs that were just going to... you know... 'happen,' I always envisioned adopting. I loved, and still love, the idea of one or two of my own, and one or two adopted. Two to three in total (probably two. Any more and you're outnumbered). I also thought, if I end up having two boys, I can adopt a girl, or vice-versa. I loved the idea of being pregnant at least once, just to know what it feels like, to go through what the majority of women have done since the dawn of time, and yes, to see what a child of my partner and I looks like, acts like, what their likes, dislikes, dreams and aspirations are. Is it nature or nurture? Who would they be? What will they become? I also loved the idea of providing a stable home for a child who may not have otherwise had one, and giving this child all the love and security they would need to thrive. I knew my partner would be the best dad in the world to both types of kids as well. This yearn to give an adopted child a home only grew stronger after we got a rescue dog in 2019 (people with rescue dogs get this, people without, that's on you). While difficult at first, adopting a dog has been one of the best things to ever happen to my cold and selfish ways - and you feel fine giving her everything - after all, she's a rescue, she deserves it more!!! But I digress. To be honest, I wasn't really sure what the adoption process was. I had heard it was hard, but I didn't understand the difference between adopting in Australia and overseas, timeframes, who could and couldn't, how much it cost, and the time it would take. My only real knowledge came from Jennifer Lopez's (obviously amazing) performance of a character adopting in What to expect when you're expecting, and the funny relationship between Stanley Tucci and his adopted kid in Easy A. So... why can't you just adopt? As I have since learnt, as of 2023, all adoptions in our state must go through the Department of Justice, whether you are looking to adopt a child from Victoria or one from South Korea. You can't simply head to an orphanage in India and just... pick up a baby. All of this is good and bad, and the below is just my opinion. The good part is, obviously, people need to be vetted, and it's good in a way that the process is so arduous and stringent so that these children go into safe homes. No one should be able to cruise into a country and just pick up a child and walk out. The down side is, it can be extremely disheartening to know how many children around the world live waiting for a family, but the bureaucratic process makes it extremely difficult to provide one, even when you're ready, willing and able. When I started looking into it properly, I was sent documentation to read that was longer than War and Peace. Toward the end of some 50-odd pages, you're basically told that the waiting list is full, and that there is basically a three year wait to just get ON the waiting list. We were devastated, but decided the best thing we could do is just start right away. You are also given information about the adoption process. For instance, as people who live in the state of Victoria, the aim would be for the Department to place us firstly with a Victorian child, with the system being quite different in other states. You can also apply for international adoptions, but then each country is another separate application. Adopting from overseas is also extremely difficult, and Australia only has adoption agreements with certain countries, known as The Hague Convention. For example, many countries won't allow access to single mothers, parents over 40, gay parents, or even anyone with anxiety issues (so... everyone?) To me, a lot of this is ludicrous, considering this is the main cohort of people who would want to adopt. I also feel that anyone going through this whole process is someone who wants so badly to be a parent, whereas anyone can just give birth even if they're a terrible parent. It's a warped system and needs an overhaul for sure. Then, most of the countries that will even consider you have extremely long waiting lists - for a baby from China, you're looking at 10 years minimum. In Thailand, single mothers are only able to adopt a child with special needs. Sri Lanka prefers to only deal with Sri Lankan adoptive parents. To adopt a child from South Korea, you must have been legally married for three years - no de facto, single applicants, or gay applicants allowed. From Poland, they are usually aged 7 and above with severe issues like blindness or heart disease, and even then, they prefer if you are Polish. Hong Kong prefers a Chinese background, takes 3+ years, and children have usually faced significant challenges. And these are just the countries where we would be considered. We don't qualify for the rest. In Australia, adoptions since the 1970s are down a whopping 93 per cent. In many ways, this is of course great news - there is less stigma on teen pregnancies, single mothers and divorce, as well as more awareness of contraception and abortion. But for those looking to adopt, it can be disheartening. In the 2019-2020 period, only 48 local adoptions were completed in the whole of Australia. Between 2021-2022, just 12 intercountry adoptions were finalised. For gay people, the stats are even worse - a total of just five children have been adopted by same sex-couples since 2017. FIVE. So, this is what you are up against before you even begin. We did fill out an application and met with someone from the Department. She then explained to us that getting on the list didn't necessary mean it was your 'turn.' It meant you are now part of the pool of parents who can be considered with the placement of a child, but that it depends on that child's circumstances, as well as your own, and that it was never guaranteed that it would even happen. This of course makes sense - you don't just 'get' a kid because you're #2 and you waited three years. It needs to be a match that satisfies the complex physical, social, and emotional needs of all involved. Even then, and this part may upset some, but I want to be real - you are dealing with children who have been through significant physical or mental trauma, a lot of the time, both. The example we were given is that we could wait three or so years to go into the 'pool.' And after that, the type of children they place usually have complex individual needs. "Right now," she said, "We are looking to place a 12 year old girl who is deaf and mute and in a wheelchair, and will need assisted living the rest of her life." Your heart stops, and then goes wildly in two directions. The first, I'm sorry, is an oh my gosh, I cannot do that. I cannot handle that. I cannot take that on. The other part of you thinks, oh, this poor, poor person who just needs someone to love and care for them. Then you start feeling like the world's most evil person because you don't think you could handle the sadness and trauma of caring for an adoptive child who can't speak, hear, eat or go to the toilet by herself, and will be like this for life. Basically, you just feel like a giant piece of sh*t. She said that the majority of children they place are older, have been through the foster system, and have significant issues ranging from blindness to deep-rooted trauma and violent outbursts. Of course, this is not everyone. Many children do not have these issues, and even the ones that do, can go into loving families and thrive, they're the ones who need it most. But statistically speaking, many of these poor children have been through the ringer, and really need the kind of parents who can step up and be heroes. Were we those people? We didn't know. And there may be some who consider us disgusting and selfish, and those who understand. But you will never truly know until it is you. It felt like one thing to accept when it happens to you - for example, your own child is in an accident, or you make a choice to dedicate your life to assisted living. But when you've already experienced a lot of trauma yourselves and are forced down a road you didn't think you would be at, the prospect of it then turning out to be even more difficult, for the rest of your life, was a challenging question to answer on the spot. Afterward, we discussed, and decided we would need more experience as parents to know if it was something we could take on, and make sure that we are the people who could give a child like this the love and nurture they also require and deserve. For us, it wasn't a hard no, but in the end, we decided it was a not right now for this particular situation. After this, we were given a questionnaire to fill out - you have to give a lot about your own history, like your finances, your house, your job, your mental and physical health, and why you would make a good parents. I didn't know which way to go with the mental illness - do I say 'I'm fine now, I'm perfect, I'm clean!' to try and sound like I have my shit together, or do I acknowledge I have bad days and this would help me resonate if the child does too? You are also required to fill in the world's worst checklist, where you are asked to place a tick or cross next to the physical and mental ailments you would and would not accept. For instance - could you accept a child with: Anxiety? Tick. Cleft lip? Tick. Marks or scars? Tick. And then there are sections like, Incest? Blind? Deaf? Mute? AIDS? So you have to float between feeling like the world's biggest piece of sh*t, but being realistic with yourself and your partner about what you could handle. And again - who is to say that your biological child wouldn't have any of these ailments? These kids need love and a home as much as anyone, why are you such a f*ckwit monster that you won't care for a blind Sri Lankan boy born from incest that needs a home? You belong in hell. But it's difficult. You have to be real, not just for yourself, but the child. Children aren't stupid - they know when people, particularly adults, are disingenuous, and they can feel it. I couldn't pretend that there were certain issues I felt I could deal with and have that child in a house where they feel like a burden. They deserve parents who provide that love, nurture and care. Maybe I could. But I wasn't certain, not at that point. So we filled it in, hated ourselves, and got on the list to get on the list to get in the pool. I tell you all this so that next time you think, "Why don't they just adopt?" There is no "just." We want to. We're trying. We're waiting. --- Next: Conversations at brunch | Why don't they just do foster care? | Part 14 Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

Is that the thing Kate Middleton had? A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows of the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 12 of a series. For a recap of Part 1, click here. *Please note: this blog depicts discussion of suicide and loss. If this brings up issues for you, please contact Lifeline on 13 11 14.* The talk about loss is still very hard for me. I was experiencing exceptional grief, trauma, loss and sadness, which is still ongoing, even now. The below is an excerpt of a letter I wrote from this period. -- I still think about my little Noodle from November every day. The day I found out we had made a baby was one of the happiest of my life. I planned the name, the classes, the leave, the party. I went to Chadstone and bought looser dresses, as I was so excited to be pregnant over summer. I downloaded the app and started tracking Noodle’s progress immediately. I wanted to shout out from the rooftops how happy I was after the year from hell. Afterwards, I keep thinking, Noodle's birthday was July 12, same as mine, which just made ongoing birthdays so flat and sad. I knew it was early days and to keep it quiet, but internally, I was just bursting with excitement. I still wonder what she would look like, or what we would call him. I think about what my body is ‘supposed’ to look like now. I think about how unfair it is that all our friends are having babies, and how much I want to be in that baby club. I think about how excited we were when it was a yes, and how I just had no idea what was happening when it wasn’t, or why this was happening to me, to us, and being in the hospital, alone, not understanding what was happening, or why. I couldn’t stand how sad it made my husband, and my mum. I was so mad at myself for telling people, for getting them excited, for my body “not working” like I wanted it to for me, for him, for our families. How unfair it was that this had to happen to us, after everything. I get teary just thinking about it and need to block it from my mind. If I have to talk about, I can't stop sobbing, even now, at the trauma of it all. We tried our best to get past it. The bleeding and cramping was horrible. I had also just felt awful over the last year – my hair was thinning, and I had gained excessive amounts of weight over lockdown. Every day, I just wanted to call my dad to talk about it and everything in between, and I couldn't, and still can't. Grieving all of this is just so hard that it takes a lot to get out of bed sometimes. In 2022, the trying again was also somewhat difficult. We both felt such pressure to ‘make it happen,’ and were so disappointed when it didn’t. There was pressure and anger, sadness, blame and disappointment. Finally, when the test said yes for the second time, around April of 2022, I was elated. I was so, so happy that it could happen, and that we would still be in ‘the baby year’ with all our friends for what was going to be our little Christmas bundle! I wanted to shout it from the rooftops again that I was so filled with joy for us and our lives ahead - but I didn't. We kept this one quiet. I felt like this one had to be it – no one miscarries twice, we were having a summer baby, the leave was perfect, mat leave was coming, we would have the renos done. 2022 was the year of positivity! Is that the thing Kate Middleton had? That first week of knowing (Week 5 or 6), by the end of it, I felt a slight build-up of nausea at the back of my throat, very mild, but it was, you know… cute. I turned my nose up at certain foods, just wanted some toast or tea. In a way, I liked that. It made it feel like it was ‘working,’ or that it was ‘real.’ This time, it was truly happening. While I can’t remember exactly when it hit, all I know is that sometime in that next week, I was hit with an illness unlike anything that has ever happened to me. I’ve had severe depression, suffered grief, was bedridden with the flu, hospitalised for tonsillitis, had a parent die, been drugged against my will, and had pneumonia– and it all absolutely pales in comparison. It is very hard to explain. The best I can think to describe it is that I felt like I turned 98 overnight, and all of a sudden, any movement I made felt like literal, physical torture on my whole body. I could barely get out of bed from the pain from my head to my feet, and thought I might pass out if I even stood up or put my head up. The illness started and did not stop for a moment. The ongoing nausea I experienced was horrendous, debilitating, and made me honestly feel like I was dying. This was not 'regular' pregnancy nausea, which is still awful. Every single morning after that first day of being unwell, whether I ate or not, literally every few minutes I was retching, vomiting up bile, water or what I ate, carrying a bucket around because I was too scared to go a moment without. This did not relent, meaning I could never relax or feel well because the nausea was all consuming. It wasn't just 'throwing up a lot,' even though that in itself is horrendous for even two minutes, let alone weeks or months on end. The body fatigue and exhaustion were terrifying. Suddenly, I couldn't even get dressed, and didn't get out of an ugly old nightgown for weeks. Putting on clothes felt like asking me to run a marathon. The idea of being in the shower with water on me felt too much ‘pressure’ and too ‘heavy’ for my body to comprehend, like rocks falling on my body, so I went days and weeks without because the thought of it filled me with dread and anxiety. I barely would have had the strength to turn on the tap. Walking to the toilet or kitchen felt like an Olympic sport. I couldn’t hug my partner or even pat my dog, which made me cry because my dog couldn't understand. Trying to just walk around the block left me severely winded and needing to recuperate and vomit even more. All I ate was some forced crackers, jelly and some bites of toast for weeks on end so I wouldn't starve, even though I would throw it all straight up, leaving my body not quite right for months. Afterward, for some reason, there was months of no dairy and gluten, and bouts of unexplained nausea when I would be walking to work, at an event or at the shops. The whole time, despite drinking copious amounts of hydrolyte, I became so dehydrated that my blood sugar dropped to dangerous levels, while together the fatigue, malnutrition and dehydration saw me lose 10 kilos in three weeks - while pregnant. The lack of bowel movements was severely, severely terrifying, uncomfortable, painful, exhausting, and problematic. It only increased the nausea and shortness of breath, rendering me unable to sleep or breath properly, but so insanely fatigued that I would just lie there, sick, feeling tortured physically, doing nothing, counting minutes. It felt like torture or that ‘locked-in’ syndrome. I tried everything - doctors, medications, western, eastern medicine, herbs, all of it. I would have done anything. It would help a tad, but not a lot. Picture gastro or your worst ever hangover- and it never, ever ends. I could barely speak or even text. I was still in my first year of a job and flat out couldn’t even text to say I wasn’t in. I didn’t work for over a month and had to became a casual on zero pay. At the same time, I was still experiencing pregnancy symptoms – so my breasts were incredibly engorged and in pain, I needed to pee every two seconds, and the nausea and headaches did not stop. I could not eat, go to the toilet, get dressed, have a conversation, or keep my eyes open enough to watch TV, which derailed passing the time. I was incontinent at 33 in the middle of the day. I couldn’t put on a bra or walk my dog or make a meal or have a life. I flat out did not work, see friends, get dressed, talk to my mum or leave the house unless it was for a medical appointment for a month, which took a terrible toll on my mental health. I tried everything imaginable – I took Zofran, a drug for chemotherapy patients. I tried Pramin, ginger, b-vitamins, every vitamin, changed my diet. I was at the doctor or acupuncturist every second day begging, praying to get better. Internally, I felt like a corpse that was slowly dying. I have since learned that in essence, HG is your body shutting down. I had to cancel everything I had looked forward to after two years of grief, including trips to Tasmania, Adelaide, and Europe. My mental health, even when on anti-depressants, was at a worrying, all time low, perhaps because I was throwing them up, or because of the ongoing mental and physical torture. I would wake up early after barely sleeping because I was feeling so incredibly sick. Take a Zofran and cracker. Lie there. Vomit. Wretch and vomit, again. Go to the bathroom and perform an enema on myself, lying on the cold bathroom floor undressed, crying uncontrollably and vomiting and hoping it would work, and it barely did anything, leaving me feeling sick and in pain. Vomiting again. Lying in bed feeling so lethargic I thought I would pass out, which would have at least been a welcome rest, but couldn't. Forcing some toast down. Crying. Throwing that up. Doing a suppository in the bathroom again, crying, it doesn’t work. Feeling hot and cold and dirty and exhausted. It was still only about 8:30am. I had no idea how I would pass the day, even with TV on I could barely watch because I was so sick and tired and nauseous. I would maybe have an acupuncture or doctor appointment that I would mentally count the minutes to, because it was something to do in between bouts of vomiting or dry retching with muscles aching and my migraine soaring. Take more medication. Take 100 different drinks and pills to try to have a bowel movement that didn’t work. Leave all incoming texts and calls unanswered. Nothing. By now, it was maybe 10:00am. It was dark. It was insanely lonely. It was so difficult to be told ‘I’ll get through it,’ ‘It may end,’ ‘You’ll be so thankful,’ ‘Take a ginger,’ when you feel like you are literally dying. In some cases, women do. I would lie there severely, severely depressed. I had never been so mentally and physically sick at the same time in my life. As the weeks went on, I became seriously suicidal. I started Googling how to kill myself in the most painless and quickest way. Gassing myself in the car. Hanging myself. Taking a packet of pills. Drowning. Jumping off a building. I’m sorry, it is hard to read, but this is true. I have never had to deal with such mental and physical trauma, and thinking about that desperation still makes me really emotional that I could even consider doing that to myself, the baby, my partner and everyone I know and love. I am not in that place now. But it was desperation and a horrible place to be in, mentally and physically. I felt like a shadow, not even a person. I couldn’t understand why this had to happen to me, and to my husband, who had to be my carer- serving me, showering me, feeding me at my absolute worst as if I were an ill elderly person in hospice. Every day, I woke up praying it was gone, then being sick and just crying and vomiting and counting the hours until bedtime because sleep was something to do, even though I could barely sleep. I can honestly say that it is the worst thing my body and mind has ever gone through in my life and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy (and I have enemies). At the same time – I kept thinking about our little miracle. I had so many plans in my head for when it was going to be better. We were going to make a big movie poster for our pregnancy announcement. We were going to go on a January road trip, the four of us (Maple included obviously). We were getting matching shirts and our Christmas baby would be best friends with all the babies. They would go to school nearby and sit in our little car, and my husband would be the absolute best dad in the universe cuddling this tiny thing on his tall body. They would be adorable and then exhausting and then cute at school and then an angry teen and then awesome as a 20-year-old and then we would be at their wedding and be grandparents and everything was going to be perfect and amazing. When we saw that little heartbeat at 8 weeks, even though I was out of it, I just knew it was going to be worth it because that was OUR Christmas baby. At 10 weeks, there was no more heartbeat. ------- Those two days after it happened were, I think safe to say, two of the worst days of my and my partner's lives. It felt like time stood still in sadness and grief, our whole normally happy and cosy house feeling cold and sad. The grief was unlike any trauma I had ever had, including the shattering experiences over the last two years. It was all encompassing for us both. It was the unfairness. Why us? Why, again? Why don’t we get to be in the baby club? Why does someone else get to be pregnant? Why isn’t it as easy and fun for us as it is for everyone else? What did we do to deserve this? Why don’t we get to do it the ‘normal’ way like everyone else? You aren't just grieving the pregnancy itself. It’s the hope. Of what we had thought our lives would be, even before we met. Get married, buy a house, have our own little people. Of what those two babies were going to be, who they were, how they were going to fit into our family. Of having to tell everyone, and having to talk about it, f*cking over and over and OVER again. Of the immense sadness and longing for ourselves, what we wanted and couldn't have, and for each other. At the time, one of the hardest parts, including the miscarriages and illness and hospitalisation, was watching and trying to navigate my partner's grief. I just wished I could take his sadness away and replace it with light. His happiness was everything to me, and watching him truly, truly sad for the first time was just the most earth-shattering thing, and I just wanted to take it away, to just have a body that worked. I developed what I now know to be PTSD, even though I still feel a bit uneasy saying that when it's something that like, actual war veterans have. But every day, I would have flashes to all of it. Being in the bathroom and seeing it, in November and the last one. Of lying on the bathroom floor sobbing. Of being utterly bedridden beyond belief. Of not being able to lift a laundry basket. Of vomiting up bile. Of lying in bed, motionless. Of being in the hospital. Of being seriously suicidal. I was severely, severely traumatised by the entire episode. Physically, I had never had anything worse, and the most horrible part of it all is that it wasn’t even worth it. It took me a month and a half to have a proper bowel movement. This was after acupuncture, doctors, twice daily enemas and suppositories, hundreds of laxatives and shakes, and two colonics. For months afterward, I couldn’t eat dairy, gluten, red meat or alcohol, and had aversions to many foods that made me throw up constantly. For months, I still had to take a detox laxative shake before every dinner, monitor my movements and report to doctors. Months later, I still had low blood sugar and iron, and felt nauseous on a daily basis. I had to go to the dentist to have enamel replaced on five of my teeth, which had eroded significantly after throwing up so much bile. For months, I was still weak and couldn’t wear certain clothing or do certain activities as they were beyond my capacity. I am still now so exhausted and winded and tired all the time, and have still had to undergo tests, MRIs and countless appointments to figure out the issue. My hair thinned out even more, my skin broke out after messing with hormones, I was still in physical pain on my coccyx bone for weeks, and I bled and cramped for weeks. Mentally, l was severely traumatised. I still couldn’t believe what actually happened to me. In truthfulness, I honestly thought I was going to die. Not an exaggeration, but how I truly, truly felt. I was so sick, so depressed, and I felt I couldn’t talk or eat or breathe. I hated not having my parents here. I hated not having my doctor here. I hated that my husband had to be my carer, and I hated being sick. I felt like I was in a mental and physical prison or locked in, and it made me really sympathise with people who have euthanasia. I had no idea how I was going to get through, but kept counting on the fact that it was supposedly meant to ease up (but have learned it really doesn’t). Months later, I was in a paradox of emotions I was devastated about the loss. I wanted a baby. I wanted it to be easy. I wanted it now. I wanted to have a ‘normal’ pregnancy like other girls. I wanted THAT baby. I think about how far we would be, what we would be doing. At the same time... this is difficult to convey... but I was also so thankful to be physically and somewhat mentally better. The paradox was difficult in my mind. I was so grateful for things I had never thought about. I was thankful to put on a bra. To get out of bed. To put on make-up. To walk and hug my dog. To have a proper conversation with my husband. To kiss. To eat. To work. To live. If the only good I could get out of the whole thing was feeling well and 34 again, I had to take it. I had to. Or I would just drown. It was a hard time for both myself and my partner, with both of us grieving at the same time, but grieving differently. What is hyperemesis gravitarum? Hyperemsis gravitarum, or HG, is a life-threatening disease with no cure. It was suffered by Kate Middleton, Amy Schumer and Fifi Box to some degree. It is estimated to affect 1-3% of all women, but from speaking to pregnant friends, it's probably higher. HG operates on a spectrum, similar to Covid or depression - some people have symptoms and can still go to work, and others are lying on their death bed. A study in the Uk found that of 5,000 women interviewed, 25% had considered suicide. Many admitted to 'wanting' to miscarry or abort, although it is hard to get figures on this as it is still a thought pattern that is considered taboo. For me personally, I had weight loss, malnutrition, dehydration, severe nausea and vomiting, constipation, incontinence, extreme fatigue, severe depression, suicidal tendencies, tooth damage, headaches, vitamin deficiencies, internal haemorrhaging, and miscarriage. There is an 85% chance that hyperemesis gravitarium will reoccur. There is a very high chance with HG of low birth weight, ADHD, autism, perinatal death, preeclampsia, stillbirth, preterm delivery, small head, postpartum depression, labour complications, neurodevelopmental and metabolic issues. There is a 34% chance of foetal loss. The complications for me, the baby and partner are severe, adverse, scary, long and horrendous. While there have been recent development in finding out the 'cause' of morning sickness in 2024, currently, there is no cure. The only ‘remedies’ are what we already know – smaller meals, Zofran, ginger, and acupuncture, which as anyone with nausea knows, does shit all. The very idea of putting my body through it again, even now, still fills me with so much fear, anxiety and trauma that my heart starts beating quickly, and I get teary and want to gag or vomit even so much as mentioning it. I am literally terrified of the physical and psychological effects of pregnancy. I was then given the news that for me to carry would be life-threatening. If it had been the two pregnancy losses, which were traumatic enough, I could perhaps reconsider. But then I imagined miscarrying AGAIN. The loss and trauma and hope and grieving and sickness and trying AGAIN. The HG and caring and crying and sickness and hospitalisations AGAIN. And not even a guarantee of a baby at the end. Some may scoff at this. It may not even happen, you think. It's just nausea, ffs. It's only nine months, and then it's worth it, harden up. Other people did it, get on with it! But in truth - I don’t give a shit if other people did it. If they did, honestly, they weren’t as bad as me. They just weren’t. My acupuncturist and my doctor were appalled, with the doctor saying I was the worst she had seen in her 30-year career of obstetrics and that I could have died. And I thought she saw me on a good day. I also didn't care if that was the opinion of just one doctor or 100. With all due respect, I don’t need someone to tell me how I felt. I know. I was there. I remember it. Vividly. Even now, a year or so on, I have friends who have gastro or nausea from a day who call me and say they were sick for a day, and all they could do is think of me and say they honestly have no idea how I did it longer than that. To me, risking it and trying it again is like asking someone to drink the Kool-Aid. If I came to you and said, hey. Drink this poison. It made you very sick last time you had it, and the wish that was meant to come true when you drank it did not come true. There’s an 85% chance it will make you just as sick when you drink it again, you could potentially die, and your baby could too. Oh, and there’s no cure. Who would drink it? I do believe we are meant to be parents, but it’s just going to be a different way. That is okay. We needed some time. We both had so much love to give and I was positive we would find it. --- If this post brings up issues for you, please contact Lifeline on 13 11 14. Further reading: https://www.hyperemesis.org/who-we-help/family-friends/ https://www.hyperemesis.org/about-hyperemesis-gravidarum/ https://www.hyperemesisaustralia.org.au/what-is-hg https://www.sands.org.au/mens-support-services https://www.bbc.com/news/health-48228937 https://www.cope.org.au/hg-caitlinsstory/ --- Next: Conversation at brunch - Why don't they just adopt? | Part 13 Like what you read? 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Nobody thinks it will happen to them. It only happens to other people. A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows of the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 11 of a series. For a recap, click here. -- In the space of just a week, I had gone from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. Nobody goes into 'baby making' thinking they are the ones who will have problems. I don't have miscarriages. Other people have miscarriages. My pregnancies are going to be perfect. In school, we are taught that sex leads to communicable diseases, and pregnancy. Both of these things can be true. But what they don't tell you is, just because you may want a baby, doesn't mean it will happen. Anyone who has tried or successfully 'made' a baby will tell you that it's actually not as simple as it seems. For one, women are pretty much only fertile for five days of the month, with two of those really being the peak times for pregnancy. Of those that succeed, the statistic is that one in four will miscarry, although many doctors have since said to me they believe it could be as high as one in two, with many women not even realising it is happening or that they were pregnant in the first place. In Australia, one in six couples will have trouble conceiving, and one in every 20 babies are now born through IVF. But still. This won't happen to you. This happens to other people. Right? I mean, this was my somewhat obnoxious and naïve view. The day it happened, I knew something wasn't quite right. We were on our way to a family member's birthday, followed by a baby shower, and the only people who knew of the pregnancy at this point were my mum and sister, who were not present. At the time, not wanting to 'make a fuss' and being a perennial people-pleaser, we went to the family birthday, even though I just knew something was off. I will spare the specifics, but we'll just say that when it happens, you don't need someone to tell you. You see it, and even though it's miniscule... you just know. When it did happen, I froze. We were at my in-laws house, celebrating a birthday. I was in the bathroom. What the f*ck was I supposed to do with this information, ruin the whole party? I stared at it for a while, not sure what to do, before finishing up and silently going back to join the family. Outside, I told my partner. He was obviously very upset, but was more focused on making sure I was okay. I didn't really know what to do or say, so I just went on autopilot and stuck to the course. Stupidly, instead of doing what I should of done, which is go home and let myself grieve, I felt that it was rude of me not to attend my friend's baby shower. Baby shower! I know. I'm a f*cking idiot. At the time, I was someone who just didn't know how to say no to these things. I didn't want to be rude, I didn't want to disappoint, I didn't want to be a bailer. And to be fair, no one put this on me. They would have understood. Heck, they would have insisted I go home and do some self-care. But I just didn't know how to disappoint. So I sat there, still miscarrying silently, as my friend who had had a perfect pregnancy opened gifts and talked about life with a baby as everyone laughed and cheered. I was't really sure what I was supposed to do. Go home? The doctor? The hospital? I ended up going to the hospital as it was close by, where they seemed to find it a bit strange I was presenting. I know some people had ectopic pregnancies, too much blood going, things going wrong. I didn't really know what to do, so I went just to... check. Alone. After some check-ups confirming everything, like all the other shit the Covid years brought, somehow, we had to get on with it. Work, my friends and family were extremely supportive, and while I cursed myself for telling my mum so early because I was so devastated for her loss, I don't regret telling people about the miscarriage. I needed their support, and I got it, and for that, I am extremely lucky. My partner threw himself into work, and I told him I needed a break before trying again. It was now December of 2021, and I had well and truly had it. The weddings, the trips, the jobs, the deaths, the miscarriage, all of it. I wanted a Christmas and New Years Eve where I could f*ck the year off in a spectacular fashion. I just didn't care about anything. I spent New Year's Eve partying harder than I ever had, was last woman standing at a raving bush disco and promptly spent the next day spewing, but not regretting. I wanted a summer of cocktails and parties and travel and fun, and I wanted to forget all the shit of the past year. I didn't care anymore. What did it matter? In April of 2022, I fell pregnant again. It would prove to be even worse than the first. --- Next: Conversations at brunch. Did you hear? Jess is really sick | Part 12 Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

Covid meant millennial couples were throwing out the rule book and doing things in their own order. A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows of the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 10 of a series. For a recap, click here. -- It's a little noodle! Previously... "Let's try for a baby," I said. -- My partner was beyond thrilled. Rather than it being me as the stereotypical female with ovaries jangling, he's one of those people that was just born to be a dad. I often joked that he came out of the womb in a Hawaiian shirt telling dad jokes. He's great with kids (he's a big one himself) and I think had been secretly waiting for the day when I would say the magic words. A few weeks into dating, years prior, I thought it would be funny to prank him with a picture via text of a positive pregnancy test on April Fool's Day. He'd either get it straight away, or freak out. At work, we were pissing ourselves with laughter. But what we weren't prepared for was his excitement. 'This is the best news!' he said eagerly over the phone. The girls at work looked at me with horror. Oh no! Worst prank ever! I had to let him down gently by pointing out that a) It was April Fool's Day, b) And that meant that I was not, in fact, pregnant, c) If I was, did he think I would tell him with a casual message pic at 10am? and d) It had only been a few weeks - did he even know my last name? The point is, he was ready. I, too, had always wanted them, but it was a 'later' thing. For one, I wanted to look smoking hot in my wedding dress, and I didn't want a screaming baby ruining my honeymoon in Hawaii cos #priorities. I also used to feel like I had more to do - more travel, more career goals, more lounging around in bed on weekends at 10am. A baby was... 'later'. But Covid changed all that. We all changed, I suppose. I know I did. I'm different in many ways now. I'm more resilient. I care less about what other people think over all. I'm calmer with life stresses (sometimes) and I'm not as willing to put up with bad behaviour as I was as a woman in my 20s. I've perhaps hardened a bit as well, but all of this has been an amalgamation of Covid, growing up, and the life experiences over the past few years. At the time, I found I was no longer as interested in my 'career' or 'being a #GirlBoss. While I still wanted a job in a workplace I liked, the corporate hustle and impressive titles no longer seemed that important to me. When all you have around you is your 5km radius and a single walking buddy, you focus on what is important - and to me, that was now real life. Family. Friends. Dog. Travel. Togetherness. I'm not saying that it's right or wrong for everyone, it's just how I had come to feel in my own individual circumstances. The point is, I was ready. I had also been seeing a therapist after the recent losses of my aunt, dad, jobs and weddings. After a long period of assessments, around this time, I was also diagnosed with ADHD. At the time, I was confused and upset and embarrassed. As it became a health issue that appeared to also get wider attention, I also didn't want to seem as though I was jumping on a bandwagon of a 'trendy' issue, or somehow 'use it' to excuse behaviours or feelings. But I will say this. What it did do, is help me understand myself and my actions, and what I could do about them. I sat with the doctor and said I had had something like 12 jobs in eight years, and that I was self-aware enough to know it wasn't normal. I wanted to be like my friends, and couldn't grasp how I had gone from a high achieving school student to a burnt out, depressed woman in her 30s. She, along with some other counselling, helped me understand the parts of anxiety and ADHD that led to certain behaviours - getting bored with jobs and leaving, sending cakes (lol), having multiple hobbies and interests, talking incessantly, overly multitasking and planning, overthinking, being able to do a six hour task in one hour but misplacing my keys daily - was all relevant to these issues. "You're textbook, sweetie," she said gently. It did help. I made a rule for myself that any confrontational communication - if I wanted to have a chat, send a text (or a cake), write an email - I had to sleep on it. It sounds simple, but this has been a total gamechanger for me. It's amazing how different you can feel about a situation the next day. I also started to work on active listening and asking more questions in conversation. I'm not perfect, but I'm more aware. I didn't want to change myself completely - I'm loud, I like making plans, I talk fast, I'm excitable, that's me - but I was prepared to improve ways that were hindering my life and relationships. Anyway. At this time, I was offered medication to assist with the ADHD, but didn't take it, as we had decided to try for a baby (you shouldn't take certain ADHD medications while pregnant). We prepared ourselves for the process to take some time. I had been on The Pill for over half my life, and we knew it could take six months or even a year for people in a similar position. But actually, it turned out, we were pretty fertile. I got pregnant on the second try. We were f*cking ELATED. Finally, some good news after these fucking piece of sh*t garbage two years. Dad and Auntie Vera were gone, but a baby was coming! The first baby on my side in 12 or so years, the first in my immediate family, and our first, ever! We danced around the kitchen and immediately downloaded the app that showed us everything we needed to know. Apparently, our baby was the size of a little snowpea. That week, we spent our evenings watching all the fun baby movies, from What To Expect When You're Expecting to Look Who's Talking and Parenthood. For some reason, we decided to nickname the baby Noodle. After all, everyone loves noodles! We didn't want to know Noodle's sex, it didn't matter. We knew it was too early to tell people, we were maybe five or six weeks, but we weren't too worried. My mum had my sister and I at 35 and 37, no problems. Easy peasy. Wait. Mum! I knew Mum needed to know. I wanted to tell her, immediately. Pretty much the second after peeing on a stick, I raced out the door and drove the 45 minutes to her house. On the way, I stopped in at Kmart. I wanted to get her a present so she could figure it out and get excited, it would be fun! I settled on matching shoes - one her size, and one new-born size. They were cute af. I wrapped them up and kept going, elated. When I arrived at her place unannounced, Mum was surprised but pleased to see me. I told her to unwrap the gift, immediately. She's a lovely woman, my mum, but a puzzle solver she isn't. It was like the engagement announcement all over again. "What are these for?" she asked quizzically. I rolled my eyes. Her partner started chuckling. "MUM!" I said exasperated after ages of her not getting it, "I'M HAVING A BABY!" It took her a moment, and then, true to form, she started crying with joy. We screamed, we hugged, and even though she wasn't supposed to, she went to her seniors gym the next morning and announced to anyone who would listen that she was going to be a grandma. We lost Noodle a week later. --- *Conversations at Brunch will be on a brief hiatus of the holiday break* Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here. Next: Conversations at brunch - Did you hear? Jess had a miscarriage | Part 11

What to watch and what to skip from TV and streaming services from 2023. Sex Education Season 4 Image: Netflix. So, we already covered the first half of TV shows here, from F*Boy Island (high) to the final season of Ted Lasso (low, don't @ me). But if you were too busy watching The Block or that terrible Victoria's Secret doco and now want those weird days between Christmas and New Year's when nobody knows what day it is to smash out some series, we gotchu. Here's what to watch, and what to give a miss before the new seasons come along in 2024. The best TV shows to watch and stream from 2023 - Part 2 Best final season: Sex Education S4 (Netflix) Oh we laughed, we cried, we gasped at the crazy woke futurist school from Gen Z's AI-implanted dreams. For those of us who have been there from Season 1, the final chapter brought a new setting after the closure of Moordale High. Instead, our oversexed students find that they're somewhat... basic when they enter the doors of Cavendish College. While some viewers couldn't hack the... shall we say... "over progressiveness," I just loved following the characters I cared about on the path from adolescence to adulthood. I'd say if you can just focus on them, you'll enjoy it. I laughed, I cried, and reader, in the final episode, I balled my eyes out. A truly fantastic finale from a fresh and ground-breaking series. We'll miss you! Watch it if you like: Heartbreak High, The Inbetweeners Best drama based on real life: Tiny Beautiful Things (Disney) A story based on the woman that the film Wild was also based on, Tiny Beautiful Things follows Cheryl Strayed's path to becoming a 'Dear Abbey' of sorts. Starring everyone's Hollywood bestie Kathryn Hahn, the show follows the ups and downs of Cheryl's life, a woman in the midst of a divorce who has a daughter that hates her, and a job on the brink. But Kathryn's performance also shows a woman of great talent and empathy, and made for an intriguing and hypnotising watch. Watch it if you like: Wild, Life and Beth Best batshit doco: Last Stop Larrimah (Amazon) This was cooked, and also, only two episodes, so easy to smash and not have to devote too much time to. In what people are calling Australia's Tiger King (well, I read that once in passing), Last Stop Larrimah focuses on the seriously weird units who live in the small town of Larrimah, Australia. And when I say small town - I mean, literally 11 people live there, and one mysteriously disappeared. You soon learn that even though the amount of people in this town could fit on a single wedding table, there's a lot bubbling beneath the surface - grudges, divorces, court visits and warring businesses. But was it enough to murder a town member? Watch it if you like: Tiger King, Upper Middle Bogan Best true story: The Billionaire, The Butler and The Boyfriend (Netflix) Okay, this is another doco series, but tbh, with the Writer's Strike, I got into more of these than normal. Full disclosure: It is French, but I was lazy and put the English dubbing on cos I just wanted to scroll, play with my dog and still listen, you know? Anyway. A crazy story about the heiress to the L'oreal fortune, the richest woman in the world. The story follows the people around her and what happens when money makes you go crazy - from a gay boyfriend trying to steal a billion Euros to a bitter daughter and very public political scandal, it's got it all - juicy af. Watch it if you like: The Curious Case of Carlos Ghasn, Heist, White Lotus Best drama: Gen V (Amazon) Okay, so this was hard-CORE. Definitely not for the faint of heart, but still a smashingly good ride. As a spin-off from The Boys, Gen V focuses on the superhero students accepted into the prestigious college where members of 'The 7' tend to come from. Expect major cover-ups, corporate spin, crazy powers and seriously f*cked up sex scenes. Watch it if you like: The Boys, Stranger Things Best easy show to scroll your phone to: Only Murders in the Building S3(Disney) Was this as good as Seasons 1 and 2? No. Is it getting a bit tired? Yes. But do they know this and cheekily reference to it? Also yes, and that's what kept me going. While not as 'binge-able' as previous seasons, the third serving still brought good mystery, intrigue, and a song I seriously cannot get out of my head (Which of the Pickwit triplets did it... look, #iykyk). There was a cliff-hanger which is a set-up for S4, which even though the story seems improbable, I'll undoubtedly watch for the sheer on-screen charisma of Steve Martin and Martin Short (and definitely not for the increasingly wooden Selena Gomez. I said what I said). Watch it if you like: The Afterparty, Father of the Bride Most cooked cult expose: Escaping Twin Flames (Netflix) Ugh guys, this is one of the most f*cked up things I've watched in a while. However, if you're like Nic and I and love yourself some cult drama (maybe you're in a cult and you don't even know), this is for you. Twin Flames is a cult started by some loser, uneducated American couple who somehow convinced a bunch of people that the universe has given them a single 'twin flame' in life, and that this is their soulmate - even if that person is your ex-boyfriend or husband. Cue stalking, restraining orders, and more and more control over these people's lives as they become more indoctrinated, from who they date ('callings' from the couple who proclaim to be Jesus reincarnated, even if the 'flame' is an older, abusing stranger), to the money they hand over, and the work they do for free, increasingly reporting in and getting manipulated and controlled on their every move. Where it gets seriously even more f*cked up is when they start demanding people change gender in order to form a couple with both a 'divine masculine and feminine' in each partnership. Harrowing. Watch it if you like: Seduced: Inside the NXVIUM Cult, Shiny Happy People, The Family Best show to watch when you get the TV to yourself: Strife (Binge) Loosely inspired by Mia Freedman's biographical story, about building Mamamia from the ground up, Strife takes this story for an Aussie show about this wave feminism, office politics, girlbossings, culture clashes and just trying to do the damn netball oranges properly. Headed by Asher Keddie (Offspring), I really loved watching a story set in 2012, when digital was kind of like maybe taking over, but not everyone could see it just yet, and just having the belief that telling womens' stories online was the future. I also really liked that they didn't sugarcoat the protagonist - she was doing her best, but made frequent mistakes, was politically incorrect at times, had inappropriate outbursts or conversations which rounded her into a fuller, and more real person. Looking forward to what S2 brings in the world of online womens publishing. Watch it if you like: Younger, The Newsreader Honourable 2023 TV mentions: Beckham, Robbie Williams, Upload, Madoff: The Monster of Wall Street, The Murdaugh Murders: A Southern Scandal Pt 2 TV shows you can give a miss from 2023 Worst overhype: Beef (Netflix) Yeah, I said it, so don't @ me. I know critics were obsessed, but I don't know. Bit Emperor's New Clothes for mine. The story centres around two people who get in an altercation at a parking lot, both feeling it was the other's fault. However, instead of just putting up a finger or a honk, they take it to extremes, raising the stakes higher and higher until they are so embedded in the act of ruining each other's lives, that something seriously bad is about to happen. While it was an interesting premise, the characters were just so unlikeable and the premise so ridiculous that I couldn't really get around it - not to mention a stupid af ending. I won't be tuning in for S2. Worst flogging of a dead horse: Lupin (Netflix) I loved the first two seasons of Lupin, the fun French series about the gentleman thief. However, I was surprised when a third season was announced, as S2, like Hacks, seemed to have the story wrapped up nicely. And herein was the problem. Season 3 began a new chain of events, kind of pretending it related to earlier happenings but it really didn't. Additionally, a large part of the 'trouble' Lupin was in was because of his own selfish and reckless behaviour, so I found it hard to really relate to him or want the best for him when he was acting like a d*ck. I mean, I'll still try S4... but I'm not super pumped about it. Worst attempt at secretssecretslieslies: Who is Erin Carter? (Netflix) I thought this was gonna be a sick Gone Girl-style show. Who is Erin Carter? What is her backstory? Why is she in this small town? But to be honest, I bailed a few eps in. Partly because it was so unbelievable that this young, beautiful, skinny woman was some crazy trained fighter, but mostly because her daughter was so bratty and she was so bad at parenting her that it was a turn off. My mumma would never. Dishonourable mentions: Upload S3 (what is even happening?), The Following Is Based On A Pack Of Lies (not as interesting as it sounds), Wolf Like Me (so dumb). Want more? Try: The Best and Worst Shows of 2023, Part I Movie Reviews October 23: Origin of Evil, A Haunting in Venice and Together Together Victoria's Secret Made a Comeback - How Was It?

I had no idea what life would look like or if we would all be okay... It’s five years since my marriage ended. Overnight, I became a single woman and a solo parent. Pre-separation, I had no idea what life would look like, or if we would all be okay. It feels like this time has flown, since that terrifying and unknown moment in time. When I look back, I’m really proud of the life I’ve created for myself and my two boys. I don’t see my divorce as a failure – rather, it's been a conscious choice to course correct our lives regardless of the emotional, financial and personal challenges I’ve had to work through. This is what I have learnt in the five years since. Positive learnings from divorce 1. Life can be incredible When I met and married my husband, I had no idea of who I was or what I wanted from my life or my partner. This, along with the treadmill of daily life, resulted in me living a very unhappy existence. It wasn’t my marriage that was the core issue, but once it ended, I had the absolutely terrifying (but totally liberating) responsibility and control over my entire life, setting the rules and deciding how I wanted each day to look and feel. A house filled with love, positivity, laughter and lightness is one thing I’m very proud of creating and super grateful for. 2. Co-parenting is a long game! If you’d asked me five years ago, I would not have anticipated how challenging co-parenting would be. My ex-husband and I have an amicable relationship – no conflicts or ongoing issues, and yet this is still a tough area to navigate. Two people who are no longer a team and who obviously see the world differently are trying to guide, nurture, and make both big and small decisions for two small humans. There are different priorities, rules, expectations and vibes in each home, and maintaining alignment with someone you have chosen to separate from can be hard. I’ve found that the wisdom of ‘don’t sweat the small stuff’ and ‘choose your battles’ prove to be insightful guidelines for this space! 3. Modern day/mid life dating is a world of its own This should be an entire article (or perhaps an entire series!) all of its own! The dating world is an overwhelmingly deflating and terrifying place, with just enough glimpses of potential to keep you invested. Only those who are dating post-divorce (particularly in those early days) understand that the landscape, language, unwritten rules and standards that can feel like you are visitor on another planet. Prepare to hit up Google, because to this day, I don’t know what some of these terms are that have been thrown my way in the past five years! Dating apps, situationships, ghosting, speed dating, friends with benefits, cyberflashing, breadcrumbing, lovebombing, cuffing, gaslighting, flags (green, red and beige), soft launching, orbiting… it’s exhausting, confusing and disheartening. The positives are that it will almost certainly accelerate your personal development and growth, firm up your boundaries, and provide absolute clarity of what you do and do not want in a partner! 4. I can do hard things I’ve always been an independent woman who loved learning and being able to ‘do anything’, but since becoming single, there are several new things I have had to step up and do. Going to the rubbish tip for the first time, buying, transporting and putting up a real Christmas tree, becoming a solo homeowner, moving house and cooking the BBQ are all day to day jobs that I felt a real sense of accomplishment doing for the first time. Post-divorce, I’ve also deliberately and consistently challenged myself with things outside my comfort zone, like jumping off a pier, solo hiking, tree surfing, paddle boarding, walking on fire and travelling solo (amongst many other things) to see what I am capable of, experience adventure , and show my two boys that life is for living! I should note, that despite living by myself for five years now, I’ve still never mowed a lawn – perhaps this should be added to my goals list? 5. The love I always dreamt about is possible I grew up with Disney movies, soap operas, and Mills & Boon novels shaping my idea of romance and what a relationship should look like. Somewhere inside, I had an idea of what I wanted in a partner, but the Hollywood rhetoric along with a big feminist push during my teen years had me incredibly confused. I had a few long-term relationships and then got married in my mid 20s, and all of those relationships seemed to confirm that my expectations were simply too high, so I compromised on the men I was with and on the dynamics within these relationships. Post-divorce, I dated quite a lot (let’s call it research, shall we?), and once again, compromise seemed like the only option. However, with my personal growth, increased confidence, and clarity of what I wanted in a partner and a relationship, settling was simply not an option, and I wondered if I would be single forever. After something like 99 first dates (seriously!) I finally met a man who I adore and admire, who loves me in a way I have never experienced ,and am now in an incredible relationship that brings so much to my life on so many levels (but let’s not jinx anything here!) I have learnt that what I wanted and had hoped for all along was in fact possible, and that it was absolutely worth waiting for! Upon reflection, I have no regrets and am proud of the way I’ve conducted myself and managed myself and my children through some difficult times. I feel like we’re all much happier, more resilient, and emotionally intelligent humans than we would be otherwise. Along with my two boys, I have created a life and a family unit that I love and am super proud of. I’ve grown so much as a person since stepping into this role. Now to attempt to mow those lawns… Biography Laura Petrie is a registered Counsellor and Certified Coach based in Melbourne, Australia. She is a solo Mumma to two gorgeous boys, a nature lover and a joy seeker, who went through a journey of personal development to transform her life from ‘simply existing’, to designing & living a life she loves! www.laurapetrie.com.au IG: @laurapetriecounsellor

Shame on you if you fool me once, shame on me if you fool me twice... A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows of the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 9 of a series. For a recap, click here. --- The day after saying goodbye to my dad for for the final time, my partner, sister and I went to the dog beach. No one is sad at the dog beach, that's just science. We watched my beautiful rescue dog Maple smile and grin from ear to ear as she splashed about, took some deep breaths, and tried our best to not break down. I cannot really remember the days or weeks afterward. I know I called a friend who thankfully started a phone tree so I didn't have to. I know so, so many friends and family sent packages, food, flowers and condolences. I know a lot of time was spent on the logistics of the funeral - the guest list (which had to be capped during restrictions), the food, the speeches, the precision. I know we were lucky that even though they had been divorced almost 30 years, that mum totally took charge of the whole thing. I know all my friends showed up, that the theme was rock n' roll t-shirts, that we played cool songs and told funny stories and played videos and photo reels. I know I couldn't help but think, man. We are all going to have to do this. Everyone, over and over again. I know it was still desperately sad for my cousins who had just lost their mum (and my auntie) only three months prior. Just like that, a generation was gone. I know that I just threw myself back into my new job, wedding planning (with my dad's blessing to please go ahead), and keeping super busy. The thing with grief is, it's not just on a certain day, like their birthday or Father's Day. It doesn't really work like that. I would drive along and tell myself he was just sitting watching telly in his apartment. It is somewhat easier if you don't live with the person to convince yourself as such. And lots of the time I was perfectly fine. But then something would happen, like I'd be in the bottle shop with my partner and a song would come on that I thought of dad singing and dancing along to in the car, and I'd walk out crying. Or I'd open the freezer and see some food he made me, or watch a movie he had always loved, and start sobbing. For a while afterward, this would always make me cry. But we did make a rule pretty early on that my Dad and his memory would not be a stranger in my house. There are photos, we talk about him all the time, make jokes, say he would have loved this or that. We are a lucky generation who can take so many photos and videos for memories which I look at often. I filmed him cooking my favourite recipes of his, took last photos and memories. I really encourage people to do this - over time you can forget how people spoke or acted, and I hope my kids can see it some day. The times I find I miss him most is not his birthday, or the anniversary of his passing, or when I look at a picture. It's in the car, when it's just me, alone with my thoughts, when I normally would have given him a call to talk shit about Fashion Police, Kanye West, work, movies, whatever. They were short chats, a few minutes at most. But I miss them a lot. If you do know someone who has lost someone and some time has passed, I will say something a friend said to me - don't worry that bringing up a memory will upset them, or make them think about it. Whenever someone brings up something about my dad, I love it, and want more. Like the fact that he wore the same cowboy costume to every theme party, that he stood on a chair to introduce himself to my 6"3 partner, that he'd pick up five kids from primary school and shove us in the back and take us to the pool. We all love knowing that you have treasured memories of people we love, too. Winter 2021 I mean, spoiler alert. As you can probably guess from the title, image and description... yep, our big wedding got cancelled, again, with only four weeks notice, again. In truth, I was a little relieved. Not at not being able to celebrate - but of letting go of the stress and anxiety. When we rebooked our wedding for August 2021, although it seems so dumb in hindsight, it was at a time when things were opening up. We had already attended two weddings, booked a new honeymoon exploring Broome and the Kimberley Region (overseas was still off limits), and there were no cases of Covid in our state. But every day was unnerving. Like clockwork, we would watch for the Premier to come on TV to tell us the daily stats, and if numbers climbed, my heart raced, wondering what it meant for the wedding. Would 50 people have to be cut to 30? Would people be allowed to dance? Would we need to wear face masks? Would my mum even come? Would it be warm enough? Would this be a super spreader event on TV? Would the whole thing be cancelled on the day, leaving us thousands of dollars out of pocket? So, when a 'snap lockdown' (Melburnians: LOL!) was called around July or August, we knew it wasn't to be. Again, we had mailed out over 200 Save The Dates to people who needed to be notified it was over. Again, we had to cancel the ceremony, the reception, the catering, the dressmaker, the florist, the bus, the band, the lighting, the photographer, the hotel, the decorators and staff. Again, we were devastated, but it was what it was. It was horrible for all the suppliers too, some of whom never recovered. Looking back now, I'm glad we didn't do it then. It was winter, no interstate or overseas friends and family would have come, my Dad had just passed, and everyone was scared of Covid. It just wasn't the time. Instead of saying 'hold on,' this time, the wedding was officially cancelled. We now had zero intention of having a wedding while Covid could still ruin the day, however long that was going to take. Instead, we did the only thing we really could do on the day, round 2. We got ourselves dressed up, bought bougie food and drinks (which we honestly never do, we needed assistance...) and had a picnic the two of us on our front yard. Our friends and family were embarrassingly generous, and sent us lots of expensive hampers and gifts. At the time, even though life had been shit, we felt we weren't in the worst of it, and we knew that. The pandemic was killing people all over the world, businesses were closing, people couldn't pay rent or mortgages, others were isolated beyond belief. We had our place, we had our dog, and we had each other. So while we were allowed to grieve the day and feel sad, we took a breathe, had some margaritas, and toasted to the next one. It was going to be okay. We then had a think about what we could do instead. Two weddings cancelled, two family deaths, two jobs lost, no renovations allowed, and all holidays suspended. I was now 32 years old, and I was over the idea of doing things 'in order.' "Let's try for a baby," I said. --- Thank you to Molly Sweeney who provided a lot of help and inspiration during this time. Next: Conversations at brunch - Did you hear? It's time to make a baby | Part10 Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

Even when you're prepared, you're never ready. A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows on the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 8 of a series. For a recap, click here. I have found this particular post one of my hardest to write, and in truth, didn't write it in order, I've had to come back to it. I normally write about things that are funny or frustrating, but this takes me right back there and I have to be in the right emotional space. I'm doing this outside, have cried a few times, and I think will go to the dog beach afterward. Impossible to be sad at the dog beach. It's somewhere in the autumn of 2021. I had just been fired, had a mental breakdown, and sent a cake, which at the time felt hilarious, but in reality, resulted in my 'friends' from the workplace blocking me on all socials, awkward encounters for my actual friend who was still working there, and worried reactions from my partner and close friends that I seriously had lost it. Like many people who have ever been made redundant, left a shit job, got let go or have been fired, my mind started to drift into what I should actually be doing. After all, while some of these places I had worked at had been unhinged, I had to concede that I was the common denominator. Maybe I just wasn't meant for the office b*llshit, I didn't have the right personality for it. Maybe I was meant to go back and study to be a psychologist, start a wedding planning business, be a dog groomer. I just knew that there was no way I could go back to corporate any time soon. I kept myself busy in my silly little garden my partner had made for me to focus on (he's a bit cute), on LAL, and being a carer of sorts to my dad, who had been deteriorating rapidly. I should note that there were some good things around this period - we had moved into our new home, we celebrated a year of 'marriage' after our Facebook pseudo-wedding, eased restrictions meant the big 'real' wedding was on the cards for round 2.0 that August, and, while I was taking a break from actively applying for roles, a recruiter contacted me. It was for a contract position as a content writer for a well-known organisation. I didn't think much of it, it would be some cash working from home while I figured out what I actually wanted to do. Funnily enough, it ended up turning permanent eventually. It was still sort of like Stage Three lockdown, where some things were open, weddings were on, but everyone was still working from home, which suited me just fine. I decided I could only handle a four-day week with all the stress I had, and so set up my silly little makeshift desk in my lounge room . But by now, Dad's world had gone from bad to worse. While as I previously wrote, he had always (annoyingly) been like the Keith Richards - he spent his youth smoking, drinking partying, wasn't particularly healthy, and yet, had the lowest BMI (why none of the kids got the long thin legs is something I'm still shitty about), loved cooking, gigs, travel, movies. He was simply going to live to 146. When he had first been diagnosed, he was like, please. Bump in the road, I'll get past this and we'll just get on with it. He had things to do, places to see. My dad had travelled a little in his 20s, but not much after that, and with his partner Liv, was finally going out and seeing more of the world with her. They were perhaps even going to get married in the Philippines. But the Christmas prior, he was told it was terminal, and it might be months or even weeks. Everyone rallied to get time in with him, not knowing when it might be - tomorrow, next week, the week after. It was emotionally exhausting and terrifying at the same time. But miraculously, now June, he was still going, even in the midst of the pandemic. Maybe he'd be one of those people who just... lived with it in the background? But unbeknownst to me at the time, he wasn't 'better.' He tried to shield us, but he was in constant physical pain. He had gotten extremely thin with a large stomach - he really looked like a cancer patient. Staff at his regular cafes (he was very much a creature of habit) got so shocked that some of them cried when they saw the once chatty, loud-mouthed man looking like a sick old cancer patient. His bowels had given way. He'd had a fall and almost broken his shoulder and ribs quite badly, which were taking a long time to heal. He was constantly nauseous and exhausted. He had been trying so hard to hold on, for us, for the wedding Take 2.0, but every waking moment had turned into torture, and I suppose, knowing it was in a way not worth it, that he was going to die any time, that he was not in fact going to pull through, had just become too unbearable. It was Covid, it was winter, he had no spark or joy or anything to look forward to. He couldn't go anywhere, or do anything. I mean, it was depressing for everyone, let alone having terminal cancer. He was just feeling unbearably sick, waiting to die. During my second week of my new job from home, he called me, and was very brash. I don't remember the exact wording, but it was something like, "Hi darling. I've decided to do the euthanasia tomorrow, I can't do this anymore, okay? So I love you very much, and this is me saying goodbye." Um... WHAT THE F*CK?! I screamed and asked him what the f*ck he was talking about. How could he say this to me? How could he not have me over? What was he DOING?? I started crying and sobbed and begged him to wait for us to come over right away. He sounded a bit agitated, but reluctantly agreed. I had to call my very new boss crying and explained, and she, (unlike other places) was a normal and caring human being, and was like, GO. My partner immediately stopped working, we called my sister and sped over to Dad's place. While you may read what he said and see it as cold and strange, when we got there and my mum was there, I understood a bit more. Dad just couldn't take facing us, disappointing us, or getting us to talk him out of this decision. He was doing it, this was it, let's go, and he knew if he saw us, his heart would break and he may not be able to. I don't agree with how he was going to handle it, but I understand it. I'm also glad we didn't listen. In his apartment, my mum answered the door. I'm a very lucky child of divorce, where my parents are the best of friends, my mum and Dad's partner totally respecting each other. Mum was warm, but reminded us this was not about changing his mind, but simply being with him now. So, in his dimly lit bedroom in his little apartment, my dad, his partner Liv, my mum, my sister, our partners and Dad's best friend Alex just hung out. We asked Dad to tell us some of our favourite stories that kept us laughing and saying, "Again! Again!" when we were little, like when he chucked his cadet captain's boots in the river, when he threw a giant party without permission, when he told inappropriate jokes with all the right pauses and one liners. We listened to stories about Dad and Alex at school, about LIv and Dad's travels, and about us as kids. We each took time to sit with Dad alone, including my partner, who promised Dad he would always look after me, and carry on the Jewish traditions in our home, even though he isn't Jewish himself. I think Dad couldn't handle too much of the emotional strain of being with me and my sister Em, but we did it anyway. We had last hugs and photos, which I know is somewhat lucky considering some people never get to say goodbye at all. And then, what felt like seconds later, it was time to go. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to say goodbye. I wanted to throw a tantrum and scream and cry and yell and fling myself at him and never leave, ever. He slowly walked me to the door. I was teary and looked at him as I turned down the stairs. "I love you," I said. "See you on the other side, darling," he replied with a smile. "Bye beautiful." And he was gone. --- Next: Conversations at brunch: Did you hear? The wedding got cancelled - again! Part 9 Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

From music to movies, books, sports and courts, it's been the year of the girl. Pump up the Spice Girls, because this year has legit been all about Girl Power! Whether you’ve spent 2023 going gaga for Greta Gerwig, cheering on Sam Kerr, lining up for Taylor tickets (guilty) or listening to your favourite galpal podcasts each week, it appears that one thing has been made abundantly clear: women are totes dominating 2023. From the highest-ever viewership for a sports match in history, to the highest grossing concert film and most successful novel, women have been showing that not only are they worth every penny of investment - but they exceed expectations wherever they go. Here’s some of our favourite girl power moments from 2023 so far. Women's success stories 2023 Barbie Come on Barbie, let’s go party! The juggernaut that was the Barbie movie and related campaign goes unmatched. Starring Australia’s Margot Robbie and directed by Oscar nominee Greta Gerwig, the Barbie movie was our childhoods come to life, with some serious feminist messaging, sparkling dance numbers and neon pink costumes thrown in (#Kernergy). Barbie has become not only part of the cultural lexicon (I’m beach!), but the highest grossing movie for Warner Brothers ever, not to mention the highest grossing movie of the year worldwide, and the first movie to reach over $1 billion dollars with a female director. Taylor Swift She can still make the whole place shimmer. There’s been jokes that Taylor Swift and Barbie have basically been keeping the world economy afloat, and judging by the serious cash they’ve brought in, it could be true. The artist’s ERAs Tour is on track to becoming the highest-grossing tour of all time, crashing ticketing websites and records around the world as sales surpass $1 billion in revenue. On top of this, her cinematic release of the concert has already become the highest-grossing concert film of all time, while she continues to smash music records, like having the most #1 albums by a woman in history, and becoming the first female artist to have over 100 million monthly listeners on Spotify (of which I am probably 50% responsible). The Matildas Til it’s done! What a ride our female soccer players gave us this year! From underdog to serious contenders, the nation was gripped as we watched our fearless sporting heroes shatter ratings records across the country. Not only did the Australia and New Zealand FIFA Women’s World Cup 2023™ end up being the most attended women’s sporting event in history, but the thrilling match between England and Australia was watched by over 11 million people, and became the country’s highest rated TV program on record! The government swiftly announced that $200 million would go towards funding women's sport. Taryn Brumfitt Embrace. Not only has body image activist Taryn Brumfitt written four books and directed a documentary, but this year, she was awarded the country’s highest honour: Australian of the Year. Recognised for her activism in body image, including her organisation that focuses on body image and acceptance, Taryn’s award was for her continual inspiring message for women and children to love the skin they’re in. Female writers We’ve come a long way from when J.K Rowling had to use her initials to disguise the fact that a female wrote Harry Potter. In the understated world of reading and literature, female authors continued the themes of success, with the top three fiction bestsellers attributed to women. Pip Williams’The Bookbinder of Jericho, a story about how access to knowledge and education is everything to the women who need it most, has topped best-seller lists worldwide. Best selling author Kate Morton has had wild success with Homecoming, about the reopening of a cold case, while Jane Harper’s Exiles is the latest from the author of The Dry. If you want to keep supporting female writers, check out some kick ass ones we know: Body Friend by Katherine Brabon is the latest from the Australian/Vogel's Literary Award winner, while Raised by Wolves is the first book and memoir from Time Out Melbourne's former food and drink editor Jess Ho. Women light up the airwaves Is this thing on? More than ever, we’re loving content in all its forms, from long form reads to TiK-ToK vids and Insta reels. On the podcast front, nine female-led podcasts sat in the top 20 most downloaded in the country. Plus, did you know that the Large Almond Latte podcast was featured in Apple's Top 5 ones to watch? If you haven't listened yet, tbh that's embarrassing for you. Get it on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts now. The Honourable Louise Taylor Overruled! In a landmark first, Kamilaroi woman Louise Taylor was this year appointed as a judge for the ACT’s Supreme Court, making her the very first Indigenous woman to sit on a Supreme Court in Australia. While the country still has a long way to go on reconciliation, it was an overdue and positive step for Justice Taylor and the Indigenous community.

I had hit rock bottom. So I did what any sane person would do: I ordered a cake. A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows of the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 7.2 of a series. For a recap of Part 1, click here. -- No-one knows who spoke to Phil (and other offensive comments) I was in the final month of probation of a job that was going really well... until suddenly, it wasn't. The day after being told I wasn't 'where I need to be', I decided to just concentrate 110% on work and nothing else. I needed this job. I needed security for a mortgage and maternity leave the down track, and needed to stay somewhere longer than a three month contract so people wouldn't think I was nuts. At the office, I was working on a report that required input on data for 'audience segmentation.' (Sidenote: in any other marketing organisation, this would be the role of a data analyst, not a copywriter with zero experience in data analytics, but I digress). And this is where it got really, really weird. Barb (the senior manager who video called me unannounced to ask why my dad's cancer affected my work), also in the office, was going over the report on her computer. Now, this is tedious, I apologise. But that's the point. Barb wanted more info. She asked me to contact a woman in marketing about her 'conversations with Phil' and 'how they came to this decision' for the report. Fine, no worries. I emailed the woman, who responded saying she had never spoken to Phil. I told Barb as such, who didn't seem to understand this, and kept going around in circles asking me about their conversation. After a while of her asking over and over for info around their conversation, I said, politely, "[The woman's name] seems to say she didn't speak with Phil, I'm not sure who spoke to Phil, no one knows, but it's okay, [#GirlBoss name] has some other information I can use to get that report ready for you shortly, no worries." I mean... nothing. Whatever. Right? I then sat down and continued my work. I might have completely forgotten about it considering how mundane the chat was, except that a few minutes later, Barb wheeled her chair over to my desk, right into my face, and started an extremely confrontational conversation: B: Jess. I'd like to have a chat. J: Oh yep, sure. How can I help? B: That comment you made. J: [I probably appeared confused, unsure what she was referring to] B: I found that to be REALLY off-hand! J: Oh...I...I'm a bit confused...what comment? B: When you said 'no-one knows' - I found that to be VERY off-hand. It was really off-hand! J: [I remain confused] I think there has been a miscommunication here - you mentioned you would like some more information in the report, and I could get this information from the woman, who spoke with Phil. The woman said she never spoke to Phil. I don't know who did, all three of us were unsure who did, but it's okay, my manager found a workaround so I can still put the information in the report, so it's all okay! B: I just found that off-hand, for you to say like no-one knows what they're doing around here! J: [Heart pounding] That is NOT what I said. I said no-one knows who spoke to Phil. I did not say that. I would not say that. That's not how I speak, and that's not what I think. B: So, I suppose I just misheard you, then, did I? J: I don't know? B: So, I must just have it wrong then? [in an accusatory manner] J: ...Okay. Like... what the actual f*ck?? She left my desk. I instinctively wanted to cry, as I was so confused as to what had happened, but tried my best to hold it in as I didn't want to be crying at my desk, again, in the space of two days. It may sound silly now reading it, but the mood was just so tense and awkward and I just couldn't understand it at all. After about 20 or 30 minutes of my heart throbbing while sitting in dead silence, Barb's eyes piercing into me from behind, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I went downstairs and ran outside, and just started balling my eyes out sobbing, again. I called my mum to try to reconcile about what on earth had just happened, not understanding what I missed, and how on earth stating a fact as innocuous as 'no-one knows who spoke to Phil' was perceived as derogatory or 'off-hand' (which I think was meant to mean offensive?) My Mum just told me to get the f*ck out of there. I should have listened, but I just felt despair. I already was just made redundant, I needed a role to get maternity leave in the future, and how could I face my friends and family for leaving yet ANOTHER job? What would I tell my partner? Who would believe that it was something as little or stupid as this? The pressure was just too much. I remained outside for 25 or so minutes to try to calm myself down from crying uncontrollably, again. I just couldn't understand what I had done wrong or what had changed from getting along with everyone to making me persona non grata all of a sudden. When I eventually returned to my desk, my #GirlBoss came over for a 'chat' about my 'altercation' with Barb, and that she hoped Barb didn't hear the 'comment under my breath'. Again, I said I was extremely confused, as all I said was no one had spoken to Phil, and this wasn't a 'hidden' or derogatory comment. Still visibly upset and frankly, exasperated with what I felt was a totally insane reaction, I said I just didn't understand this or what had changed in the last week, that at my review a month prior everything had been fine, even when I pushed for more feedback. A lot of this was met with silence. Looking back, it was gaslighting of the highest order. I literally felt like I was going crazy. That night, once again, I cried and cried, not understanding at all what was happening. I didn't want to tell my dad, who had his own stresses, but I spoke with my husband, friends and colleagues, and everyone appeared very perplexed, they were waiting for me to get to what the 'actual' issue was, or what it is I had actually done - but I couldn't answer. After a long night of feeling extremely upset, I prepared myself for wrath the next morning. Over what, I still wasn't quite sure. Let them eat cake At 8:30am, I went into the office, put away my lunch, and chatted with colleagues. HR told me to come to a room with a woman younger than me, who greeted me by saying the conversation was not going to be positive. Cool, good morning to you too. I sat in silence while she stood and stared out of a window. Sometimes I wish I was a brickie. Surely they don't have to deal with this kind of corporate shit. #Girlboss arrived late, and then proceeded to pull out a bunch of hand written pages that she started reading from, outlining why they would not be continuing my probation. She said she had hoped I was coming in as a '2IC' (not what I applied for) and that 'we quickly realised you were not up to standard/this was not you', and neither was my writing. She spoke of 'feedback' from the last week, which I can only assume is Barb saying, GET RID OF HER because I dared to say no-one knows who spoke to Phil. I know I was not perfect in the role. I definitely made mistakes in my first three months. I had forgotten some information. I had work that needed to be edited. This was definitely an area of improvement I was working on, and I had made that clear in my feedback and action plans. That said... every single bit of copy I had written was published, whether it was on the website, socials, flyers, portfolios, banners or billboards - so it couldn't have been that bad. I also have a Masters in Communication, had worked in a content capacity for eight years, and had never in my life been critiqued to this level on my writing and personality. In my previous job, I was met by overwhelmingly positive feedback my copy and innovations. At the risk of sounding obnoxious, I had 10 or 15 colleagues message me after my redundancy, dismayed at the decision because they loved the flair I was bringing to the team and overall communications. The HR girl had the paperwork ready for me to GTFO. And if you're asking if they can do this, the answer is yes - on probation, 'not a good fit' is reason enough to dismiss someone, whereas to fire them, they pretty much have to get their d*ck out in the CEO's office, multiple times. I was one week shy of being on-going. I really, still, don't know what it was that was so incredibly bad that I should be fired. Maybe it was one too many mistakes on an analytics report. Maybe I just never 'got' the company. Maybe they just didn't like my personality, and were looking for a way to get rid of me because they found me annoying. Maybe one day, Barb just decided she didn't like the look of me. I really don't know. What I do know, is that I was to leave the building, effective immediately. I wasn't allowed to say goodbye, or even get my lunch. I actually laughed in their faces at the ridiculousness of it all - I was being treated like a sex criminal. I was escorted out of the building at 9:00am in the middle of the CBD. Dressed in my full head to toe corporate gear, I walked silently over the road, past the shops, into a café, got on the phone to call my partner and then, I broke down, crying so much, again, that I was literally shaking. I really had no idea what on earth had just happened. It took me two hours to walk around the city to calm down before I felt safe enough to drive home. Once I finally got back, I was still in total shock. Except this time, I was out of tears. I was angry. Really angry. I was angry about the man at my university job in 2017, who shouted into the ether, 'This is HER job! Why isn't SHE doing it?' about me to anyone in earshot, and the men who sat next to him and said nothing. I was angry about my job in 2018, when I joined a company for a huge pay cut thinking it was my dream job, only to be bullied out by a woman who it turned out had multiple HR reports against her, and many other women who had quit the very position I was in that year. I was angry about the 250 applications I had made to land a job that made me redundant nine months later, and angry that they made me fight against another woman for a job I was never going to get. I was angry about lockdown and Covid and not seeing my friends and family and being constantly panicked about my parents' health. I was angry that out of anyone, it was my job that had to be made redundant, it was my wedding that got cancelled, it was my best friend I hadn't seen in five years who couldn't come from overseas, it was my honeymoon that was not going to happen, it was my auntie that had to die, it was my dad that was slowly dying right in front of me. I was angry that I was going to have to job search AGAIN, tell all my family and friends that I had lost another job AGAIN, that I was going to have to pick myself up AGAIN. I was angry that yet again, some toxic female manager who was bored decided that instead of being part of the sisterhood, she was going to make it her week's mission to destroy me and my career for no feasible reason, and to make me think that I was literally going insane. So you know what, I thought. If they wanted to treat me like I was insane, well fine. I would be. I was angry, I was frustrated, I was sad, I was enraged, I had time, and I had had it. And then, reader... I snapped. I don't know how it entered my head, I don't even remember who I booked it with. But all I know is, I was clearly having a mental breakdown, because the next day, this cake arrived at the corporate head office of the people who had fired me: --- Next: Conversations at Brunch - Did you hear? Jess's dad died | Part 8 Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

It's not you, it's me. Or is that the other way round? A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows of the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 7 of a series. For a recap, click here. -- Previously: While I didn't want to - I was sad, I was grieving my aunt's passing, and I was still gripping with my dad's ongoing battle and fear of Covid - I headed back into the office. I was fired a month later. Autumn 2021 Around this time, Melbourne was between hard lockdowns, but restrictions were still in place. For instance, you could go to work, but not to a friend's house. Or you could have a picnic, but restaurants had strict capacity requirements. Every day, Australians arounf the country were glued to their TV sets, ready for their Premier to announce the day's numbers and any impending restrictions. Sometimes, six people in the state had Covid, and entire suburbs were locked down for two weeks. Other times, three people had crossed the border with Covid, so the entire state would go into a 'snap lockdown' for two weeks. It was a time of extremely high anxiety, uncertainty, and stress for many, around health, finances, physical and mental wellbeing. People handled it differently. Many complied, fearful for their health and the health of those around them. Many grumbled, but did what was expected. Some rallied, protested and fell into dark conspiracy groups online. Me, I went with it. I trusted the science, and while obviously I hated it, believed it was in our best interest. Plus, I was terrified for my parents. But it doesn't mean it was easy. Life was a jumble of caring for dad, managing LAL, understanding my new job, moving house, and trying to re-organise our wedding for later that year if conditions allowed. As detailed, on top of this, my only auntie in Australia died on my first day in my new office. Obviously, I needed to return at some point, and two or three months in a role doesn't exactly provide a lot of leave. The office itself was incredible. They really knew how to incentivise returning to the workplace. They had free arcade games, chocolates, snacks, soda water, and even an ice cream fridge. Every day you came in, you were given a voucher for free lunch. There was frequent team drinks, and we still got those bougie packages in the mail. The perks were seriously rad, and I bragged about my new gig to everyone. At my three month review, everything went well. My #GirlBoss was thrilled with my performance, and felt I was on track. I asked if there was anything I could improve on, and luckily, there was nothing. Phew. For those not in Australia - during a 'probation' period, a company trains you up, but if you're not the right 'fit' (eg: they don't like you) they can legally say it isn't working and get rid of you. Once you're 'ongoing,' it is a lot harder to let an employee go - this becomes more about office procedures, performance, warnings, and so on. My next review was at six months, when probation would be over and I would be 'ongoing.' There were company drinks where my #GirlBoss laughed off my worries about the review, we chatted about guys and movies and our weekend instead. After this, it's hard to really understand what happened. To be honest, I barely get it myself, even now. I do acknowledge this: starting a new job in a pandemic, isolated at home without any support, on new systems and processes without documentation is really, really hard. My orientation guide was only sent to me at the four-month mark because they 'forgot' to send it to me on my first day. Later, on my first day in the office, my aunt was hospitalised and later died. I was still reeling from the redundancy and wedding cancellation from the previous year. My mum was in cancer remission and my dad was dying of terminal cancer, and I spent a lot of my time taking him to appointments or keeping him company during Covid - which was known by the organisation. At first, I was told I could keep working from home with the threat of a pandemic greatly distressing both me and my parents, but it was then 'strongly encouraged' by a head manager to be in. There were no manuals, templates, or style guides for a huge, multi-faceted company that continually spoke in acronyms. I tried so, so hard to remember, to make notes, create guides, get used to working at home, the office, meet people, and understand how it all worked. Sometimes, for whatever reason, you just can't grasp or get it the way they want you to. For some reason, it just never clicks. For me personally, I'm much better at learning if someone shows me once, so I found it hard to remember the constant bits of information on every little task that appeared to change depending on the day, casual throwaways like, 'We always do drafts in Times New Roman 10 pt,' or 'Did you click the left hand tick button under the subtext on page 4.2 in clause 5.8 like you're meant to?' etc. But perhaps I could have recorded this better. I also found it increasingly difficult when tasks were asked of me that seemed outside the realm of 'copywriter'. For instance, I was told to study an analytics review and write a report on the statistical trends. Another time, I also created an entire slide deck on what the company's entire Instagram strategy should be, or what their company designs should look like. I was also asked to come up with different strategies or full campaign ideas for every single blog or post, as there was no overarching strategy. Like, for this ad, focus on themes of space! Or, for this one, talk about hot air balloons, or penguins! Or, what do you think these banners should look like, Jess? For a major organisation. We all also needed to know the origin story of how the company started, and were made to feel like we were extremely lucky to have made it through the rigorous hiring process. Around the four or five month mark, in March of 2021, I had a coffee with my #GirlBoss who I got on with very well. Seemingly out of nowhere, at least to me, she said she had some 'concerns' about my performance. I was totally surprised, considering nothing had been mentioned to me earlier. She said it was around me not 'getting it' and not 'being where I needed to be.' I asked if she could explain this in more detail, and she said something along the lines of understanding 'the company way', or 'how things are done at the company.' Internally, I was completely freaking out. I got out my notebook and asked her for three main areas I could immediately work on. She stated attention to detail (fair) and referring to previous tasks when doing new ones. She did not provide a third. Okay, fine. Again, I asked for clarification around certain information that still had not been provided to me despite months of asking so I could do my job better - you know, like a basic style guide or single template. That evening, obviously, I was very upset and cried a lot, as I felt somewhat blindsided, but took the feedback on board. My partner helped me create an action plan that indicated my 'challenges' and what I planned to do to 'overcome' them. Over the following week, I spent an insane amount of time on smaller tasks, referring to previous ones and ensuring they were word-perfect, even though the entire brief would say something like, 'Write a blurb for YouTube.' All I had was this sentence. No word count, tone of voice, style, product mentions, it was for me to 'interpret' a few months in. I panicked. If I ask, I thought, I'm 'not where I need to be' and 'not getting it,' so I would do my best and hope it was the 'magic interpretation' in their heads that they were looking for. A week later in the office, around 5.30pm, my #GirlBoss asked to chat. I said yes, even though it was the end of the day and my partner was in the car waiting for me. She asked if I had been 'playing around' in the new software we were going to be using for social posts. At the time, our social media posting had been paused while they were hiring someone for the role, with the last post going live over a month prior. As a background, at the time, I had been incredibly proactive on the social strategy front (even though I am a copywriter, not a social media manager). In my first month, I created a 42-page presentation on social strategy, incorporating business figures, case studies, potential templates and posts. It got no response. The month prior, I created a Social Content Calendar WIP, detailing a Source of Truth document that all the content creators could utilise for social brainstorming, to store log-in information, creation of an ongoing content calendar, and utilisation of core social changes. She told me she had not read it. Over my five months, I had also developed countless ideas for their social media, including Instagram story ideas, post ideas, and two pages of blog ideas. I had sent a whole brochure and strategy for graduate career recruitment, was in the process of creating manuals for all communications, volunteered to run meetings and attended company events. I write all this, perhaps indignantly, because when asked if I had had a 'play' in the software (as in, not actually post anything, just 'played' with the software for funsies) I stated no, I did not realise I should be 'playing'. She looked disappointed and said something along the lines of, "Yeah, it's just this, not being pro-active... It's just about taking initiative." I got upset. I knew I wasn't perfect. I had definitely made some mistakes. But I was not, am not, someone who does not take initiative. I had been overly proactive in my creation of social materials. Without any communication, I was meant to 'guess' that I should be 'playing' in the draft area of a system we weren't even using. I had tasks that took all day, and had done a range of large scale extra tasks that went unnoticed. If directed, of course I would have complied. But somehow, not 'playing around' was me 'not being proactive'. Around this point, I started crying profusely. It was unprofessional. I am not very good at confrontation, and would have much preferred the discussion to have been arranged on the calendar so I could better prepare if I was going to be 'performance managed' after my workday had ended. I was emotional, and said I was confused. Nothing negative was said at my three-month review (which was only a month or so prior). I mean... literally two or three weeks before, she was buying me drinks at a bar, telling me about her ex-boyfriend, laughing and saying 'not to worry' about the probation period. I reiterated my interest in the company, team and role, and asked her if she saw a future for me there. She stated she was 'wanting to prepare me' the best way she could for my review in a few weeks' time. I left, not really understanding where I stood, or why, and, once again, cried a lot in the car, on the way to my dad's hospital appointment, and at home, unsure of what was really happening. --- Conversations at brunch: Did you hear? Jess got fired | Part 7.2 Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.

A murder mystery, a family of secrets and a loner app creator having a baby. How did October's latest movie releases fare in our film review? Yay, movie time! There is always a bit of a lull in the movie game after a school holiday break, particularly when winter brought us the blockbuster juggernaut that was Barbenheimer. Plus, with TV shows and new release films inherently delayed due to ongoing strikes, we've had to get creative with our viewing, whether it's been revisiting old favourites, heading to international film festivals, or taking up useful hobbies like sewing or cooking (lol jokes, I would never alienate my audience like that!) Luckily, there's been a plethora of new content sweeping our screens lately, all with different genres, motivations, characters and ratings. Let's dive in. Film reviews | October 2023 The Origin of Evil (MA) Genre: French (subtitles), Thriller | Run time: 123 minutes | Cast: Laure Calamy, Doria Tillier, Dominique Blanc, Jacques Weber | Showing: Cinemas from 19 October, 2023 | Okay, so before you scaredy cats run off, despite the title, this isn't a horror movie, promise! Think slow-burn thriller of shady characters, like if Knives Out met The Talented Mr Ripley at a French café and smoked cigarettes with disdain. Working a lowly job and kicked out of her rental, a woman decides to connect with her estranged father. Upon arriving at his estate, she finds that not only is he is exceedingly wealthy, but the family he has around him seem to despise him. Growing closer each day, the family members become suspicious of her motives and fear she may get in the way of their plans for his hefty inheritance and company control. However, as we delve more into the lives of this family and those around them, all may not be as it seems. Mind games are played, alliances formed, secrets are told and identities are revealed - who is the origin of evil, after all? FILM REVIEW I was excited to watch this because a) love me some secrets-secrets-lies-lies, and b) it was a genre my partner and I could actually agree on. While action-movie lovers like him may find it a bit slow, I'm all about the gradual climb to the crescendo finish, with both of us continually changing our guesses as to what the character's motivations really were. There were some typically weird French film moments - a bathtub scene and the final ending come to mind - but overall, I was gripped and intrigued enough to not play on my phone, and that's all we really want, isn't it? Bon effort, mon amies. Do I have to see it at the movies, or can I wait to watch at home? Either goes. Can I scroll my phone? No, you gotta watch those subtitles, don't ask the person with you, that's annoying. Speaking for a friend. Will my partner watch it with me? I reckon, if they're into foreign film. Overall score: 3/5. A Haunting in Venice (M) Genre: Mystery | Run time: 103 minutes | Cast: Kenneth Branaugh, Camille Cottin Jamie Dornan, Tina Fey, Michelle Yeoh | Showing: Cinemas, now | So, it may be daggy, but my partner and I seriously love us some Poirot. The first movie we ever saw together was the original Death on the Nile, and we've burned through the majority of Agatha Christie's collection on streaming, from the old Peril at End House to the modern Murder on the Orient Express. I mean, come on. Secrets! Lies! Mysteries! Jealousies! And usually, some sort of grand event with amazing costumes, like a masked ball or rich heiress wedding. The new films in the genre from Daniel Craig's Benoit Blanc (Knives Out, The Glass Onion) are a lot of fun too. The latest remake to hit the silver screen is A Haunting in Venice, part of the reworks from Kenneth Branagh, who not only plays Detective Poirot, but also directed and produced the films. (I'd be more impressed if I didn't harbour a grudge for when he cheated on the world's best friend Emma Thompson in 1994. I don't forgive, Kenneth, and I don't forget). Set in... you got it, Venice, Detective Poirot is retired and chilling out reading newspapers and not doing much else until old mate Tina Fey appears, playing a journalist who tells him she has met a woman who can connect with the afterlife, and must be seen to be believed. Reluctantly, he attends a séance the woman leads at a Halloween party, only to get caught up in a murder mystery that only one of the party guests could have completed. While it may not be Colonel Mustard with the hammer, the scene is set for Poirot to find the murderer - before it's too late. FILM REVIEW For me, while I do love a good murder mystery, I felt this was fine, but not my favourite of the series. It was quite dark, even spooky at times, with no lavish setting like a yacht in Death on the Nile or luxury island like Evil Under the Sun. Frequenters of the genre may be able to guess the culprit a few minutes before Poirot, but the film does throw enough twists and turns so it isn't totally obvious form the get-go. Do I have to see it at the movies, or can I wait to watch at home? You could wait, tbh. Can I scroll my phone? Kinda, but not at the start or you'll miss how the characters are connected and then you'll just be hella confused the whole movie. Will my partner watch it with me? Yeah everyone loves a good whodunnit! Overall score: 3/5. Together Together (M) Genre: Comedy | Run time: 90 minutes | Cast: Ed Helms, Patti Harrison | Showing: Netflix | So, full disclosure, I had half fallen asleep on the couch, woke up, and just wanted to put something kinda background on that I could vaguely get into, and this popped up on New to Netflix so I was like, cool, sure. Whatever. Together Together stars Ed Helms (that guy you confuse with Jason Sudeikis from The Hangover and Vacation) as a single dude who is getting a surrogate because he wants to be a dad. I mean, I was into the premise, as someone going through a similar experience, I thought it might be kind of vindicating. During the film, we are meant to 'watch their unexpected relationship grow' (I guess?) as they 'challenge their perceptions of connection, boundaries and the particulars of love.' FILM REVIEW Um... this did not happen. I felt like I kept waiting for the movie to start, or for something to happen. He was a bit of a loner, she was like cool I'm your surrogate, she had a bit of 'tude, he was a bit annoying, they didn't really have anyone else, then she had the baby and... yep. That... was the whole movie. What a waste of valuable singing my dog her affirmations time. Do I have to see it at the movies, or can I wait to watch at home? Don't do either. It's like you didn't even read what I just wrote. Can I scroll my phone? Please do, it is all that would get you through. Will my partner watch it with me? Hard no, and you shouldn't even suggest it for yourself. Overall score: 1/5 #SorryNotSorry.

Things were slowly getting toxic, and not just in the workplace. A new personal blog series exploring the highs and lows of the conversations you have at brunch. This is Part 6 of a series. For a recap of previous blogs, click here. --- It was November, 2020, and I had been going through an exceptionally hard time. The wedding cancellation, the honeymoon cancellation, being made redundant from a job I loved, and my dad getting diagnosed with Stage Four liver cancer. This was all during the backdrop of Covid-19, with weeks becoming months of not seeing family or friends, going out, socialising or being able to be 'normal' in any real capacity. While I had LAL, I didn't have a job to fill my time, and as someone with ongoing mental health issues, I had periods of being quite blue. I found it hard to get out of bed with no purpose, to have a shower, to make effort with my appearance, or to find joy in many things. Around this time, I was offered a job as a copywriter of sorts. The team and manager seemed fun, the role seemed doable, everyone was currently working from home, and the pay was an pretty big increase on my last position. In the interview, they asked me things like who I was rooting for on The Bachelor, and if I liked dogs. It felt like a fun fit. And for a while, it really was. Even though we weren't back in the office, the team made an effort of getting to know me, whether it was through online drinks and theme days, fun video chats, or, once restrictions relented, real-world meet-ups for drinks and great convos. I felt instantly 'in' with a group of similar-aged people in the team, and like I'd really found my footing. My manager was a young female #GirlBoss who I admired, who deviated between being a professional mentor and a fun friend to talk about the weekend, relationships, TV and life with. Plus, the perks! Every week during lockdown, I kept getting packages from the company that got more and more extravagant, from chocolate sweets and board games, to a full Christmas dinner, complete with a whole turkey, ham, wine and desserts to feed an entire family. Not gonna lie, it was amazing. By the next year, 2021, people were looking to slowly come back to work. At this time, there had not yet been a vaccine announced. My mother, as a liver transplant recipient, was considered high risk for Covid, while for my dad, who was currently undergoing chemotherapy, getting Covid was out of the question. When I was hired, I had explained my situation, and that I would be needing to take my dad to various hospital and doctor appointments, that I would need to work from home for the pandemic period, but that I would always be able to make up the time, which had seemed fine. I was hesitant about going into the office, as my parents said if I went in, they wouldn't see me. Many workplaces were either still working from home or hybrid, but this place seemed to really want people to come in. One day, out of the blue, a senior manager video called me. I had a bit of internal panic - this had never happened. The call was brisk. She wanted to know, point blank, why I hadn't yet been in. When I tried to explain, she looked confused. "So... I mean... I'm just not really getting it. What does your dad's cancer and you taking him to appointments have to do with being in the office?" I was pretty taken aback, and again said that there was just absolutely no way I could risk getting him sick, but that I was constantly available when needed. She was unimpressed. There were some other little things I had also started to notice. Like the fact that there was no style guide, no strategy, no templates and no guides on how to create content, meaning I would frequently have to ask questions for information that wasn't written anywhere, but just in peoples' heads. But, you know. Every company has processes which drive you f*cking crazy. A call with a toxic nature By March of 2021, I relented and knew I would have to come into the office, which wasn't as daunting considering I'd met everyone online, and even some out in the wild. However, my first day in was shortened when I received a frantic phone call from my cousin as soon as I walked through the office door. My auntie Vera was in the hospital due to complications with a chronic condition. It wasn't looking good, and I needed to come to the hospital immediately to say goodbye. I was distraught. How was this happening?! I had only one auntie in Australia, my dad's only sibling, and she was only in her mid 70s. Why her? Why now? I must have started crying, because my #GirlBoss looked at me, concerned, and told me of course to go. I felt so awkward - here I was on my big launch day, and immediately I had to leave. I met my family at the hospital, which was tense and sad and unnerving. There had been periods of will-she-won't-she, but we went just in case. We were grateful to the nurses who let us come into the ICU during Covid-19 to see her. My auntie Vera. Vera, who hosted all the Shabbats every Friday without fail. Vera, with her beautiful long painted nails a different colour every week with the pattern on the ring finger - she did it first! Vera, who would always greet me with a big smile and hug saying "Hello my little Jessica Rabbit!" even when I was 32 years old and married with a mortgage. Vera, who rewarded us with fancy Ferrero Rochers when we were good (which was always). Vera, who took me to see The Little Princess at The Classic and Billy Elliot at the theatre, to Surfers Paradise for holidays and The Little Hungarian for dinners. Vera. I didn't want to say goodbye. I didn't want another sick relative. I didn't want her to not be there for my wedding, for my children, for what my life was going to be. We went in and she was lying on the bed, lucid but with flickers of still being there. We held hands as people told stories around her as she flitted between smiling and closing her eyes. At one point, she looked at me. "Jessica Rabbit," she whispered and smiled, "Are you two actually married now?" I wanted to laugh. You can take the Jewish lady out of her house... "Yes, Vera," I lied, "We are properly married." She smiled and seemed to brief a sigh of relief, or maybe peace. It was the last time I saw her. I was completely distraught. It wasn't meant to be this way, not in 2021. She was the family matriarch who got us together, my dad's only sister, my cousins' mum, and their children's nana. It all felt too soon. We were able to have a funeral in a lockdown window. Her children and grandchildren spoke of her life - born to Czechoslovakian immigrants escaping after the Holocaust, through a refugee camp in the Middle East and finally sailing to and settling in Melbourne, Australia. Unbeknownst to her at the time, she found out later in life she had rheumatoid heart disease as a baby that stayed with her into adulthood, a chronic condition that mostly affects children in poverty-stricken areas (and particularly Indigenous people right here in Australia). Everyone spoke of her nature to bring people together, her fabulous food, her love of being a grandparent as a person from a generation who never had any, and above all, how she identified as a proud Jewish woman. Soon before long, as always, people went back to normal while our lives seemed to stand still. They go back to their lives, back to their kids, back to their jobs, and eventually, you have to, as well. While I didn't want to - I was sad, I was grieving, and I was still gripping with my dad's ongoing battle and our intense fear of Covid - I headed back into the office. I was fired a month later. Thank you to my cousin Tania Burstin for her information about Vera and RHD. You can learn more about the work she and my family are doing to help eradicate RHD in Indigenous communities with The Snow Foundation (and how you can help) here. Vera and her best friend passed weeks apart at the same hospital https://www.australianjewishnews.com/reunited-one-last-time/amp/ --- Conversations at brunch: Did you hear? Jess got fired | Part 7 Like what you read? Subscribe so you don't miss out on the next instalment here.