I do not need a hero. I do not need a saviour. I just need you to get the f*ck out of my way and let me do it myself.

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Maybe it’s because of Covid.

Or maybe it’s because I’m now in my 40’s and my I-No-Longer-Give-A-F*ck-What-You-Think-Of-Me attitude has amped up a notch or two. Either way, an undercurrent of change is churning inside me, pulling me to a place where I no longer feel the need to explain, justify or apologise for the woman…

In the loudness that is raising teenagers, I assure you — the loneliness is louder.

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

Last week I caught five minutes with a friend whose daughters are the same age as mine. Earlier that particular day one of my daughters had been upset over friendship issues as I had once again endeavoured to find the balance in supporting her emotionally while also allowing her the…

We must understand at the core of Rape Trauma Syndrome is the innate need for the permission to be human

Photo by Rachel Coyne on Unsplash

It’s late afternoon. I ride my bike; country roads, dirt roads, lonely places. Twenty kilometres turn into thirty, turns into forty-five. Lately, I have been riding more than usual. At some point, I realise it’s less about movement and more about escape. I don’t allow the thought to linger…

We’re all doing the best we can, and that’s enough.

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A reminder if you haven’t been able to achieve what you’d hoped this week:

You don’t need more motivational quotes or inspirational memes or 20-point list articles on how to be more productive and whatever other capitalist bullshit is out there.

What you need is less shame around the idea that you’re not doing your best.

We don’t all have the same 24 hours…

The one seen to be the most f*ckable is the one most seen.

Photo by Yohann LIBOT on Unsplash

“Whatever is deeply, essentially female — the life in a woman’s expression, the feel of her flesh, the shape of her breasts, the transformations after childbirth of her skin — is being reclassified as ugly, and ugliness as disease.” ~ Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth.

There is a moment, a…

Are the best years of my life still coming or have they already been and gone?

Photo by Benjamin Manley on Unsplash

Our time will come, right?

These words I wrote to a friend last week who, like me, has four children and who — also like me — has given the best part of her last two decades to raise said children. We were chatting about restless feet, eager to get…

Kathy Parker

Writer. Poet. Spoken Word Performer. Survivor. Warrior. www.kathyparker.com.au

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