I blog for Change…

As I attempt to orient the windy and often treacherous roads that encapsulate life, here are some of my thoughts on the successes, failures and ultimately the hope and positivity in which I strive for a better world. I also hope that I can use this blog as a platform to elevate the social justice issues that are somewhat forgotten in the modern discourse of staying silent on issues that challenge. Sx

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We are diminishing our potential..

Whenever I find myself around a group of girls I am always astounded at how quickly deep, intellectual conversations can be so quickly derailed by the ‘Oh I need to lose x amount of kilos fast’ bit. I’ve watched as we collectively find it difficult to accept a compliment without shifting into the ‘but I have so far to go’ mode. About how we downgrade our accomplishments in our careers or studies because we feel that our appearance isn’t up to scratch. Or that we don’t weigh up (or down in this instance) to the purported standards of desirability that are supposed to fuel our ambitions in life.

The thinking behind why we as women feel the need to justify a large or over indulgent meal with a commitment to ‘shred’ or ‘cleanse’ is mystifying. Even within myself I struggle with this, because it’s my own very first go to thought after a big meal too. But I mean let’s actually call it for what it is, it’s not about fasting or cleansing or anything other bullshit such term, in actuality what we are saying is ‘dang I ate too much and now as punishment I must starve myself’.

I read an article recently which was entitled ‘Getting thin: Why is it the ultimate female ambition’. The title itself shook me to my core as it touched on something that had long infuriated me. But the more I read on the sadder it made me feel. The author, while writing with conviction demonstrated a perplexed tone in which she stated: “Nothing I have achieved in my life has been as publicly celebrated as this inadvertent weight loss”. The fact that she was a distinguished Oxford scholar or thriving in her career was not enough or measured up to the apparent ultimate benchmark of success for a woman of being thin.

I think of my own situation in which the enforced starvation I was inflicting on myself was leading to dangerous levels of malnourishment. I was purposely not consuming water during the day because I felt that it made me appear bloated and was reflecting unnecessary ‘water weight’ on the scales. I remember placing the entire emphasis of how I felt about myself on the number on the scale, of how I looked and needed validation that people inevitably gave me when they told me how fantastically skinny I had gotten.

Now I know that the weight loss bit is genderless. Of course men strive towards leanness and muscle tone and that ‘enviable’ six pack. But the cult of skinniness that affects women’s self-imagery is something outside of staying fit. I myself am guilty of taking appetite suppression pills, so I am by no means attempting to point the finger squarely outside of myself. But what we as women need to be conscious of is that we are not fuelling someone else’s illness by telling them how incredible they look when in actuality their gauntness resembles something else entirely.

We need to stop only complimenting each other on weight loss or remarking about physical appearance alone. We need to be mindful that the consistent chatter about how to lose 5kgs, or speaking of that time before when we were ‘fat’ might have detrimental consequences on others. We must remember any number reflected on a scale will never be enough if it isn’t attached to love and worth within our inner selves.

We as women are powerful and capable and strong. We are courageous, determined and motivated to achieve great things. But our ambition for ourselves, our girlfriends and our sisters must sit outside of the attainment of skinniness. We must love each other and cajole each other to put our motivations, our intent into bettering ourselves, into succeeding in this world as badass boss fucking women. Instead of spurring each other on in a never ending pursuit for an unobtainable thinness that is diminishing our collective potential.


p.s. That article I was referring to is by Hannah Betts and can be found here: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/womens-health/10607040/Getting-thin-why-is-it-the-ultimate-female-ambition.html 


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I have a confession to make..

I have a confession to make, one which I have hidden for such a long time now. One in which has been the centre of so much shame, guilt and pain. A habit I have loathed, hated and been oh so ashamed of, but one that I have not been able to kick. A toxic force in my life that has taken so much from me; my confidence, my productivity, my sanity. Something that I have hidden behind closed doors, never spoken directly of and yet which has ruled my life, consumed every waking thought for over a year now. I don’t know how I got to this point, in spite of my honesty, I have hidden this shame but today I have to admit it. Not because I want your sympathy, or your pity, but because I am trying to be better; each and every day. I admit this now in an attempt to put it out there and thus make myself accountable to all of you through this confession towards my recovery..

To the illness that has sparked obsession, I name you today as I look forward. Bulimia.. my foe, my enemy, the inherent threat to my life. And yet, you have been the presence in my life for over a year now that has been the most pressing, the most present and constant. You were the voice in my head that told me that I had to purge all of what I last ate because if I didn’t I would gain that pound that would make me utterly undesirable. You were that reminder each and every day that highlighted within my warped sense of thinking that I couldn’t just eat, get up and walk away. You taunted me after every miniscule consumption and shamed me to the point of physically making myself sick in order to rid myself of that shame, of that threat to my skinniness.

You weaved your poisonous ways into the very wiring of my brain to the extent that even now, I have to actively check myself after every meal and force myself not to attempt to purge every last crumb I consumed. Your stranglehold on my life tightened as the days went on and leaked into every space of my existence. To the extent that I would starve myself during the day at work, barely be able to function or think and then leave early each afternoon so I had the ability to gorge and then rid myself of all of that within the privacy of my own home.

I loved the way I looked, but hated the way I was treating myself. I knew that I was slowly killing myself but just could not stop. I wondered if this miserable existence would be normalcy and my way of life of the entirety of it. As sad and terrible as that made me feel, I kept reminding myself that this was the price I had to pay to stay skinny, to remain within a body that was accepted and complimented in society.

But no one ever tells you about the side effects of living out each day in parallel with this awful habit. No one tells you about the constant and excruciating muscle cramps due to dehydration and low potassium levels you feel associated with heaving everything up that you consume. No one mentions the pressure that is put on your heart during the cycles of binging and purging or how you can’t lay down flat on your back for too long due to the acid reflux condition that this disease has now inflicted on you.

The silence on these elements is deafening. I understand that speaking of something so awful and all consuming might be a little confronting and difficult to enter into a conversation about. But the cost of not addressing eating disorders and the havoc they inflict on people’s lives surely is much more dangerous.

Opening myself up like this has been an incredibly difficult endeavour. I sat on this piece for the longest of times knowing that by identifying my personal battle with this illness would come a whole raft of comments/feedback and questions that may be entirely intrusive. But I make this confession for myself, to hold myself accountable to recovery, as much as I make it for us who are struggling in the same way.

My hope is that you read this piece and realise that this eating disorder, or any other like it is an illness; it’s a disease and you are no less for suffering it. You don’t need to feel shame or guilt because the commonality of this condition is more prevalent than you think. But remember you are more than your illness. You are worth of recovery, you are worthy of your health and your confidence. Because your body and the way it looks doesn’t define you.


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I vow to Tell their Stories.. until I can no longer.

Umiam Lake



Something occurred to me the other day. Something that I have wholeheartedly known for some time, but which I had yet to definitively title. I realised that what I do best is tell stories; I am a story teller and I enjoy this endeavour more than any other. My work as a development practitioner and my resulting travels around the world have meant that the stories I have collected, and the ones I convey the most are those which I have encountered in the field during my monitoring visits. I vowed not long ago ‘to tell their stories’ and I intend to keep that promise today..

So on this day, I want to share with you the story of Srikiran Sankurathri..

Srikiran lost his life at the age of 6 alongside his 3 year old sister and his mother who were on board the doomed Air India Flight 182 which was bombed and went down off the coast of Ireland on the 23rd of June 1985. The only surviving member of this family was Chandrasekhar, his father who at the last minute was not able to accompany his family on the journey from Toronto to Delhi. As you can imagine, losing his family had a devastating effect on this man. For a good 2-3 years he admits that he completely lost his purpose and questioned his reason to live. But in 1989 he returned to his wife’s native hometown of Kakinada, coastal Andhra Pradesh and decided to open the Srikiran Institute for Ophthalmology in memory of his son.

I met Dr. Chandrasekhar earlier this year and when I asked him why he had decided on an eye hospital, as he does not have a health background himself, he explained that even at the tender age of 6 years old, Srikiran was intent on becoming an ophthalmologist. So in order to honour his son’s memory and fulfil the role Srikiran would have filled in adulthood, he decided to open up an eye hospital.

In the 25 years since the centre was opened it has provided eye care services to over 2,830,866 outpatients and performed over 250,000 cataract surgeries; most of these either free of charge or at heavily subsidised rates.

I’d also like to tell you about the members of an Inclusive Child Parliament in Shillong, Meghalaya. Now I have written about child parliaments before but this particular one impressed me more than any other. See this entity was led by some very dynamic children with disabilities, each of whom had been elected into portfolio roles in order to raise their concerns and better the inclusivity of their school as a whole.

I was privileged enough to be present for one of their monthly meetings and listened intently as 1 member reported to the body about the barriers   within the school that were restricting his ability to learn and participate as a whole. This young man, was about 13 and had a visual impairment since birth. He stated that the school’s lack of accessible signage meant that he couldn’t find where he was going the majority of the time. He reported that on most instances, due to a lack of braille signage he couldn’t distinguish between classrooms and often found himself in the wrong one. He stated the impact that this had on his confidence and ability to move around freely as the only alternative was to rely on one his other classmates to take him to the right places.

It was reported to me later that this issue galvanised the entire child parliament and they immediately took this to their principal and the school management committee and called for action and change to address this issue. A few months later, accessible signage, in the form of braille plaques at the entrance to each classroom were installed. Thus representing the power of the collective and the importance of such a platform for children, and children with disabilities to raise their voices.

These are just some of the stories of the people I meet in communities across India. Their tales of survival and resilience are not uncommon, but unique given the circumstance they find themselves in within a debilitating cycle of poverty, discrimination and exclusion. I hope to continue telling these stories throughout my career and for the rest of my days.



Brown Girl Magic.

It’s no secret that I have often spoken of my lived experience as a South Asian, 1st generation immigrant and the curious ways that this has affected my identity over the years. Am I Sri Lankan or am I Australian? Am I both or one or the other? The more I have tended to think about this element, the further down the rabbit hole it’s driven me. Translating this across then to the fact that I also happen to be a woman has meant that nuanced segments of intersectionality have ‘othered’ me within society even further.

Gender equality and women’s rights have in a sense been in the spotlight more in recent times. This has tended to no longer focus as much on getting women into the workforce, but instead trying to push for equality of representation at the highest positions of power in corporates, multi laterals and government. As such, whenever I raise questions about a lack of women in CEO positions and the like I am usually met with the response of but what about Gail Kelly?! People then tend to lecture me about not accurately representing the strides that Australia has taken in the gender equality movement and sometimes even accuse me of distorting facts to push my ‘feminist agenda’.

My response, whilst it takes every part of me to not shade back with some serious side eye, is always, well yes this true and fantastic, but what about the representation of women of colour in these positions? What about the representation of anyone who isn’t a white, cis gendered, straight, middle to upper class woman filling one of these positions?

So when Macquarie Bank announced Shemara Wikramanayake as its incoming CEO, you can imagine the response this triggered in my brain… YASSSS!!!!!! Here you had a woman of a British-Sri Lankan background, a mother, someone born in another country taking one of the top jobs in this country. When attempting to explain how significant this moment was to me, I found myself becoming quite emotional, and I’ll tell you why..

I came to this country as a 2 year old with a set of parents in their 30’s who had left a conflict afflicted country. Sure, they didn’t’ come over as refugees, in fact they would technically have been classed as economic immigrants. At the time, in the early 1990’s, Colombo, the city of my birth was being more and more affected by the burgeoning civil war. Schools were frequently facing disruptions and being shut down due to security fears. For my parents, who had just brought another human being into the world they dreamed of more for me and also for themselves. So they left everything behind and immigrated to a foreign country in which they looked and sounded different and struggled to fit in after leaving behind the only country they had ever known.

For me, I grew up in this country sounding an Australian. Of course, I was and am Australian. I was naturalised and received citizenship in 1991 with my Mum and the first passport I ever owned was Australian. As I entered school I was given every opportunity alongside my peers and told constantly that I could achieve anything if I set my mind to it. But the thing was, the more I looked around, the more I failed to see people who looked like me being represented as succeeding.

Watching my favourite Australian TV shows I saw no one who was anywhere near honey coloured or darker or resembled any of those in my immediate community. I never saw any diversity on the screens or magazines. Plots on TV shows never paralleled the realities of my life or the expectations my parents had of me as a 1st generation immigrant. No one spoke of the underlying and unconscious bias that took place when my parents spoke in our native tongue in public. There was no mention of the occurrences of people telling me that I ‘smelled’ different too, as my peers used to innocently ask me why all my belongings smelt like curry all the time when I was younger.

As I aged and began to aspire to greatness I remember thinking, why can’t I see anyone who likes like me leading big businesses or top corporations. Whilst this may sound somewhat sad but perhaps not so detrimental, in actuality it had an effect of crushing my dreams subconsciously. I, like many others am a visual learner and thinker and not having a visual of someone who looked like me succeeding in this way made me question if it was actually possible at all. It made me think that perhaps my skin colour was the basis of a barrier I could never overcome. Perhaps that then meant that I would never truly be embraced, acknowledged and rewarded for my toils despite my best efforts.

So I know this may be an achievement of just one human being, but her accomplishment in this sense has validated the dreams of so many others. It has allowed us to visualise success in our own skin. It’s given all of us brown girls, whose belongings always smell like curry, who have unpronounceable ethnic names, whose parents arrived on these shores from elsewhere the chance to dare to dream and believe that we can, in spite of the colour of our skin.



*Image courtesy of Brown Girl Mag: https://www.browngirlmagazine.com

Also check out NorBlack NorWhite. This brand is life:


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Love Yourself.

This is quite a difficult piece for me to write because as I much as I tell those around me that they are inherently worthy, that they are loved and that their self-worth goes beyond their appearance; I somehow cannot seem to apply this to my own existence in the same way. I find myself immediately telling the beautiful, intelligent women around me that it doesn’t matter whether or not they ‘conform’ to idealised but misguided standards of beauty around thinness. I tell them that their contribution to this world and their inherent value as human beings goes beyond how they look; but all the while consistently keeping myself up at night wondering if that cookie I ate at lunch will result in a miniscule weight gain and thus challenge my ‘attractiveness’ and how others perceive me.

As a woman I have been pre-conditioned to believe that my worth lies within the confines of my body. Of how it looks, of whether or not I’m a size 4-6; and if I’m not… oh man it’s time for a serious shred. That somehow my ‘skinniness’ is the ultimate thing to hold on to and if I veer off into another direction, that I should automatically hate myself, question my ‘control’  and lack of  ‘will power’ and deem that I am unworthy of someone else’s love/affection or anyone’s respect for that matter.

The truth is I have been killing myself for the last year to hold on to this purported sense of ‘self-worth’. I have made myself miserable by first trying to pursue it and then hold onto it for dear life. I have benchmarked my talent, my offerings to this world and my worthiness of being appreciated, respected and loved on a number on a scale. I have brought myself to breaking point by attempting to control so many things, my hunger, my inability to look a certain way, to be one of those women who just exist so effortlessly and project a certain ‘I’m in control’ attitude which is mirrored through lean, trim bodies.

But I’m tired… I am tired of being told how great I look, all the while knowing that I have spent days starving myself. Not being able to sleep at night because the stomach pain is excruciating. I’m tired of the unrelenting guilt when I ‘indulge’, when I go beyond the point of being ‘ladylike’ because I shoved too many of those chocolate tarts in my mouth at once. I am sick of the looks I get when I order that 2nd round of cheese AND those 3-4 wines… because I should remember that the female body is a thing that belongs to everyone. Don’t I realise that?! That it is the epitome of judgment in which a free for all is the constant state of being in terms of unwarranted and unsolicited feedback.

My body and my mind are weary from the cycles of bingeing and purging that come from guilt and then desperately attempting to wrestle the reigns of control back. I’m tired of being miserable all the time because that number on the scale is never good enough. It’s never low enough and it never will be, not because I am not ‘skinny’ in the eyes of others. But because I am not worthy in my own.

It’s incredible how much you realise you have to rewire your brain once you start to see the signs of how much you fallen down the rabbit hole. My first thought each and very morning is to hurry up and weight myself; so much so that in the hours just before I wake, I dream of this act. It’s been an deliberate but difficult set of actions to not step on those scales in the morning, to not plan out the day according to starvation techniques, to not pop those ‘appetite suppression’ pills. It is beyond difficult, as I find the processes in my brain automatically going to those places; to how I can cut back on calorie intake, to staring at my thighs in the mirror and chastising myself for eating that biscuit last night. Regret, upon regret leading to guilt and self hate… that has been cycle of my psyche for the last year.

When did I get to the point where I thought of myself only through my appearance? Why have I continued to chase a never ending pursuit that has been misplaced in its convictions to begin with? I have never cared about other people’s opinions; not in how I choose to live my life or the decisions I make within it. So why have I been killing myself to attain to a level of external validation that is making me miserable; beyond this, it’s making me sick.

The answer to this lies within my mind, my heart and my soul; and not as I had initially believed, within my body. I have to learn to myself from within. I have to learn to accept myself, my spirit, my entity and my being as a whole. I need to understand that I am worthy, at any size, whatever my appearance. In my head I know that the reasons that people love me, respect me and value my opinion and my presence in their lives goes beyond my appearance. I need to learn to look at myself the way that those who love me do.

As I much as believe these words as I type them, I know that living them out will continue to be a challenge for as long as I live. But what is important is reinforcing the messaging behind them. That I am worthy. That I am enough. I need to admit that I was killing myself before attempting to obtain the unattainable. As we all do each and every time we compare ourselves to others. This is me, my journey and for now teaching myself to simply love myself is the most imperative action of all.



I Write what I Like.. even if it makes you uncomfortable.

I posted a piece on social media recently about my struggles with mental health during the midst of an exceedingly difficult juncture and testing time in my life. My thinking behind posting it so openly came from a place in which I consistently write about within my activism and everyday life on most days. I have often verbalised the need for society to be more open about the struggles that we consistently face. I have tried my best to influence people, through mirroring this sentiment within my own actions, to speak honestly about the internal battles we come up against as flawed and vulnerable human beings. I have attempted to prompt conversations about mental health conditions and impairments in order to reduce the stigma and taboo behind these elements. A purported shame that has left so many afflicted by mental health conditions purposely marginalised and on the fringes of society.

When I posted that piece I knew there would be repercussions, I understood that speaking on such a public forum in a brutally honest way about how much I was struggling would spark a certain level of discomfort within my audience. For those of you that know me you would understand the importance of this reasoning for me to action, but within all of this, I was still taken aback at the response I received. Of course I was reminded that there are very many people out there that love and support me. People who are willing to go out of their way to assist me in my journey towards a perceived ‘betterment’.

Through all of this however, I can’t help but feel that the message I was attempting to portray was unwittingly lost within a sea of confusion and panic in trying to ‘put me back on the right path’. In actuality, my post was not a cry for help; it was not the ramblings of a person riddled by ‘illness’. It was not an attempt to victimise myself or to ask for pity… it was in fact an attempt to model through my own suffering, my own heart ache and despondence at that time, that life is inherently complicated. That we all struggle and doubt ourselves and that sometimes we are just not OK, that sometimes we can barely find the energy to breathe or function… but that is all a part of the human condition and thus nothing to be ashamed of.

In all that I do I attempt to showcase that to be vulnerable is not the stigmatised weakness that we have been socially indoctrinated to believe. To share our inner most turmoil, the elements within ourselves that scare us the most, that isn’t weakness; that is utter strength. A friend, years ago, once asked me why I am so honest in my writing. He asked me why I felt the need to make myself look so vulnerable on such a public stage. I remember thinking at the time, what an odd question to ask, why would I be anything but honest?! So let me state this openly once and for all. For me, I have no reason to hide or pretend. I am not perfect, I am nowhere near, but there is no such thing as perfection in any case.

The truth is we all hide behind a façade, a mask. One in which we put on as we open the door and walk out into the world each day. We pretend that we are something that is utterly unattainable to begin with; we pretend that we are super human. That we don’t feel, that we don’t struggle, that we don’t doubt ourselves each and every day. That we don’t have negative and toxic thoughts. We deny that there are days that we question whether or not we have the will to go on, to face another day of distress and uncertainty. We push those feelings of inadequacy down. We smile and pretend that we are ‘fine’, that we are ‘ok’ all the while chastising ourselves for being debilitatingly riddled with anxiety. Our inner monologues scream for us to hide our sadness, our self doubt, they instruct us to put on a happy face and when people ask how we are, they tell us the only suitable answer is to say ‘I am well’ and sound convincing… even when we are dying inside.

Well you know what, I shun this sentiment. I rebel against it because I truly believe that it is doing more harm than good. This very reasoning is teaching our young people that to be successful, to be a deemed a proper, functioning and sanctioned human being in society is to be proper, perfect, happy and ok all the time. It is to be silent about our misgivings, about our struggles. It means hiding the very things that make us human; our insecurities, our vulnerabilities and our flaws. But too many people have died because of this delusional rhetoric. We have othered people, stigmatised and discriminated them so critically due to attempting to hide and deflect our own internalised struggles. We have unwittingly pushed people into marginalisation, isolation and the thinking that there is something inherently wrong with them.

In recalling that conversation with my friend, in which I explained why I am so quick to admit my struggles I remember one thing. I recall stating that if my writing makes one person in this world feel less alone, feel less like there is something wrong with just them, then I’ve done my job. I write what I like, this is true, but I also write as a reminder to people that it is important to be vulnerable in an open forum and that the so called ‘chinks in our armour’ are what determine our humanity.

I write to fight against the thinking that to struggle mentally, is to be weak. We need to redress the taboo around admitting that we need help and are seeking it or that all we can do sometimes is wake up and breathe. We need to be kinder to ourselves as individuals and as a society in an attempt to create a world that nurtures; that is strengthened and promotes healing through its honesty.

I write what I like, even if it’s uncomfortable to read. Even if it prompts you believe that I am flawed, when in actuality I am empowered through my vulnerability and my honesty. I seek to change this world not through a show of misaligned ‘strength’ or purported perfection but through a culture of sharing, of openness and exposure and I use myself as the example for such. I speak for and with those of you out there that struggle alongside me, but that society has forced you to be silent. You are not alone, don’t believe the rhetoric that you are ‘not normal’, that you don’t have the ‘strength’ to be ‘mentally strong’. You are utterly human in your fragility. You are beautiful and strong, not because you deny your struggles, but because you live in them each and every day and continue to exist. Yes, perhaps this is in uncertainty, but I promise you every other person walking this earth feels these things too, they just live in a world that chooses to shun those who share their vulnerabilities openly.

You are not alone, as I am not alone.

I write what I like, in the hope that it changes this world ever so slightly.


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The Last Single Girl.

Singledom. What is it that makes this concept so blatantly uncomfortable, fear inducing and stigmatising for modern day adults? Of all of the concepts, the ideas and elements that I write about, this one in particular is the notion I seem to come back to the most. Beyond this, I simply can’t crack the mystification around the tag of being single that makes it justifiable to other people’s never ending input and commentary on someone else’s life.

I don’t mean to be rude, nor am I attempting to take a dig or point a deliberate EFF YOU to anyone (actually just typing that was slightly cathartic.. but still)… I promise you that is not my intent at all with publishing this piece. I am simply trying to get to the heart of an issue which places so much blame on single women of a certain age. Blame for not constantly looking for that metaphorical other person, blame for focusing ‘too heavily’ on a career and not trying enough to settle down. Blame for being too empowered, too successful or too nonchalant about kowtowing to a man’s expectations towards being properly wife material.

Could you ever imagine flipping this and saying it to a young man? I highly doubt it. The problem that we have in society today, and have had for eons in the past is that women, and young women in particular, are too easily judged against standards of a purported feminity, which is a perverted social construct to even begin with. Does it make me less of woman, less of a human being that finding someone and coupling up to simply conform to society’s norm around what is expected of me at this age is not my top priority?

During each and every conversation about my marital status I, like so many other single women in their 30’s, find a switch flipping in my brain. All of a sudden I’ve fallen down the slippery slope of justifying that ‘there just isn’t anyone I’m interested in right now’ or ‘I just don’t have time to date at the moment’. Interestingly enough, during these conversations no one ever asks me what it is that I actually want. As in, what I, as an individual being prefer, for my own life. They don’t ask me if I see myself being married or having children because apparently this is just what is universally expected of me. It is presented as if I have no choice in the matter, referred to as if they are no alternate pathways to success, happiness, existence or a life well lived. But I am here to remind you that there are; there are infinitely more options available for us all.

Surely if we are attune enough to understand that every person is different and unique in a way that allows them to dictate the direction for their own lives, then surely we can comprehend that should also apply to their marital status also. The term ‘marital status’ itself thus connotes to a pathway to inevitable marriage in which we have to benchmark ourselves against on either side. Can I instead rebrand it single status? Would it then mean the same thing?

I know that as human beings we are driven by hope. Perhaps the hope for some single women that their shining knight is out there waiting for them provides them with the impetus to keep fighting their way towards them each and every day. But what if some people are just not destined to meet ‘the one’? What if ‘the right person’ just isn’t out there for everyone? I understand that it’s an uncomfortable concept and a difficult pill to swallow but it’s the reality for many.

Going beyond that, some people and more importantly, some women, are actually okay with this concept. They are okay and even happy to be by themselves, to be living their own lives, to be building their own empires. They don’t feel the need to push themselves down a rabbit hole of a never ending search for ‘their other half’. They complete themselves and perhaps one day someone will come along; and maybe they will choose to open up their lives and their hearts to this person. But the thing to be made utterly clear here is that they are capable of living full, happy, successful lives on their own. They don’t need your pity or reassurance that the key to that occurring is someone who hasn’t come along yet.

Signing off as,

The Last Single Girl. Sx