• All About Fern
  • Quitting the Meds

    I was so prepared.

    I read everything. I watched everything. I spent hundreds of dollars on vitamins and minerals and supplements. I knew everything there was to know about quitting the meds.

    I was so prepared.

    Exactly three weeks after I swallowed my last prozac the physical withdrawals hit.
    They’re not withdrawals, taking antidepressants is not an addiction. It’s your body adjusting to living without the medicine.

    They are withdrawals.

    I was so prepared.

    It started with a headache, dizziness, feeling like my brain had transformed itself into a week-old helium balloon. That part was kind of fun. I knew what was happening and I was ready.

    I was so prepared.

    The next morning I didn’t want to get up. My head pounding, my stomach churning, I stayed in bed and hoped like hell my husband would intervene if the kids got too wild. They’d been awake for four hours before I emerged from my bedroom, stumbled to the kitchen and downed some paracetamol. It was just the headache bothering me, really. I was going to be fine.

    I was so prepared.

    Now the next morning is yesterday. Today is three weeks plus three days without prozac. I ate half a toasted sandwich for lunch, a banana and a glass of milk for dinner. 20 minutes later, propped up on pillows with my legs crossed beneath me, I sat in my bed and vomited into a white plastic bowl. The force and violence of the heaving waves overtook me, overtook my bladder, and everything was wet. My body had nothing left.

    I was so prepared.

    My mother told me a couple of months ago about an article she’d read a while back. Its author argued that antidepressants were not the answer, and that they definitely shouldn’t be a long-term solution, because swallowing pills isn’t addressing the problem. The problem exists for a reason and the problem needs to be solved.

    At the time I didn’t want to hear it, because there I was, two years into my life with fluoxetine, and I wanted to believe it was my solution. Who would want to admit they’d been wearing a band-aid all this time? But it makes sense to me now, it does. Because it’s been three weeks and three days and physically I’m suffering, but mentally I am strong.

    I truly am prepared.

    For too long I have used antidepressants as a crutch. Starting my day with a medicine I knew little about, and telling myself that my moods and emotions are controlled by that. Never mind that I wasn’t getting enough exercise, spending enough time outside, eating well, drinking plenty of water, talking about my feelings, sharing my struggles, charting my cycles, practicing mindfulness, being honest with myself… Why bother with any of that when I can take a little pill?

    The first time I started thinking about quitting the meds is the first time I looked into prozac’s side-effects. I have never once doubted my doctor, and I still don’t. I trust her implicitly and think she is knowledgeable, trustworthy, and damn good at her job. But holy hell, I wish I’d known about the side-effects. The common, the less common, the rare… I’ve experienced some from each category, most of which I hadn’t even realised were being caused by the one thing I thought was meant to be helping me.

    I have no idea how long this physical illness is going to last, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of what’s to come. But with time, with intent, with trust in myself, I’ll be whole again.

    I am prepared.

    For all the details of why I’ve made this decision and how I’ve prepared myself, check out this video.


    Yes, I have spoken to my doctor about this.
    No, you should not quit your meds just because you read this post. If you have concerns or want to quit then you should consult with a health professional.

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  • Birthdays & Celebrations
  • A Reindeer Themed Christmas | FREE PRINTABLES

    If you’ve followed me for more than two minutes, you’ll know that Christmas is a very Big Thing for me. As soon as November hits, I start thinking about, and shopping for, Christmas. For the sake of my husband, I don’t start decorating until December 1st, but believe me, my brain is already all Christmas, all the time (which makes it very difficult to concentrate on anything).

    This year my brain has got a bit of a reindeer theme going on. I’ve ordered some matching reindeer PJs for the kids and myself:

    NB. I stole this picture from Ali Express. We are not actually this cute.

    And I’m planning to transform our car into a reindeer for our local Christmas parade:

    Okay, so this isn’t my photo either. Surprise! It was actually taken in Serbia. Also, in case you’re wondering, I am not planning on covering my car in anything remotely furry.

    So it made sense, at least to me, that I should include this whole reindeer motif in the kids’ advent calendar this Christmas too.

    Last year my three biggest kids (i.e. the children who might actually remember the effort their mother put into making their December totally awesome) each had their own advent calendars, DIY’d by yours truly.

    This is what I made my son. So much time, so much effort, so much money.

    This year I thought, Nah f**k that, and promptly decided I’d do one shared calendar. I considered doing the Socks on a Line thing I put together in 2015:

    This idea is so simple and cost effective that I’d actually recommend it to others.

    But then someone shared with me their idea of wrapping books – some old, some new – and letting their children unwrap one each day from December 1st until Christmas. Genius, right?!

    As my kids already own a whole bunch of Christmassy books and DVDs (yeah, I’ve decided to throw some screen time in for good measure), and because the Lucky Book Club catalogue is full of cheapo holiday stories right now, this has turned out to be a fairly inexpensive way to celebrate the countdown to Christmas. And, because we actually have fresh ink in our printer for a change, I figured I’d just search out some free reindeer-themed (gotta be reindeer themed) advent numbers. Well.

    Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any reindeer advent calendar number printables.

    Fortunately, I have the ability to make things myself.

    Ta da!

    Now this is something for which I can actually take the credit. Well done, me! 

    Truth be told, it took bloody forever to make these labels, and by the time I’d reached Day Eight I was ready to call it quits. But, as I’d already invested so much time, I persevered. And because I persevered, I decided I may as well take the extra time to add 24 Santa hats to 24 tiny reindeer faces just because finally reaching Day 24 is pretty much the best feeling in the world. Did you even notice I did that? Did ya?

    Because I don’t want anyone else out there to waste as much time as I did making ridiculous Christmas labels, I figured I’d share the love by sharing the PDF. Yep. For nothing, nothing at all, you can get your mitts on my hard work, and pass it off as your own. Go on! It’s free! You can download it right here.

    I feel like a real blogger would’ve already put together their advent calendar, perfectly photographing every step they took so they could inspire others with their brilliance. But I think we all know I’m not a real blogger. I designed the printables, and I printed the printables, but the actual advent calendar is not likely to exist for quite a few days yet. Most likely I’ll forget to even update my blog to show you how it turns out. Your best bet, if you’re interested, is just to ahead and subscribe to my YouTube channel. Vlogging seems to take less effort than blogging, and less effort makes me happy.

    – Fern xxx

    Download your free reindeer themed advent calendar numbers printable!
    (And then let me know what you do with them)



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  • All About Fern
  • Life as a YouTuber: It’s Lonely

    I posted this on Instagram the other day.

    I was tagged practically forever ago by @thingswhatilove to share #20thingsaboutme So. Here are 20 things. 1. I am lazy. Like really, really lazy. 2. I spend a ridiculous amount of time wishing for change instead of making changes. 3. I hate social media because it makes me feel needy and awkward; pointless posts that were clearly made just to try and "engage" people make me so angry. 4. I'm just a generally angry person tbh. 5. I hate losing. 6. I often feel like I'm losing. 7. I wish I could have more babies just because I love naming babies. 8. I would love to make a career out of YouTube, but I don't see it ever happening. 9. YouTube makes me feel lonely. 10. I have always been impulsive and I am equal parts grateful and resentful that my husband and kids prevent me from making impulsive decisions. 11. My grandparents passed away last year and I dream about them all the time. 12. My dreams are so vivid that I often wake up and don't know what's real and what's not. 13. The only times I've been able to sing without fear as an adult were the times I was high on drugs. 14. Yeah, I used to do a lot of drugs. 15. I love wearing glasses and feel naked without them. 16. I hate wearing glasses because they slip down my nose and my kids are constantly smearing them with their grubby kiddy fingers. 17. I'm too scared to find out how big my student loan is – it's interest free so I'm not even going to think about it until I start earning money. 18. I can't look at the horizon or the sky for too long or I start to freak out. Everything is so big and I am so small. 19. I swear way more than I should. 20. I fucking hate typing on my phone and I'm pretty surprised I stuck with this! Okay I'm done. I tag @myfavouriteshus @ivfmummavlogs @jesschillinabout @bigtinylife

    A post shared by Fern P (@the_fern_life) on

    Excuse the swears (if you’re a person who’s offended by swears), but it took me forever to type all that out on my stupid phone. Also I wasn’t in the best mood. Also, I wasn’t kidding when I shared that 19th thing. But anyway.

    Linda (who is a person I consider to be a friend despite the fact I’ve never actually met her) left a comment on that post on Instagram. The comment included a question that I found interesting. And because I am completely lacking in the blog ideas department of late, I figured I’d answer her in the wordiest way possible.

    Hello, new blog post.

    Okay, so here’s (some of) what she said:

    It’s so sad that youtube makes you feel lonely, is it because you talk to a screen? It’s quite trippy when I think about it; us viewers feel connected when we watch you, but you prob end up feeling disconnected?

    So here goes. These are the reasons why YouTube makes me feel lonely.

    1. Most of the time when I’m filming YouTube videos I am at home alone. Sometimes my kids are there, it’s true, but anyone with kids will tell you that being surrounded by children is not the same as being surrounded by other adults. For example, I have to try not to swear. And I can’t even laugh at the really funny things they do, because the funniest things they do are always the naughtiest things they do. So then I have to get all growly, and then everyone hates me, and then I feel lonely. Ahhh parenting.
      But yeah. What I was trying to get at is this: My YouTube videos are literally me, on my own, talking to an electronic device that fits in the palm of my hand.
    2. My videos aren’t live. They are pre-recorded; edited, uploaded, and scheduled to appear on my channel at 8:30pm. And that means that when my wonderful subscribers are watching and responding to my videos, they are commenting on past events.
      I’m the first to admit that my moods and emotions tend to be a bit up and down (the husband is probably snorting at that understatement). I feel things strongly, but I get over things quickly. Unless it’s a major event, something that upsets me is likely to be something I couldn’t give two craps about just a couple of days later. So although the supportive comments I receive are wonderful (really, they are, please don’t take this as me not appreciating the messages you guys leave me), they never actually come at the times I need them most.
    3. This is the biggest one:
      I don’t actually know who you are.
      You know me. You watch my videos and read my words and sometimes you even laugh at my jokes. You know what I look like, what I sound like, what I have for breakfast… But what do I know about you?
      Some of my viewers have teensy little profile pictures that assure me they are real people. Some of my viewers leave comments using their first and last names, which makes it easier to remember who says what. But most viewers have pseudonyms and generic avatars, and it’s just like, Okay, cool. Thanks, faceless stranger! No matter how kind the comments, no matter how sweet the sentiments, there’s always going to be a disconnect when the majority of my feedback comes in the form of semi-anonymous comments (and 100% of that feedback is nothing more than words on a screen).

    There are many things I love about YouTube, and there are many reasons I stick with it. But the fact remains that life as a YouTuber is lonely. Unless my husband suddenly decides he wants to stick his face in front of the camera with me (which is never going to happen, I can assure you), I’m almost certain that the feelings of isolation are set to be a permanent side effect of my vlogging life. It’s okay, because I’ve accepted it. But I do wish it was possible to interact more tangibly with you all.

    – Fern xxx

    If for some reason you’re not subscribed to my channel yet, you should go and do that now. If you want to, I mean…
    Here’s the link: Subscribe to The Fern Life 

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  • All About Fern
  • A Married Woman

    I thought it was our ninth, but no. It’s only been eight years. Only. It feels strange that I’ve chosen to use that word, because to me eight years is forever. I’ve never stuck at anything for this long.

    Our anniversary was yesterday. It was up to me to organise something, but I couldn’t really be bothered organising something. Last year the husband spent a lot of time and energy searching for the perfect restaurant, and then when we got there the restaureteur accused me of being pregnant. Which I wasn’t. So that kind of sucked. Remembering that I thought, Screw it, we can just go out for burgers and bowling.

    Burgers and bowling is us, really. The husband got to wear shorts and jandals; I got to wear overalls. We didn’t have to pretend we were anything or anyone we’re not. Frans and Fern, we’re not exactly high class.

    In the end the bowling didn’t happen, because the place with the burgers (terrible burgers, what even) was hosting a quiz night. I very kindly let the husband answer pretty much all the questions; he very kindly let me drink over-priced beer. I did answer the question about The Bachelor though, because I’m actually a little bit obsessed with that show right now. God knows why.

    Marriage is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I rushed into it, you see, young and full of some guy I hardly knew’s baby. The night I realised I had a baby on board I told him he was going to have to marry me. I didn’t mean it, but I meant it.

    He proposed officially when I was big and fat and round. A jewellery box on my pillow. A hand written note. I was wearing pajama pants, but I guess he didn’t mind. I said yes. We planned a wedding. We said I do in front of many, many people. That’s just what you do. Or what we do. Did.

    When times are tough between us I remember what I said, full of hormones and fear.
    You’ll have to marry me now.
    And I wonder if I pushed him into this. I wonder why he stayed. I wonder if our life full of children is what either of us would have actually chosen, had we taken just a moment to stop and think before we jumped into our life together.

    But the truth is I’d be lost without him. I doubt I’d ever have grown up. He is my opposite. My anchor. My conscience. He is the voice of reason when all my reason is gone. Sometimes I complain that he doesn’t talk enough, but the truth is I love being the one saying all the things. My voice can be strong, but it hates to compete.

    I love our humble life. I love living within our means. I love the children we have created and the memories we have made, and I love how far we’ve come. I love that I have a husband. I love that my husband has me. And as if all that gushing isn’t enough, I love that we are we.

    – Fern xxx

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  • All About Fern
  • Bad Day; Good Day

    It should have been a bad day. I woke up with a headache, and a tense neck. The kids were being loud and messy (I’m talking exceptionally loud and messy), and my brain went, Let’s go shopping! But I couldn’t go shopping. All the shops were closed for Good Friday. Boo.

    But not really.

    For whatever reason I just got on with things. I scrubbed the kids’ bathroom from top to bottom, vacuumed the carpets, and made an enormous stack of banana, chocolate chip pancakes. The husband assembled bunk beds in the biggest kid’s bedroom. The children ran around outside. And all the doing prompted more doing. So in the afternoon I sat down and put together this video:

    PLAY NZ is a group I started in the middle of winter last year. I wanted to connect with other Kiwi women who are active on YouTube. Struggling to find them, I figured I’d let them come to me – and that is what I did. Where would we be without Facebook groups?

    A friend suggested I call the group Play, which I liked but didn’t love, until I realised I could turn it into the perfect acronym. PLAY. Parenting, Lifestyle and Appearance YouTubers. Oh shit yes.

    As with most things in life, I’m kind of all over the place when it comes to PLAY. Some days (or weeks, or months) I’m like, PLAY is the best thing ever and I’m going to pour all my energy into it! That’s when I do things like set up entire websites, write YouTubey blog posts, and organise collaborations. Other times I feel like it’s all a big fat waste of time. Which is dumb, because my heart tells me it’s not. In fact, my heart reckons that PLAY could (and should) really be something.

    This Easter I’ve banded 12 women together. We’ve each bought a collection of gifts and sent them off to be opened, on camera, by one of our fellow PLAY members. I have to admit, while it’s not easy pulling off a collaboration like this, I’m really happy that I can facilitate this sort of thing. A coming together of like-minded women, a celebration of life through gift-giving. It’s cool. It’s really cool. I’m proud of myself for making these collaborations happen.

    One thing I struggle with is the feeling that I’m not doing enough. I’m constantly looking out for jobs and opportunities I can apply for or to, just so I can prove to everyone that I’m here, and I’m capable, and I’m worthy of recognition. And though I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, the feeling that I’m wasting away at home definitely is. I’m not wasting away. I’m not doing nothing. Sure, I’m not getting paid. But I’m still working. I’m challenging myself and teaching myself and extending myself every day. I am capable of so many things.

    I’m looking forward to creating more trailers showcasing the work the women of PLAY and I have done. I’m excited to see where PLAY will take us in the future. And I’m proud to say that PLAY wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t for me.

    Good Friday: It’s a good day to remind yourself of the good things you do.

    – Fern xxx

    The PLAY NZ Easter collaboration won’t go live until 8:30pm on Easter Monday.
    But I do have another Easter collab. up my sleeve for you:
    I got in touch with my American friend Sarah to see if she’d like to share her gifts and plans for Easter this year, and she said yes!
    This here’s my video – a link to Sarah’s will pop up at the end, so make sure you check that out too.

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  • All About Fern
  • I Found Myself

    I got catcalled the other day.

    Striding down the street in the centre of town, my not-quite-two-year-old on my left hip, my imitation leather handbag slapping against my right. I was on my way to meet a friend. She’s shaved all her hair off too.

    Nice hair!

    It is nice hair. But that’s not what they meant. Two boys, pretending to be men. Yelling at a woman because she doesn’t look the way they want women to look.


    It’s funny that I wrote that out, because I can honestly say I didn’t care in the slightest that they yelled at me. In fact, there’s something quite comical about it all… I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but I think it’s mainly the thought that some young guy felt the need to comment on a 33-year-old mother’s appearance. Or maybe it’s just that there are men in their twenties who still enjoy yelling at people out their car window. Or maybe I have a terrible sense of humour. Who knows?

    I like having a shaved head. I like the way it looks and I like the way it feels. I feel more confident, more beautiful, more me. I feel like I’ve trampled all over pretty and left it behind me for good. I’m not some delicate little flower, I’m a freaking fern. Shade or sun, wind or rain, I’m gonna keep on growing.

    I mentioned in my last blog post that 2017 hasn’t been kind to me, and that in turn I haven’t been kind to me. But I feel like things are turning around. I mean, it’s only April. I’ve still got plenty of time to make this year my year. I’m ready to give it my all.

    Just before I shaved my head a friend got in touch with me to share a quote from Coco Chanel (of all people!)

    A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.

    Normally I’d snort at that – both the sentiment and the speaker – but it’s true. It’s bloody true. I shaved off my hair and I found myself. I found strength, resilience, and hope. Wherever you are, and whatever you do, I hope you can find the same.

    – Fern xxx


    Just in case you missed them, these are the head shaving videos that you totally gotta see.
    And FYI, it’s not too late to sponsor me either. 

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  • All About Fern
  • I Didn’t Get The Job

    The truth is my eating is out of control. Chocolate biscuits for breakfast, potato chips for lunch, litre after litre of Coca-Cola. All the weight I lost last year is back. My middle is rounder than ever before. Still, I eat. And I eat. And I eat.

    I really hate 2017.

    This year was going to be my year for making the best of things. My plan was not to plan. To forget about new houses, new opportunities, new anything. I was going to be content with my life, and I was going to get through each day without telling myself I needed something new. I was going to be happy.

    Then I saw a job opening that I couldn’t not apply for. I applied. I interviewed. I sat on a bus for seven hours just to go in and meet with them, so I could prove that I was enough. Good enough. Cool enough. Worthy of a position within a design company. I got scared before my meeting and went and spent $640 on designer clothing. It was a lot, but it was okay, because I was going to get the job.

    I didn’t get the job.

    I sat at a ping pong table and answered all their questions. They asked me things, you see, but it wasn’t an interview. Oh no. It was just an informal get together where I had to take a seat and tell a group of strangers all sorts of things about myself. Fern as an animal, Fern as a wife, Fern as a daughter, Fern as a child… And I even told them about how Fern hasn’t always been my name. I told them my “real” name. And then I went back home on the bus, over eight hours on the bus that time.

    And I didn’t get the job.

    It was the ultimate rejection. It wasn’t just professional, it wasn’t just skill. It was about fit. Personality. Flair. And after all the personal questions, the friendly conversations, there was a minute-long phone call – it’s a No – and that was that. The end. Goodbye. And it’s almost like none of it even happened. But guess what…

    It happened.

    The truth is that I’m relieved I didn’t get the job. My gut tells me that something wasn’t quite right, that’s why the bus ride home was so awful. That’s why I knew it wasn’t actually going to happen. But the experience has affected me all the same. My brain is back to its old ways. What’s the point what’s the point what’s the point.

    What is the point?

    The truth is that everything seems pointless right now. The effort to write for you, upload for you, share my life with you – it’s pointless. It really is. What’s the point in adding one more voice to the millions of others already out there screaming Pay Attention To Me? Who’s really listening anyway?

    All these bloggers, all these YouTubers, what are they hoping to achieve? A few will go places, the majority will go nowhere. We share mediocre content about our mediocre lives, and we tell ourselves that if we just put it on the internet it’ll be important somehow. God, it feels so pointless.

    I keep searching for change, looking for the new. So now I have a shaved head, and some extra possessions, and a husband who’s not happy with the way I’ve rearranged the furniture. The shaved head’s okay, but the other two make me feel bad. So I eat. And I eat. And I eat.

    All the eating makes me feel bad too.

    – Fern xxx


    Oh, past Fern. You were so full of hope…

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  • All About Fern
  • The Makings of a Real Woman

    I’m one week out from shaving my head. One. You are probably wondering how I am feeling. Am I regretting my decision yet? You might imagine I am, but nope. I’m not. In fact I can’t freaking wait to shave my head.

    I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube videos. Being a YouTuber myself that doesn’t sound particularly newsworthy, but rather than sticking to what shows up on my subscription feed, I’ve been searching out women with shaved heads. I’ve seen pros and cons videos, Shave for a Cure promos, and women who decided to give themselves a buzz cut just because.

    I don’t even have the words to explain how these videos have made me feel, but I tell you what. Women with shaved heads are bloody beautiful. They are not brave. They are not reckless. They are normal people who understand that hair is overrated. I mean, really. What even is hair?

    My four favourite videos from the past week:

    Yesterday I hit my fundraising goal. I’ve now collected over $1,000 for Leukaemia & Blood Cancer NZ. It was a great feeling, of course, but I’m going to increase my goal now. I’m not ready to stop just yet. I still have a week to go. I still want more. I’ve listed my ponytail on Trademe, I’ve got interviews lined up with journalists, and everywhere I go I’m telling people, Yeah so I’m shaving my head soon! Most people are cool with it. Some people are weird.

    There’s so much pressure on us (women, I mean) to be pretty. For whatever reason society seems to think that we need to try harder to look good than men do. We should get up and do our hair and put on make up and wear nice clothes. We should rid ourselves of any hair that doesn’t grow from our scalp (though we are allowed big eyebrows now, aren’t we lucky?!). We should get manicures and facials and we really should eat less cake, and I don’t know about you, but I’m effing sick of it. I am done. If I want to fart and burp and walk around with dirt under my nails then I’m going to. None of that is what makes me a woman. Why should I have to prove that I’m a real woman anyway?

    It’s always been strange to me that in the animal world it’s the males who have to make the effort, while we humans work the opposite way. Male animals are almost always brightly coloured and beautiful, going to great lengths to impress the ladies. I mean, have you seen those boy birds performing their little dance routines? Or the ones that spend months building the perfect little love shack, just for a shot at getting a Yes from a girl? It seems ridiculous to me that men, boys, go around telling women they are gross because they have pubic hair. Come on. Do they really think that denying us access to their genitals is a punishment? Trust me, dudes. It’s not.

    One thing I’m always telling my kids is that boys and girls can look, act, and dress anyway they like. My son wears dresses often, and tends to pick out pink or purple over blue or green. That is cool. My daughter rides around on a black and orange “boy’s” bike, and spends hours playing with toy trains. That is also cool. Next week I’m going to shave off my hair, and I may not ever grow it all back again. And yeah, I think that’s cool as well.

    To me, being cool is being true. True to yourself. True to your spirit. And my spirit is telling me to just let go of all this hair. So I’m gonna. With or without it, I know what it takes to be a woman. A real woman. And no matter what I look like, that is exactly what I am.

    – Fern xxx

    Please sponsor me to Shave for a Cure, if you haven’t already!
    Or hey, go and place a bid on my ponytail?
    All money raised goes to Leukaemia & Blood Cancer NZ.


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  • All About Fern
  • Eff off, February (March is going to be HUGE)

    February sucked big time. I’m not even being dramatic. It was the worst. I failed at not spending money, I failed at getting a job, and I failed to stay on top of my mental health (without going into details, I missed a couple of days of medication because I “got too busy” and didn’t get my prescription filled when I should have). So. I ended up spending a good chunk of my February crying, fretting, and consuming more sugar than the average 33-year-old woman eats in a year, let alone a month. And now I’m feeling a little bit fat. Again.

    It’s time to leave all that crap behind me.

    Today is the first of March. The first of March makes me happy. It feels like the perfect opportunity to start over; to quit talking about not spending money, and to start talking about other things. More interesting things. For example…

    I’m going to shave my head.

    I’ve always talked about shaving my head. Sometimes seriously, sometimes jokingly, and sometimes just to attract a bit of attention (women wanting to shave their heads tends to be a bit of a show stopper). And though I’ve always promised myself that I’d do it some day, I don’t think I ever once considered doing it that day. For me, head shaving has been a bucket list item that I wasn’t fully prepared to tick off.

    Well, eff it. I’m tired of thinking about it. I’m tired of saying One day. I’m tired of brushing irritating little baby hairs out of my face. I am done with living this hairy headed life.

    When I googled Shave for a Cure this afternoon, I discovered that March is the month. Aucklanders can sign up to get their heads shaved by a “celebrity” (I use quotation marks because this is New Zealand, so it’s bound to be someone lame), while plebs like me can just go along to Farmers where a random person will turn beauties into baldies. It all sounds kind of terrifying; I signed up then and there.

    Yep. I’m actually going through with this.

    There’s a catch, of course (there always is). And it involves money. Your money. If you’ve got some going spare, that is… I hate to ask, because it’s awkward, but the whole point of signing up to Shave for a Cure is to raise money for people with leukaemia and other blood cancers. Maybe you could sponsor me? I set my personal goal at 1k, which is ambitious, I know. But more than 500 people reckon they like me on Facebook. And more than 1,000 people sometimes watch my videos on YouTube. And though I’m sure there’s quite a large overlap there, I feel like I could do it. I think I might be able to raise that much. You gotta set yourself goals, right? How else do you determine whether you’re a winner or a loser?

    So the date’s locked in: I have 22 more days of life with hair, and then that’ll be it. I might look ugly. I might look man-ish. I might wish I hadn’t done it. But whatever happens, it’ll be okay. It’s only hair. It’s not forever. And anyway, none of that matters because there’s no going back now…

    – Fern xxx

    Click here to go through to my Shave for a Cure page. This is where you can show your support by sponsoring me!

    In other (less important) news, this vlog will answer any questions you may have about the aforementioned job that wasn’t…

    Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday
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  • All About Fern
  • I have a Hangover

    It’s not what you think. I wasn’t out partying last night. I wasn’t cuddled up on the couch watching Netflix and accidentally drinking one too many glasses of wine. Nope. This is all emotional. It’s the morning after the day before, and everything that happened – the things I did, I said, I thought – are making me feel sick.

    You have to treat emotional hangovers like real hangovers. You have to drink lots of water and eat all the food and make yourself cup after cup of coffee, even though you really don’t feel like coffee. You take paracetamol and ibuprofen, but you wish you could take something more, something that actually works. And all you can do is think back to the way you behaved and wish you’d done things differently. Why didn’t I ask this instead of that? Why did I think that was a good idea? Why, why, why?

    I’m the sort of person who’s confident in the moment, but full of doubt the second that moment has passed. I’m the kind of woman who laughs easily, but cries about it later. I like who I am, I’m happy being Fern, but when I’m hungover like this I can’t help but wonder if the real Fern is really who I want to be. Not that I can change that. Not that I want to change that. I don’t think.

    Today the baby is needy. I was gone for two days and two nights and now he’s clinging to me. Crying. Clawing at my chest for the milk he needs but doesn’t need. And I am tired. I missed him. I’m glad to be with him. But I want him to just be content, to go and play, to come to me for laughs and cuddles and a teeny bit of milk in the morning, and a little bit more milk at night. Is he hungover too? Did I put him through this for nothing?

    One of the things I love about life is the way I can look back and go, Yes. That is the thing that led me to where I am today. 

    One of the things I hate about life is the way I have to go through things and think, Yes. This is what is going to determine my future.

    Maybe it’s the creative person’s curse, but my mind lives in the future. It takes me to all the ifs and maybes and somedays, when my body is stuck firmly in the definites and actuals and right-freaking-nows. Right-freaking-now I feel sick. Right-freaking-now I am torn. I have to wait and I don’t want to wait. I have to get through today but I don’t want to live through today. I don’t want to be hungover.

    I wish I could just vomit and be done with it.

    – Fern xxx


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