In June 2014 I was in the middle of a three month depression. I think it may have been adrenal fatigue. Whatever it was it sucked the enthusiasm, the enjoyment and the energy out of me. I was a husk.
The first half of the year had been full on in the best and worst of ways.
Gunnas was going off, did Trollhunter, made Atheist Alphabet, huge happy household including a new dog Zeus, lots of stand up and conference hosting work, Pushy Women north and south, going out, people over, lots of travel then off to Europe after waving my eldest son off to Japan.
Then the wheels started to fall off. Christians suing me, new dog not working out, massive teeth dramas leading to a tooth implant, two of my sons going through the most stressful times they have to date, then my health deteriorated. Virus after virus. Infection after infection. The depression landed in May. Shifted around September.
I thought it was jetlag, burn out, early menopause then I realised it was depression. Stone cold concrete depression. Boring exhausting depression.
No amount of willpower or strength of character could shift it. I moved through a thick grey blanket of fog. Everything was like walking into a headwind.
It was relentless.
I remember sitting at my desk in the middle of winter and there would be this 20 mintue block at around 11am where I would feel the winter sun on my back in the quiet house with the boys at school and Bear at work and I felt a twinge of relief. Fleeting.
I remember late one Sunday afternoon taking the dog to the park with Bear and Charlie. We threw the Frisbee as the winter sun went down and I was feeling okay for a bit. Then Bear said ‘Time to go it’s getting dark’ and I snapped back to a face not moving and a heart not feeling before we even made it to the car. The happy didn’t stick.
I kept trying to cook lovely food, exercise, push myself, lay off myself, go out, stay home, see people, not see people.
Depression is hard. And hard on your partner when it’s long and relentless. ‘Bear, how are you coping with me like this? It’s been a long time. What do you miss?’
‘The smiles,’ he said, ‘the smiles.’
‘Me too,’ I replied.
My face just didn’t seem to move.
When I was in social situations I would be constantly thinking of a question I could ask people so they would talk for as long as possible.
I would socialise but it was so exhausting. I got none of the normal joy and happiness of seeing those I adore.
And none of the warm feeling afterwards recollecting a good time, a lovely night, a job well done. Just pushing myself, giving my all and feeling depleted afterwards. I could fake it for an hour or so. Make the face move. Nod the head. Strap on the smile.
Yes I continued to work, parent, socialise, live. I would do things and it would go all right. It would just take me 10 times the energy and I got no enjoyment out of it. No relief. I endured.
I felt so guilty. I had so much. Love, work, a home, how dare I feel depressed. What did I have to be depressed about. I understand depression. I know you can only manage it. There is no cure. Yet I was furious with myself. ‘First world problems’ I would scoff at myself ‘Just get over yourself. You’re not on Nauru. Or in a refuge camp in Syria. For fuck sake get it to together.’
Every day I would stand in the back yard and look at the bare magnolia knowing it would bloom eventually as it always did. Trusting I would too.
When I realised the cloud had lifted I was ecstatic. My happy was back. I was chatting, making plans, bossing every one about. Oh God how I had missed being happy. Hearing my laugh after so many months.
‘I forgot how much you smiled!’ said Bear.
‘Me too!’ I said racing in front of him on my bike.
If you are in that place right now I’ve been there many times and I’ll be there again. I am exercising every day and writing , socialising, enjoying my own company. I’m cooking lovely meals and enjoying my family, friends, sons, partner, work and just the sheer magic of being pain free.
Watch the magnolias. They are all coming into bloom, slowly. In their own time. You can’t rush them. And even when you can’t see their petals, their flowers and their joy, it’s all happening beneath the surface. In increments.
Gunnas Writing Masterclass. Over 4000 people since 2014 can’t be wrong. For beginners, amateurs, professionals and randoms. BEST of all no one has to share. More here.
Sam Newman’s latest demeaning stunt is the tip of an ugly but lucrative iceberg.
SAM Newman insults and undermines women once again. Not news, I know, more a day in the life of a serial misogynist. He fondled a mannequin with the face of a respected female football commentator and then, when women kicked up, bagged all women associated with football, using the caveat “I love women, I’ve been married to two or three of them”.
Liberal politician Troy Buswell has previously admitted to snapping a Labor staffer’s bra strap and been accused of making sexist remarks to another female MP. Last week he ‘fessed up to sniffing a female colleague’s chair in a room full of people.
Josef Fritzl kept his daughter locked in a dungeon for 24 years, raping her repeatedly and fathering her seven children.
Oh, and Kate Ritchie wins Australian television’s highest award for being popular. Dull, unthreatening, uninspiring, but popular.
How far have we really come? Despite the visible progress we’ve made (when I say we, I mean women and men), we’re still knee deep in what feminist commentator Eva Cox has pinpointed as insidious, invisible forms of cultural discrimination.
Look closely and listen closer still and you’ll pick up constant reminders, subliminal threats, that no matter what women do, there’ll still be men threatened by the progress of women. Men who consider it an attack on their sense of entitlement, prepared to retaliate sexually to prove their point. And we’d be asking for it. Don’t get too big for your boots, missy, or you’ll be sorry. There’s a sense that we’ve been given a bit and that should be enough. Don’t be greedy, don’t be a smart mouth, don’t be pushy. If you ask questions, ask for more or poke the cage, you’ll be in big trouble.
I can’t help thinking of that quote “women’s biggest fear is men killing them and men’s biggest fear is women laughing at them”. I wish I knew who said it. It’s the truest, saddest and scariest thing I’ve ever heard.
At many schools, girls’ uniforms are still dresses. Why?
The AFL issued a DVD to all players asking them to consider whether it was appropriate to watch their mate have sex with his girlfriend, have sex with a drunk woman or have sex with another player’s girlfriend. Why?
Bureaucracy still forces women to choose between Miss (not married), Mrs (not available) or Ms (none of your business but at least you know I’m female). Why? I want no title, yet I’m constantly forced to choose one or the computer program won’t complete the task. I choose Dr.
Sure, it’s non-gender-specific but instead I end up with a title suggesting some socio-economic supremacy when all I want is nothing.
WA Liberals rallied behind Troy Buswell. Yes, I’m serious. Why did he sniff the chair? Insert Freudian analysis here.
If it was for a laugh, what could possibly have been the joke?
Sam Newman’s actions and attitude were — as usual — defended, diluted and supported by Eddie McGuire in an article entitled “Sam stuffed it up but calm down” and by Garry Lyon’s acceptance speech at the Logies.
Lyon said that television was beige and Newman was the most colourful man on the box. He called Newman a star. “He generates enormous publicity for this show and we continue to draw great numbers. We benefit from it.”
Who benefits? Not the women on the boards of the football clubs. Not the girls and boys and men and women who love footy and love each other. Not the confused people who sit surrounded by other people laughing at this maggot and wonder why they find him offensive, abusive and corrosive.
Channel Nine benefits. The blokes who get paid by The Footy Show benefit. And the advertisers who promote their products through The Footy Show benefit. This controversy is doing Channel Nine no harm. The show’s ratings spiked last week. If you want to hurt them, boycott the advertisers and the station.
Why is Newman popular? The guy’s a creep. I wrote an article about The Footy Show last year titled “Bankrupt orgy of male chauvinism“. I called the show media-sanctioned misogyny, said it degraded the culture of football, alienated women and taught boys that females were either slaves, trophies or bitches. I called Newman vain, ugly, a megalomaniac and a bully.
I got 100% positive feedback. The guys who sit by rolling their eyes saying “Oh Sam!” are just as bad. The show should be called “Pigs in Suits”.
Has Kate Ritchie broken new ground in creative endeavour, challenged outmoded cultural stereotypes or questioned the human condition? Is she brave? Is she smart? Is she funny? No, she’s been on Home and Away for 20 years. And she’s pretty. What a good girl.
I’m passionately against feedback. I know, it’s an unfashionable opinion. If your voice is not strong, your project not solid or the feedback is coming from someone you consider an ‘expert’, feedback can pull you off track. The earlier in the writing process feedback is given, the less constructive and the more harmful the feedback is because the work isn’t finished yet. The further you get through it, the more you’ll know what the story is and how to tell it. Usually people are giving you feedback on the omelette mix not the omelette.
‘This omelette is cold and wet and not cooked enough’
‘Err it’s omlette mix. Not an omelette. It’s not finished.’
‘I hate it. It doesn’t work as an omelette.’
‘That’s because it’s omelette mix not an omelette.’
Or they are eating the omelette and comparing it with a cake.
‘This omelette is not sweet enough and it’s too flat’
‘Err it’s omlette. Not a cake.’
‘But I want it to be a cake’
‘It’s an omelette. If I made it sweet and puff up it would be a pancake or a souffle’
‘Yes! A souffle! That’s what you need to do. Turn it onto a souffle!’
‘But I’m cooking an omelette’
‘I don’t like omelettes. I like souffles’
When people give you feedback you don’t know what their agenda is. It may not be their genre, they may not like your style of writing, they may hate reading, perhaps they’re envious, they may feel they need to say something negative to sound smart, knowledgeable, or like they have given it some thought.
We live in a feedback-mad society. Performance review? Fuck off. I’ll review myself, thanks.
I ran a writing class recently and the organiser sent me an email a few days later asking me for my home address so she could send me the assessment forms the students completed at the end. ‘Fabulous feedback! 100% positive!’ she said. I replied: ‘Thanks so much, but I have no interest in feedback. I really don’t care what people think. I have very high standards for myself and it’s only my own opinion I care about.’ And no, I did not preface my response with ‘don’t take this the wrong way’. You can’t control how people will take things. So many times, people use ‘no offence, but’ as a licence or caveat to say mean, unhelpful or passive- aggressive things.
I am most strongly almost evangelically against unsolicited feedback. If you hear someone saying ‘I’m just giving feedback’, ‘It’s just constructive criticism’ or ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying’, run screaming. Or just vague out. While they are talking, nod your head and fantasise about where you are going to bury their body.
Here is all the feedback I give. It’s all you need.
You are brilliant.
This is awesome.
Just keep going.
Even when things are finished and printed, published, produced and making squillions of dollars and getting rave reviews some people’s feedback is ‘that was shit’.
Feedback is unreliable, unhelpful and unnecessary.
Judge yourself on what you think of your effort. Don’t judge yourself on what other people think of your work. Because they’re wrong.
It’s none of your business what other people think of your work.
It’s none of your business what you think of your work.
It only matters what you think of yourself and your effort.
Buy a mug to remind you if all the feedback you need.
People often ask when I’m going to run a Gunnas Writing Masterclass for teenagers because their special snowflake is a really keen writer and would ‘love something like this’.
I say, ‘I ran a couple of Gunnas for teenagers. I am not running another. Almost all the kids said they were only at the workshop because ‘my mum made me come’.
When people approach me gushing how ‘creative’ their child is and how they are a brilliant writer/reader/painter/musician asking what suggestions I have to encourage and support them I say ‘Ignore what they are doing and don’t mention it. If you must applaud then applaud the effort not the outcome.’
When the parents (and lets face it, it’s almost only mothers) tell me about their young writer, actor, dancer, painter it seems they are almost expecting me to be impressed or say ‘congratulations’. The conversation is so much about the parent and how the child’s behaviour reflect and brands them.
Want my advice? If there is a young person in your life who is ‘very creative’ I suggest you simply nod at their creative output say something like ‘look at you’ or ‘well done’ ask them how they feel about it and move onto something else. Ask them what computer games they are playing. I see so many adults getting a huge part of their identity through creative young people they are connected to and it’s really really destructive. It’s weird and creepy and a bit ego confusy sick really.
Get a life you ‘I’m not in a band but my friends are in a band’ parents.
These young artists start creating because they love it. It’s their own intimate world. Stay the fuck out. When their parents or other well meaning adults start gushing and making a fuss the young people stop listening to their own voice and start playing to the crowd. For the applause. For the stroking. And they lose their own voice. The only thing that kills creativity more than parents sticky nosing, branding themselves with their kids ‘creativity’ or bragging about it is schools, universities and institutions.
Young people’s creativity is as private and personal as their sex life. Answer questions and suggest resources by all means but leave as much distance as a responsible progressive adult would from the ins and outs and the minutiae. Don’t ask don’t tell. Have it set on ‘need to know’.
‘What do I think of your picture/story/performance/dance young person? Who cares? What do YOU think?’
For fuck sake stop fetishising creativity. Creativity is a normal, healthy thing. Creativity is also is a huge part of a bunch of other teenage pursuits parents don’t seem to brag about as much, like video gaming. Creativity is also a very private journey. Particularly for kids and teenagers. Let them develop at their own rate and you do some fucking work on yourself. Learn guitar, do some life drawing classes, join an improv troupe or the local theatre group and go on your own creative journey. Stop being the backseat driver of someone else’s adventure. Stop judging, pushing, advising and applauding someone else. Do it yourself.
Stop with the ‘My kid is so arty/creative/gifted’ *basking in reflected glory here*. GET A LIFE.
Just say ‘my kids like mucking around in their room a lot.’ If your kid really wants to do a creative workshop, masterclass or tuition and they find it themselves get them to pay for it in whole or in part or put it on their birthday/Christmas present wish list. Where possible get have your child to organise their transport to and from.
Then you’ll see who’d really ‘love something like this’.
The greatest burden a child must bear is the unlived life of the parents. – C.G. Jung.
Strap yourself in. This article is one of the most muddled and terrifying things I have ever read. It sounds like it’s a satirical piece from The Onion. There is so much cognitive dissonance, so much Stockholm Syndrome, so much sucking up to the patriarchy and such proud assertion of so little insight. This article and the mentality enables patriarchy while the writer claims to be a feminist firebrand.
Repeat after me THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FEMINIST MARRIAGE (unless you are same sex). Saying you had a feminist marriage is like claiming to be a Catholic Feminist. You can’t make marriage ‘feminist’ any more than you can make the Catholic Church feminist.
Marriage (Love Jail; a legal contract to promote social order in order to oppress women which women are lured into by the promise of being Princess For A Day and satisfying feeling of being owned) is a medieval deeply patriarchal institution that enables, promotes and fertilises sexism, misogyny, discrimination and inequality, no matter how many ‘feminist readings’ you put into it. It should be illegal to have any feminist readings at a wedding if people do they should charged with false advertising in the same way if people sold cigarettes with pictures of healthy new born babies on the packet.
Purple washing’ (I just made that term up as purple is the colour of feminism) marriage makes you a handmaiden of patriarchy. ‘For example, while I originally wanted to walk down the aisle alone, in a nod to my independence, giving my dad his moment and avoiding hurting his feelings was much more important to me’
What the actual fuck? She didn’t want to hurt her daddy’s feelings by doing what she wanted on a very significant day which was to proudly stand up for her beliefs (or so she says)? It was more important to cave into her dad’s hurt feelings and her own need to please, her need to not ruffle feathers or rock the boat than do what she wanted?
Here’s a flash for you. Feminism is all and only about challenging and subverting women’s self worth being tied up with pleasing, not ruffling feathers and not rocking the boat.
‘The idea of wearing virginal white bothered me. But finding a non-white dress was a lot harder than I thought, as they are still rare.’ ARE YOU FOR REAL? Has she never heard of a dressmaker or tailor who makes WHATEVER YOU WANT IN WHATEVER COLOR YOU WANT?
‘I ultimately decided on an ivory dress, which felt like a compromise’. I’m making a leap here but this indicates she felt she had to purchase a dress from a bridal shop and from nowhere else because if she wore a dress or gown purchased anywhere else the magic wouldn’t work? Let’s assume she only thought she was allowed to wear a dress from a bridal shop. When she walked past ALL THE COLORFUL BRIDESMAID DRESSES thinking ‘I don’t want to wear white’ it never dawned on her she could wear a bridesmaid’s dress or ask them to make a bridal gown of her choosing in one of the colors she saw the bridesmaid dresses were in.
No veil. Fuck the patriarchy. I’m a feminist. ‘The lifting of the veil is another symbol of property transfer’. Let’s unpack this doozy. So she was okay with marriage as a symbol of ownership. She was fine with the symbol of transfer of ownership of her dad walking her down the aisle. She didn’t mind the ring which is the most common sign that you are someone’s property. but she balked at the veil. Because it’s a ‘symbol of property transfer’. WOW! What a hero. That’s sticking it to the man.
Veils have been worn for many, many reasons over centuries; to ward off the evil eye, to pay homage to a sacred space, to indicate virginity etc. Bridal veils are now one thing and one thing only. A fashion accessory. So she went without the veil. Let me guess, this wasn’t hard. It wasn’t a sacrifice at all. She just didn’t want to wear a veil. File this one under she makes decisions emotionally and backs them rationally. She didn’t want to wear a veil but has ‘purple washed’ it to support her faux feminist narrative.
I’m not sure what’s more bizarre, that she thought not taking her husband’s name was in some way radical or progressive or that she even mentioned it. Not doing something illogical, crazy and desperate like changing your name to your husband’s and selling it as a feminist choice reveals what level of internalized misogyny and lack of critical thought process this woman and all the people agreeing with her have.
No I am not going to applaud something as ‘not as bad as it used to be’ as feminist. It’s not feminist. I’d have more respect for someone who just changed their name, called themselves Mrs. My Husband’s Surname, got a joint bank account, stayed home and became a slave and an incubator. I’d have far more respect for a stay at home mother and wife who when asked why she chose what she chose responded, ‘I didn’t give it any thought’ than someone who asserts to have not only given it some thought and writes an article about her feminist wedding when it was clearly of festival of ‘Keeping The Guys Happy’.
Seeing as though her nuptials were so feminist I am sure she asked him to marry her and she bought him a ring. Nah, that didn’t happen. Bet she got a bended knee popped the question moment and a velvet box. It wouldn’t surprise me if he even asked her father first for ‘her hand in marriage’.
20 million dollars says the children will get their dad’s surname.
Anzac day makes me physically ill.
Always has. Nausea. Anger. Headache. Sadness. Confusion.
When I was young I didn’t understand what this volcanic feeling of about to explode was.
I’m so glad more people are seeing Anzac for what it is, what it’s always been. And so relieved people are saying it.
Branzac.
I don’t understand why people kicking up about the commodification of ANZAC day. It has always and only been commodified. By politicians. To buy votes.
What has always made me so distressed and angry is the national cognitive dissonance.
The amplification and appropriation.
The celebration of the certain achievements of a certain kind of man.
The total disregard for the truth.
The definition of what a hero is.
The hijacking of what REALLY made our nation. Workers rights. Feminism. Multiculturalism, an irreverent can do pioneering spirit with a chip on its shoulder.
I have dreaded this day all week. I can’t wait for it to be over. I just ache for the truth. The truth of why these men were sent. What they felt. How everyone suffered.
Why politicians and the powers-at-be sent other people’s children to stand on the front line for their power, their money, their votes, their land.
How bogans revere it and use the most tenuous links to connect themselves with this myth created to validate more murder, death, homophobia, misogyny, racism.
How Anzac day has always enabled the patriarchy, religion and the state.
How the medals, the parades, the honor has always been slathered on so people didn’t assassinate politicians and burn down the houses of parliament.
Those who returned have never had a place to say ‘They lied to me. They sucked me in. They ripped me off. I trusted them.’
Parents, partners, siblings, children, family and friends have had no place to scream ‘YOU KILLED OUR BOYS. YOU BROKE OUR MEN’.
But they built RSLs. So some could drown their sorrows while others had a moment of peace at home.
And of course the Indigenous and Torres Strait Islanders were treated like shit.
Did you know they were playing Bee Gees ‘Stayin Alive’ at Gallipolli?
I’m deeply opposed to insurance (apart from home and car).
Life insurance, health insurance, disability insurance, income protection insurance… the list is endless.
The culture of insurance quashes people’s innovation, resilience, creativity and self-reliance. It gives people an illusion of safety and certainty. It stops people thinking. And risk taking. It stops people living their lives. It makes people believe money can solve everything. Well, everything that’s important. So you just work. Make the money and pay the insurance and everything will be okay. You don’t have to look after your health, your relationships, your emotional well-being or your career. You don’t have to continuingly ask yourself the hard questions ‘what do I want now?’, ‘what do I need now?’, ‘what it best for me?’ or act on the responses.
I have no safety net. I just assume I’ll be able to adapt my spending, accommodation and expenses to line up with my needs. Because that’s what I have always done.
And maybe I won’t but living my life with that assumption I’m constantly collecting skills, ideas and different perspectives. I am expecting my life to be a cross-country marathon/obstacle course with periods of bushwalking over a long period of time. Not a short sprint and then walking around doubled over for a bit while I catch my breath before retiring with an injury.
If you believe the commercials “Money can fix everything, It’s all you need and if you can’t insure against it it’s not that bad, it won’t happen or it only happens to you if you have done something wrong.”
Peace of mind they call it. Or piece of mind.
How do you make God laugh? Tell him your plans.
No one’s life goes to plan. The point where people realise that it doesn’t and they don’t have to be perfect is the time they really begin to live. When they stop trying to convince others and themselves they are the perfect wife, favorite son, greatest mother, crew member of the month, most devout Catholic, loyal supporter, died in the wool fan, true believer… When they ask themselves ‘If I had six months to live what would I do? And what’s stopping me?’ That’s when life begins.
There are also the illusions of the insurance of private schools, marriage, job security, mum will sort everything, dad will fix everything and God will give me a happy ending in the sky with angels. I have seen many adults coast along through life just waiting for their parents to die so they’ll get the money. And waiting to die themselves so they get their magic party in the sky with their imaginary friend who’ll look after them forever. And when things don’t go to plan they have no ability to cope.
Is that actually a life? Not for me.
People constrained by these expectations, institutions and false economies never forge their own career, speak with their own voice or sing from their own heart. They never live their own lives. They are merely a spectator.
It’s the people who have never had a safety net, no money buffer, no family backing, no old school tie connections who are living their lives. Personally, socially, creatively, intellectually, emotionally and financially because they have had no other choice than to slog away to pay their rent and on the way carving out a custom made life that fits them like a glove. Not constrained by expectations, institutions or false economies. No illusion of safety. These people are still living their Plan A. Which was ‘roll with the punches and live and live big’.
The true cost of the ‘peace of mind’ is a stunted life without adventure and no ability or incentive to grow, adapt or expand. Some people just pay the insurance and the superannuation as if it guarantees them health, happiness and pain free security. It doesn’t.
These people stop growing.
You cannot insure against pain.
You cannot insure against having a disease or injury.
You cannot insure against feeling like a failure.
You cannot insure against disappointing children. Or parents.
You cannot insure against a broken heart, substance abuse or mental illness.
You cannot insure against a relationship breakdown or a spiteful or detonating partner or ex.
You cannot insure against being retrenched.
You cannot insure against being sucked in to believe a boring job, an unsatisfying relationship or following a religion or set of social critiques will guarantee you a happy ending.
You cannot insure against the illusion of security turning on you and leaving you stranded without the hunter gather skills of innovation, flexibility and resilience that could now save you and you would have had if you had the courage to chosen the live you lived and live it.
You cannot insure against loneliness.
You cannot insure against bitterness, resentment or envy.
You cannot insure against grief.
You cannot insure against being sad feeling sucked in or ripped off.
But you can try these things. Cultivate being brave, optimistic, flexible, resilient and creative.
Have low overheads and focus on your health, pleasure and satisfaction. This will impact on your happiness, stress and choices. You will do more things, be offered more opportunity because you are fun, fit, available and relish new challenges and you will bounce back quicker when things don’t work out.
On March 6th 2016 Sparkle and Bear (Catherine Deveny and Anthony Artmann) had a Love Party, a wedding with no god and no government. We were in love when we were 18 (1987) and fell back in love 23 years later in 2010.
I was a 90 kilo, 47 year old bride in a $260 dress on a bike. No Spanx, no fake tan, no dieting, no botox, no fillers, no gifts, no seating plan, no name changing, no marriage.
There was a veil, flower girls, a ceremony, a certificate, rose petals, bubbles, confetti, a Love Parade with rainbow balloons, a sit down dinner for 100, cake, exchanging of rings, speeches, vows and fairy lights.
But no god and no government. Because god and government have no place in people’s hearts, relationships or bedrooms. Marriage was invented. Love wasn’t.
I have this cleaner called Sandra. She’s been our cleaner for 20 years. She’s the only person I am terrified of. And I am really fucking terrified of her. If you live in Brunswick you know Sandra. Everyone knows Sandra. And everyone is terrified of her. She thinks the answer to every question is bleach, a jumper or another serve of lasagne. 20 years she has cleaned for me and I have never left her a note. Why? Because she’s an excellent cleaner? Fuck no. Because I am PETRIFIED OF HER. Does she leave me notes? Sure! I have a file of them. All written with a pink highlighter a mix of upper and lower case letters. The way you would imagine a serial killer would write.
This is a typical exchange;
Sandra: ‘Andrew…Alastair…Anthony whatever his fucking name is. Does he run?’
Me: ‘Anthony? Yes. Yes he runs.’
Sandra: ‘Was he running along Sydney Road last week?’
Me: ‘Yes! That would have been him.’
Sandra: ‘Well tell him to move his arms when he fucking runs. And buy Domestos. I just used the last of it.’
So she was cleaning on Tuesday and I said ‘Hey Sandra, we’re having this thing on Sunday. It’s a wedding. We’re calling it a Love Party.’
Sandra: ‘So you’re having a party?’
Me: ‘No. It’s like a wedding basically but no god no government.’
Sandra: ‘So you’re getting married?’
Me: ‘No’
Sandra: (GETTING REALLY EXASPERATED) ‘So you are signing the fucking paper and sending it into the fucking government?’
Me: ‘Yes we are signing a certificate but we are not sending it to the government.’
Sandra: (EXPLODING): ‘Well what’s the fucking point of that then?’
Me: ‘Joy, delight, love, celebration…’
Sandra: ‘What the fuck would I know about any of that?’
The closer we get to the Love Party the more pro-wedding I get and the more anti-marriage I become. Why I didn’t think was possible.
Since we came up with the idea of the Love Party over five years ago and set a date about six months ago many, many people have said ‘Ah yeah! We did that too. We had a Love Party.’
Me: ‘Really! I haven’t met anyone who has. So no god no government…?’
Them: ‘Totally! My dad didn’t give me away, I kept my name, we didn’t have a reception we had a BBQ, our honeymoon was going to Cambodia to help in an orphanage…’
Me: ‘So you had a wedding but you didn’t get married?’
Them: ‘Oh yeah we got married. But we didn’t do any of the traditional stuff.’
No. You did all the traditional stuff. You got married. That is all the traditional stuff. The rest is window dressing. Doing things you consider creative, individual or progressive does not make it less of a marriage. It doesn’t matter that you had a cupcake wedding cake, you wore lime green and the best man was a women. You got married. You didn’t have a Love Party.
Good for you.
Not for me.
‘So how’s your future hubby going?’
‘Err what the fuck? Hubby? We are not getting married. I am anti marriage.’
‘Okay then well how is your future committed partner going?’
‘The Love Party isn’t a commitment ceremony. Nothing is changing. We are celebrating what we are doing and have been doing for almost six years and what we are going to continue to do.’
‘So what’s the point of the Love Party?’
‘Love, joy, delight, sharing our happiness, treating our friends. Reflecting on all the love in our lives. And hopefully giving our guests a chance to reflect on the love in their lives.’
‘So it’s like a non wedding then?
‘No. It’s totally a wedding. There is just no marriage.’
‘So it’s not a real wedding?’
‘I would argue that what we are doing is a real wedding because the wedding is simply the party as opposed to people who marry and add the wedding on to sweeten the deal. Perhaps they only marry because they think it’s the only way to have a wedding.’
A lot of people seem to find it really hard to get their head around the concept of a Love Party. ‘So why are you’re wearing a veil….?’
‘Because I want to.’
‘But you said you’re not getting married.’
‘We’re not.’
‘So you’re not having a celebrant’
‘We are having two celebrants!’
‘But you said you are not getting married.’
‘We’re not.’
We are fine with the words, wedding, groom and bride. We are not happy with the words marriage, husband and wife. I ‘identify’ as a bride.
It seems people think you are not allowed to have a veil, flower girls, rings, a cake, confetti, a reception, celebrants or a wedding if you are not getting married. It’s like the spoon full of sugar to make the medicine go down. Only if you sign up to Love Jail are you allowed the fun stuff.
Why did you swallow that bullshit? And who fed it to you? And do you like the taste? And why are you feeding it to other people?
If there were no weddings attached to marriages would people still do it? If it was just like filling in a tax return would they get married? I think no.
I am constantly horrified by stories of people’s weddings being deeply miserable affairs because their mother wanted this and their father wanted that and their partner’s parents wanted something else.
WHAT THE FUCK HAS SOMEONE’S WEDDING GOT TO DO WITH ANYONE OTHER THAN THE TWO PEOPLE GETTING WEDDINGED?
(And what’s with people’s parents paying for their daughters weddings? Super. Fucking. Creepy.)
All the parental involvement makes me wonder what the wedding and the marriage is actually all about. Is it about approval from their parents? It it about their family only taking their relationship seriously if they are married? Is it something they want to do so they can be princess for a day? Do they feel they owe it to their parents to allow their mum and dad to feel a sense of success? Does it make them feel safe? Different? Like someone chose and now owns them? Are they doing it to break away from their family so they feel like proper independent adults? Do they think the event ‘wedding’ has a gravitas about it that makes people make a fuss, turn up and forces the to buy gifts? Or is it about brokering a deal. ‘Okay you be the man and I’ll be the lady. This is my apron and that is your brief case. I keep house and you go to work. FOREVER.’
There are people contacting me saying since they heard about what we are doing and they are no longer marrying but having a Love Party instead. Five times as many have contacted me saying ‘I wish we’d had a Love Party and not gotten married. I didn’t even think of it.’
How could you not? I find marriage such an abhorrent concept I am staggered people just ticked the terms and conditions so they could have a party. Or so they say. Why would you chose going from an intimate realtionship with just you two, to having a third and or forth party (god and or government) involved?
YOU CAN HAVE EVERYTHING YOU WANT FROM A WEDDING WITHOUT GETTING MARRIED.
So why do people do it? Why do they get married when they have the choice not to? No one can explain it to. ‘Just wanna’ is the only response I get.
We are two days out from the Love Party and I have never been as happy and excited in my life. The household is fizzing. Rings are done, cake is being cooked, flowers being sorted, dress back from the drycleaner, suits picked up, vows are written, today we are off for a ‘couple pampering session’ a bunch of our friends have chipped in for and Saturday we do our regular thing and get a pedicure with our friend Vic.
Everyone is beside themselves with excitement. Every single one of them (many do weddings all the time for work) say ‘This is so much more exciting than a wedding. Much more special…”
‘Really? Seriously?’ I probe. ‘Why?’
It seems to feel more ‘special’ because of the lack of the default settings and obligations and the fact we have selected exactly what we have wanted. As opposed to starting with a basic wedding format and altering to suit. Insert bride’s name here insert groom’s name here. People seem deeply moved that it’s really and truly only about love. And spoiling our friends. That’s a huge part of it. The Love Party is a small way we can show them we love them. By treating them. They have loved us so hard over so many years and troubles we want to take a day to say ‘Thank-you. We love you. We are here and happy today because of you all. We are at your service.’
Someone said, ‘People talk about doing stuff like this but never do it. That’s what makes it so special. That you are going to the effort. For no reason other than love.’
People are also interested and supportive of the concept. And curious. The can’t wait to see the pics and find out how it went. It seems to be a case of ‘you can’t be it unless you can see it’. More Love Parties is my hope. I’d be thrilled if that was the case.
The enthusiasm, generosity and big heartedness from people has floored me. My phone is dinging off the hook with mates and people coming to and working on the Love Party telling me how excited they are. The cake maker, florist, catering manager, DJs, ring maker, photographer, video guy, even the people providing the garden wedding setting and the portaloo just can’t do enough. But this is the best thing. Perhaps there is a god….
YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME!
When you are getting married you start STALKING the weather. This time last week I was on a long range forecast website and it said Love Party weather was going to be 16 and raining. I was a little glum. Coincidently my sister pinged me and the same time and said ‘Weather looks brilliant for Love Party!’ I thought she was taking the piss. No, she was just on a different 14 day forecast and it said the weather was going to be 27. I then just went to the website she was going to.
I’m rapt the weather is going to be lovely. I’m looking forward to treating our friends and hopefully creating magical, dreamy love filled memories. But most of all I can’t wait to stand in front of all those people, 26 years after first setting eyes on this guy and thinking ‘I wish I were good enough to have a boyfriend like that’ and saying ‘I do’ to this magnificent man. Yes. We’re saying I do. We’re also saying ‘til death do us part’.
‘Yeah, exactly. But a Love Party certificate. And can you make a little thank you card for the bonbonniere? Heart shaped or something. To tie around it.’
‘Wow! So you’re really going the whole wedding thing?’
Bear bought me a dress this time last year. That’s when we started planning. This dress is from the same store
‘Totally! I’m wearing a veil, we’re having a garden ceremony with rows of white seats and red carpet. Bear is designing rings with Cass, we’ve got a Love Party cake made by my Gunna Talia, a sit down dinner for 100, catered by La Luna Bistro full on flowers by Babylon who specialise in weddings. We’re even having flower girls and boys. Our vows are going to be super traditional too. Our ‘celebrants’ are two mates of our’s who we adore and who know a lot about love. They’re not straight and not even celebrants. Just people.’
That’s the beauty of us having a Love Party and not getting married.
We can embrace the traditional parts of a wedding that we really like seeing as though we are not getting married and don’t feel the need to explain ourselves or qualify our decisions like the ‘we had a wedding but we are so unconventional’ people. Most progressives who marry are so fast and breathless to attempt to dilute their conservative decision to marry. ‘No one gave me away, my best man was a woman, our celebrant was an Elvis impersonator, we were married under water, we didn’t do a bridal waltz, we did a magic trick, we didn’t have a cake we had brownies…’ yeah but you still got married. Why? When you can have it all without getting married. Unless, like Elizabeth Gilbert you had to so you could live in the same country.
You can just have the party. You don’t have to get married. You can have the fancy cars, the bridesmaids, the presents, your dad give you away, the confetti, you can even change your name. You do not have to get married. But you can have a wedding. We are calling our a Love Party.
Jim, a guy who came to my Gunnas Writing Masterclass told me this story.
Jim said “Like you I am totally against marriage. I’m in my 40s now and not even into relationships really let alone marriage. I met Momoko at a conference. I feel madly in love and suddenly not only was I in a relationship but she was pregnant. She too is totally anti-marriage. She called her parents in Japan to tell them and assumed it would be the last time she ever spoke to them seeing as though she knew they would expect her to marry. So she told them she was pregnant. Her mum asked when they were getting married. She said “we’re not”. Her mum paused for a moment and then said “Mmm okay. Can I throw you a party then?”
They agreed to the party.
So Pete and Momoko turned up in her hometown in Japan and her mother had organised a full blown Japanese wedding for them. Buy it wasn’t a marriage. Totally fake. No one will ever know apart from Pete, Momoko and Momokos mum. And you mob.
Point being it can look exactly like a wedding. The difference indiscernible to the naked eye. You do not have to get married. You can still have a wedding.
Bear and I were in love when we were 18. We went off with other people and had children and lives. In 2010 when we were 42 we crossed paths and immediately fell back in love. In the first few week of our relationship Bear asked me if I wanted to get married. Like almost all men he had no interest in getting married. He just wanted to let me know he was up for whatever it took to show his commitment. “No, I’ve never married. I’m against marriage. Better dead than wed.”
“Well can we wear rings then?” he asked.
“For sure” I responded
“And we should have a party to celebrate with our friends”
“Lets do that. A Love Party.”
So we have been talking about it for the last five years. We don’t have the money for it and thought we’d do it for our joint 50th in September 2018 (our birthdays are a few days apart).
But then one of my Gunnas, Fiona, went for a run and never came home. She died at the age of 49.
Both of us thought, “We can’t wait. Let’s do it now.” People don’t regret the risks they took that didn’t work out they regret they didn’t take. So we need to raise funds. I came up with a concept after giving my life advice to my 17 year old and Jen Clark Designs designed Love Party posters which we sold to raise the money as well as supporting Asylum Seeker Resource Centre and Domestic Violence Victoria. Since 2015 we have raised over $5000 for each charity.
In the lead up to the Love Party I am doing a lot of reading and thinking about love, marriage and relationships. I even have a god damn Pinterest board! Bear wants to have the Love Party to make a public declaration and celebrate our luck and love with our friends. For me it’s half that but half very very political.
I want people to see you don’t have to get married but you can have the party, the celebration, the public declaration without god or government.
My life looks so different to the women in my family who have come before me. The only way they could have sex or move out was basically to marry. The social critique, religious oppression and financial restrictions they were under, let alone the lack of fertility control severely restricted their choices. I love that I have been able to live a life not needing anyone else’s permission or approval. The Love Party for me is a celebration of that. I love being never married. Many in the QLBTIQ community want to get married because they can. As a cis born straight woman I love not being married. Because I can.
So we’re having a Love Party on Sunday March 6. It’s like a wedding but no god no government. No Spanx, no fake tan, no seating plan, no name changing, no bridal registry, no gifts, no hens night. But there will be a ceremony, rose petals, practice hair, a sit down dinner for 100, a veil, Love Party cake, speeches, exchanging of rings, vows and fairy lights. It will be more wedding than a wedding.
But no god, no government. Because they have no place in peoples hearts, relationships or bedrooms.
Marriage was invented. Love wasn’t. And love conquers all.
