I’m a mostly statistically normal woman in Melbourne trying to push my career through the pink ceiling, make a life and attitude change and achieve ambitious fitness goal all at once. 

I’ve read the gospels of Oprah, Sheryl Sandberg, Brene Brown, Amy Cuddy, Stephen Covey, Kim Scott and Mark Manson.  I’ve spent years feeling that I am not enough; not smart enough, not funny enough, not thin enough, not pretty enough and being told that I’m too.  Too aggressive. Too competitive. Too impatient. Too bossy.  I’ve worried more about what everyone else thought about me and not enough about what I thought about myself. 

My twenties were spent wanting to be in my thirties already and where I imagined that I would have A Career. My thirties were spent worrying that it was all going to be over at forty.  I’ve been spending my days trying to lead and transform large, enterprise marketing teams, swallowing my words in favour of “influencing” washed up middle aged men into believing they have come up with An Idea and politely smiling at being told to wait my turn for serious leadership opportunities until they retire. So when staring down the barrel of yet another decade of niggling dissatisfaction with the general fabric of my life, I decided that it can all get fucked and I’m going to be fabulous. My way. On my terms. And with no conditions.

I’m celebrating myself by challenging myself to let go of the control freakery, to face and embrace the fear of failure and to relish the discomfort zone. I’m going to do a half ironman in December 2019

I’m 40. I’m fabulous. I’m woman. Hear me roar