Here’s what our next few days look like:

• On Thursday night we’re chinking champagne glasses to celebrate the launch
• On Friday the website goes live!
• On Monday we send out our first ever episode of InklingTV – free weekly videos for women leaders who want to get the most out of life and work – and give their best back.

At Inkling Women, we work with women leaders to create careers and lives that they love – and thrive in. In doing so, our mission is to make a positive difference to the gender gap at leadership levels in Australia. Here’s a little taste of what we’re all about:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baG5Z5s-M7Q

For the wonderful women we know, you may like to:

1. Sign up for our free weekly tips for women leaders

Episodes of InklingTV are sent straight to your inbox every Monday morning – some inspiration as well as evidence-based tips and tricks to make the most of the week ahead. You can sign up for free now at www.inklingwomen.com.au.

2. Join the Inkling Women community on Facebook

We have a beautiful community of women who have worked with Inkling – they are supportive, generous and wise. Our new facebook page is just an online extension of this! Come and join us at https://www.facebook.com/inklingwomen

See some of you on Monday for the first ever episode of InklingTV!

With much love

Gemma and the Inkling Women team

I love him
even though he never stops talking – ever

And I love him
through wet beds, tantrums and bloodcurdling screams

I love my daughter
even when she is covered in vomit

I love her
amidst the trail of destruction that follows her through the house

And I love her
when all I hear all day is ‘Noooooooo!’

So perhaps
I can do myself the small courtesy of loving myself

in spite of my bossiness
my selfishness
and that bit of baby belly that wobbles when I run

through my irritability
my constant need to strive for better
and the fact that sometimes, just sometimes, I find parenting boring

Even when eyes roll at my dinner orders
- gluten free vegan, but seafood – oh, seafood is fine -
And I forget to call my most wonderful friends

I can view myself through the gentle eyes that see my children
in their glory and their perfection

About Gemma

If you like Gemma’s writing, sign up for free fortnightly tips and techniques for joyful living and successful working at www.inklingcoaching.com.

Dr Gemma Munro is the Director of Inkling Coaching, based in Adelaide Australia. She has a PhD in performance psychology and extensive experience working with leaders to maximise their enjoyment and success. Inkling Coaching works with individuals, groups and executive teams, and specialises in women’s leadership development. Outside of Inkling, Gemma has two small children, a large husband and a medium-sized vegie patch that demands attention. She sings, when she can, and likes to play – and win – 500.

I can divide burn-out – or, for all the Duracell bunnies out there who just keep going and going, overwhelm – into three distinct types.  The first is physical; we’ve been pushing our little selves up against a very big deadline, or we’ve been working ridiculous hours for a ludicrously long time. The second kind of overwhelm is emotional; we’ve been through a breakup at home or a merger at work, or we’ve simply been involved in some draining conversations. The third is a different beast altogether. It’s the overwhelm we feel when there’s a big juicy new step we need to take – but we’re bloody terrified of doing it. This kind of overwhelm is characterized by wanting to curl up into a little ball under your doona for a few days; to stay small and hidden and do absolutely nothing. This is what I like to call stretch overwhelm.

These three kinds of overwhelm require some management, but in very different ways.

For physical overwhelm, we all too often make the mistake of plowing on. I often hear clients say, ‘well, I have a holiday coming up in 8 months’. Folks, feeling overwhelmed and waiting 8 months for a holiday is like feeling thirsty and waiting a week for a glass of water. By far the best way of getting over physical overwhelm quickly is to cancel your commitments and lie in bed for a day; two days if you can manage it. Watch daggy DVDs. Read thoroughly unimpressive literature. Sleep. Eat. Sleep some more. (Just quickly, for all you parents saying it’s impossible, I hear you – I am one. But there are options. Get help. Serve weetbix. Forget about baths).

Many of us are going around in a state of almost permanent physical overwhelm. More of my clients are in need of a bloody good rest than they are of motivation, inspiration or discipline. Most baulk at the idea, though, because they’re afraid that taking a day off will result in all the balls they are juggling falling to the ground with a spectacular ker-splat. Let me say one thing, very lovingly: The world will not fall apart if you take a day off. You are not that important.

For emotional overwhelm, the recipe is slightly different. From personal experience, grief and deep emotion bring with it a whole lot of intuition and comfort – if we’re open to hearing it. Allow yourself to coast for a while. Give yourself permission to do whatever feels right in any given moment. Stay attuned to little nudges to read a certain book or to meet someone new. Don’t try to plan your recovery until you’re feeling recovered; allow it to happen to you instead.

If you’re experiencing stretch overwhelm, you probably won’t like my advice. But it works. Whatever is freaking you out – whatever new step you have to take that you’d really rather not take – you need to identify the very first task and just do it. No resting in bed for you. No coasting. Don’t overthink it. Just do it. The overwhelm will disappear when that first task is done. And – here’s a beautiful bonus – you may even start to feel excited instead.

About the author

If you like Gemma’s writing, sign up for free fortnightly tips and techniques for joyful living and successful working at www.inklingcoaching.com.

Dr Gemma Munro is the Director of Inkling Coaching, based in Adelaide Australia. She has a PhD in performance psychology and extensive experience working with leaders to maximise their enjoyment and success. Inkling Coaching works with individuals, groups and executive teams, and specialises in women’s leadership development. Outside of Inkling, Gemma has two small children, a large husband and a medium-sized vegie patch that demands attention. She sings, when she can, and likes to play – and win – 500.

If you’re not available (or not a woman, or not in Adelaide) I would be thrilled if you could forward this on to women you know who may be interested. One of the aims of Inkling is to contribute to reducing the gender gap at executive levels – and women who step up to speak with confidence, energy and skill tend to achieve their career goals pretty darn quickly.

Here are the essentials for you, but please have a look at our brand spanking new Speakeasy brochure for all the details about the program.

Inspiring women leaders to present with confidence, excellence and ease

Speakeasy is a two-day workshop for no more than twelve women in leadership roles who want to communicate more confidently, effectively and authentically. The program has been designed specifically for women who are smart, self-motivated and positive in outlook, but who believe that they do not show their full potential in presentations, meetings, interviews and pitches.

Here is a taste of what previous participants say about Speakeasy:

The Speakeasy program was an eye-opener! I found so much potential within myself that I didn’t know existed. It really helped me focus on how I can make presentations a better experience for both me and my audience.

This was the best money I have ever spent on training. There were so many great gems to take away and practice. All participants nailed it by the end of day two – we saw real improvements in skill and confidence.

What a great program! It was well-organised, engaging throughout and very skills focused. I thoroughly recommend Speakeasy to women who would like to be confident and effective presenters.

Speakeasy provided so much benefit and value. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience and may even (quietly) be looking forward to putting my new skills into action!

The details

• Dates: Thursday October 11 and Friday October 12
• Time: 9.30am -4.30pm each day
• Where: Chianti Classico – 160 Hutt St Adelaide
• Price: $1,200 per participant (excl. GST)
• A delicious Italian morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea are provided

Speakeasy is limited to a group of 12 women only – first in, best dressed!

How to book a spot

Please contact Kira, Inkling Coaching’s Admin Queen – 0438 662 774 or kira@inklingcoaching.com.

Again, check out our shiny new Speakeasy flyer here for all the details.

About the facilitator

If you like Gemma’s writing, sign up for free fortnightly tips and techniques for joyful living and successful working at www.inklingcoaching.com.

Gemma Munro is the Director of Inkling Coaching, based in Adelaide Australia. She has a PhD in performance psychology and extensive experience working with leaders to maximise their enjoyment and success. Inkling Coaching works with individuals, groups and executive teams, and specialises in women’s leadership development.

Gemma is known as a highly skilled speaker with an engaging, energetic and compassionate approach. She has presented her research nationally and internationally and has won several prizes for her speaking. Gemma is also a long-time performer, having toured Europe, the United States and Asia as a classical and folk singer. She understands performance nerves, having experienced them first-hand, and she is deeply interested in helping others to get the fear out of the way and experience joy and success at work.

Follow her on Twitter here and join the Inkling community on Facebook here.

Enjoy! And let me know your thoughts in the comments below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vg2WTrrra3s

About Gemma

If you like this video, sign up for free fortnightly tips and techniques for joyful living and successful working at www.inklingcoaching.com.

Gemma Munro is the Director of Inkling Coaching, based in Adelaide Australia. She has a PhD in performance psychology and extensive experience working with leaders to maximise their enjoyment and success. Inkling Coaching works with individuals, groups and executive teams, and specialises in women’s leadership development. Outside of Inkling, Gemma has two small children, a large husband and a medium-sized vegie patch that demands attention. She sings, when she can, and likes to play – and win – 500.

I found the article interesting, and agreed wholeheartedly (sometimes violently) with many of Slaughter’s points. This quote, in particular, rang true for me:

The best hope for improving the lot of all women … is to close the leadership gap: to elect a woman president and 50 women senators; to ensure that women are equally represented in the ranks of corporate executives and judicial leaders. Only when women wield power in sufficient numbers will we create a society that genuinely works for all women. That will be a society that works for everyone.

I wanted to shout ‘Hallelujah!’ from the rooftop of my house when I read that passage. If there is one thing that makes me want to vomit my vitriol onto a page, it’s the commonly heard excuse from CEOs and Boards (and even senior women) that ‘it’s important that our organisation is a meritocracy – that we recruit and promote based on merit alone’. Well, of course organisations should be meritocracies. But really, when only six of our ASX200 CEOs are women, the assumption that Australian organisations are meritocracies is laughable. I work with many all-male or mostly-male executive teams. In assuming these organisations are meritocracies, we are actually painting the women who work there as lacking in merit.

As much as I agreed with Slaughter on the vital need to close the leadership gender gap, I do have a problem with the premise of the article. What is ‘it all’? And who wants to have it? I certainly don’t. I don’t want a home cinema, an expensive car or a closet full of shoes. I don’t want to work 6 days a week and, at the same time, be totally committed to being there for my children for every single scrape and bump and finger-painting session. I’m not attached to rock-hard abs or expensive jewellery. To me, having it all is synonymous with creating a version of yourself that meets the needs and expectations of others – not creating a life that you love.

In my women’s leadership programs we talk about ‘having YOUR all’ – shaping your life and career so that it meets your needs for pleasure, for fulfillment, for giving back to others. This inevitably necessitates saying no to some things that others may find worth striving for but, in reality, mean absolutely nothing to you. It involves knowing who you are and what you want, and deciding, courageously, to not give a fig about what others think of you. One of the most freeing phrases I use comes from Martha Beck:

I respectfully do not care.

So I respectfully do not care about rocking up to coaching sessions in my five-year old Corolla with biscuit crumbs ground to a fine dust on each of the two booster seats. I respectfully do not care if others raise their eyebrows when I head to a yoga class in the middle of the day. I respectfully do not care if anyone disapproves of me sending my kids to crèche three days a week. I respectfully do not care if my PA sees my house in hovel-state first thing in the morning because my husband and I have chosen to work late into the night instead of doing dishes and laundry.

What is my all? It’s having a business I adore that allows me to shape my day according to what I love doing, and to pick my kids up at 3pm. It’s spending money on overseas holidays, not expensive cars. It’s forgoing a really flash house to have my two vegie gardens and loads of fruit trees out the back. It’s giving up my stable but stressful management consulting role to be fully present with my children. It’s sacrificing some of my earning potential to spend time with my husband – and still feeling my heart go kerflump after 12 years of togetherness as a result.

This is my all. And I love it. ‘Having it all’ is a ridiculous concept; unachievable and ultimately not particularly pleasurable. In striving to have it all I think we create stress, pressure and ridiculously high expectations of ourselves. Choosing to create a life that reflects YOUR all – and respectfully not caring what others think about our choices – feels and tastes like freedom to me.

About the author

If you like Gemma’s writing, sign up for free fortnightly tips and techniques for joyful living and successful working at www.inklingcoaching.com. Follow her on Twitter here and Facebook here.

Gemma Munro is the Director of Inkling Coaching, based in Adelaide Australia. She has a PhD in performance psychology and extensive experience working with leaders to maximise their enjoyment and success. Inkling Coaching works with individuals, groups and executive teams, and specialises in women’s leadership development. Outside of Inkling, Gemma has two small children, a large husband and a medium-sized vegie patch that demands attention. She sings, when she can, and likes to play – and win – 500.

I enjoy business development now, but at that stage of my career it induced such a fear response that my body literally wanted to curl up and … well, not die, but perhaps be tucked into bed with some hot milk and a cuddle.

The interesting thing is that the more I have pushed myself in my career, the more of these moments I have had. I had one as I was planning the launch of my first public program two months ago. And I find myself in the midst of one right now as I consider growing Inkling Coaching from a wonderful job for me into a full-blown business that, you know, employs people and stuff.

I used to think that these moments were simply a fear of failure. I’m sure there is a ‘what if I completely bugger up?’ element involved, but that’s not the full story. I think these moments are a sign that we are reaching our upper limits; that we are about to experience growth and success and a whole shining new version of ourselves. And a potentially new and shinier version of ourselves really upsets the lizard part of our brain.

We explore the lizard brain a whole lot in Inkling Coaching’s Speakeasy course, but for those of you that are new to the concept let me take a moment to explain. One of the deepest layers of our brains is a neural structure that first evolved in reptiles. Its function was an important one – it constantly thinks about lack (originally, of food) and attack (originally, from predators). Of course, if you are reading this article you are probably lucky enough to have food on your table and no predators queuing at your front door. So your lizard brain worries instead that you will look like an idiot. You lack time, money, experience, qualifications. You will be attacked by the negative opinions of others. And above all, you will fail dismally.

The function of our lizard brain is to keep us safe and hidden and small. Anything that pushes us into something bigger or better or more visible is therefore a threat to the lizard brain – and it reacts with shrieks of fear, visions of failure and an overwhelming urge to lie prone on the couch and do nothing, nothing at all. As a result, our lizard brains keep us from going for some of our most treasured dreams.

Most of us have had moments where we listened to our lizard brains and did nothing. We interpreted the fear as commonsensical, sage advice. But have you noticed that, after a while, listening to our lizards and doing nothing gets very uncomfortable indeed. It’s like we have outgrown our old skins but refuse to shed them. We feel stale, flat, tense and bored. We’re stuck.

Some people have turned listening to their lizard into an art form. They have so many layers of old skin on them that stepping out of fear and into action is too scary to even contemplate. They are stuck in lives they don’t enjoy, but are too weighed down by fear to do anything about it.

Shedding an old skin to meet a change or challenge head on feels exhilaratingly uncomfortable. It can literally feel like you are standing naked with a cold, fresh wind blowing. But the skin underneath is shiny and clean. You are lighter and freer to explore new options, new worlds, new dreams. Growth becomes not only possible but probable. And as you get practiced at the art of shedding a skin, each time feels less scary and more doable – and life starts to feel like the exciting adventure it should.

About the author

If you like Gemma’s writing, sign up for free fortnightly tips and techniques for joyful living and successful working at www.inklingcoaching.com.

Gemma Munro is the Director of Inkling Coaching, based in Adelaide Australia. She has a PhD in performance psychology and extensive experience working with leaders to maximise their enjoyment and success. Inkling Coaching works with individuals, groups and executive teams, and specialises in women’s leadership development. Outside of Inkling, Gemma has two small children, a large husband and a medium-sized vegie patch that demands attention. She sings, when she can, and likes to play – and win – 500.

Connect with her on Facebook here and Twitter here.

Last week a long-term client called me in a state of shock and dismay. This client of mine, let’s call her Jade, had been kicking so many goals at work that her workmates were getting dizzy just watching her. She had been called a star, a golden girl and one of the organisation’s top performers. I knew all this, not from Jade, but from her colleagues who all speak of her in nothing but glowing terms. I had known Jade’s performance review was coming up, and we had talked about her expectations of a reasonably significant pay rise. Sure enough, Jade’s performance review was so sparkling you could have eaten dinner off it. And the pay rise? Zippo. Niente. Nichts.

Jade asked me if she should be disappointed; if she had been expecting too much. ‘Hell to the yes’, and then ‘hell to the no’ were my eloquent answers.

We worked together to brainstorm what she was going to say to her boss the next morning, and came up with the following five tips for negotiating a better salary:

1. Know exactly what you are worth. Do your research – in two ways. Firstly, find out what people in similar roles are getting paid. Secondly, and more importantly, think back over the previous 12 months and list all your achievements. Think about what you have added to your team and organisation – how are they better off as a result of having you on board?
2. Ask for what you want clearly, and with no hesitation or apology. When Jade was rehearsing her phone call, certain phrases kept creeping in, like: ‘I’m sorry to ask this’ and ‘I hope I’m not being too difficult’. There is no need to be apologetic or hesitant when asking for a pay rise. If you think you deserve it, then it is absolutely your right as an employee to negotiate your salary with your employer.
3. Back up your request with evidence. After you have named your figure, you need to justify this with good, solid evidence, i.e., ‘I believe this figure is warranted for the following reasons’. The more you can draw on facts and figures (I generated $200K revenue in the last two quarters), as opposed to feelings (my teammates love working with me), the better.
4. Stay calm and neutral in your tone of voice and in the vocabulary you choose. Avoid using words like ‘upset’ and choose less emotive words like ‘disappointed’ instead.
5. If you meet resistance (and you quite possibly will), stick to your guns. Repeat your argument again – calmly but firmly. There may come a point where you will need to back off for a while, but don’t let this be at the first sign of resistance from your boss. 

Jade called me a week later. She had followed these tips to the letter – and won herself a 22.5% pay rise. From 0% to 22.5% is a pretty fabulous effort, and she was feeling exceptionally proud of herself – as she should. Too often we leave it to our bosses to decide what we are worth. This year, can I suggest going into your performance review with a firm idea of what salary you believe you deserve. Do your research, ask for what you want clearly and calmly, with no apology, and then present strong evidence to support your claims. Good luck – and let me know how you go!

About the author

Gemma Munro is the Director of Inkling Coaching, an Adelaide-based organisation specialising in executive and life coaching, women’s leadership development and executive team performance improvement. Gemma has a PhD in performance psychology and extensive experience working with leaders to maximise their success and enjoyment.

For fortnightly articles containing tips and tidbits on getting the most out of life and work, visit www.inklingcoaching.com and sign up for Gemma’s newsletter.

So for my second pregnancy, I decided to enjoy every minute. I remember waiting for our first ultrasound, at 12 weeks, and saying to Ben ‘do you know, hon, if this scan is OK, I don’t think we should even bother with a blood test. I just have a feeling that everything will be fine’. And everything was fine. Is fine. But that afternoon was the start of the most tumultuous, worrisome, heart-heavy and soulful journey I have been on. Up to that time, I had never known true fear. I know fear inside out and back to front now.

Our little babe had extremely thick nuchal folds; most often a marker of Down syndrome. We had the blood test and waited a few weeks for the results to come in. My doctor called me while I was in Melbourne for work. We had a one in eighteen chance of having a baby with Down syndrome. I remember my heart thumping wildly, then calling Ben shakily and passing on the news. I had to go back to my workshop, white of face and queasy of stomach, but Ben and I spent the night on the phone to each other, going through the odds together, madly googling and reading aloud to one another and … eventually … talking quietly about our options.

Do we have a CVS or an amniocentisis to find out for sure? Do we put our babe through the slight risk of miscarriage for our own need to know for certain? We decided to have a CVS which, at 15 weeks, posed very little threat to our babe. I remember wearing a pink and white striped nightie-type affair that reminded me strongly of my Granny and was therefore oddly comforting. I remember a woman chatting to me about Anne of Green Gables while I tried to stop my teeth chattering with fear (like my father, I get faint around needles and blood, and this was the longest f@ck-off needle I had seen in my life. Pardon my French, but if you had seen that needle, you would have sworn too). I remember huge amounts of pain and the deepest, strangest feeling of discomfort while the needle grabbed some bits of my placenta, and then I remember being back in the waiting room with a cup of tea and some lollies handed to me by a kind nurse, and Ben stroking my back. The winter sun was streaming in the window and warming the black leather couch I was sitting on, and I felt weak with relief that it was all over.

And then there was the waiting. Two weeks, we were told. It turned out to be three. I spent the three weeks reading and researching. Ben and I spent it listening and understanding each other. Martha Beck’s wonderful stories about her son, Adam, played a huge role in me coming to terms with the possibility of a Down’s baby. And I fell in love with the little one inside me – Down Syndrome or no Down Syndrome.

After hearing the results from my doctor on my way home from work, I walked in to the house and told Ben that we were having a beautiful, healthy baby daughter. No Down Syndrome. And a girl, how wonderful! Again, I was presumptuous. For our girl was beautiful – but she was not healthy. After two blessed weeks of relief from worry, the 20-week ultrasound revealed a large amount of fluid gathering around our daughter’s lungs. We were referred to the Maternal Fetal Medicine clinic at the Women’s and Children’s Hospital. It seemed that our daughter had a chylothorax and that we would need to be monitored weekly. But within that first week our girl had developed such a huge amount of fluid around not only her lungs, but also her stomach, skull and heart, that she was going into heart failure. We were told she had a 40% chance of surviving, that there was a reasonable likelihood there was something more deeply wrong with her, and that some people would consider a late-term abortion. We didn’t. We decided to try and save her.

This involved another long f@ck-off needle being inserted into my belly and into our babe’s chest to drain the fluid, and a fair dose of more pain for me. The fluid drained beautifully – but the next day an ultrasound showed it had all come back again, plus a little more. Our daughter was dying, and the doctors needed to try to insert a tiny stent into her chest to let the fluid drain constantly. The only problem was that there was no stent within its use-by date at the Women’s and Children’s Hospital in Adelaide. It had to come from Melbourne and would take 36 hours.

We got bullish at that point. Ben marched back into the hospital to say he would fly to Melbourne that night and get it. He got an understanding, sober and professional response; as well as the stent, this surgery needed a team who were calm, refreshed and ready to work – not hurried, frantic and at the end of a shift. And it needed the best people on the team. The right time to perform the surgery was 36 hours away. If the heart failure was too far progressed by then, it was very likely that our daughter would not be able to be saved, whatever the action taken.

I’ll tell you the hardest thing about this journey of ours. It was the one and a half days of waiting for a tiny stent to arrive from Melbourne. Waiting for a 20mm piece of plastic and metal – all the while knowing that our daughter was going into heart failure – was close to unbearable. Ben and I lived in a fog of grief, worry, fear and – strangely – beauty. Our friends and families lit candles for our little one. We lit one too. We told her we loved her very much, and would be so privileged to be her parents should she choose to stay with us. We also discussed what would happen if she didn’t make it. We never referred to what it would be like to birth a dead child, but the thought was always there, not daring to be expressed out loud. We had named our girl Abigail, a name we had loved for years. If this baby died, would the name Abigail go with her? Would there be a funeral? These were heart-wrenching, tearful conversations that took place in the most mundane of circumstances. After tucking our son in bed. Whilst stacking the dishwasher. Over coffee at our local café. That’s the thing about fear – life goes on around it. Yet those 36 hours felt surrounded by some kind of loving, protecting presence that I will be forever grateful for. I felt cushioned. The world seemed so broken open and raw, and so beautiful for being stripped of the illusion of all our usual run-of-the-mill day-to-day worries. It was an exquisite time of pain and of love.

The procedure itself was a huge success. The clever doctors inserted this tiny stent through my belly, through the wall of the uterus, through our babe’s skin and out again. Ben got to watch it all via ultrasound and he still speaks about it with awe. I was, thankfully, out of it on some amazing drugs that were so good, I would love to have a stash in the bathroom cupboard at home for Friday nights with the girls.

Abigail’s ultrasound the day after the procedure.
The horrible black shadows of fluid in her chest are all but gone.

Our daughter was the miracle baby. From that point on, although we trundled up to the hospital weekly for an ultrasound, our babe thrived. She grew. She developed. She did everything she was meant to do. Every week was a victory, for if the fluid came back and she had to come out – which was a very real possibility each week – she would be just that little bit bigger and stronger. We celebrated every milestone with a little high-five as we left the hospital. 24 weeks! 28 weeks! 32 weeks! 36 weeks! At 40 weeks, with me now the size of a whale, the doctors had started asking what the hell I was still doing there. No one had expected her to go to term.

Sure enough, two days later, I birthed our beautiful Abigail after 18 hours of labour, with help from one of the clever doctors who had saved her life in that operating theatre. She was placed on me for a wondrous minute or ten before being checked out by the army of professionals who had been hovering close by to ensure this amazing baby of ours was alright. She looked like Ben. And she was fine.

With my new daughter – aged 2 days

And now? Well, we have the most adorable, affectionate, spunky, hilarious, healthy, giggling, walking and talking 18-month-old on our hands. She is probably the most chilled person I know. It’s tempting to think that, after all the kerfuffle that was her life in the womb, she decided to enjoy her life outside it without too much fuss and bother. She leaves an indelible mark on almost everyone she meets, I think due to her peaceful and often joyful presence.

Just last week, we got some results back from the States. All of Abby’s issues in utero are due to a genetic disease. She has a genetic syndrome after all, and I don’t care one blessed fig. In fact, I wake up every day thankful that Abby is exactly who she is. Abigail taught me courage in the face of true fear, not the piddly little excuses for worry I used to fret over. She taught me the beauty of a world stripped of its bright and shiny distractions to reveal the raw and enduring truth underneath. And, although I can still get caught up in the day-to-day non-dramas of delivering work, cooking dinner and dressing two children who really just do not want to be dressed, whenever I remember to I can close my eyes and feel that beautiful, cushioning, loving presence around me that was with me when Abby was dying. It is a source of unending comfort and inspiration, as is my darling daughter. To Abigail– thank you.

Me and my gal

Ben and I are also so very grateful for the love and support of family and friends, and for the care, professionalism and skill of these fabulous folks at the Women’s and Children’s Hospital in Adelaide:

• Dr Chris Wilkinson, Dr Rosalie Grivell and Dr Peter Muller at the MFM clinic – you saved our daughter’s life
• Our midwife Andrea Lee at the Midwifery Group Practice for all the listening and hugs, as well as the excellent pre-natal care and liaison with the MFM team
• The sonographers and MFM nurses who saw us so often, made us feel better, and watched over our little girl as she grew
• Dr Ross Haslam and Dr Chad Andersen in Neonatology for taking such good care of Abby once she was born
• Dr Chris Kirby for so carefully removing the stent when Abby was five months old
• Dr Chris Barnett at Genetics for being simply outstanding at what you do

In the meantime, to celebrate the launch of Speakeasy, I thought I would share my top four tips for fearless public speaking in the video below. They’re rippers – they’ll help you to reduce any fears you may have and really shine. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-jCSi_yhFo