AUTUMN EDITION 2013
By Derek Larnach
Farmer, Bathurst
15 March 2013
Farmer, Bathurst
15 March 2013
Disguised Blessing
Being crushed by two bulls saved my life.
It sounds a little crazy, but I have a random farming accident to thank for my life as well as the new passion I have developed to find a cure for cancer.
A grazier by trade, in 2009 I was crushed by two bulls at the cattleyards on our property and rushed to hospital. I expected the ultrasound of my chest to show some damage – four smashed ribs and the beginnings of a pulmonary oedema it turned out – but I never expected it would find a tumour the size of a grapefruit growing on my adrenal gland. I wasn’t even sure what my adrenal gland was.
Diagnosed with Adrenal Cortical Cancer, I was given six months to live. It was shocking. I went through the full range of emotions – probably like everyone. Here I was, I’d just been going about my life, when one day I’m smashed up by a couple of bulls, am laying in hospital and am told I have cancer. It’s an incredibly rare form of cancer, so I have limited time to live and virtually no hope.
Although devastated, a few things clicked into place. I’m not ordinarily an angry person, but I had been experiencing anger issues – feeling like I was going to explode. One of the symptoms was that the adrenal gland was giving me a big shot of adrenalin. I was working and finding I could get by on maybe two hours sleep for a few days and then I’d fall in a heap and could sleep for a week.
At first I felt ready to give up, then I decided to tackle this thing head on. If not just for me, but also for the sake of my wonderful family. Five weeks later, with a lot of help, I found Professor Bruce Robinson who operates out of Royal North Shore Hospital. I didn’t know it at the time but he was going to become one of my angels. He specialises in my sort of cancer, as rare as it is.
He told me I would die in six months unless I had radical surgery and treatment after that as well. There were no guarantees and they didn’t even know if I would survive the surgery. My surgeon Stan Sidhu did a wonderful job and I started radiation. But while undergoing radiation, there was a move to stop it because the feeling was I was going to die anyway – it was discovered I had many secondary tumors in my lungs. My angels came to my rescue and keep the treatment going – it is only due to the determination of Stan and Bruce that I am here today.
After this treatment – I am still on daily chemo therapy– I decided to do something to help the researchers trying to develop treatments for rare cancers like mine. These cancers don’t attract a lot of funding and, as a result, much less is known about them compared to breast and skin cancer. Subsequently treatment options aren’t as well developed.
In 2011, I launched Livestock for Lives, urging local farmers to donate an animal when sending livestock to market. The support and reaction was overwhelming. Through Livestock for Lives and other fundraisers, including a big charity dinner, our community has raised more than $100,000 for the researchers at the University of Sydney, which is affiliated with the Royal North Shore Hospital where I was treated.
These days I am back to a pretty normal life, working and enjoying my days. There are no guarantees I will live on. But with whatever time I have left, I am working with researchers to increase understanding of rare cancer. I also speak to others diagnosed with my form of cancer. Sadly, some of them have passed away, which motivates me even more to help find a cure.
This year I am honoured to be recognised on the cover of the Bathurst White and Yellow Pages under the theme Keeping Our Communities Healthy. I hope my selection helps increase awareness and support for rare cancers.
For people diagnosed with cancer I say the journey is what you make it. Never give up and perhaps things will turn out a little better than you expect. It has for me and I will be eternally grateful.
It sounds a little crazy, but I have a random farming accident to thank for my life as well as the new passion I have developed to find a cure for cancer.
A grazier by trade, in 2009 I was crushed by two bulls at the cattleyards on our property and rushed to hospital. I expected the ultrasound of my chest to show some damage – four smashed ribs and the beginnings of a pulmonary oedema it turned out – but I never expected it would find a tumour the size of a grapefruit growing on my adrenal gland. I wasn’t even sure what my adrenal gland was.
Diagnosed with Adrenal Cortical Cancer, I was given six months to live. It was shocking. I went through the full range of emotions – probably like everyone. Here I was, I’d just been going about my life, when one day I’m smashed up by a couple of bulls, am laying in hospital and am told I have cancer. It’s an incredibly rare form of cancer, so I have limited time to live and virtually no hope.
Although devastated, a few things clicked into place. I’m not ordinarily an angry person, but I had been experiencing anger issues – feeling like I was going to explode. One of the symptoms was that the adrenal gland was giving me a big shot of adrenalin. I was working and finding I could get by on maybe two hours sleep for a few days and then I’d fall in a heap and could sleep for a week.
At first I felt ready to give up, then I decided to tackle this thing head on. If not just for me, but also for the sake of my wonderful family. Five weeks later, with a lot of help, I found Professor Bruce Robinson who operates out of Royal North Shore Hospital. I didn’t know it at the time but he was going to become one of my angels. He specialises in my sort of cancer, as rare as it is.
He told me I would die in six months unless I had radical surgery and treatment after that as well. There were no guarantees and they didn’t even know if I would survive the surgery. My surgeon Stan Sidhu did a wonderful job and I started radiation. But while undergoing radiation, there was a move to stop it because the feeling was I was going to die anyway – it was discovered I had many secondary tumors in my lungs. My angels came to my rescue and keep the treatment going – it is only due to the determination of Stan and Bruce that I am here today.
After this treatment – I am still on daily chemo therapy– I decided to do something to help the researchers trying to develop treatments for rare cancers like mine. These cancers don’t attract a lot of funding and, as a result, much less is known about them compared to breast and skin cancer. Subsequently treatment options aren’t as well developed.
In 2011, I launched Livestock for Lives, urging local farmers to donate an animal when sending livestock to market. The support and reaction was overwhelming. Through Livestock for Lives and other fundraisers, including a big charity dinner, our community has raised more than $100,000 for the researchers at the University of Sydney, which is affiliated with the Royal North Shore Hospital where I was treated.
These days I am back to a pretty normal life, working and enjoying my days. There are no guarantees I will live on. But with whatever time I have left, I am working with researchers to increase understanding of rare cancer. I also speak to others diagnosed with my form of cancer. Sadly, some of them have passed away, which motivates me even more to help find a cure.
This year I am honoured to be recognised on the cover of the Bathurst White and Yellow Pages under the theme Keeping Our Communities Healthy. I hope my selection helps increase awareness and support for rare cancers.
For people diagnosed with cancer I say the journey is what you make it. Never give up and perhaps things will turn out a little better than you expect. It has for me and I will be eternally grateful.
By Maura Luxford,
Founder ride4acure and creator of Mela-What?, Dondingalong (near Kempsey)
15 March 2013
Founder ride4acure and creator of Mela-What?, Dondingalong (near Kempsey)
15 March 2013
Ride for a Cure
On 2 May 1988, I gave birth to my first child, a beautiful girl named Hannah Rose Luxford-Matthews. I could never have imagined that 20 years later, Hannah would die from a malignant melanoma, barely one year after diagnosis.
Not for a second did I think that she wouldn’t survive. Back then, I thought she would simply get it cut out and be ok. How naive I was.
After its initial removal, the melanoma came back three times in one year. Hannah had surgery twice, underwent a month’s radiation and took great care of herself. After each treatment Hannah received the ‘all clear’ and went back to living her life.
In between all her treatments, I was amazed at Hannah’s ability to bounce back and get on with life. She was a second year livestock science student at the University of New England, had an amazing group of friends and even met her first serious boyfriend and fell in love. She tackled having melanoma one day at a time and never feared what would happen.
The last three weeks of Hannah’s life were spent in Melbourne at the Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre. In November, exactly one year after her initial diagnosis, we found out that another tumour had emerged and, even worse, that the melanoma had spread to Hannah’s liver and lungs. Surgery wasn’t an option anymore and she began what initially was going to be a five month chemotherapy program on 2 December 2008. After just a few weeks, I was told that the chemotherapy hadn’t had the desired effect and that there was nothing more that could be medically done for Hannah other than pain relief. I do not have the words to describe what it is like as a mother to hear that your child will die.
The beauty of Hannah’s last days is indescribable. They were so meaningful and we were all aware that we would never have those moments again. I’m not going to pretend that those last few days didn’t have low points, but we as a family were determined to treasure every single moment we had left with her.
After Hannah’s funeral, I returned home to Kempsey in Northern NSW where we held a memorial mass for Hannah on Valentine’s Day 2009. After the memorial I stopped and realised it was time to rethink my whole life. I was still a mother to two other children, Esther who was 18 and Joe who was 10. I went through the daily actions of living but I felt like I was empty. I was drowning in my grief and it felt like an infinite, endless emptiness that would never leave me.
A few months after Hannah’s death, I felt compelled to improve my health. After some hard times in the years prior I had lost my fitness and gained almost 20kgs. It was a daily struggle but I forced myself to the gym. Half the time I would be quietly crying at the gym, but I kept going. Slowly, I started to feel stronger and noticed physical and mental changes. I was losing the extra weight and gaining a new peace. Always in the back of my mind were two hopes Hannah had while living with melanoma. One was to tell all her friends to look after their skin and the second was to raise money to support research to find a cure.
At the beginning of May 2009, I bought a pushbike and started riding. After a few months I was riding about 100kms a week. It was during one of my rides that I had a life changing moment. Reflecting on Hannah’s hopes, I felt inspired to ride my bike to Melbourne to raise money and awareness of melanoma. I was going to do this in honour of my beautiful Hannah, and so ride4acure was born.
In October 2009, I embarked on the first ride4acure, a 1680km fundraising and awareness raising bike ride from Kempsey to the steps of the Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre in Melbourne. I created an education program called Mela-What? to help young people understand the impact of UV radiation and skin cell damage. It took me 36 days to complete my mission and along the way I visited 30 primary schools to raise awareness and share Hannah’s story.
Not wanting to stop there, in 2010 I embarked on my second ride4acure, this time swapping my bike for three horses. I spent 86 days on the road, fundraising and speaking to more students and community groups about melanoma. It was an amazing experience and I thought of Hannah every day—she would have loved to have been right there beside me and that thought kept me motivated through the tough days.
In 2011 my youngest daughter Esther took to the saddle and rode across Australia from Crescent Head to Perth, to help put melanoma on the map as a young person’s disease. Esther rode more than 4600kms in 97 days and her brother Joe and I were the support crew for to this epic journey. Along the way I presented Mela-What? in dozens of schools and communities. I am so incredibly proud of Esther and what she achieved.
Through the rides and the education program, I really feel like I’ve made a difference and helped put melanoma on the map, with tens of thousands of young Australians now knowing how to prevent melanoma and skin cancer and more importantly, loving the skin they’re in. This year I’m recognised on the cover of the Port Macquarie White and Yellow Pages under the theme Keeping Our Communities Healthy for my work raising awareness of melanoma.
In my journey with grief and sorrow, I discovered a strength within myself that I didn’t know I had. Since starting ride4acure I have spoken with more than 22,000 young people across Australia and I’m determined to reach even more. Hannah motivates me daily as I continue to bring her hopes to life. I know she would be so proud of everything I’ve done in her honour and be so incredibly grateful to the community that has supported me.
The grief of losing a child is indescribable. In spite of this, I felt moved to bring ‘life’ to the loss of Hannah by helping young people and communities understand the steps to take to look after their skin. I never dreamt four years ago that I could have achieved so much in such a short time.
Not for a second did I think that she wouldn’t survive. Back then, I thought she would simply get it cut out and be ok. How naive I was.
After its initial removal, the melanoma came back three times in one year. Hannah had surgery twice, underwent a month’s radiation and took great care of herself. After each treatment Hannah received the ‘all clear’ and went back to living her life.
In between all her treatments, I was amazed at Hannah’s ability to bounce back and get on with life. She was a second year livestock science student at the University of New England, had an amazing group of friends and even met her first serious boyfriend and fell in love. She tackled having melanoma one day at a time and never feared what would happen.
The last three weeks of Hannah’s life were spent in Melbourne at the Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre. In November, exactly one year after her initial diagnosis, we found out that another tumour had emerged and, even worse, that the melanoma had spread to Hannah’s liver and lungs. Surgery wasn’t an option anymore and she began what initially was going to be a five month chemotherapy program on 2 December 2008. After just a few weeks, I was told that the chemotherapy hadn’t had the desired effect and that there was nothing more that could be medically done for Hannah other than pain relief. I do not have the words to describe what it is like as a mother to hear that your child will die.
The beauty of Hannah’s last days is indescribable. They were so meaningful and we were all aware that we would never have those moments again. I’m not going to pretend that those last few days didn’t have low points, but we as a family were determined to treasure every single moment we had left with her.
After Hannah’s funeral, I returned home to Kempsey in Northern NSW where we held a memorial mass for Hannah on Valentine’s Day 2009. After the memorial I stopped and realised it was time to rethink my whole life. I was still a mother to two other children, Esther who was 18 and Joe who was 10. I went through the daily actions of living but I felt like I was empty. I was drowning in my grief and it felt like an infinite, endless emptiness that would never leave me.
A few months after Hannah’s death, I felt compelled to improve my health. After some hard times in the years prior I had lost my fitness and gained almost 20kgs. It was a daily struggle but I forced myself to the gym. Half the time I would be quietly crying at the gym, but I kept going. Slowly, I started to feel stronger and noticed physical and mental changes. I was losing the extra weight and gaining a new peace. Always in the back of my mind were two hopes Hannah had while living with melanoma. One was to tell all her friends to look after their skin and the second was to raise money to support research to find a cure.
At the beginning of May 2009, I bought a pushbike and started riding. After a few months I was riding about 100kms a week. It was during one of my rides that I had a life changing moment. Reflecting on Hannah’s hopes, I felt inspired to ride my bike to Melbourne to raise money and awareness of melanoma. I was going to do this in honour of my beautiful Hannah, and so ride4acure was born.
In October 2009, I embarked on the first ride4acure, a 1680km fundraising and awareness raising bike ride from Kempsey to the steps of the Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre in Melbourne. I created an education program called Mela-What? to help young people understand the impact of UV radiation and skin cell damage. It took me 36 days to complete my mission and along the way I visited 30 primary schools to raise awareness and share Hannah’s story.
Not wanting to stop there, in 2010 I embarked on my second ride4acure, this time swapping my bike for three horses. I spent 86 days on the road, fundraising and speaking to more students and community groups about melanoma. It was an amazing experience and I thought of Hannah every day—she would have loved to have been right there beside me and that thought kept me motivated through the tough days.
In 2011 my youngest daughter Esther took to the saddle and rode across Australia from Crescent Head to Perth, to help put melanoma on the map as a young person’s disease. Esther rode more than 4600kms in 97 days and her brother Joe and I were the support crew for to this epic journey. Along the way I presented Mela-What? in dozens of schools and communities. I am so incredibly proud of Esther and what she achieved.
Through the rides and the education program, I really feel like I’ve made a difference and helped put melanoma on the map, with tens of thousands of young Australians now knowing how to prevent melanoma and skin cancer and more importantly, loving the skin they’re in. This year I’m recognised on the cover of the Port Macquarie White and Yellow Pages under the theme Keeping Our Communities Healthy for my work raising awareness of melanoma.
In my journey with grief and sorrow, I discovered a strength within myself that I didn’t know I had. Since starting ride4acure I have spoken with more than 22,000 young people across Australia and I’m determined to reach even more. Hannah motivates me daily as I continue to bring her hopes to life. I know she would be so proud of everything I’ve done in her honour and be so incredibly grateful to the community that has supported me.
The grief of losing a child is indescribable. In spite of this, I felt moved to bring ‘life’ to the loss of Hannah by helping young people and communities understand the steps to take to look after their skin. I never dreamt four years ago that I could have achieved so much in such a short time.
By Debbie Hatswell
15 March 2013
15 March 2013
Out of the Ashes
“Ping”, there it was like a death toll after hours on my Blackberry, a single meeting invite from my new people leader. The invitation asked me to a meeting on an unfamiliar floor first thing and included a HR representative. Warning bells went off in my head and tears were soon to follow. I had been back from maternity leave for 18 months, my child still didn’t sleep through the night and I had been attempting to manage a full time job in 4 days. So, sobbing (probably more from exhaustion than anything else) I approached the meeting with trepidation only to be told my leadership role was being restructured and whilst I was welcome to apply for a new role, it was full time and a flexible working arrangement would not be considered.
Many, many tears followed as I struggled to reconcile my looming career crisis having always been a respected and high performing employee. Redundancy is a funny beast and the reaction from colleagues always tends to be either end of the extreme – supportive or like you have suddenly got leprosy.
It was about a week after the redundancy notification that I discovered I was pregnant with what was to be our second child. (Ahhh, that explains all the tears! I wasn’t a chick prone to dramatics after all! Hormones!) Very excited, after a relatively easy pregnancy with our first child, my husband and I looked forward to our first scan, planned nurseries, and talked about names.
You can always tell in an ultrasound room when things aren’t going as planned, there is a longer than usual silence whilst the sonographer gets their head around the words they are going to use to break your heart. The pregnancy was eptopic – and would either have to be terminated or would most likely miscarry. Off to the obstetrician, for an injection of Methotrexate. It would be 3 months before we could try again. More tears followed, although weirdly out of proportion to the loss. This was a baby I was grieving for – why on earth was I more upset about what felt like a complete betrayal from what had been an employer?
Having always been a believer in the fact that sometimes, people need a bit of expert help to get through tougher than usual situations; I packed myself off for some counselling. The sessions were going pretty well until the next shoe dropped. My father, who I adored, who had retired a month previously was diagnosed with Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer. The survival rate is appalling – about 5%. To make matters worse I had watched my beautiful mother-in-law die of the same disease just 4 years previously. I knew what we were in for. And it wasn’t going to be good. One of the things the counsellor said that stayed with me was that “sometimes when such awful things happen, good things come out of it”. This struck a chord and I became determined to be one of those people.
It was an easy decision to walk away from my career. I didn’t particularly want to work for a company where I didn’t feel valued. I felt the wind of change in the air and didn’t particularly like where it was going. I didn’t like the toxicity in atmosphere or the stress I felt under. I needed a role that could be flexible; I knew I would need to be spending some intensive hospital time in the coming months. I wanted to help my Mum out by taking Dad to chemo occasionally, I wanted to be able to have meals and coffees with him and just hang out. I also wanted to reduce the time my son was spending in long day care and do something about my work life balance.
Much time was spent mulling over potential career options where I could work from home but nothing felt like it fit. I started to imagine building a business myself, creating a brand, building relationships with customers, and being able to read books to my young son and call it research. My husband asked the all important question early on “Well, why wouldn’t you?” A business plan was written, distributers were contacted and a website was built.
So, out of the ashes of my high flying financial services career came Story Mama, an online bookstore selling picture books for babies, toddlers and pre-schoolers. You can find us at www.storymama.com.au . Its early days, but we are taking orders and the flexibility it gives me is absolutely perfect for my family. I am determined to make it work.
We launched the site in December 2012 about a week after my dad was admitted to hospital for what would be the last time. Launching the business kept me distracted and busy – there was no point spending long hours with Dad who by then was sleeping most of the time.
It was a month later that I held my Dad’s hand whilst he died. Christmas and New Year’s was the toughest time of my life whilst we attempted to be festive around my little boy when we were grieving for the shadow my father had become. All plans became tentative and friends were very understanding when I showed up when I could. His hospital room resembled a party often as people came to keep us company and sit with Dad. I was glad when it was finally over – for him who was so miserable in his last weeks. I was so sad for us, who still need him often and faced a future of missing him every single day.
Grief is a funny old thing and manifests itself in strange ways. For me I have a compulsive need to channel the energy constructively and one of the promises I made to myself when Dad passed was that I needed to be living a healthier lifestyle, shift some weight and be around long term for my child. Again, its early days, but changes have been made and progress is underway.
We haven’t given up on having a second baby, and I haven’t missed my previously much loved employer for a minute of any single day. The business is my current baby and we are celebrating the little wins. I know in my heart that Dad would be proud.
Many, many tears followed as I struggled to reconcile my looming career crisis having always been a respected and high performing employee. Redundancy is a funny beast and the reaction from colleagues always tends to be either end of the extreme – supportive or like you have suddenly got leprosy.
It was about a week after the redundancy notification that I discovered I was pregnant with what was to be our second child. (Ahhh, that explains all the tears! I wasn’t a chick prone to dramatics after all! Hormones!) Very excited, after a relatively easy pregnancy with our first child, my husband and I looked forward to our first scan, planned nurseries, and talked about names.
You can always tell in an ultrasound room when things aren’t going as planned, there is a longer than usual silence whilst the sonographer gets their head around the words they are going to use to break your heart. The pregnancy was eptopic – and would either have to be terminated or would most likely miscarry. Off to the obstetrician, for an injection of Methotrexate. It would be 3 months before we could try again. More tears followed, although weirdly out of proportion to the loss. This was a baby I was grieving for – why on earth was I more upset about what felt like a complete betrayal from what had been an employer?
Having always been a believer in the fact that sometimes, people need a bit of expert help to get through tougher than usual situations; I packed myself off for some counselling. The sessions were going pretty well until the next shoe dropped. My father, who I adored, who had retired a month previously was diagnosed with Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer. The survival rate is appalling – about 5%. To make matters worse I had watched my beautiful mother-in-law die of the same disease just 4 years previously. I knew what we were in for. And it wasn’t going to be good. One of the things the counsellor said that stayed with me was that “sometimes when such awful things happen, good things come out of it”. This struck a chord and I became determined to be one of those people.
It was an easy decision to walk away from my career. I didn’t particularly want to work for a company where I didn’t feel valued. I felt the wind of change in the air and didn’t particularly like where it was going. I didn’t like the toxicity in atmosphere or the stress I felt under. I needed a role that could be flexible; I knew I would need to be spending some intensive hospital time in the coming months. I wanted to help my Mum out by taking Dad to chemo occasionally, I wanted to be able to have meals and coffees with him and just hang out. I also wanted to reduce the time my son was spending in long day care and do something about my work life balance.
Much time was spent mulling over potential career options where I could work from home but nothing felt like it fit. I started to imagine building a business myself, creating a brand, building relationships with customers, and being able to read books to my young son and call it research. My husband asked the all important question early on “Well, why wouldn’t you?” A business plan was written, distributers were contacted and a website was built.
So, out of the ashes of my high flying financial services career came Story Mama, an online bookstore selling picture books for babies, toddlers and pre-schoolers. You can find us at www.storymama.com.au . Its early days, but we are taking orders and the flexibility it gives me is absolutely perfect for my family. I am determined to make it work.
We launched the site in December 2012 about a week after my dad was admitted to hospital for what would be the last time. Launching the business kept me distracted and busy – there was no point spending long hours with Dad who by then was sleeping most of the time.
It was a month later that I held my Dad’s hand whilst he died. Christmas and New Year’s was the toughest time of my life whilst we attempted to be festive around my little boy when we were grieving for the shadow my father had become. All plans became tentative and friends were very understanding when I showed up when I could. His hospital room resembled a party often as people came to keep us company and sit with Dad. I was glad when it was finally over – for him who was so miserable in his last weeks. I was so sad for us, who still need him often and faced a future of missing him every single day.
Grief is a funny old thing and manifests itself in strange ways. For me I have a compulsive need to channel the energy constructively and one of the promises I made to myself when Dad passed was that I needed to be living a healthier lifestyle, shift some weight and be around long term for my child. Again, its early days, but changes have been made and progress is underway.
We haven’t given up on having a second baby, and I haven’t missed my previously much loved employer for a minute of any single day. The business is my current baby and we are celebrating the little wins. I know in my heart that Dad would be proud.
Nightmares and Dreams
In 2003 I was a struggling housewife on the verge of separation kids with a family in crisis and I had all but given up on my childhood dream to be a published author. It took hitting bottom in my life before I took serious action to change things.
As a girl I had dreamed about having the perfect partner, a happy family, and writing success. My mother had had a traumatic childhood going through the Holocaust, so she had a lot of questions about the purpose of life, and a very interesting library. I read her books as a teenager, books that had titles like 'You Can Heal Your Life' and 'The Power of Your Subconscious Mind' and 'Life and Teachings of the Masters of the Far East', and loved them, and since I was the typical teen suffering from lack of self-worth and confidence, I would try the odd affirmation. But I would give up when nothing in my life seemed to change.
Because while I'd won writing awards from my teen years and been published, I could never seem to nail the 'big one'. And when I finally found 'the one', everything seemed to go wrong despite our love. As we drifted apart and my kids squabbled and I had limited writing success, I began to feel more and more despairing. I had never imagined, as a young girl, that my life would turn out like this - one dead end after another.
It wasn't until I was facing the big 'Four-O' and feeling like a victim and a total failure - as a wife, a mother, and a writer - that I decided I was going to commit to my growth until I saw a result, rather than trying a positive attitude for a few minutes and then giving up.
So I devised a set of affirmations that truly spoke to me and had an inspirational book going in the loo and a tape going in the car in my efforts to saturate my mind and transform my life. I sat and visualised my family in a loving hug, despite the sounds of shouting/crying/slamming doors/domestic chaos (but not violence) on the other side of the wall.
My partner and I also undertook counseling, which was transformational in itself because I finally came to value myself. Like magic, when I did, he changed - the old spiritual lesson that 'for things to change, first I must change'.
As our relationship began to heal, I decided to apply the same principle of valuing myself to my writing. I stepped back from the business I was in distributing health products, and spent more time writing. By the end of that first year of trusting and honouring myself, I had won First and Second Prize in one writing competition, and been shortlisted in another. Feeling encouraged, I then wrote the book for youth that had been going around and around in my mind for the previous eight years. Ironically, it was called 'The Mastery Club - See the Invisible, Hear the Silent, Do the Impossible' - the principle that we teach what we most need to learn…
I wrote the book, my partner and I self-published it, and in less than twelve months we had sold 5000 copies - pretty amazing for an unknown, self-published author in Australia. The Mastery Club is now an Australian bestseller, an international award-winner in the category of Youth Fiction, published in China, and has been praised widely - including this comment from one reviewer (NZ): 'Move over Harry, there's a new wizard in town and her magic isn't confined to fantasy.'
In fact, I now have a fledgling international business growing up around The Mastery Club. A woman in Scotland, and then a man in London, and then a woman in NSW, and then a woman in Missouri contacted me expressing interest in teaching the program I had developed based on my book. So far three groups in the UK have been through my program, the first 72 students have experienced it in the US, and the first group is half-way through in NSW.
The Mastery Club stresses the importance of self-talk, teaches goal-setting, visualisation, and treasure mapping (vision boards), as well as many lessons about character. (You can see how much I was writing it for myself!) Children, teens, parents and grandparents have emailed me expressing their thanks. Teachers read this book to their students. Readers from around the world have formed their own Mastery Clubs. I've been on a free cruise as a speaker and was given an all-expenses paid trip to South America as a result of this book. I recently launched the sequel (The Hidden Order). A number of film producers have expressed interest.
And my family is now closer than ever.
Something of a transformed life... I'd be honoured if you would share this story with your readers.
For more information, please call me on 0407 901 008 or 03 9018 9724 and/or visit my website at www.themasteryclub.com
Warm regards,
Liliane
By Louise Crossley
15 March 2013
15 March 2013
HAPPY SHOES
A few years ago I worked as an integration aide at a Catholic primary school. Part of my job at the beginning of each year was to help transition new preps into school life.
Often, they would suffer separation anxiety and cry for their mums. Settling them became quite a challenge and could take hours to achieve. Until one desperate morning while I was wearing a pair of silver glittery shoes, I tried something new. The shoes were sparkly and I thought they looked cheery which is why I bought them. So on this fateful morning in the midst of a crying session with one of the little ones I announced that these were my Happy Shoes and by just touching them you could feel happy. The little boy I was settling at the time was immediately intrigued and instantly touched my shoes with the tip of his finger, and when he was satisfied that they didn't bite, he began to stroke them like he would a pet. Like a charm, it worked. The same boy who was hysterical five minutes before began to smile and then laugh. And there began a myth that wold serve me well in my job for the next four years.
Yesterday I found my happy shoes, and yes, they still had the power to make me happy. I reflected on the magic they performed on many five year old's and it occurred to me why they were magical. Like comfort blankets and heirlooms, the shoes alone had no special abilities and only became significant when a purpose was attached to them. Think about it. A little girl is drawn to a comfort blanket because she has unconsciously attached a purpose to it - to comfort her. We value our heirlooms because we have attached a purpose to them - to remind us of loved ones or our past. And, the Happy Shoes became popular with the new Preps because I attached a purpose to them - to create happiness.
Purpose is a driving force that can make ordinary, extraordinary, and can bring a little magic to the world. Imagine if the secret to a fulfilling life is as simple as it was to make five year old's stop crying: Just slip on some Happy Shoes, and find your purpose.
Often, they would suffer separation anxiety and cry for their mums. Settling them became quite a challenge and could take hours to achieve. Until one desperate morning while I was wearing a pair of silver glittery shoes, I tried something new. The shoes were sparkly and I thought they looked cheery which is why I bought them. So on this fateful morning in the midst of a crying session with one of the little ones I announced that these were my Happy Shoes and by just touching them you could feel happy. The little boy I was settling at the time was immediately intrigued and instantly touched my shoes with the tip of his finger, and when he was satisfied that they didn't bite, he began to stroke them like he would a pet. Like a charm, it worked. The same boy who was hysterical five minutes before began to smile and then laugh. And there began a myth that wold serve me well in my job for the next four years.
Yesterday I found my happy shoes, and yes, they still had the power to make me happy. I reflected on the magic they performed on many five year old's and it occurred to me why they were magical. Like comfort blankets and heirlooms, the shoes alone had no special abilities and only became significant when a purpose was attached to them. Think about it. A little girl is drawn to a comfort blanket because she has unconsciously attached a purpose to it - to comfort her. We value our heirlooms because we have attached a purpose to them - to remind us of loved ones or our past. And, the Happy Shoes became popular with the new Preps because I attached a purpose to them - to create happiness.
Purpose is a driving force that can make ordinary, extraordinary, and can bring a little magic to the world. Imagine if the secret to a fulfilling life is as simple as it was to make five year old's stop crying: Just slip on some Happy Shoes, and find your purpose.
From the Editor
I've spent the last three months meeting many people. Mostly, people over 40. I've met them socially, professionally and intimately - through candid and deep discussions.
What I've identified from my interactions is a common driver that motivates our age bracket to 'do'. Do, what we have put off until now. Do, make a change. Do, understand the world and ourselves. Do, embrace life.
It seems to me that this driver is an intense awareness that comes at around 40. A realisation that we don't have forever. A lifetime is short. This gets us off the coach and into a whirlwind, a vibrancy that is contagious.
What a shame we don't tap into this energy sooner. What a shame we waste precious time at any age. But how amazing to experience and witness this energy. An energy that makes every single day a gift and a never-to-be-repeated opportunity to make every moment count.
Thanks for coming
LOUISE CROSSLEY
What I've identified from my interactions is a common driver that motivates our age bracket to 'do'. Do, what we have put off until now. Do, make a change. Do, understand the world and ourselves. Do, embrace life.
It seems to me that this driver is an intense awareness that comes at around 40. A realisation that we don't have forever. A lifetime is short. This gets us off the coach and into a whirlwind, a vibrancy that is contagious.
What a shame we don't tap into this energy sooner. What a shame we waste precious time at any age. But how amazing to experience and witness this energy. An energy that makes every single day a gift and a never-to-be-repeated opportunity to make every moment count.
Thanks for coming
LOUISE CROSSLEY