LITMIR.BIZ

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      Cover, internal artwork and figure designs by Kym Davis

      Disclaimer

      The material in this publication is of the nature of general comment only, and does not represent professional advice. It is not intended to provide specific guidance for particular circumstances and it should not be relied on as the basis for any decision to take action or not take action on any matter which it covers. Readers should obtain professional advice where appropriate, before making any such decision. To the maximum extent permitted by law, the author and publisher disclaim all responsibility and liability to any person, arising directly or indirectly from any person taking or not taking action based on the information in this publication.

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Ali Hill1 is Australia's coolest Psychologist. A regular in mainstream TV and print media, she is the co-founder of Pragmatic Thinking, a behaviour and motivation strategy company that carries a client list such as Pepsico, Suncorp, McDonalds, Bond University and Siemens to name a few.

      Ali is the co-author of best-selling business book Dealing with the Tough Stuff: How to achieve results from key conversations, which has been translated into 3 languages and is in its 2nd edition. An international and in-demand keynote speaker and even more in-demand mum.

      Ali is highly sought after to assist individuals, teams and organisations transition through change. She presents her unique and authentic message through engaging humour, practicality and real-world thinking,

      In her spare time she turns her hand to cooking and knitting, neither of these very successfully. So Ali has decided to keep focusing on what she does best – starting a global conversation about what it takes to live a Stand Out life. It does mean there will be no home-baked goods or a knitting corner in any work she delivers … sorry if this is a deal-breaker.

      PREFACE

      I was drowning. Yet the only water to be found was in the tears welling in my eyes.

      The pressure I felt – in my marrow – 'twas one busy folks often feel. It was the pressure of relentless, unwavering busyness. I was drowning in an ocean of expectations, gasping for breath facing what seemed like an endless to-do list, quickly losing sight of myself and what really mattered. I could see no sign of a horizon, much less a safe harbour.

      This was a feeling of slowly increasing pressure – not unusual (I mean who hasn't felt this, right?), although this time it all came to a head on one particular afternoon.

      Friday, 11 April, at 3.30 in the afternoon. To. Be. Exact.

      Darren, my husband, had just returned from picking up the kids from school. Pat and Kate, twin-powered tornados of seven- and five-year-old energy had whooshed through our office on their way into the house. Maybe they said ‘hi', maybe they didn't – I was so consumed in my own battle for air that I didn't notice.

      The shortness of breath and tightness in my chest – both physical and metaphorical – weren't eased by the infectious joy my children typically bestow on me. So often, they provide the antidote for my grown-up world, with their laughter and ‘pull-my-finger' jokes; yet this time, not even them getting home could shift my thinking.

      I felt antsy and anxious, positively desperate to do something, anything … but I couldn't think of anything that could fix how I was feeling and give me what I needed – whatever it was I needed. It was Friday afternoon, after all – when others had their eyes set on the weekend, I was feeling frantic. So I defaulted; I just got busy. I've gotta do something. What could I be doing? I thought. The mail! I haven't checked the mail. Yep, the checking the mail was yet another thing I hadn't gotten round to doing yet, and was exactly what needed to happen right away.

      As I stepped outside with a thundercloud, monsoon and even a bloody La Niña all hovering above my head, I rounded the corner directly into Darren, who was coming in from the car now parked in the driveway. Darren took one look at me and asked me a very simple question.

      ‘What's wrong?'

      Seriously! What is it with guys and that question? If I knew what was wrong, I'd have it fixed by now! Wouldn't I?

      I stood there speechless, but in just that split-second the start of a whole discourse was taking place in my head. But rather than give voice to this internal narrative, I just stood there and glowered.

      I was so disconnected from my needs and emotions that when someone I love with my whole heart asked me what was wrong, the deepest truth (which is tightly connected to our deepest fears) was that I didn't even know where to start.

      No idea.

      What's wrong? Darren might as well have just asked me the molecular structure of plutonium, how many litres of petrol our car takes, or to name all of the Kardashians (I can't keep up with them …). So, of course, I went with the standard response. Through gritted teeth I said, ‘I'm fine' … and then proceeded to burst into tears (the international sign that all is not, in fact, fine). These weren't pretty-girl tears either. These were ugly tears. Reals ugly. Well, hellooo monsoon! La Niña, take a back seat for a bit, you may be needed soon …

      After I calmed a little, and through the waterfall of snot, I eventually disclosed to Daz that I wasn't coping with life. I felt like I'd lost the joy in pretty much everything I did. I distinctly remember a specific phrase I said that summed up my feelings and shocked me a little at the same time:

      ‘I just feel like I need to opt out of life for a while.'

      Now, I should be clear this wasn't a self-harm intention or statement. It was what I now refer to as a ‘self-calm statement'. It was a verbal acknowledgement that things weren't right. Actually, they were very far from being right. I was drowning in the monotony of school lunches, breakfast dishes, and my personal favourite, ‘What are we having for dinner?' – all while juggling a million other balls. I was losing that part of me that makes me tick, and I just didn't know how to get it back. But instead of tackling this, I just wanted to not think about any of that for a while.

      Even as this declaration was spilling from my mouth, however, the diatribe in my head was also continuing: ‘What have you got to whinge about?' ‘You've got healthy kids' ‘Your professional career is on the up' ‘You're happily married to this bloke – even if he does ask infuriating questions!'

      Darren looked me square in the eye and then said something I was not expecting at all. I was expecting him to take me in his arms. Give me a hug. Tell me everything was going to be okay. You know, do the ‘man thing'. While that would have been great, today was different. He said something I couldn't have predicted, and it completely floored me.

      ‘Babe, just have a day or two off. Do what you need to do.'

      Of course, after shock, my next reaction was Why?? Why does he want to get rid of me?

      Mentally

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