💌 What made you feel loved as a kid?

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Welcome to my imperfect email.

As always, every week, we’ll send a question that will help you reflect on your own imperfect life, inspired by this week’s episode.

This week we were joined by the queen . . . . of common sense.

That’s right, your prayers have been answered, and parenting expert Maggie Dent joins us in studio to talk about raising boys, and the importance of love.

Boy, we loved this one,

Bell

We'd love to hear your answer to this question. If you're in the mood to get vulnerable and share your writing, send it through.

In our Academy of Imperfection, Maggie schools parents Hugh and Josh, and trusted non-parental figure Ryan, about the ‘no matter what’ rule, the importance of micro connections and the beauty of a well-timed fart.

An advocate for imperfect parenting (which is REALLY great for brand alignment), Maggie insists on the significance of unconditional love when raising boys.

Maggie you are wonderful. This was wonderful. You’re the best.

Repair the rupture. (30:16-31:07)

_{There’s always going to be mistakes. It’s how you respond that they’ll remember.}

Find moments of micro connection. (31:09-32:05)

_{Particularly for parents of ‘rooster boys’, Maggie talks about how physical connection; a hair ruffle here, a back tickle there, or even a well-timed fart, can make all of the difference.}

Find a creative way to tell your son / teen / kid that you love them. (41:53 - 42:05)

_{Especially for boys, a note, which they can re-read and have time to take in, can be a tangible representation of love. Another great way to tell your boys you love them is to quantify it in numbers, “I love you more than all the stars in the sky”.}

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I had to have a bit of a chuckle when I read this question. On one hand it can be so beautiful to reflect upon. On the other it can stir up a little bit of an ache. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry right?

To genuinely need help, ask for it and receive it is a beautiful thing. To genuinely need help, ask for it and not receive it is an entirely different kettle of fish.

I’ve lived in both worlds. 

I’ve had people - whom I call Earth angels - swoop in and save me in times of desperate need. Times where I have been crumbling, crippled with fear, unable to see clearly or decide my next move. In fact, these are the only times I have ever asked for help. When I have had no choice. I can’t see through the fog. 

I’m walking and walking, but I can’t see ahead of me. I grow tired, stop dead in my tracks and I break. Through tears and exhaustion, I ask for help. That’s when they appear. 

Some know me, and some hardly do, but without hesitation they come to my side, put an arm around my shoulder, lift me back to my feet and shine their torch ahead of us. I wipe my tears and look ahead. Together, we start walking. In the midst of my darkness, they lend me their light until I can find mine. These moments have shown me the power of unconditional kindness.

But there have been other times. 

As a child I learned to soften my voice. I put others needs above my own and found ways to justify my suffering rather than ask for support. This continued into my career in the defence force, right up until the end when there was a period I needed help. I was experiencing things that were not okay. I knew it, others knew it. I asked for help. I spoke up. I was shut down.

Help was needed. Help was asked for. Help was not given. 

The experience shaped a belief in me that I wore as armour - it’s safer not to ask. 

I’ve been out of the military for six years now, and I’ve only recently started asking for help again. And more often than not, I’m met with an action - or inaction - that tries to reinforce that armour. That it’s safer not to ask. That I’m alone in this. That I’m not deserving of help.

Deep-down I know this is not true. In the past year while navigating chronic illness alongside an eating disorder, I’ve found myself collapsed again. Twice, I’ve pushed my pride aside and asked for help. 

Help was needed. Help was asked for. Help was not given. 

At first, this hurt deeply. There is a particular pain in reaching out and feeling even more alone than you did before. But what I’ve come to understand is the absence of help was never a reflection of my worthiness to receive it. It was simply a reflection of the capacity of those I had asked. 

The moments where I have not received the help I asked for is no longer proof that I’m safer not to ask or that I have to face this alone. Instead, it’s simply a reminder that everyone is doing the best with the capacity that they have. Some have done the inner work that allows them to offer love, care and kindness. Others are still on a path of discovery. 

The truth that I now hold on to, the one that overrides “it’s safer not to ask,” is this: 

I am always worthy of help, whether or not it comes. I would rather ask and celebrate my strength, regardless of the outcome, than sit silently in my suffering. Now that truth feels much lighter than the armour ever did.

Annaleise

Thank you so much for sharing your reflection with us, and with all of you! Always vulnerable responsibly.

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