My baby turns 5 on Monday.
She’s our first and only , and somehow that’s turned into us doing a Birthday Party each year(you know those things you said you wouldn’t do pre-kids that’s changed with the real rather than imagined child)

I felt bittersweet about the first few milestones, they just grow so damn fast. Parenthood has this thing though, somehow the hard that felt like it would never end is in the rear view before you know it, and there’s a new first you didn’t even realise existed, before your eyes to marvel at.

Each year, I’ve progressively got more ‘into’ the party thing, and found my own joy in creating some magic for her. - Balloon garlands have become a tradition - terrible for the environment but my inner craft addict froths it- and surprised even myself at how protective of her birthday cake I’ve become.

This Year Feels Different

This year, the big 5. It feels big.

Maybe it’s because I remember my 5th birthday; or perhaps its because her birthday has just landed at a time where we are all exhausted, running on fumes. Between promoting my masterclass (it’s on this Wednesday), the never ending NDIS reforms, Advocacy and juggling the constant adapting to change needed at work and home - it hasn’t felt like the creative wonderland of past years.
It’s felt like a demand.

Most weeks have been a struggle to keep the house from looking like a bombs hit it, and at least once a week I run around like a headless chook squawking “Where the F#*k is it! has has anyone seen my ___ (insert random object)” usually blaming everyone else - including the cat- but honestly, it’s just as likely I put it somewhere ‘safe’.

The Night Before

I came home Friday night, late, for the third night in a row. I’d been working back late to catch up on reports. Clambering out the car I could see as I stood up, the outdoor area was still in chaos.

I’d been eyeing it for weeks now. Making deals with myself that I’d get to it ‘next week’ only for another week to slip by with more mess piled on top.

My house very much rocks the ‘lived and loved’ in’ vibe.

The Old Me vs New Me

Here’s the thing, and the whole reason for this very long winded story:
I’m not trying for anything other than living anymore.

For a long time, I never bought homewares. not because I didn’t like them, but because I worried nothing would look “right” together. I had no confidence in my taste because I didn’t match and if I couldn’t match well, what hope did my home have.

Just like I didn’t know how to bring my home together in how I ‘thought’ it needed to look I didn’t know who I ‘should be’.
I had all these different versions of me, (I didn’t know then they were masks):

preppy Giarne
1940’s vintage Giarne
Business ‘professional’ Giarne
Boho hippie vibes Giarne

When parties or celebrations happened, I’d feel such inner turmoil, which me was I meant to be?! All these different ‘factions’ of my life were suddenly in the same room, and I didn’t know which Giarne to be. Cue Panic.

So I played it safe, in the homewares department. I stuck to neutrals, black, grey with an occasional blue or purple thrown in. My house had become a mix of neutrals, gifted homewares and hand-me-down furniture; and I was terrified of getting it ‘wrong’.

The Shift

Now, it’s 9:45am, I’m in my pyjama’s still, running on ‘less-than-ideal’ sleep, surveying the damage. There’s a sink full of dishes, the table’s covered in odds and sods, the lounge is in reasonable shape but has been claimed by the birthday girl (destruction in t-minus 5minutes) … and one thought ran through my brain…

“well, Im fucked…”

But, unlike the old me, who was fearful to buy homewares out of fear, who would sit in shame at the state of chaos - here’s what’s different now.

I know we’re jugging A LOT, and I can actually acknowledge we’re doing a pretty good job of it. Balls get dropped, shit happens.
I don’t actually care what my guests think.
The guest list is smaller, and we’ve only invited people who do not care if I’m in my pj’s come party time with a sink full of dishes. Safe people only.
Most importantly, I trust myself.

Leaning In

What I mean by, I trust myself - is that I know how my brain works. I know that THIS, the chaos, is how my brain works. Let me explain:

The demand, to get it done earlier - it froze me up. There was no chance prep would happen earlier - and I stopped pretending otherwise.
I organised my support worker to be there the morning before the party to help with set up.
I trusted, that the hyperfocus would kick in, and I would be a woman on a mission - and it did.
And, I also knew there was a good chance a crash would follow the day after - So, i planned for a self-care, low demand Sunday - basically, whatever the fuck we want to do, we do.

The Magic of knowing your Brain

Instead of shaming or blaming myself; instead of fighting my brain, I leaned into it.

And it was the least stressful birthday party we have hosted in 5 years.

Not because it was perfect, but because I trusted my wiring, honoured my rhythms, set up a safe environment and let myself work the way I work best.

And I’m looking forward to the clean out at the 6th birthday party, when i finally throw out the remnants of this year. 😂

p.s. - if you want to save your seat for the Masterclass I’m running this week on What I wish I knew: 5 lesson’s on working in alignment with your Neurodivergent Brain in Business - you can head to the link to register or catch the replay for a limited time here

Are you a Neurodivergent Entrepreneur or Business Owner? There’s a whole community of Neurokin waiting to meet you here: Neurodivergent Entrepreneurs: Business That Fits Your Brain

The Secret to My Least Stressful Birthday Party in 5 Years