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&nbsp; There’s a baby photo of me sitting on the floor with a ball, and you can see that I was well fed as my cheeks were chubby, and my tummy is sticking out. In those days, we wore thick cloth diapers, safety pins, and crinkly plastic undies that went over the diaper, so I can understand why my ass would be huge at such a young age. But when I look at these old photos and see what a porky toddler I was, I wonder if I ever had a chance to be an average sized person. Maybe I’m just meant to be this size.&nbsp; &nbsp;<figure id="figure-37ppjm0lomfqpx4xj"><img id="37ppjm0lomfqpx4xj" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/35I8e0RN57XKx785RTqdOmnYALZGQuQ4S6yYqSwgdJg9oKsT6ApZDFWo49UALBnD.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: undefined% 0%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined%" data-positiony="0%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/35I8e0RN57XKx785RTqdOmnYALZGQuQ4S6yYqSwgdJg9oKsT6ApZDFWo49UALBnD.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: undefined% 0%;"></figure><h3> Someone to love me</h3> I spent decades trying to figure out why I didn’t care enough about myself to take better care of my body, and I kept waiting for someone to love me enough to want to help me lose weight. Now in my Cronehood, I understand that I’m the only one that loves me enough to help myself. Expecting it from other people will just lead to disappointment anyway. This is the body I have today, so either I work with what I got or give up the fight and accept that I will become disabled due to obesity. &nbsp; &nbsp; When I woke up on March 24th, 2023, I knew something was different the minute my feet hit the floor. &nbsp;I was so profoundly different that later in the day, I posted in my favourite Facebook group that I woke up feeling strange and half-jokingly asked if there was a planetary shift or something. &nbsp;Much to my surprise, I learned that Pluto had moved into Aquarius (my sign) on the 23rd which meant major changes in my life. It was only a few days later that I signed up for the “6-week body transformation” program at our local women’s gym.&nbsp; &nbsp; Being a very large woman, I was terrified to walk into a gym. Initiation included getting weighed and measured in front of other women, but I wrapped myself in thoughts of “you’re here for you and it’s none of your business what they think” and took a deep breath to step onto the stage. The gym owner jotted down my numbers, taught to calculate our daily calories, and she showed us how to use each piece of the equipment. During the week I’d book 2-3 classes then workout on Sunday mornings with the machines. Over the next 6-weeks, I lost 1.4st (20 lbs) and 12cm (abt. 5”) of fat. &nbsp; &nbsp;<h3>All those sexy endorphins&nbsp;</h3> Feeling disappointed with my weight loss, a trainer reminded me that muscle weights more than fat, so weight loss isn’t the best indicator of success, and that losing 12cm was amazing work. For 2 years, I was taking 2-3 classes a week plus a Sunday morning on the gym equipment. It is hard but I enjoy it. I guess all those sexy endorphins help me feel good about myself. Not only am I making my body stronger and warding off immobility, my mental and emotional health is greatly improved too. And all those bullshit voices in my head that say, “they’ll laugh at you” or “you can’t do that”, I just tell it to “shut the fuck up” because I’m much more capable than my lying mind wants me to believe. &nbsp; &nbsp;<blockquote> &nbsp; One day I decided that I was beautiful and so I carried out my life as if I was a beautiful girl.&nbsp; Gabourey Sidibe&nbsp;</blockquote> &nbsp; <figure id="figure-cvutm8pl5mfdr4mt6" class=""><img id="cvutm8pl5mfdr4mt6" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/39AfEdeEYJ8dHqSsMDz0s610LeIi1OuvND8WZTSShJg0FuCokXMvk9KW9V2xV8J7.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/39AfEdeEYJ8dHqSsMDz0s610LeIi1OuvND8WZTSShJg0FuCokXMvk9KW9V2xV8J7.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure> Most of the articles I find on improving the health of older women talk about “strength or resistance training” because we need stronger muscles as we age to help us do everyday things like climbing stairs, getting out of a chair, and carrying groceries. And though we can expect to lose some muscle mass, a “use it or lose it” attitude is a great way to improve my physical strength.&nbsp; &nbsp;<h3> A can of peas&nbsp; &nbsp;</h3>Training is fun and I don’t need to spend money on equipment or the gym. I can use my own body weight to start. Doing squats, lunges, push-ups, all sorts of “movement” can be done without cutting into your budget. Working my arms was easy with a can of peas in each hand, and as I got better, I filled a couple of empty milk containers with water and used them as weights. &nbsp;Lunges are great for my legs and butt, but they’re challenging for me, so I hold onto a sturdy chair or the wall, and I feel safe enough to do them without concern. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I enjoy boxing the most because punching the shit out of a bag makes me feel powerful and invigorated, plus it’s a full body workout that builds mental focus and physical stamina. When I first started this class, I had to sit down several times because I couldn’t catch my breath, but the more I pushed myself, the easier and more enjoyable it was. I even started kick boxing. Me! The girl who failed high school gym class! &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; <figure id="figure-sl8eja0vlmfdr6q81" class=""><img id="sl8eja0vlmfdr6q81" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/25m7ZnA2sGRzuHymGy4yOIoP4r6n7n0BGAOZosO1jf6VoThS8w5ooSAFNnghoViD.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 65% 30%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="65%" data-positiony="30%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/25m7ZnA2sGRzuHymGy4yOIoP4r6n7n0BGAOZosO1jf6VoThS8w5ooSAFNnghoViD.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 65% 30%;"></figure> &nbsp; Studies prove that movement can greatly improve overall wellbeing, but there can be obstacles that stop us before we even get started. Obesity stopped me from going to the grocery store because it hurt too much to carry my own weight, and there are loads of other conditions that might prevent us from physical activity. &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; You Tube is a great source for all sorts of movement for all kinds of people. There’s chair yoga, or tai chi that is slow and rhythmic and easy on the joints. Sitting down and standing up work my legs and my core. I love music, so I put on the headphones and dance around my house. I started with the length of one song, then challenged myself to dance for 2 songs without stopping. It wasn’t long before I was dancing around the house for 30 minutes (sometimes naked). I can even dust while I dance. Is that exercise? No, it’s movement. My body needs to move. Our bodies are designed to move, that’s why our joints bend.&nbsp; &nbsp; I tried running a few times. It’s something I’d love to do, but on those courageous occasions when I tried to jog down my street, my belly fat slapped against my thigh fat and made a horrific, embarrassing noise. I knew that running wasn’t for me. But every kind of movement is good movement, so cleaning, walking the dog, raking the leaves, it’s all good movement. Queen Elizabeth took great pleasure in walking, and she credited that movement as one of the reasons for her long life.&nbsp; &nbsp;<h3>I challenged myself</h3> During those dark days of not being able to carry my own weight, I challenged myself to walk to the post box a ½ block from my house. &nbsp;I did that every day for a week. The next week I challenged myself to walk to the church 2 blocks away, it had a lovely low wall where I could sit and rest. &nbsp;Lots of times I would cry from the pain, and sometimes from the shame of being so big, but I kept going and promised that I wouldn’t stop unless I fell. &nbsp; I didn’t fall and was soon walking 3 miles, 5 times a week. &nbsp; There’s something about the word “exercise” that puts me off, so I decided to use the word “movement” instead because it sounds nicer. &nbsp;Our bodies are designed to move, that’s why our joints bend. But not every body moves easily.&nbsp; &nbsp; <figure id="figure-m2bibfxh6hmfdr81cx" class=""><img id="m2bibfxh6hmfdr81cx" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/25DWJdKA9b2AwtazTh86JgIZb5JmtQ0fPlF5KhwKd7EbTKLWnwQQiQcNAhb6WMqD.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/25DWJdKA9b2AwtazTh86JgIZb5JmtQ0fPlF5KhwKd7EbTKLWnwQQiQcNAhb6WMqD.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure> &nbsp;&nbsp; I’m still a big woman, but now I appreciate this tired old body more than ever and I’m doing what I can to help her keep moving. For me, it’s the gym 2-3 times a week, but if I couldn’t afford membership, I know there are tons of other ways to move and free training videos on the internet. &nbsp; &nbsp; I’ll be 70 in a couple of years, and it’s been too many decades since I loved my body. I accept that my legs will never be long and shapely, but they have supported me forever. My tits will never be perky like they were in the 70’s, but then, I don’t plan on having as much sex either. My belly will always spill onto my lap, but at least I don’t teeter totter when I lay on my stomach. My thigh gap closed in the 1980’s and my ass will always have cellulite, some pockets deep enough to hold a cocktail. But my feet will always be heroes.&nbsp; &nbsp; There’s not much I like about my body, but I’m going to love it whether I like it or not.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Copyright © 2025 The Crone Network &nbsp; All rights reserved.<figure id="figure-u1sscu93gbmfqqb3p3" class=""><img id="u1sscu93gbmfqqb3p3" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/15YZSeLlT6uJW4dXbbLhwv4zTQ53tUW9XEFjChNoNFdiRDoZNICY13jD3SHbay36.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/15YZSeLlT6uJW4dXbbLhwv4zTQ53tUW9XEFjChNoNFdiRDoZNICY13jD3SHbay36.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure> &nbsp; &nbsp;

Loving my body whether I like it or not...

Being brave enough to suck at something new... I’ve been working on this dream for about 3 years now, and during that time I have often felt like an imposter, like someone who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing. And the reason I feel that way is because I have no idea what I’m doing by writing this story, this “blog post”. &nbsp;But I’m willing to take the chance and be brave enough to suck at something new.&nbsp; &nbsp; Writing is therapy for me, and I have the “gift of gab”, a trait I sometimes regret possessing. But among the threads that weave through my life, I have recognised one trait that I’m grateful to possess and that is courage. I know from experience that all I need is more courage than fear to face failure with a smile.&nbsp; &nbsp;<blockquote> “The best protection any woman can have is courage.”&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Elizabeth Cady Stanton &nbsp; &nbsp;</blockquote>Running away as a 14-year-old set me up for running away as a married woman. The pressures I took on as a 20-year-old included two toddlers (his, not mine), dealing with his ex, and in-laws that lived with us in a big old house. All that stress caused me to flee to my mom’s house in another state, not once but 6 times during our long marriage. I wasn’t brave. I ran away from what seemed an impossible situation because I was young and inexperienced. I didn’t know I had choices.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; When the boys wanted to play sports in the local township, we signed them up for the football and baseball, and then soccer hit the scene and the boys signed up for that too. Every weekend and some school nights, I was at the ball field either cheering for the kids or helping at the refreshment stand. I loved being a mom and part of the local sporting community.&nbsp; &nbsp; Since I spent so much time there, I decided to join The Athletic Association so I could have some influence over how things were handled, especially when it came to rowdy fathers screaming inappropriate things as the kids played. Hubby and I went to one of the monthly meetings and when question time came up, I stood and said “I want to join the association. Where do I sign up?” The all-male panel of 5 looked at each other and one of them responded by saying, “You need to join the Women’s Auxiliary.” &nbsp;I asked what the auxiliary did, and the response was something about socks for cheerleaders. I left pissed off and disappointed in myself for not fighting harder. &nbsp; &nbsp; The next month I asked the same question and was again told about the auxiliary but this time I insisted and asked if the association’s bylaws included regulation that declared the forum was male only. After a few minutes of mumbling and grumbling, I was handed an application form and walked out feeling proud of myself. &nbsp; &nbsp;<h3>The courage to fight &nbsp;</h3> Finding the courage to fight for what I wanted is the reason I became the first woman member of our township’s athletic association. The following year, I volunteered to coach the pee wee soccer team. That went over like a lead balloon, but this persistent, courageous young woman stood in front of a group of men and said, “I can do this. It’s just like ice hockey!” &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; After the male coaches picked their teams, I was given “the misfits”, as they were called by the fat bastard, almighty, big cheese coach. I named us The Renegades, and our team consisted of 5- and 6-year-olds who were more interested in following the ball then playing a position, and some of them held hands as they skipped down the pitch together. It was adorable and made my heart happy. I wasn’t worried about winning, we were having fun and that’s what mattered. &nbsp; &nbsp;<figure id="figure-c2z08y91ttmfqsschw"><img id="c2z08y91ttmfqsschw" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/3186eubav48TQx4q6dwVMiNCETyu7LNiSq7zrr0K1i5Ix0MKkyve3iB2gOojgc2P.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 0%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="0%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/3186eubav48TQx4q6dwVMiNCETyu7LNiSq7zrr0K1i5Ix0MKkyve3iB2gOojgc2P.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 0%;"></figure>The following year, they didn’t need me to coach (surprise!) but 3 more women joined the athletic association, and it blossomed into a well-rounded, all-inclusive sports program for the township’s 38,000 residents. &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; <h3>Sit my fat ass down &nbsp;</h3> During that first meeting, my husband tugged my arm, encouraging me to sit down and not make a fuss, and I admit to being anxious and terrified to stand in front of a room full of men who didn’t want me there. But I had pause in that moment and ask myself, “why should I be scared to ask a simple question?” and decided that my desire to join the club was more important than my fear, so I stood up and spoke up. &nbsp;This was 1985 when nearly all sports were ruled by and played by men and boys. Can you believe I was 62 years old when I realised that I broke a glass ceiling by persistently pulling a chair from their table to sit my fat ass down at the boys-club? &nbsp;Courage allowed me to do that. &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; When I was 21, I secured a job as a billing clerk at a manufacturing company. The following year, the boss and the office manager had a big fight over a box of Christmas chocolates that came from our sales company. As a result, he fired her and told me to run a help wanted ad in the local paper. The publication time had already passed so I went home and started thinking about asking for the job instead of running the ad. &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; Feeling terrified, I walked into the office the next morning and asked the boss to give me a chance in the position. I explained I was already doing most of the work and felt confident I could handle the responsibilities of managing the office and 15-person sales team. I watched him consider the proposal, looking me up and down, but he agreed to give me a two-week trial. &nbsp; &nbsp; <figure id="figure-8axr60fhgomfdqpoyi"><img id="8axr60fhgomfdqpoyi" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/eArJewAlKA2kmXiPYgZDuLsIZpPSUGcTWqWw8re3mmh9vllNTTdExwiV2YUL3U6Y.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: undefined% 0%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined%" data-positiony="0%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/eArJewAlKA2kmXiPYgZDuLsIZpPSUGcTWqWw8re3mmh9vllNTTdExwiV2YUL3U6Y.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: undefined% 0%;"></figure><h3> More courage than fear &nbsp; </h3> The boss had two businesses, and when he passed away, his 18-year-old son inherited both companies. For many years, the son left me to run the manufacturing company, but when he bankrupted the other organisation, he came into our peaceful environment and turned it into chaos. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was a narcissist and I was victimised by him for decades.&nbsp; &nbsp; One morning before leaving for work, I had an anxiety attack and was rushed to the doctor who listened to my story and put me on 3 months disability. When the time came to decide if I was going back to work, I had the courage to walk away from the thing that had become part of me, the thing I loved.&nbsp; &nbsp; I was on that job for 38 years, and during those years, I created a happy, safe workplace and an outstanding reputation in our industry. I’m grateful for that 22-year-old young woman who had the courage to believe in herself despite her inexperience and fear.&nbsp; &nbsp; The company was sold the following year, and I was contracted to help move our system into theirs. I discovered the company I nurtured for so long was bankrupt which hurt my heart but also validated that I made the right decision to leave. I still cry over my lost job, but I needed to have more courage than fear to save my mental health, and I don’t regret being brave in my choices. &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; I suppose one of my most courageous steps was moving from the United States to Scotland in the UK. I loved my country very much and my roots go back to Salem Colony in the early 1600’s, so leaving wasn’t an easy choice. But I’ve had an attraction to Scotland since I was a young girl, and despite lots of resistance from friends and family, I couldn’t handle the Jersey summers anymore, and Scotland was so magical when Sam brought me here in 2012. &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; <figure id="figure-uwfio5i0xcmfdqvmqr"><img id="uwfio5i0xcmfdqvmqr" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/12xhlkNgin7TI5UFoP0n3OUNhtxASS0tWVaBigomArC4RTvKyV4peop2efRHRyPe.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 90%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="90%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/12xhlkNgin7TI5UFoP0n3OUNhtxASS0tWVaBigomArC4RTvKyV4peop2efRHRyPe.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 90%;"></figure> Moving to a country where I didn’t know the language wouldn’t have worked for me, so it gave me a lot of confidence to know I’d be able to communicate with the locals. I also did my research because I know that empowering myself with knowledge about a situation helps to guide and reinforce any decisions I’m facing. &nbsp;&nbsp;<h3>&nbsp; Rich with belief &nbsp;</h3> Who would I be without courage? Where would I be? What if I didn’t believe in myself? What if I let fear stop me from fighting for the things I wanted and needed? &nbsp; &nbsp; None of that really matters. I’m a grown Crone and I have an abundance of “been there, done that’s” in my back pocket, there’s one “give a fuck” tucked under my left tit, and I have handbag of medical cannabis that takes my old age pains away. So, what’s one more act of courage in my bag of tricks? &nbsp; &nbsp; Writing this story about being brave is the starting point of this scary new venture. My dream is for The Crone Network to become an important source of knowledge and power for Crones by providing a platform for real conversations and connections, useful information, and varied points of view on just about any topic. All I need now are some volunteers to help this dream come true.&nbsp; &nbsp; The bottom line is this…&nbsp; &nbsp; Could I fail? &nbsp;Yes, It’s entirely possible. &nbsp;&nbsp; Would it hurt? &nbsp;Ouchie, you bet it will hurt. &nbsp;&nbsp; Am I afraid? &nbsp;I’m scared shitless, but I’m doing to do it anyway. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Welcome to The Crone Network&nbsp; &nbsp;<figure id="figure-st3uw2035jmfdqs6jv" class=""><img id="st3uw2035jmfdqs6jv" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/2462G4Bn973sGrvQYZBQakQ7C0HwEUMmdMk0QNXX02SsSktdcNe8OtKnDmbe0QZf.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: undefined% 60%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined%" data-positiony="60%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/2462G4Bn973sGrvQYZBQakQ7C0HwEUMmdMk0QNXX02SsSktdcNe8OtKnDmbe0QZf.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: undefined% 60%;"></figure><blockquote><h3>A bird isn't afraid that it's perch will break, because it has faith in it's own wings.</h3></blockquote> Copyright © 2025 The Crone Network &nbsp; All rights reserved.

Being scared shitless but doing it anyway...

Close up view of professional business woman working writing notes in notebook.

Here's an image, write a story about what you see.&nbsp;I was 62 years old when I learned that doing something creative is good for my mental health. When I'm creating, like writing these words, I'm not thinking about bills, or sick parents, or out of control grandkids. I'm putting the very essence of myself into something that feels good AND produces a visable result. Writing and photography are my things, so let's play a little of "Tell me what you see."The rules are simple. Look closely at the image and create a short story about the scene. Use you imagination and blow up the image to look closely at every detail because those little clues make better stories. Let your creative juices flow!<h3>Have fun with it!&nbsp;</h3>We won't publish your name, you can choose an alter-ego name or use anonymous, but there's no pressure and no right or wrong way to write a story. Just observe and let your imagination run wild!Your piece should be 300-500 words, must be written in English, and be submitted by email to <a href="mailto:contact@thecronenetwork.org" data-mce-href="mailto:contact@thecronenetwork.org">contact@thecronenetwork.org</a>&nbsp; Please use the subject "The Playground" in your email!<figure id="figure-73vc758umfmd2ycnax" data-full-width="" class=""><img id="73vc758umfmd2ycnax" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/7GqZPSHYVw5GuYGk7LmN7PQpwAaBkMOOZFzlCS2BgivDuJbifGcmOfvbed3ewLdN.jpg" alt="A woman in a trench coat and suitcase standing at a bus stop" title="A woman in a trench coat and suitcase standing at a bus stop" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="1:1" data-caption="Photo credit to Gabriel Ramos of Unsplash" data-positionx="null" data-positiony="null" data-fullwidth="true" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/7GqZPSHYVw5GuYGk7LmN7PQpwAaBkMOOZFzlCS2BgivDuJbifGcmOfvbed3ewLdN.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: center center;"><figcaption class="body-normal text-gray-500 mt-2">Photo credit to Gabriel Ramos of Unsplash</figcaption></figure><h2> </h2>We won't be able to share every story, but we'll show an interesting selection of stories from our Crone members. Copyright © 2025 The Crone Network &nbsp; All rights reserved.

Creativity is good for the soul...

Night, business and hands of woman writing for planning, schedule and research at office tech. Journalist, notebook and reminder in workplace for article deadline, creative storytelling and resources

<h3>Me, a control freak?&nbsp;</h3>If you asked me to count the number of times a businessman dismissed me during a meeting, I would need to borrow your hands. &nbsp;I started working when I was 17 and didn’t stop until I was 60, so call your friends, I might need their hands too.&nbsp;In the 1990’s my old boss once had the balls to ask me, “What’s the matter Di, are you on the rag?”. &nbsp;I remember feeling stunned and unable to respond. &nbsp; I didn’t have the know-how or power to handle a comment like that when I was a young woman. &nbsp;And some 15 years later, the same boss and a colleague of his laughed in my face during an important meeting when I encouraged them to cancel a buying trip to Asia because they were overspending. &nbsp;I left the company and a year later the company was nearly bankrupt, and he was forced to sell the business to prevent the family’s financial ruin. &nbsp;Guess who the new owners called to “get it done”? &nbsp;<h3>Hard to ask for help</h3>Over the years my own husband, bless his well-meaning heart, has accused me of needing to “control everything”, but I’ve learned that the best response to that kind of snide remark is, “Well, somebody’s gotta do it.” &nbsp;Decades of experience forced me to be independent and do things for myself, so forgive me for being capable and willing to step up when nobody else does.&nbsp;Most women have a natural ability to organise and multi-task which makes us great managers. &nbsp;And as Crones, we have a lifetime of experiences that help us see how we can make a difference in a world of problems and solutions, and how to make the most of possibilities. The system, designed by and mostly ruled by men, should be afraid that a union of Crones could change everything with the touch of a million fingers. I mean, there are 87 million Crones living in the UK, US, and Canada alone!!! &nbsp;Dismissing us is not a good idea.For shits and giggles, let’s talk about all the homework we do over the course of our lives. Awake before dawn, getting the kids and partners ready for school, packing lunches, arranging birthday parties, grocery shopping, washing the dishes repeatedly. My housework is never done and even if I manage to have everything clean at the same time, one cooked meal and the kitchens dirty again. &nbsp;<h3>Where’s my damn cape?&nbsp;</h3><figure id="figure-r530w8fazdmfqu0rz9"><img id="r530w8fazdmfqu0rz9" src="https://cdn.durable.co/covers/2a8HFsEhhlXKtXUKwUsr6s2jvPhzf7FLKUMmfGU0lyics4cRrPQUCbHhoHiETO8n.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 30%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="30%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/covers/2a8HFsEhhlXKtXUKwUsr6s2jvPhzf7FLKUMmfGU0lyics4cRrPQUCbHhoHiETO8n.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 30%;"></figure>How many showers have I scrubbed? How many Hershey smears have I sprayed? &nbsp;How many bills have I paid? &nbsp;How many booboos did I soothe? How many meals did I take out of the freezer? How many appointments have I made and attended? How many times did pick up the pieces? &nbsp;I did all those things plus I worked a full-time job, helped with homework, filled out hundreds of forms, going to practice, and finding time to see friends. It was never ending! &nbsp;I’m not a control freak; I’m a fucking superwoman!! &nbsp;Where’s my damn cape?My husband is a retired British Army veteran who was taught to use a system called SMEAC, and he often suggests I use this structure when there's a task at hand. It stands for “Situation, mission, execution, administration, and commands and signals.” &nbsp;When tasked with a job, they want you to formulate a plan using the SMEAC technique. &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;<ul><li>Situation – What’s the current situation?</li><li>Mission – What am I trying to achieve?</li><li>Execution – How can I get it done?&nbsp;</li><li>Admin – What and/or who do I need to get it done?</li><li>Commands – How will I communicate the plan to others? &nbsp;</li></ul> SMEAC is a great way to approach a big project, but it’s not much help when the internet goes down again and you need to spend an hour on the phone, frustrated and holding your pee. It’s not effective for a change in dinner plans because someone is unwell, and it certainly won’t help to resolve issues with family or friends. It’s not going to take medicines out of the carrier, and it won’t reduce the number of birthdays I need to remember or lists I need to make.&nbsp;Which brings me back to the ridiculous argument that I’m a control freak.&nbsp;<h3>Happy to turn it over&nbsp;</h3>I’d be happy to turn over the grocery list, and though he’s more than capable of bringing home the bacon, he’d blow our budget because he just wants it in the basket no matter the price. Maybe he can take over filing our taxes. &nbsp;That would be a dream! Not having to worry about gathering all the documents, making all the calculations, finding a method of filing whose criteria we can meet, and then, after 3 hours of working to get it done, discovering the software won’t accept our filing and now the paperwork needs to be mailed to the tax man. I wonder if he’d cry in frustration like I did.Don’t get me wrong, my husband is a gem who does the dishes without asking and manages the trash and recycling. He’s always been very helpful around the house and if I ask him to help with something, he doesn’t hesitate to jump right up (unless his team is about to score). But like most men, he doesn’t have much patience so he’s damn lucky to have a competent, capable Crone who can manage the stressful obstructions of modern life. Somebody’s got to do it. &nbsp; <figure id="figure-nn3h82w42wmfqv3uut" class=""><img id="nn3h82w42wmfqv3uut" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/16rhcW2ZLQ4PNZEgQJlYSimWPTf9TznrsyjbbXkbFqdi9M2xMm46tdd43x3Thl8N.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="null" data-positiony="null" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/16rhcW2ZLQ4PNZEgQJlYSimWPTf9TznrsyjbbXkbFqdi9M2xMm46tdd43x3Thl8N.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure><h3>Skills to brag about</h3>It’s important to remember that everyone has skills, but our education and life experiences mean that we also have different skills. I like writing and I’m a decent photographer, but don’t ask me to knit a blanket or grow roses in the back garden. I’m a terrible person to have around when there’s an emergency, but my sweet husband has skills that keep him calm and thoughtful about how to help in high-stress situations. I enjoy cooking and have enough skills to make an amazing orange cake, and my pepper hash is a favourite with local friends, but don’t ask me to rewire the table lamp. At my age, I know what I’m good at and what skills I’m lacking, and I don’t beat myself up over not knowing things. That negative talk is no good. And honestly, there isn’t much we can’t do these days. A little google action and you learn how to rewire a lamp.&nbsp;Here are just a few skills I’ve developed over the last 60+ years.&nbsp;<ul><li>I can cook, clean, and give blow jobs</li><li>I can read, type, make a spreadsheet, calculate, and create</li><li>I can get angry without getting violent</li><li>I can love so hard it hurts</li><li>I can organise group trips and write honest stories</li><li>I can drive a car, dance, grow plants, and roll a joint </li></ul>When is the last time you took inventory of your skill sets? Can you milk a cow? Are you multi-orgasmic? How’s your apple pie? Ok, ok, I can’t milk a cow, but I’ve milked other things and I’m thinking a cow can’t be much different. My apple pies are pretty good though. A few years ago, I was asked to write a CV/Resume’ and I was genuinely shocked to see the number of skills I had gained over my work career. And my skills around the house seem to be endless too.&nbsp;And to prove my point, our TV went down a couple hours ago during one of Sammy’s shows. When I saw the screen go black, my very first thought was, “Oh shit, now I’m gonna have to sit on the bloody phone with the cable company for a friggin hour.” &nbsp;He rebooted the system and jiggled a couple of wires on the cable box, but it didn’t help. The handsome highlander doesn’t have the patience to deal with the provider in a productive way so of course I need to handle it.Move over babe, I got this.See. I’m not a control freak, I’m just a Crone that gets shit done. <img id="vogkquakxomfquv9pq" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/32GCVgYEs81SVbgZ1JRYjDiYkRT3muC6YP2m1WTFGmvbr8lU2lqwzWPJZ7assFNt.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" data-corners="default" data-aspect="1:1" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="100%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/32GCVgYEs81SVbgZ1JRYjDiYkRT3muC6YP2m1WTFGmvbr8lU2lqwzWPJZ7assFNt.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: 50% 100%;" style="border-color: rgb(229, 231, 235); --tw-scale-x: 1; --tw-scale-y: 1; --tw-pan-x: ; --tw-pan-y: ; --tw-pinch-zoom: ; --tw-scroll-snap-strictness: proximity; --tw-gradient-from-position: ; --tw-gradient-via-position: ; --tw-gradient-to-position: ; --tw-ordinal: ; --tw-slashed-zero: ; --tw-numeric-figure: ; --tw-numeric-spacing: ; --tw-numeric-fraction: ; --tw-ring-inset: ; --tw-ring-offset-width: 0px; --tw-ring-offset-color: #fff; --tw-ring-color: rgba(62,172,255,.5); --tw-ring-offset-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-ring-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow-colored: 0 0 #0000; --tw-blur: ; --tw-brightness: ; --tw-contrast: ; --tw-grayscale: ; --tw-hue-rotate: ; --tw-invert: ; --tw-saturate: ; --tw-sepia: ; --tw-drop-shadow: ; --tw-backdrop-blur: ; --tw-backdrop-brightness: ; --tw-backdrop-contrast: ; --tw-backdrop-grayscale: ; --tw-backdrop-hue-rotate: ; --tw-backdrop-invert: ; --tw-backdrop-opacity: ; --tw-backdrop-saturate: ; --tw-backdrop-sepia: ; --tw-transform: translateX(0) translateY(0) rotate(0) skewX(0) skewY(0) scaleX(1) scaleY(1); --tw-border-opacity: 1; --tw-filter: ; --tw-backdrop-filter: ; --tw-bg-opacity: 1; background-color: rgb(243, 244, 246); width: 640px; aspect-ratio: 1 / 1; object-position: 50% 100%;"> Copyright © 2025 The Crone Network &nbsp; All rights reserved.

Storytelling

Loving my body whether I like it or not...

Being scared shitless but doing it anyway...

Creativity is good for the soul...

Crones get shit done...