Read an extract from UnApologetically Me by Bree Tomasel.
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So, it feels quite ridiculous — or miraculous — that I find now myself working on the opening chapter of a book all about (gasp!) me. It’s a book that’s taken me on an emotional year-long journey. It’s been fun to remember the funny situations I’ve been in, but it’s also given me a newfound appreciation of the people in my life who’ve stuck with me even when I’ve been a complete basket case.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t realise how exhausting it would be dragging out a shit-ton of secrets and demons from nooks and crannies I’d hoped never to see again. Often I found myself waking in the night, the book popping into my mind and me whispering ‘This is a bad idea’ as I lay awake in a cold sweat. But by the morning I’d have remembered another part of a story or reflected on something with a different perspective, and I couldn’t wait to get into it again.
I love and hate this book in equal measure. I hate it because there’s nowhere to hide, and that’s confronting. But I love it because parts of my story feel important, to me anyway, and mostly because I hope my stories might help someone else.
***
It’s a Wednesday morning and I am getting my nails done. I’m at a salon just around the corner from my flat in Ponsonby. It’s one of those fancy places — you know, not one of those cheap nail bars I’d usually go to. It’s a fancy one where they do a beautiful job and it takes a bit longer. All the other ladies in there are wearing head-to-toe lululemon or full designer outfits that would make Carrie from Sex and the City want to be their friend. It’s all a bit of a treat for me, because, you know, every turd needs rolling in glitter occasionally.
I do not dress for the occasion. I look every bit the scrubber from Queensland that I am, wearing my grotty old denim shorts with an elasticated waistband, and a comfy old T-shirt. I’m sitting in the pedicure chair and I notice an older lady having her toes done a few seats down. She is beautifully put together; one of those women who just oozes rich. She’s wearing an elegant, neutral-coloured linen dress and has an expensive handbag on her lap. This woman keeps glancing at me, and I feel judged. Maybe I should have brushed my hair. Or changed my T-shirt. I know she’s looking at me but I avoid eye contact because I don’t have the energy for anything hard today.
The lady doing my nails puts those hideous toe-separating sandal things on my feet and it’s time to shuffle over for my manicure while the toe polish dries. As I’m doing this, awkwardly manoeuvring my body out of the pedicure chair and on to the cold tiled floor, the fancy woman who’s been staring at me stands up and approaches. I feel nervous, like she might be about to tell me off.
‘Are you Bree? Are you from the radio and TV?’ she asks. I nod gingerly.
‘I just have to tell you, I listen to your radio show, I watch Celebrity Treasure Island and I follow you on social media. And I really love what you do. So does my husband.’
Wow, this is unexpected — 60-year-olds are not in my usual demographic. I wonder if she’s a fan of my fart jokes.
She continues: ‘I want you to know, you’ve really helped me. You’ve helped me with a very hard situation. My daughter is gay. And I haven’t handled it well, I’ve struggled with it, and I wasn’t very nice to her about it. I found it very hard to accept. But seeing you be so open about who you are on your social media and on radio, and getting to know you . . . well, it’s helped me understand my daughter more. And it’s helped me see she’s still my daughter, she’s the exact same person, and I need to accept her for who she is. I just want to thank you for that because our relationship was very broken, but it’s a lot better now.’
And this, folks, is why I ended up deciding to write this book. This is why I said yes. Not because this lovely lady then paid for my mani and pedi — although that was very kind — but because it reminded me why I do what I do. Why I make a dick of myself on radio, TV and social media. Why I talk about my partner Sophia, who happens to be a woman. And why I fart loudly in front of people and share it on Instagram. It reminded me that being open about who I am, and making people laugh in the process, can actually make a difference to someone’s day. And that is the best feeling in the world.
When I was a young, awkward kid muddling through life, I always had a sense that I was alone. I felt like the only weird kid at school. There was something different about me. I didn’t look right; I didn’t fit in. In my teens, I wondered if there was something inherently wrong with me that made me the way I was. And in my twenties, I kept secrets so big that they bred shame like nothing else. If I’d known then that others were going through stuff too, I wouldn’t have felt so alone. And isn’t that what all of us are chasing? That feeling of not being alone?
So if someone can pick this book up and relate in some little way, that’s a win for me. If it might help a kid, a young person, a parent, just someone (or more than one person, preferably, for the shit-ton of effort that’s gone into it), then it’s worth stepping out of my comfort zone and sucking up the discomfort to reveal the secrets of my funny little life.
If you’re like me and can’t possibly imagine reading a book from start to finish, don’t worry. I won’t judge you if this is as far as you get. But please, whatever you do, don’t call this bloody thing a ‘memoir’. It’s a collection of silly little stories from my silly little life. I might regret sharing some of them — but that’s my problem, not yours.
Extracted from UnApologetically Me by Bree Tomasel.
UnApologetically Me
by Bree Tomasel
Funny, candid, raw - this is Bree Tomasel laid bare.
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