On Being Lucky.

I suppose you could say it’s a pet hate of mine. A single word I am faced with time and time again that immediately makes my jaw clench that little bit tighter.

I’ve said it incessantly. Defended myself even against *some* family members and many friends, strangers, who cast the shadow of “luck” over my achievements. Insisted that “It isn’t about luck” whilst in their hearts they truly believe that they are paying me a compliment by suggesting that my endeavours are simply down to a twist of fate.

The beautifully talented Brianna Wiest summed it up recently in a tweet that hit the spot with eloquence and poise. She called for 2016 to be the year we stop calling hardworking, badass women “lucky” as a form of flattery.

And I couldn’t agree more.

Luck is defined as “Success of failure apparently brought by chance rather than one’s own actions.”

Now tell me: is this meant to make us feel good? Are we meant to be struck with delight that our peers believe our own actions have not played a part in the life we have tirelessly crafted for ourselves?

There are many things I am lucky for. I would never deny that. I am lucky to have been born in a country where my healthcare is free and my family could put a roof over my head. I am lucky that I have a father who adores every single move I make, and sisters who provide me with love and support on a daily basis. I am lucky that I went to University whilst in the hands of a Government that allowed me to take the loans I needed to make ends meet. I am lucky that, for the most part, I have never had to go hungry in my life.

What I am not lucky for, is the fact I have been able to work enough so that I am now able to live out my dreams and travel Australia. It was not luck that helped me to build my client list and expand my business. It was passion. It was determination. It was talent that I have developed since the age of 18.

It wasn’t luck that offered me a job in Florence in International Marketing. It was a CV made up of blood, sweat and tears and a bravery to throw myself into the unknown that I pride myself on.

And it certainly wasn’t luck that told me to give everything up for a life of travel. To take the on the biggest *if* of my life and open myself up to a very possible fall.

I do not come from a privileged background. Every single thing I do, I do within my own means. Daddy’s trust fund did not send me on that plane to Italy, nor did it to Australia.

And the last thing I want is for this post to simply read like a spoilt rant of a girl who “really has it pretty good.” That isn’t what this blog is about.

What I want, what I hope for it to be, is a call for us to all start acknowledging our achievements. To be proud of them. To shout about them.

All too often, particularly as women, we are encouraged to stifle this pride. To push it below the surface under the fear of appearing conceited. To deny how fantastic we really are.

I will not do this any more. I am in charge of my happiness, and I am in charge of my path.

And you know what? My path is carving out fucking superbly. And I am not afraid to say that out loud.

So if my ego seems inflated or my words have a hint of arrogance, I apologise.

What I will not apologise for, is recognising my own self-worth.

For knowing that I, and I alone, have put myself in the position I currently stand in.

And there’s nothing lucky about that.

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