School reunio ROMANCE
I was dreading going. But thank goodness I did!
Warm from the sun, with the DJ’s music in my ears, I took a second glance at the boy across the pool.
With a head full of dark curls, and deep brown eyes, he was gorgeous.
It was 1984 and I was 13. Every summer, teens from around the area came together for the Splash Bash. And it seemed this year’s swim party might be the best yet.
Because we shared a mutual friend, me and the boy with the curls ended up hanging out together.
“I’m Parker,” he said.
“What’s your name?” “Heidi,” I replied, shyly. He was also 13 and went to a di erent school. As he spoke, I played it cool, but just his smile was enough to make me melt.
Days later, when I picked up our home phone and heard Parker’s voice, I got butter ies.
Turned out, he’d got my number from our friend.
We arranged to go to the movies and I was thrilled to sit by his side as the lights dimmed and Purple Rain ickered onto the screen. Soon after, he asked me to be his girlfriend. “Yes,” I beamed.
I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
Each week, I counted down the days until I could see Parker at the weekend, so we could go swimming, or walk around the shops and grab a pizza.
Six sweet months later, he shu ed towards me looking coy.
“I think we should break up,” he said.
And with that, it was over. I spent hours sobbing in my bedroom.
e following year, Parker and I started at the same high school. We didn’t chat much, but we were friendly.
When I was 22, I met someone. We got married and had a son, Alex, and two daughters, Avery and Alayna.
Living in a small town, I’d occasionally see Parker at the shops. And when his daughter and Alayna took dance lessons at the same place, we had a brief chat.
He was married, like me. But after 19 years with my husband, we separated. At 45, it was a huge adjustment and I took a long time to feel settled again.
Eventually, I dated a bit, but no-one seemed right.
Avery, then 18, was my
Parker’s smile made me melt
biggest cheerleader – she just wanted me to be happy.
“One day you’ll meet the man you want to marry and he’ll make our family complete,” she assured me. I wasn’t convinced.
en in 2018, I was scrolling through Facebook when I saw a post announcing my upcoming 30th school reunion.
I had no interest in going, but my best friend from school had other ideas.
“Come on Heidi,” Jodi urged. “If I have to go, you have to, as well.”
“Go on, Mum,” Avery chimed in. “It’ll be fun.”
“All right,” I relented.
“If I must.”
And so I found myself surrounded by old classmates at the local boat club. I instantly regretted going.
But after a drink and a few conversations with old friends, I began to relax.
Jodi and I took a seat in a tent serving food.
“Look who it is,” Jodi whispered.
I clocked Parker sitting behind me. It had been ve years since I’d seen him.
When our eyes met, we wore matching smiles.
“Are you sure you live around here, because I haven’t seen you for ages!” I joked to Parker.
Chatting to him felt as easy as it had as teens 34 years earlier. I learned that, like me, he was divorced.
Later, he dropped me back home.
“Fancy a drink?” I asked, hoping to catch up as friends. He came inside and met Avery brie y.
“Who was that?” she asked me, afterwards. “My rst love,” I smiled. After that, Parker and I started messaging, and soon he was popping round to help mow the lawn and tidy the garden.
“He’s your boyfriend, right?” Avery said.
“I don’t know,” I laughed. We hadn’t made it o cial, but it was obvious the spark we once had was back. e fact my kids liked him was a bonus.
When I teased Parker about breaking up with me, he couldn’t even remember why he’d done it.
“Even my classmates were disappointed,” he said.
He found his yearbook and showed me a message inside: Hope you and Heidi get back together again.
In 2022, when my dad was very unwell, Parker told me he’d asked for his permission to marry me.
Dad passed away in January 2023, and as we prepared for the funeral, Parker got down on one knee in my bedroom.
He held out a sparkling solitaire diamond ring.
“I know this isn’t how we wanted to do it, but will you marry me?” he asked.
“Yes!” I said, hugging him tightly.
In May last year, in front of 50 of our closest family and friends, Parker and I exchanged our vows.
After dinner, we had our rst dance to Chris Stapleton’s Starting Over. And it don’t matter to me Wherever we are is where I wanna be.
Two months later, Avery made a TikTok video about mine and Parker’s rekindled relationship, which went viral and got over nine million views!
Now, Parker, 54, and
I are living together and are making up for lost time. We’re so thankful Alex, 25, Avery, 23, and Alayna, 21, gave us their blessing.
ree decades passed between my school romance and nding love with Parker again. We just feel lucky to be in each other’s lives.
Avery was right. e school reunion was fun and I found e One. e missing piece of our family.
We’re making up for lost time
Walking down the school corridor, I saw the group of boys and immediately put my head down.
“Here comes thunder thighs,” one of them said, and they all laughed. Although I wasn’t overweight at 13, I played eight di erent sports and had an athletic build. I also had cellulite on my legs. It made me a target for bullies, but I’d learnt to ignore them.
After nishing school, I studied art, and no longer doing sports,
I went up to a size 20. While all my friends got boyfriends, I didn’t feel attractive to men and had no con dence. Instead, after graduating, I threw myself into 80-hour weeks, splitting my time between retail jobs and my art studio.
Constantly drained, I was barely making ends meet. I lived in a run-down apartment and could only a ord a single sausage or spring roll for dinner.
Art is my passion,
I thought. To me, living as a struggling artist was par for the course.
When I was 36, I went to the doctor for a check-up.
I’d been diagnosed with mild heart disease and an abnormally large heart years earlier.
Now, the doc had sombre news.
“Your heart is degenerating quickly, I can’t say how long you have left,” he said gently.
Blinking back tears, I learned it had progressed to severe heart failure.
I’d need lifelong medication and a pacemaker.
Unsure how much longer I had left, I decided to live life how I wanted.
Having always struggled with my body image, I suddenly felt grateful to my body for keeping me alive.
I don’t care what anyone else thinks anymore,
I realised after my diagnosis.
Life’s too short!
With my new-found con dence, I started posting pictures on Instagram in bikinis and crop tops, showing o my body.
Plus-size creators and body-positive advocates shared them, and within a month, I had 50,000 followers.
ousands of men began messaging me every day.
I swear to you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life,
one fan commented.
Your natural beauty is incredible, another wrote.
Shocked, I realised something – there was huge demand for my body type! I started an OnlyFans account, where I’d share videos and use the money I made to pay for my medical treatment and give myself a better life.
In just one week, I’d gained hundreds of subscribers.
ey all wanted to see a natural body.
Can you send a video walking in yoga pants? one man asked. I love how your body moves.
Soon, I was receiving requests every day from men hoping to watch me do mundane tasks like cleaning.
As I’ve had no plastic surgery, my curvy gure is soft and they loved to watch my thighs and bum jiggle! One request surprised me.
Can you send pictures of your cellulite? the man asked.
I couldn’t believe someone wanted to pay to see the aw
Men love to watch my bum jiggle!
I had been bullied for.
After sending him ve for $100, he requested more!
But I don’t always agree to my subscribers’ requests.
One night, I received one I’d never had before.
I’d love to hear you fart, a man said.
Since then, hundreds have requested the same thing, but I haven’t given in yet.
My most popular content is video calls, which can cost up to $300 for 10 minutes.
I have done as many as 10 a day, raking in $3000 for just over 90 minutes of work!
When I rst started video calls, I put on make-up and tried to act sexy, then I realised men wanted to see an everyday, natural person.
Sometimes, the calls aren’t even sexual. I often just shake my arms and show o my curves.
I’m always surprised by the kind of people who ask for video calls.
Businessmen sneak o to the bathroom for a call with me before big meetings.
rough my job I’ve learned what men really like.
“All the things
I thought were ugly are what blokes want the most,” I say.
So many women obsess over their body fat, body hair and cellulite but
I think men appreciate the natural body.
Not everyone is so supportive. Trolls target me online, calling me fat.
I’m aware that I’m fat, I’m still a person, you don’t need to be abusive, I respond.
Unfortunately, my family aren’t thrilled about what I do, but they trust that I’m making responsible choices and I have safety measures in place.
In just four years, I have earned over $1 million.
My work has given me so much freedom. I wake up when I want and work for an hour or two at night.
e rest of the day is spent painting and seeing friends.
My art has evolved and improved over time; I’m currently working on erotic paintings of my own body.
anks to my curves, I live in a $3 million apartment on Bondi Beach, take monthlong holidays to America and am managing my health with medication.
Boys may have made fun of them in school, but now my thunder thighs have made me a millionaire!
While the pandemic may o cially be over, the reality is that COVID continues to linger. Despite our best e orts to ignore it in the hope that it will simply go away, by now most of us have either caught the virus (potentially multiple times) or are wondering how much longer our luck can hold out.
But while our relationship with COVID may have changed, it still remains a public health threat that poses a serious risk to the elderly and vulnerable. As a result, catching COVID can lead to feelings of guilt for those who have unknowingly passed it on to others.
“During a health crisis, we feel responsible for protecting ourselves and others from getting sick,” says Emma Kate Hale, a counselling lecturer at the Australian College of Applied Professions. “e
long-term e ects of COVID are still relatively unknown. Globally, governments are still advising us to follow their guidelines and to take necessary precautions to mitigate the risk of infection.”
WHY WE FEEL THIS WAY
As with any easily transmissible virus, passing along COVID is something that can’t always be helped.
“We are not always aware when we have been infected with COVID,” says Emma Kate. “We may have delayed onset of symptoms or have no symptoms at all. It is likely that in this time we have inadvertently come into contact with dozens of other people in our everyday lives.”
Unfortunately, Emma Kate believes some of the language that was used during the pandemic may have fuelled this sense of stigma.
“Terms such as ‘super spreader’ are now in the vernacular – terms which are shaming in nature, and imply lack of responsibility or care, despite circumstances often being beyond our control,” she explains. “Stigma and self-critical thinking can seriously a ect our mental health. Doubt, uncertainty and fear during a pandemic can contribute to our feelings of shame and guilt.”
Emma Kate urges anyone struggling with guilt to practise selfcompassion.
“Guilt can be overpowering at times, especially when we are experiencing high levels of fear and uncertainty and an in ated sense of responsibility in protecting ourselves and others,” she says.
“Compassionate responses to distress, as well as providing accurate information, may enable the person to manage their feelings of guilt, decrease fear and uncertainty, and provide an alternative to stigmatised thinking patterns.”
It’s also important to show compassion and understanding to people who may have a higher risk of spreading COVID due to no fault of their own.
“Healthcare workers and people who work in public settings may be at particular risk of stigma and the associated feelings of guilt,” says Emma Kate.
“is not only prevents the person from carrying out their services but because of the nature of their work and coming into contact with many others, they may blame themselves for harming people rather than protecting them.”
MANAGING YOUR FEARS
While practising caution is necessary, Emma Kate says we should also accept that some things are out of our control.
“It is important for us to understand that it is normal to feel afraid when there is considerable uncertainty around the implications of catching COVID-19,” she says. “We have been exposed to media commentary, reminding us of the horror of a pandemic, focusing on illness and death. While it can be important to maintain a certain level of knowledge, it is also important for us to manage the frequency and intensity if still accessing this type of information.”
Instead of focusing on things we can’t change, it’s helpful to channel that energy into aspects of our lives where we can make a di erence.
“Focus on the aspects we have more control over, such as maintaining a healthy lifestyle, staying connected and problem-solving,” says Emma Kate.
Here are some approaches that can help during this time…
Don’t be afraid to seek out professional help. Karen was so distraught she called Lifeline. Alternatively, you could see a counsellor.
Pet cremation services often provide counselling as part of their package.
Join chat or Facebook groups for grieving pet parents.
Surround yourself with friends and family who understand the loss you’re experiencing.
Keep your pet’s urn and ashes at home for comfort.
Write a letter, a poem or short story, or keep a journal to help get your feelings out.