The Manifesting Diaries
Does *manifesting* really work?
When I was 12 years old, my Mum told me a secret.
I was on the way to Adelaide to stay with a family I’d never met, so I could play in a netball tournament. (Billetting was a thing back then)
As a 12 year old I was obsessed with netball and had already begun telling people that I was going to play for the Thunderbirds one day.
But on this day, I was refusing to get on the bus.
I was scared. Of being away from home. Of going to the Big Smoke (Adelaide was big compared to Naracoorte, population 7000) And I was especially scared of staying with strangers.
Mum knew how much I wanted to make the State Team that was chosen at the end of the tournament. To 11 year old me, it would feel like the equivalent of winning the lotto. But at that point, my fear was bigger than my goal and your girl Would. Not. Budge.
That’s when Mum shared her secret:
“You know,” she said.
“If you write down your goal, then put it in your sock when you play, at the end of the week you will have made the State Team.”
I looked into her eyes and knew that she was serious.
At age 12, I believed every word that came out Mum’s mouth (still do Cath, if you’re reading! Let’s not mention Santa!) and I started imagining myself being named in the team.
It felt real. It felt possible.
At that moment, my dreams outweighed my fear.
I got on the bus.
In Adelaide, I would sneak away every morning to write on a small scrap of paper: “I made the State Team” before quickly stuffing it in my sock. I didn’t tell a soul.
I played my little heart out all week. I’d find my secret note torn to shreds when I peeled off my sweaty socks each night. It was my constant reminder to stay focused.
The final day arrived and hundreds (thousands?) of young girls gathered to hear their name called for the State Team. I felt sick as I stood their waiting for my fate. Was Mum right?