• Lawrie Wallace

Updated: Oct 6, 2020

The Badass Ladies Club is a community founded by Lawrie and her best friend Jessica. They are both passionate about personal growth and self healing, which has turned into a podcast where they dive deep into their own healing process.

The following are a glimpse into the creative process at the Badass Ladies Club Podcast. Lawrie has always used writing as a tool for understanding her feelings, and these blogs helped shape her conversations on air.

Visit the website for show details and merchandise at .

You can check out the latest episodes on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or YouTube.

Click LINK to Tune into our Podcast:  Link

How quarantine changed me and inspired the launch of The Badass Ladies Club.

In the Spring 2020 I spent 8 1/2 weeks in quarantine in my home in East Fort Worth. My husband is a bicycle mechanic and bike shops are essential to transportation, so I got to spend 5 out of 7 days a week home alone.

I guess it wasn’t a really strict quarantine. I made essential runs to get groceries and garden supplies. I went to my non-essential salon, which had been closed by state mandate, a few times a week to deliver curbside pick ups and return phone calls. I reorganized closets and binge watched a few reality shows while obsessively cleaning frequently used surfaces and washing my hands.

I took naps. I read books. I journaled. I pulled out painting supplies and made a studio in my sun room for a weekend, I prepped and planted a spring vegetable garden. I still had so much more time off than I had ever experienced in my adult working life, so clearly it was time to adopt a puppy… which I did.

All of my daily to do lists were at times interrupted with tiny tearful breakdowns. The ground was shifting under my feet, life as I knew it at work and out in the world was changing in ways I couldn't predict. As the weeks rolled on I became more and more unable to control the swings from feverish productivity to sobbing crisis mode. I went through the awareness so many of us found at our feet when you strip away the ‘busy’ from our lives and are left with whatever really IS.

What I found was untapped potential. Disappointment in myself for having such big dreams and goals, and allowing the ‘busy’ to put them on the back burner. My own procrastination and fear of judgement loomed heavy in my heart and mind. I had to wade through the shame of denying myself the time and opportunity to grow and evolve. I had nothing but time now.

I kept falling into this weird foggy focus that made it easier to obsess over the global pandemic and it’s impending destruction of the salon industry, to which I had committed 2 decades of my life into growing. I couldn't really see or identify how to move forward on any of the dozen passion projects I never had time to focus on, because the reality of my income and work identity were being so threatened.

So many times during quarantine I felt lost. Like I was falling down a spiral staircase into a place where I imagined I would never surface again. The uncertainty and fear of not knowing what would happen next was palpable. Tears, pacing, eating, drinking, going on walks, watching TV… all the things I had time to do… none of it worked. The thing that helped the most was the love and compassion of my beautiful husband, and my Badass lady friends.

You see I have a few really close, really connected lady friends. We lavish each other with verbal praise and divine titles like Goddess and lady love. We hug when we leave one another and say “I love you” to one another. We understand that sometimes life hands women challenges and headaches that can only another woman can relate to. We don’t judge, we listen. We unconditionally love each other, in all of our glorious imperfections. We allow one another to be whomever she wishes to be, and support the constant evolution that is LIFE.

Jessica, one of my very best friends, and I work together everyday. We have for nearly 10 years now. You see a lot of life together in that amount of time. Our friendship has been a gradual progression as we both grow into the women we are becoming. We have similar work ethics and different executions. We hold one another accountable, and keep our eye of the bar that we are reaching for. We allow one another grace, and hold space for each other when things hurt. We laugh at the dark humor and cynicism that may make us seem cruel or unfeeling to those outside of our friendship. Without this lady, I don’t know where I’d be.

I am so blessed to have a few friends of this caliber. It seems logical that all women have this type of constant support and friendship in their lives, but in my observation I can tell you that many do not. Creating a community of badass ladies supporting each other and sharing our stories haunted me, so here goes.

It is in the spirit of supporting all women in this powerful way that the Badass Ladies Club is born. A community of people who listen, accept, and celebrate one another when times are good and cheer you on when things are hard.

Our podcast launches very soon, and you my badass friend are invited to join us!

Who’s a good girl? Exploring the Good Girl/Bad Girl Complex

I learned early on that I was expected to be good, and that being good would earn me the things in life that I wanted. Being good earned me praise from authority figures, which I still really thrive on as an adult sometimes. This directive was given to me before I really even knew what to want as a sentient being in this world. I am motivated by praise, therefore I will be GOOD. Whatever that is.

When I think back to what it meant to be a good girl… I was expected to be polite, to do well in school, to look out for my little brother, to be sweet, to be pretty, to go to church, to respect my elders… all of these things are amazing, and I am so grateful for their foundation in my personality. Most of them are behaviors I came by naturally anyway.

I heard “be a good girl for _______” countless times growing up from all my family members. It’s an almost unconscious phrase we humans say. I say it today to my niece or other tiny humans I love. It just comes out. Do I even really mean it? What if she’s not good? Aren’t we all not good sometimes? Can’t she just be who she is and do her best?

Families aren't the only messengers of the good girl indoctrination. I saw it on TV and read it in books. I heard it at school and at church. I observed the world around me… it was prevalent all around me, grooming girls to become ideal women.

Good girls were the ones who got marriage proposals and had happy lives. Bad girls were outcasts and shamed. Even in 2020, women who push back and stand up for themselves are labeled as hysterical, nasty, or crazy.

The image of a good girl shifted and changed as I grew. When I was in grade school, good girls listened to teachers and obeyed rules. When I was in junior high good girls joined extra circulars, focused on good grades and had perfect hair and wardrobe. When I was in high school good girls were on honor roll and in AP classes, dated football players and had a do it all mentality about them. It was a lot of pressure.

About the time I was in 8th grade, I noticed this push/pull in my identity. I was from an upper middle class upbringing in a mid sized city in the central United States. I was safe in my home, loved by my family and did not suffer from abuse or neglect. I was a cheerleader, and average student, involved in activities and by most standard definitions… a very good girl. But the problem was, it felt like an act, and I was a brilliant actress.

You see, no matter the outward appearance of my current circumstances, I felt like this good girl image was just that, an image. A shell on the outside of the real me that showed all the people calling the shots in my world I could be who they wanted me to be.

I became an expert at embracing your image of who YOU wanted me to be.This awarded me many positive things in my life. I won competitions and boyfriends. I received awards and praise. My young hungry ego swelled with the validation that comes from fitting in.

Being good was a role I could pull off when needed to. However deep down inside, I knew I was acting… and if I had to pretend to be good in order to receive love and acceptance from the world… then in my natural state with the finery of my oscar worthy performances stripped away, I must at the core, be a bad girl.

Bad girls are wild. They do what feels good, not always what is right. Bad girls are selfish and impolite. They get in trouble, and do not follow instructions. Mostly, from where I was sitting, bad girls were free. Free to do as they pleased without the judgement and expectations of the world. I know now that is not true, that bad girls are judged, they just don’t let it stop them from being who they are.

As a teenager I incorrectly imagined bad girls came from homes that did not prioritize their safety and development. They had a REASON to be bad. They came from bad families and had bad upbringings. I had neither of those excuses which meant being a bad girl was not an option for me. I was afforded all the makings of a good girl, those were the cards I was dealt and that was the role I played… until a certain age.

I had a clear identity shift around 16 and into my early 20s where I went from pom squad uniform to all black lipstick and gothic princess in the blink of an eye. A quite literal move from good girl to bad girl, on the outside, for everyone to see.

It felt real and relatable in a way that I had not experienced before. It was artistic and I felt creative and inspired by this shift, and it absolutely changed the trajectory of my life in some ways. I didn’t really behave badly, I listened to a lot of music and read a lot of books, danced at dark wave and industrial clubs on my weekends, and explored oddities and dark hobbies with my friends.

Over the last 25 years I have embodied many different versions of the good girl and the bad girl. I know now that good and bad are just background noise. Those are just ideas that are projected onto my experience from the outside looking in.

I am just working hard at being Lawrie, and that means good and bad. It means light and dark.

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  • Lawrie Wallace

Updated: Oct 3, 2020

Random topics or the hot button issue of the day, have a look at some experiences that made me grow.

6 Things I Learned When My House Burned Down

Monday, October 8, 2016 I drove home from yoga around 9pm. Per usual I called in dinner for me and Hubs, he was on his Monday night trail ride with friends. The girl on the phone said it will be ready in 10-12 minutes. I hate being that lady that shows up in 6 minutes, tapping her foot, waiting… uncomfortably… with expectation. So I usually listen to music in my car in the parking lot until I’ve hit my 10 minute window… you know because I’m not that lady. On this night for whatever reason I was compelled to go on in…before I hit my window. Happily my order was ready, and I headed home 6 minutes ahead of schedule.

That 6 minutes was critical, I don’t want to think about how much worse things would have been if I had not followed the instinct to go in early to grab that order. As I pulled into my driveway the shock entered my bloodstream immediately, however my brain took a few seconds to process what I was seeing. Was that my backyard… on fire? I immediately thought of my 8 pound poodle Martini, trapped in my kitchen where she spends her time while we are away. I barely got the car in park as I ran for the door.

Fire sounds strangely soothing and quiet when it’s raging out of control, making this whole experience surreal and dreamy in a really terrifying way. I noticed there were no people around. I lived in a duplex cul-de-sac, I had neighbors all around me, within 20 feet of my door. Did no one hear anything, have they not noticed the flickering of light taking ove the back half of my home?

As I approached the front door I made a decision. If I see fire in the house, I won’t go in to save her. I opened the door. I saw no fire, I ran into a burning house to save my dog. I’m a practical person. I have had many dogs, some have run away, some have died, some I’ve had to put to sleep. I love my pets, and I understand I will likely outlive them for a number of reasons, I’m realistic. I would not have though myself they type of person to risk life and limb to rescue a pet in a dangerous situation like this, but in the moment there was only instinct pushing me forward… and I had to save my poodle.

When I reached the 2 doors with handles fastened together with bungee cords to keep Martini quarantined in the kitchen, I felt no heat on the handles… didn’t they say something about doing that in my 2nd grade stop, drop and roll class?

As I opened the doors I began to hear the violence of the fire, when I sprung them loose the french doors that led to my patio out back I could see were engulfed in flames. I was so shocked by the sight, I barely had time to look down for the poodle before she flew into my arms… I didn’t even bend down. This is when I began to cry.

Martini and I ran for the front door, and did not shut it behind us. Once I got out I banged on my neighbors door as I dialed 911… still no people around, I needed help, NOW. The 911 operator answers… and finally I had someone there to help me. As I screamed through the phone my address, FIRE. WHOLE PATIO IN FLAMES… people started emerging from their evening routines.

The noise from the collapsing balconies behind our home was loud and kicked in the severity of what we had just escaped. I was just standing underneath all of that, Martini was just trapped there, the fire started to push through the front of the house so flames were actually visible from where I sat on the curb out front. For the first time that evening the fear of what might have happened really came crashing down.

At some point fire trucks came, at least a dozen of them lined the 2 streets that dead ended at our cul-de-sac. I was steadily tearful and emotional and in shock. I called the Hubs and choked out the news. I called my Mom and my Dad, called my best friend, talked to my business partner, my neighbor came and sat with me.

I remember feeling several times that I must be dreaming, this wasn't actually happening. Then Hubs made it home, and I could no longer pretend that this was some alternate reality. This happened, and the crushed look in his eyes made it more real.

The Red Cross came, they brought us toothbrushes and toiletries, dog food, a leash and bowls, and asked us if we had a place to sleep tonight. I was deeply grateful, because in my state of loss I hadn’t even fully absorbed that all of these were immediate needs, that I no longer possessed for myself.

I sat on the curb for hours as the fire fighters completed the insane process of being certain the fire was out. They allowed Hubs in for long enough to point out some of our belongings visible from the front door and move them into our garage which was thankfully unharmed by the fire.

We made it to my bestie’s place for the night… at least we had somewhere to sleep. It was comforting to be somewhere that was like a second home to me, and at the same time disappointing to my strange sense of independence to have to rely on anyone but myself for a place to lay my head.

The smell of smoke was in my nose, and my hair…everywhere. This smell would haunt me for months… it still finds its way to me from time to time. My bestie and her hubs had clothes laid out for us, which was great since the only clothes we still had were sweaty work out clothes topped with charbroiled duplex. We both showered, and fell into bed. I’m sure I cried for awhile… but I mainly remember the insomnia from the lists of things that tomorrow would bring.

Overwhelmed is an understatement. I’m a doer. I get shit done, efficiently, accurately, and without complaining or whining. This was totally different. I couldn't put my head down and power through this with the same set of skills that had made me super lady in my businesses. I was broken, and homeless, and everything that I had worked so hard to attain was crumbled in a toxic wet mess at what was once my home. There was only way out of this disaster, that was to go through it.

We learned a lot from this experience, but here are the highlights:

  1. If you rent, buy renter’s insurance.

Yes we had to itemize 78 pages of belongings complete with purchase date, reciepts, photos, and other details from memory. Yes I had to scream and threaten and call/ email/ voicemail everyday. Yes I had to be that crazy lady who would not rest until she got her check in the mail. Despite all of that I will say with certainty, Renter’s insurance saved our asses.

It paid for our hotel room for 7 weeks, it cut us a $1500 check a few days following the fire to help with incidental expenses, it also paid out our entire policy out after 3 1/2 months of negotiation and completing the tasks required to close out said policy. I will tell you it was more money than I have ever had a one time before in my life, and that it made our first purchase of a home a much easier feat than it would have been otherwise.

2. Just feel it.

When you go through a traumatic experience, there is only one way to escape it. You have to feel it. Whatever it is you have to let it break you, pick up all your tiny pieces that the trauma left behind, and began the work of rebuilding yourself. Resisting the pain of whatever is going on in your world is only prolonging it, better to just surrender to it so you can let it go. I thought I was brave by shoving it away from me and acting strong, I learned the real bravery lies in expressing the pain openly so you can move past it.

3. I had way too much shit.

Accumulating “stuff” is so easy. In the old place we had 2 stories of stuff in every closet, covering every surface, packing every drawer. When you loose it all at one time, and begin replacing things one at a time, you get more selective about what ‘stuff’ you want around you. Although we have replaced lots of things, I will say I’ve had to work hard to edit my urge to splurge.

I wouldn't say we are minimalist now, however we are enjoying our new home without piles of junk cluttering our closets and stacking up in the corners. I am happy to report I am completely content with the 6 coffee cups in the kitchen as opposed to the 26 I ‘needed’ before. The old saying is totally true, less is more.

4. PTSD is a bitch.. and a teacher.

I pride myself on being resilient, bouncing back, ya can’t keep me down! PTSD cares not for any of this babble. It will whip your ass faster than you can say… strike a match. I found myself writhing in anxiety with birthday candle smoke, unable to attend my weekly yoga class for fear of my poodle’s imminent death, and the sneaking suspicion that somehow we would be screwed out of this insurance money that I was staking our entire recovery on.

PTSD chased me in the most unexpected ways, and all this time later I still feel it rise up a bit when I start to feel settled and safe in our new home. It’s a process, you don’t get to tap out, you must go with the flow and do your best to learn what it has to teach you so you can move on.

5. Life is better since the fire

Looking back on life before the fire… I was not in love with our duplex and talked all the time about moving. I wanted a yard for a garden, we had SO much stuff and the idea of packing and moving was daunting, I wanted to buy a house and get out of the rent race, and I was very uneasy about our nearest neighbors.

The fire, as horrific as it was, fixed all of these things. We had to move, we had very little stuff to pack, we had funds to commit to purchasing a house, my garden is going to rule this year, and we now have neighbors we have been friends with for 20 years.

We also received immense support from our friends, family and colleagues. Everything from food and gift cards to the tools we needed to do our jobs were donated to our recovery. We were so very fortunate, and there isn’t enough gratitude for the outpouring of support we were blessed with. The universe is mysterious and wonderful.

6. There is a phoenix poodle rising in all of us

I have joked since the fire that Martini is the phoenix poodle, flying from the flames into my arms and rising to the challenges of moving on. How did her little pea brain process the fear and fiery death that she could clearly see and smell and probably feel by the time I burst into that room?She should be the most neurotic mess of a dog and instead I have learned from her steadfast example of facing each day with the same gusto for life she’s always had. Squirrels still gotta be chased, humans still need to snuggled, the living room window still needs to be guarded.

In truth there is a phoenix poodle in all of us, every time we are faced with adversity. Even if you can’t see your way out, put one foot in front of the other and rise from the ashes to see what you become on the other side. In our experience the growth you must endure throughout a tragedy is challenging, and absolutely worth it.

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  • Lawrie Wallace

Updated: Oct 3, 2020

Find the loving support and conditioning techniques to help grow your personal style and inner confidence. Learn hair and makeup hacks, how to create your own herbal bath with garden treasures, habits to grow your spirit, and rituals to nourish your soul!

How does beauty FEEL?

We all know the feeling of the good hair day, where it just falls into place… the day your eyeliner glides on smoothly with no crisis, the day you choose the perfect blend of comfort and style from your closet. No matter which element of your image you are talking about, how you look absolutely affects everything about how you FEEL.

I’ve always had a difficult time defining exactly what kind of style I have. I’m kind of all over the place most of the time. I will see something I like and have the inclination to try and replicate it. The challenge so often being that when I replicate it looks nothing like the original image that I liked so much. I am not the same weight or body type as the model in the ad, my hair is the wrong texture for the haircut I like, or my eyelids are not as firm and resilient as I had imagined when it’s time to do eye makeup.

All the “experts’ will tell you that being yourself is the answer, and then they also say that imitation is the finest form of flattery?… what’s a lady to believe? I like to find images for inspiration, get really specific about what exactly I like about the image, and then begin finding pieces to add to my style that will help me move closer to that inspiration.

Shopping for fit has been major. Often times the clothes I am drawn to may not be whats best for my body type. That of course has not stopped me from shoving my hourglass bod into a pencil skirt made for a petit lady and crying in the dressing room. Working with personal shoppers and investing in solid basics that fit well has been a game changer. I love a good wrap dress… this is a shape that always fits, cinches at the natural waist and is a great piece that you can dress up or down.

Developing personal style has been a life long learning curve in my experience. My personal style at 42 years old has evolved several times over the decades, and interestingly enough after all of this time to perfect it… some days I am just as confused as ever about how I want to look. The one thing I am always connected to is how I FEEL when I get it right.

Living in Black

I love wearing black. Black is safe, always matches, communicates professionalism, has an edgy feel and we all know is slimming. I wonder sometimes if the slimming feature is a big driver in my choice to wear black so often? I am in the ‘curvy’ category, at a current size 12-14 I am plus size in most brands. I have been a 7, I have been an 18. In both sizes I was equally frustrated with how my body looked. Even at my most fit, I did not ‘fit’ into the looks I gravitated towards. Too much booty, legs too thick, hips too wide… I was all around too much.

I heard the term body dysmorphia a few years back in relation to people with eating disorders and/or people who had lost massive amounts of weight. The term refers to the phenomena of what people actual see in the mirror versus what is actually there. You see, when you loose 100 pounds the scale knows, other people can see it, but your brain does not compute. The image in the mirror in front of you still taunts you. When I was a size 8, I would still buy size 18’s because when I would hold up an 8 it just looked small… like no way was I fitting into that tiny thing. In my mind I was the same size I had always been and the reality of my new size was not changing so easily.

Black leggings and big tee shirts with boots is a solid go to when I feel like hiding my body from the shame of not being the size and shape I feel like I should be. I put a little extra effort into things like statement jewelry or intense eye makeup hoping that these details will distract from how I look on the outside. This is my safety zone.

I understand that so much of this is a game I play in my head. I have recently been stopping and looking at my body in the mirror, and telling myself how smokin’ HOT I AM! It’s funny because in the moment I don’t really believe myself… I have to make myself repeat it again and feel the discomfort that comes with reconditioning my beliefs. I am getting better at loving my body regardless of it’s current visual appeal, we are a work in progress.

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