Tag Archives: Asshole

First Impressions

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, ,

not listeningI had an interesting conversation with the asshole inside my head yesterday morning as I was getting dressed, and I chewed on it all the way to work. Given that I’m a single girl, early morning conversation in my house is usually limited to my chit chat with the dog who listens really hard with his head cocked to one side just waiting for me to mention either ‘breakfast’ or ‘walkies’, both of which are guaranteed to prompt a little brown and white whirlwind because that’s his cue to race downstairs and crack on with his day. So it’s generally a time of low conflict given that both me and the furry one are blessed with a sunny disposition and enjoy our morning routine.

The asshole had different ideas today. I told you didn’t I, that he’d try and erode my willpower though the back door by affecting my mood. So this morning, he started by passing comment on my hair, which admittedly needs cutting – I’m going on Saturday as it happens but apparently when it’s just that bit too long, it makes my face look fat. Fatter.

He didn’t approve of my outfit either which prompted me to change twice before I even left the bedroom. I never do that, so clearly he thought he was on a roll, and as a parting shot he reminded me I was interviewing today, and what would the candidate think when they were met by some fat old woman in reception.

It didn’t make me run for the naughty cupboard and drown my sorrows with chocolate in case you’re wondering, but the reflex to eat when I need to draw some comfort is alive and well, evidenced by the fact that I’d eaten my lunch by 10am. But that was a whoops with a small ‘w’ because despite his best efforts, I didn’t crumble and the game ended with Me: 1 – Asshole: 0.

But anyway, as I was driving into the office, I did reflect on what is the first thing people notice about me. When I’m skinny, people might notice my hair, which Mother Nature has rushed through the aging process with warp speed and it’s very silvery blonde now. It’s actually quite a pretty colour. If I was to have a bad hair day they’d definitely notice that too…untamed (which it never is for work) it’s ridiculously curly with a tendency to frizz and puff out like a really bad silver ‘fro.

When I’m skinny they’d probably notice my clothes…I’m a bit of a fox if truth be known when I can fit into non-fat-lady duds and I have an eye for what looks good. It’s a different story when you’re the size of two people in one body – for all these catalogues and websites purporting to design clothes to flatter ladies with a fuller figure, the reality is whatever you put on looks blah, or at least that’s how it feels.

When I’m skinny people might even notice my big smile, or my green eyes. But right now, I think the asshole’s probably right – before they have chance to take in any of that, they’d probably just notice that I’m really fat. And on days when your confidence is having a bit of a wobble, that really sucks.

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The asshole inside my head.

In the here & now, , , ,

thoughtSo we’re getting to know each other a little bit now, right? I think it’s probably about time I introduced you to the asshole who lives inside my head. Think of it like I’m inviting you home to meet the folks. Now, I don’t think this is unique to me – I suspect not, I think perhaps everyone has a member of his extended family who muscles in on their thought process from time to time – but my guy has a black belt in mind games and he’s pretty much carved out a permanent home in a corner of my head.  He doesn’t really have a name, so I just call him Asshole.

Now you might think that’s a bit rude, but it’s a name that suits him. The first dictionary I looked at defines the word ‘asshole’ as ‘a stupid, mean or contemptible person’ and I’ve gotta be honest, it suits him perfectly. Occasionally he’s thrown me the odd crumb of a compliment but knowing him as I do it’s nothing more than reverse psychology…he’s clever like that. Strangely, since I named him, it’s been easier to separate his voice from my own, and I’m here to tell you that’s been a big help. Strangely enough he’s been very quiet over the last couple of weeks – I suspect he’s just observing these blog shenanigans from the sidelines and lulling me into a false sense of security until he’s decided on a strategy.

His is the voice I hear when one of my insecurities bubbles near to the surface. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fairly confident person and I’m very comfortable around people, but when he spots a loose thread he’s in there like a ninja, grabbing every opportunity to blow a big hole in my self esteem. His words are like barbed wire. ‘You look really fat in that’. ‘Yeh your hair looks ok but OMG who’s gonna look at your hair with so many chins clamouring for attention’. ‘I don’t know why you’re even bothering to look at the new winter collection, you’re going to look like a sack of spanners in whatever you put on anyway’…you get the gist. ‘Did you see the way that skinny woman looked at you when she walked past? You’ve probably put her off hob nobs for life’.

And he’s armed with a thousand ways to poke holes in my willpower. His was the handiwork you saw first hand when I poked fun at the suggestion that booking a block of gym classes would keep me motivated. He’s the absolute daddy when it comes to talking me into something I shouldn’t do, and talking me out of doing something I should. He tries his best to derail me whenever I’m motoring down the right track, and his impressive success rate over the years has turned him into a right smug little bastard.

He HATES it when I find the sweet spot. That place where I am right now makes it much harder for him to get at my willpower but he still walks beside me wherever I go, looking for his window of opportunity…I might be on top of things just now but I feel him, waiting. He’ll focus his energy on  my mood as a back door entry to my willpower because that’s worked well for him in the past.

I’m happy to report that for now, that door is locked and bolted.

 

 

 

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Quack advice

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now

advice

I’ve probably spent enough time over the last few days poking fun at some of the things that I personally don’t find that helpful when I’m having a crisis of confidence, or when I’m clinging onto the last vestige of willpower by my fingernails and feeling powerless to stop the sad demise of yet another attempt to lose weight. It helps to laugh at it all but you know what, I’m here to tell you that when you can’t see a way out of being anything but the size of a bouncy castle it’s kind of your default position to feel like nobody understands. And when there’s a list of jazz-hands solutions which appear to work for everyone in the world except you, it just serves to make you feel even more isolated.

I think I’m pre-programmed to feel irritated by a lot of it, especially when it’s written by an airbrushed skinny girl, glowing with health and looking for all the world like she just stepped off the cover of vogue, munching on celery sticks and drinking a tall glass of iced water as she poses in her yoga pants. I get it, of course I do…it’s just marketing. “Ta daa…do this, and you can look like me!!” Regardless, unless the photo is captioned with ‘Former sumo wrestler Fanny…’ it gets right on my last good nerve.

I’m far more likely to sit up and take notice of someone who looks like they’ve been around the block a bit, because with the best will in the world even my fairy godmother isn’t going to be able to make me look like that girl. Show me a girl of average proportions whose photo props suggest that she’s cracked it, but still knows her way around a doner kebab and I’d be all over that because she’s more likely to have the kind of advice I might be able to identify with.

So you already know I’m in a good place at the moment, right? I wouldn’t say I’m loving the diet –I’d rather be able to eat anything I wanted in man-sized portions, with seconds (and pudding) but I can’t if I don’t want to carry on looking like this. And I really don’t. I have to keep pinching myself at the fact that for now, I’m not finding it difficult. I’m not fighting with myself every day. I haven’t fallen off the wagon, and I haven’t really been tempted to, which is a minor miracle in itself.

I think it might be something to do with the power of words – I’m really enjoying the process of writing down my thoughts. Apologies to anyone who happens to be reading this if you feel that I’m cheating you out of drama! I’ve not had to wrestle yet with the asshole who sometimes lives inside my head (I’m sure you’ll make his acquaintance at some point) and I haven’t had to overcome any impressive obstacles. I’m fairly certain that all that will follow at some point but for now I really appreciate your company…you’re helping, so thank you.

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Hitting Rock Bottom

In the here & now, ,

You know what I mean when I say ‘the sweet spot’, right?  It’s the holy grail.  It’s that rock solid, cast iron will which clicks into place and acts as a shield, protecting you from cake. When you find the sweet spot you no longer have to argue with yourself for a good hour at least about whether eating the cake is a good idea or not.

Any food junkie worth their salt will know that even if you manage to gag the asshole voice in your head and win the argument with yourself, that cake continues to flirt with you from a distance.  It stares right into your soul…your mouth waters as though you’ve already taken a bite. It doesn’t matter what else is going on in the room, all you see is the cake. It’s like a magnet with its own force field, and you keep on having the should I/shouldn’t I conversation with yourself in a loop, right up until the point someone else eats it.

But none of that applies, if you’ve found the sweet spot, and you’re in the zone.  If the magic happens, you’re somehow immune. Nonchalant even…cake, what cake? No thanks (wrinkles nose), I don’t really like cake…do you have any lettuce?

It’s elusive.  The more you dig deep, the harder it is to find. I have a theory actually…I think perhaps the sweet spot is a finite resource that you’re only able to truly tap into a handful of times in your life. Kind of like a cat has 9 lives…maybe you’re even born with an allocation and once you’ve used it up you’re destined to be a salad dodger for the rest of your natural life.

I don’t think there’s a formula for finding it, or holding onto it. It’s irrelevant how much you want to find it, or even how much effort you put in to trying to find it. But one thing’s for sure…without it you have zero chance of sticking to your diet, because the asshole in your mind will always win the argument about cake.

My rock bottom moment happened just over a year ago when I had to buy one of these…

Essential holiday accessory
Essential holiday accessory

Passport, check. Tickets, check. Sunglasses, check. Airplane seatbelt extension, check. The ultimate indignity…well, it’s a 9 on the 1-10 scale. 10 would be having to ask the string bean in a cabin crew uniform if you can borrow one of theirs. Having your own mitigates the shame down to a 9 but even so.  If that’s not rock bottom I don’t know what is…yet still I continued to argue with myself, and eat cake.

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