Tag Archives: insecurity

We See YOU

Freeform thoughts, ,

nerves

So I was helping a friend do some interviewing last night, for a fairly important role in her business. That happens a lot when you work in human resources, you’re sort of seen as the oracle on all things people-related. It’s one of those professions where you try and avoid telling strangers what you do for a living because as soon as they know you get the tale of woe. You know the score…everyone’s got a ‘friend’ who’s having some bother at work, and what should they do. It’s the equivalent of someone inviting you to check out their rash if you’re a doctor, or having to listen to complaints about someone’s hotel if you’re a travel agent…you just sort of learn to keep schtum.

Anyway, given this was my friend I was happy to help…we saw a couple of people who were a bit less than impressive, and then in walked Mr Charisma – we loved him instantly. He had exactly the right sort of experience, amassed over a number of years. He was really open and friendly, and the answers he gave to our questions were terrific, there’s no question he could do the job. And yet, he was possibly the most self-conscious person I’ve ever met.

I know, it’s really easy from the interviewer side of the room to say relax and enjoy the meeting, and I totally get it, as an interviewee you’re probably going to have a few heebie jeebies. But genuinely, I don’t think he was nervous about the interview – he knew his onions, and to be fair he aced it. This poor bloke was in his own private version of hell because he was self conscious about his weight.

There’s no getting away from the fact that he was very short and very round. And I can say with absolute certainty he was desperately hoping that it wasn’t the only thing we noticed about him. My empathy-ometer was nearly off the scale and If it hadn’t been highly inappropriate, I might have hugged him…I’ve walked a mile in his shoes, which is why I can tell you exactly what was going on in his head. He so wanted to be judged on his ability rather than his appearance, but I guarantee that in that moment, how he looked and how he felt was leeching 95% of his focus.

The chair we offered must have been agony. He had a bloody good go at sitting in it, but it just wasn’t built for a man of his proportions. He spilled over it you know? He looked so uncomfortable. His suit jacket was a little snug, and when he sat down it kind of bunched up around his shoulders. He spent the best part of the interview adjusting his tie to cover the buttons on his shirt which were straining across his frame, and tugging at the lapels and the sleeves of his jacket.

The irony is, I was having a moment myself at the same time. I wasn’t sitting up to a table, you know in true HR style we’d set the room up with no barriers so I was writing my interview notes in a pad balanced on my knee. I’m still too fat to cross my legs and as I looked down at my notes, the asshole in my mind couldn’t resist the opportunity to point out how my stomach and my pad were fighting over the right to rest on my leg.

I so badly wanted to say to him it’s okay…quit fretting about the fat thing, we see you. Of course I didn’t…but I was so in sync with his thoughts I felt like Mystic bloody Meg. The really ridiculous thing is that out of the three professional people in the room, at least two were preoccupied with how they looked and what other people might be thinking about that.

Being free of that distracting and destructive thought ball and chain is the thing I’m looking forward to more than anything once I get to Skinny Town 🙂

 

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So What Makes The Cut?

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , , ,

casesLordy, where do I even start with this one. So I’ve been busy over the last couple of days getting my stuff ready for my forthcoming trip. (What do you mean you hadn’t realised I was going away, didn’t I mention it?) And the fact that I’m only going for four nights is in no way proportional to the size of the bag I’m taking with me, in fact folk might well suspect I’m emigrating when they see me setting off.

I’ve mentioned the wardrobe situation before haven’t I, in a post a few weeks ago – my skinny clothes reside inside those closet doors whilst my fat clothes are relegated to the laundry basket/ironing pile merry-go-round. I bought quite a few new outfits before my last holiday, but I’ve got to be honest I don’t think I possess one single fat garment that I would choose to wear as a skinny girl. So what makes the cut, and gets to come on the trip? I think probably everything. I have to account for the asshole factor you see.

In the few times in my life that I’ve achieved the hallowed skinny girl status, I’ve gone mad buying clothes…lots and lots and lots of clothes. Most of which sit in my closet still, with the tags attached. Were I travelling as a skinny girl, given that we know our itinerary I’d have a carefully selected outfit for each day, each evening and maybe one or two spare things. I’d unpack, hang them up and wear what I’d planned to wear, when I’d planned to wear it and beyond that, I wouldn’t  give it much thought.

Travelling as a fat girl, with the asshole in my head in tow, it’s a different proposition. Whilst I’m packing, he’ll tell me yes that looks fine…he’ll say that about everything, pretty much. But when I’m there…different story you know? You’re really wearing that? It makes your bum look like two puppies fighting in a sack. Your arms are on display and it’s too tight…it doesn’t look right, doesn’t fit right, you look twice as big as you really are if that’s even possible…I know I’m getting better at ignoring him, but I sort of feel like I’ve got to take twice what I actually need you know? Kind of like fat girl insurance.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s no pity party going on here…it is what it is and I’m buffeted from the barbed comments he’ll sling in my direction by the deep rooted confidence that I’m on a clear path from fat to skinny, so next time I can set off with a pair of clean knickers and a toothbrush rattling around in my bag because the rest of my holiday duds will be waiting for me in the boutiques lining the malls that I’m going to pillage whilst I’m there.

There’ll definitely be shopping this week…you know the score. Maybe a bit of jewellery…a handbag perhaps…scent, yes definitely scent…fat girl accessories, but clothes, no. I don’t need fat clothes, I have them and besides they’ll have limited shelf life since I’m on the road to skinny town 🙂 And I have all the skinny clothes I need, I’m just waiting for my buns to shrink.

I have everything I need…I’m in a good place  cocktail

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Selfie Esteem

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now,

turd_polish

So preparations are underway for the big trip…four more sleeps till I hook up with my friends, and one further sleep before we all jet off for five days of girly time. To say I’m excited is a bit of an understatement, after all we’ve been planning the trip for about a year. This weekend will be mainly about doing all the holiday things like picking up holiday money, and packing. I feel energised, and I feel in control. I’m not stressing about the diet, which is going well and is flexible enough for me not to have to deny myself the odd treat. We’re cool, I’ve got the food plan down and I’m totally ready to keep hitting it straight whilst I’m away.

I’m not stressing about the asshole (who is busy packing too, he is of course coming with me) and I’m not stressing about the flight (seat belt extension, check)…I’m not even stressing about the fact that whilst I’m pretty sure no klaxons will sound when I check in for the helicopter flight and step on their scales, I’ll almost certainly have to pay extra dollars for my extra arse. I’ve lost weight but I don’t think I’ve lost enough. We’ll see, but whichever way up nothing’s crimping my mood right now.

Except the selfies, dammit. Now I’ve spent the last two weeks rubbing out the ordinary and installing the bling. I’ve got my false eyelashes in place…individually glued on in plenty of time for me to get used to navigating through them to put my contacts in. Nails manicured, with added holiday sparkle. Hair has lost it’s ‘just cut’ look and grown long enough to cover any rogue pubic-looking hairs which might suddenly sprout out of my neck at warp speed whilst I’m away and have my eye off the ball temporarily. I’ve even got some new fat-girl-clothes. It’s fair to say the turd is well and truly polished…this is as good as it gets. So in the grand scheme of things, I should be ready for all the holiday selfies, right? You’ve got to be kidding.

There’ll be phones out every five minutes taking photos in every location, capturing every moment for posterity…me included of course. I love these girls to the moon and back, they’re my people, you know?  Of course I want lots of memories to look back on, and so will they. They don’t care that I’m fat, we all go back years and years and we work perfectly as a six pack. We laugh together, cry together…fit together. They’ve seen me fat-skinny-fat-skinny and they don’t give a rats ass. But I’m still not ready for the cameras.

I have strategies, of course…if we have to have a group shot taken I’ll find a way to be on the back row. Hide my bulk behind someone else and just flash a big smile. Selfies might work if there’s just head shots and if I’m really clever I might get just the one chin in shot…no body shots allowed obviously. But what happens to all the pictures..? Facebook happens…the asshole in my mind has been chewing at me all week about that.

Friends of friends might see me. And I was probably skinny the last time they saw me…because fat photos don’t make it onto my Facebook. With the exception of one photo taken by my friend which caught my head at just the right angle so several chins were all but invisible, I think the last photo of myself I put on line was probably at least 5 years ago. As far  as my on-line life is concerned I’m the carefree skinny girl I was before life stopped mirroring art and I disappeared underneath the weight of my own body.

Friends of my friends, who know me too, if they recognise me at all will think Crap! Would you look at that! And that’ll be it, my skinny on line cover blown. And that’s a real mood hoover. Apparently it’s a recognised phenomenon. Lots of people have on-line lives which are far more shiny and happy than their real lives…they just edit out the bad and display their shit in the best possible light for other people to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over.  I’m not saying I do that – I don’t. I’m genuine, and I don’t mislead…I just hide instead. I post words. Pictures of my dog, pictures of places I’ve been…witty soundbites of my life…just no photos of me.

So girlies, if you’re reading this…what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right? I don’t mind waking up with tigers in the bathroom or one of the dream boys in my bed (let me just say that again in case you didn’t hear it the first time, I don’t mind waking up with one of the dream boys in my bed 🙂 ) but NO TAGGING ME IN PHOTOS Y’HEAR?!!

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Does My Bum Look Big In This?

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

fat pic

So conference was great last week and I really enjoyed being out of the office – I do love meeting different people, and providing I can gag the asshole in my head, once I’ve overcome the ‘walking in the room’ heebie jeebies I actually enjoy myself. Most of the insecurities I carry around with me about the way I look don’t impact me quite as much for some reason when I’m in work mode – maybe because I’m forced to focus on something else as I work through my agenda. In any event when you’re in front of customers and there to provide a service, they’re really only interested in what you can do for them – if you’re credible you’re in, irrespective of the size of your arse.

What fascinates me is when you get the chance to take 5 minutes out and look around the room.  People fascinate me – I love to understand what makes people tick, and body language sparks my interest big time. If you enjoy people-watching, and you’re tuned in properly, just by paying attention it’s possible to see a range of insecurities laid bare in front of your eyes.

The person who puts their hand in front of their mouth when they smile..? They probably feel self-conscious about their crooked teeth, or their gummy smile. The lady who keeps pulling the back of her jumper down..? She’s worried about whether her bum looks too big in those pants. Most fat people constantly tug at the edges or lapels of their jacket in the hope that it’s doing to hide – or at least disguise – what lies beneath – I do it myself!  The guy with the comb-over who’s afraid to go out in a stiff breeze…bless his heart, well you can work that one out I’m sure. Just shave it all off love…bald can be very sexy but a comb-over cannot. Ever! The over-coiffed woman who never cracks a smile and seems dead behind the eyes..? Nah, no insecurities there, she’s just had too much botox 🙂

My point is, we are all insecure about something. What I find really sad, is that sometimes people don’t see what everyone else sees when they look in the mirror. I have a really good friend who’s absolutely gorgeous, I mean in a stopping traffic kind of way and yet she’s one of the most insecure people I’ve met. She’s worried that her bum’s too big (it isn’t) and that her nose is off-centre (it’s not) and that her ears stick out (no, nothing wrong with her ears either). She’s gorgeous. But she just doesn’t see it.

So it might just be that all the time I’m worrying about whether anyone’s noticed that I’m really fat (of course they have, let me re-phrase that) all the time I’m worrying whether someone is judging me for being really fat, they might be looking at me and worrying about whether I’m going to judge them because the string bean at the hairdressers gave them a cauliflower haircut which draws attention to their chin hairs, or because they ate garlic last night and forgot to brush their teeth this morning (to be fair, I would judge them for that, what a scratter eh?)

How much more simple would life be, if we’d all just cut ourselves a little slack, stop worrying and chill the hell out 🙂

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Dude Was Working It!

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

hair

So, at the risk of sounding very unkind I have to tell you about a haircut I saw last night whilst I was out of town. Yes, I know, each to their own, live and let live, we’re all entitled to our own sense of style…I get that but you know that way where sometimes something tickles you to the point where every time you think about it you get the urge to grin? Well this did it for me.

The evening had not started well. It had been a long day, a very early start and I’d been on my feet all afternoon manning a stand at the conference, so I had an achy back, my feet were killing me and the last thing I felt like doing was hosting a table at the gala dinner. I should further set the scene by telling you that having walked the 300 yards from the hotel to the venue rather more quickly than I would normally, due to a light drizzle of rain and no umbrella, I arrived feeling out of breath, sweaty from the exertion and with damp hair which had kinked a little more with every step I took and which I knew within an hour would look like I’d somehow managed to have a really bad perm between the appetiser and the main course. The asshole in my head was having a ball, as you might expect.

So it’s fair to say as I stood holding my glass of champagne at the drinks reception I may have been smiling on the outside but on the inside I was a woman on the edge. And then I saw it. That haircut. And in spite of myself I started to feel better.

If I had to describe it to you (which clearly I do since you weren’t there) all I can liken it to is one of those little plastic lego men – they always had thick immobile plastic hair plonked on top of their little plastic heads, do you remember..? Well, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there was a little plastic stalk fixing this hair to the bloke. It was really thick and dark with a full but very short fringe, sideburns which weren’t made of face fur but actual hair which had been grown down the sides of his face in front of his ears, and the whole thing had been finished off with a kind of wind tunnel/superglue effect.

Thing is, it didn’t get that way by accident you know?  It must have taken a serious investment of time and a mountain of hair gel, and that young guy genuinely thought he looked like the mutt’s nuts. Which led me to thinking.  It’s not really about what you look like – it’s about the way you feel. That hair, no word of a lie, was ridiculous. But that dude was working it! And I kind of had a light-bulb moment…an epiphany if you will.

If you believe the asshole in your mind when he tells you that you look ridiculous, even if you don’t, you will feel ridiculous, you’ll believe everyone else thinks you look ridiculous, and your confidence will be shattered.  But you can totally get away with actually looking ridiculous if you feel like a million dollars on the inside. Imagine being blessed with an asshole in your mind who tells you good things like his obviously did…Dude, you look awesome! That hairstyle is a babe-magnet for sure…they’ll be falling at your feet tonight, go on my son, work it…

Of course when the young guy has a few more years under his belt and looks back on the photos from last night he’ll cringe and wonder what on earth possessed him, but in his head, last night, he was the MAN.

Can anyone tell me how I swap my asshole for one who says good things..?

 

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