Tag Archives: insecurity

Love, Love Me Do

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

love_myself

So, I was chatting to someone I used to work with over the weekend and catching up with all his news – well, he calls it news. Me, I’d call it gossip but he’d deny that of course on the basis that ‘boys don’t gossip’ (yeah right that’s what I thought too).  Anyway, during the conversation he referred to the girl he was talking about as being ‘a classic people pleaser’ and for some reason the phrase stayed with me way after the conversation finished.  It annoyed me.

It’s not so much what this guy said, it’s they way he said it, like being a people pleaser is a really bad thing. He threw it out like some kind of insult you know? I almost felt like calling him back but then I thought he’d probably think I was some kind of nut job getting my knickers in a twist about nothing. So I didn’t, because he’d probably have a point.

I think the reason it felt like he’d poked me with a big stick was because I’ve spent quite a large portion of my life putting the desire to please other people before my own needs, and to think that people might stick a label on me in such a dismissive way was what set my teeth on edge. How bloody dare he. I suppose if you’re blessed with the confidence and wisdom to lead a life where you balance the desire to be a good all round human being with taking care of your own needs, it might seem a bit pathetic when you see someone whose need for acceptance drives them to a place where their own wants and needs are utterly overlooked. And what’s worse, they’re okay with that. But hearing the scorn in his voice rattled me more than I like to admit.

As my blog has taken shape I’ve referred a few times to the fact that I’ve been fat-skinny-fat-skinny on an almost continuous loop since my late teens. You want to know what I’ve realised as I’ve chewed on this over the last couple of days? My desire to take care of everybody else but myself is way, WAY more obvious when I’m fat than it ever is when I’m skinny. Isn’t that an interesting thought.

It’s as if subconsciously as a skinny girl, I feel free enough to be selfish when the occasion demands. I make demands of my own that – surprisingly – people meet without thinking too hard about it and even though I can be a proper diva, I still manage to be a decent person. But when I’m fat I almost feel the need to compensate by trying to be all things to all people…like the most I could hope for in terms of anyone’s opinion of me is yeah she’s fat but she’s really really nice. Which is ridiculous, because I’m the same person.

Jim Carrey – not someone you immediately think of as one of the world’s great philosophers – once said “Your need for acceptance can make you invisible in this world. Don’t let anything stand in the way of the light that shines through this form. Risk being seen in all of your glory”

Wise words. Haven’t quite nailed it but I’m trying.

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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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