Tag Archives: self-esteem

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 🙂

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

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..?

 

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

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.

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

Semi-Retired Disco Pants

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, ,

dress

So today’s the day where I’m headed off to conference, complete with shirt that fits – yey. Before you all celebrate (I can hear sighs of relief and corks popping all around me) I’m here to tell you that in all honesty I think you could probably get the inhabitants of a small village into this shirt.  Clearly when the order form went off with my size on, the shirt maker erred on the side of caution having never needed a pattern so big, and used enough fabric to single-handedly power the Spanish Armada.

I’ve got to be honest, the starched collar doesn’t help the overall effect and I certainly won’t be winning any prizes for style. Still, I’d rather look like a ship in full sail than spend the day bursting out of something which is straining at the seams. I tell you what, I’m going to keep this shirt and when I’m skinny I’ll do one of those photos of me posing in one corner of it. But anyway, that’s day wear sorted out. I will also be required to host a table at the gala dinner, and the dress code requires me to wear a cocktail dress. Oh dear.

Now I’m here to tell you that’s not going to happen any time soon. No no no no no. For the avoidance of doubt, no. I’m not one of these busty-but-hour-glass shaped ladies who can look glorious with curves spilling out of artfully draped chiffon even if the serving size is a little too large. I’ve never been known for my glorious assets in the cleavage department and to be honest, after all these years going up and down the size spectrum, nowadays my boobs resemble a pair of old sports socks with a tennis ball in each end. Trying to hoist them up to look alluring in any kind of chiffon ensemble has disaster written all over it.

I shall choose instead to wear my trusty black palazzo pants which, whilst not exactly on point in terms of the dress code look as dressy as it’s ever going to get when teamed with a nice top. A nice black floaty shapeless hides-everything-displays-nothing kind of top. No dimpled flesh on display, nothing to offend the eye, nothing to make me stand out. Nothing to make the asshole in my head whisper you can put lipstick on a pig but… or you can cover a turd in glitter but… as I’m getting ready. He really earned his stripes over the years you know?  But I’m ready for him.

And as for the post-dinner dancing…I have to be honest and say my disco pants were put out to grass some time ago. I might have got a bit more mileage out of them had I been a skinny girl but as it stands, they’re currently buried somewhere in my skinny closet with nothing on their dance card. But activity is only suspended ’till I’m skinny, so they’re only semi-retired…even with my dodgy knee I still have moves like Jagger and can shake what my mama gave me with the best of ’em. Just for now, not in public 🙂

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

Space Invader

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

FLS

Now, I’m guessing it depends where you sit on the fat to skinny spectrum as to whether you’ve really given the matter of space any serious consideration. I’m talking about personal space, and how much of it we take up as we go about our business. I say this because until I joined the realms of the super-obese I don’t recall really thinking too much about how much space I was taking up in this world, but once the penny dropped with me that I might be taking up too much of it to the point where it was pissing other people off, I became super-tuned in to the vibe, and it’s become a major pre-occupation.

We’ve all seen the debate raging about whether fat people should pay extra for flight seats and to be honest, count me in – my lard, my responsibility – just don’t make a fuss and for God’s sake don’t make me sit across two seats…that would be less about equity and more about treating me like livestock. They may as well run down the aisle blowing a bugle and shouting ‘Make way for the moose!!’

When I emerge from my chrysalis as a skinny string bean I’d welcome the chance to fly for peanuts if they want to just hitch up my seat space a little so it cradles my bony ass nicely and frees up a little more room for someone with a bit more padding – everybody’s happy. I’m sure in this age of technology it could be done. And if there does happen to be any aircraft seat designers reading my blog today, can you please sort your shit out with the seat belts whilst you’re at it?

I get it, I get that life is designed for Joe average.  And if you’re a fat person who genuinely believes that fat is as beautiful as skinny, or if you’re a skinny person who’s wandered in here by mistake (you’re very welcome but stop screwing your face up like that, you’ll get wrinkles) then you probably won’t be able to relate to what I’m saying. Which is fine, because we’re all different and if you’re happy, I’m happy. And a tiny bit envious.

You don’t know how lucky you are if you don’t feel the need to tiptoe through life trying to take up as little a space as possible. You won’t feel mortified if your arse or your chunky arms encroach onto someone else’s personal space when you sit beside them and pretend not to see FFS written right across their averagely proportioned face. You won’t feel the need to hold everything tucked in as tight as possible ’till your core muscles quiver, in the hope that you can prevent your body spilling over your quota of space and invading someone else’s. It’s not possible to pick up your body baggage and place it on the tray table in front of you to make room for someone to sit down like you can with your carry-on and I hate how apologetic that makes me feel, as though I’m being deliberately rude just for…being.

Writing it down really helps to focus the mind…you have no idea how much I can’t wait not to feel like that any more.

Like it..? Tell your friends!