Category Archives: Biggest struggles

Dealing With The Diva

Biggest struggles, , ,

kicking_screaming-cartoon

I’d like to think that I’m a fairly rational person, with at least a couple of active brain cells, but I’m here to tell you that this whole change of diet thing has knocked me for six. This morning I had the biggest diva meltdown ever over dropping an egg on the floor – my son, who had just arrived home after collecting our Christmas tree put it down and disappeared at the speed of sound, clearly reluctant to get sucked into the shitstorm.

It was late morning, and I was overdue breakfast. After spending half an hour trying to negotiate my way around the Weight Watchers website – half of which still isn’t working – to get the new points values for stuff I had to hand, I’d finally settled on eggs and toast. There were two eggs left in the carton, one of which survived the journey from carton to pan, and one of which didn’t…the one that didn’t ended up half on the tiled floor and half all over my slipper.

At that point the red mist descended. I don’t think there’s a cupboard door that remained unslammed, or a naughty word that remained unsaid. I managed to spread the egg on my slipper to all four corners of the kitchen as I stomped around being ridiculous. Then I sat and cried, and that’s really not like me at all.

So now I’ve calmed down and eaten something else instead – I mean who could be bothered with just one egg, right? – I think maybe I should at least make an attempt to understand why smashing the egg pushed my buttons in quite the way that it did. I’m not sure there’s just one reason…I think it was kind of a killer combination of a few things. Firstly I was hungry. Secondly I’m not the most patient person in the world, so spending ages trying to navigate a website which felt like it was leading me a right merry dance with oops there’s a problem, please try later on every second click hadn’t sweetened my mood.

I think mostly, in the back of my mind, I was – am – still frustrated with the way in which the transition from one diet to another has been handled by Weight Watchers, and I feel like it’s pushed me into a situation where I’ve messed up my lovely clean diet bill-of-health, if that makes sense?

As far as I was concerned, I’ve eaten within points consistently, played it completely straight and resisted loads of temptations along the way. That gave me a real feeling of power, like I’ve got this, you know? The longer I had things under control, the stronger I felt, and every day I was building on a really solid record of getting it right. Knowing you have all that success under your belt makes you really reluctant to break that perfect record, so it gathers a momentum all of it’s own.

To find out that actually, by spending my food budget using a combination of old and new weight watchers currency means I might have unknowingly gone way over my budget makes me feel like I’ve spoiled that perfect record…broken the spell, you know?  And whether that was intentional or not, I’m now wrestling with the asshole voice in my head who is screaming ha ha you’ve blown it, told you this wouldn’t last…the usual shit. And yes, I appreciate that I might just as easily have come in under budget – but the fact is I don’t know.

When you boil it down to brass tacks, I think that I’m scared…I’d settled into a groove with a diet that was working for me. I haven’t fallen off the wagon as much as been thrown off it, and that sucks. But you know what, writing this down is really helping, because it’s forcing me to acknowledge that I’m acting like a proper diva. Yes, of course I have a right to be angry. GGGRRRR. Right, been there, done that…move on.

I’m not starting from scratch. I still have all that success under my belt. I’m still knocking on the door of my third dress size down. I still have you guys, and I have still got a perfect record of making good choices. What I’ll never have control over is other people’s fuck-ups. But I’m big enough and hard enough to step over that bump in the road to Skinny Town and just keep on trucking.

And the diva..? She’s back in her box 🙂

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Curve Ball Alert

Biggest struggles, ,

resisting-change

So. Today was going well…I’ve been uber busy at work, Christmas chocolates flying around all over the place and a massive Christmas cake sent down to our office courtesy of our colleagues in the trading team, but I’m happy to report I resisted them all. Still firmly in the sweet spot, and in control. Arrived home with plenty of points in the bank, and my boy had popped a chicken kiev in the oven for me so I did what I often do and opened up the Weight Watchers’ website to check out the points value….ah. Houston, we have a problem.

It seems that Weight Watchers have decided to swap pro points for something called smart points. WTF? I mean I knew they’d been messing around with their website because for the last two weeks it’s taken me five times as long to find anything. I kept seeing a message saying you are seeing the new format, click here to return to the original, so I kept clicking. And shouting at the screen, like that was going to help. Then they stopped offering me the option to navigate familiar pages so it seemed I was stuck with the new format. Right then.

What I didn’t see, anywhere, was any mention that they were changing the actual diet. I mean just a small detail that, you know, I might have been interested in. Way to go Weight Watchers. I pay my subs every month for the on-line service, and you can’t even bother to drop me an email to let me know that you’re pulling the rug from under my feet, two weeks before Christmas, by changing the diet. I noticed by accident when I read smart points and thought what the hell are they..?

Not only that, but the website doesn’t appear to be working properly. Lovely! I don’t have any info at all about the new diet. I’ve figured out that a lot of the points values have changed, so since the change I didn’t know about, I’ve been tracking my food choices using my points calculator (pro points) at the same time as using the on line listings (smart points) so who knows how many points I’ve actually had over the last couple of weeks. Or indeed how many I should be having since all the values have changed.

If I wasn’t so deeply dug in to the sweet spot, that could have spelled disaster. It would have done in times gone by – I’d have been into the hob-nobs faster than the speed of sound thinking well that’s it, diet blown…might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb right?

Change makes me twitchy at the best of times…I mean, I always come around in the end but I’ll freely admit I’m a stubborn old mule who will resist for as long as possible. I’m sure the intent behind changing the diet is sound, and I’m sure the diet will continue to work well, once I know what I’m doing. But I’ve got to say, their execution of change has been utterly crap and they have let me down badly. I’m frustrated and beyond mad.

So. My only option is to pay them more money to get a new set of books and a new points calculator. What’s that you say..? They’ve sold out of points calculators..? Awesome.

You couldn’t bloody write it could you 🙁

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Flunking The Pizza Test

Biggest struggles, Freeform thoughts,

pizza dog

So, I’m a tiny bit partial to the odd slice of pizza – not thick doughy based bendy pizza, that isn’t my thing at all, I’m a thin and crispy girl all the way. It’s a rare treat though to be fair, it would never occur to me to order pizza in…if we’re having a takeaway it’ll usually be Chinese food. Pizza’s a bit brutal on the points budget so it’s not a great choice, but I spent the evening with friends on Friday night and that’s what everyone fancied so I threw myself into the spirit of things. Four slices, within points, enough to feel like I’d had a good innings at the pizza box and it was scrummy. All things being equal that should have been it for a while. Except I just ate it again last night for the second time in three days. But I swear, this time I only meant to sniff it.

Someone had put a late meeting in at work, five ’till half seven and it’s kind of an unwritten rule that if someone expects you to extend your working day into the evening, the least they can do is feed you. I did a quick risk assessment on the likelihood of being offered something worth having, but given that it’s generally nothing more exciting than half a dozen custard creams on a plate in the middle of the boardroom table – which is so wide that nobody can ever reach the plate without a very undignified bend and reach manoeuvre  – I thought I’d be safe. And I was, until the pizza arrived.

Ten large pizzas…five of which were thin crust, and two of which were thin crust pepperoni. And they smelled amazing. It was six hours since I’d had my lunch, and it had been a really trying day…my defences were low m’lud…that’s why, when the asshole in my mind suggested I could go stand next to the pizza box and just, you know breathe in, it seemed like a great idea. I mean, no harm in that, right..? And I might have gotten away with it too if someone hadn’t handed me a plate, before staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to take a slice and move on, get out of his way.

What’s a girl to do? I could hardly say it’s ok, I’m just sniffing it…even I know that makes me sound like a freak. So I allowed myself to get carried along for the ride and before I knew it my jaws were moving and I was staring down at my plate which appeared to have a half eaten slice of pizza on it. I mean it’s not the biggest disaster in the world, since I can point it, and count it. Along with slice two and slice three, dammit. But the point is, I didn’t make a conscious choice to eat it…I just didn’t make a conscious choice not to. Eighteen big fat points on three slices of pizza. I am weak!

I lectured myself all the way home in the car. I was within my points budget for the day so it’s not that that I’m cross about. More that I had no intention of eating pizza at all…if you’d asked me at 3pm as I walked through reception, ignoring the pile of Ferrero Roche with ease whether I’d make a dodgy choice later on I’d have delivered a resounding no, I am strong! The offer of a muffin as I crossed our trading floor earlier had been met with a curled up nose and a polite no thanks. I’m hardcore! Apparently though, if you show me pizza and hand me a plate, I turn into a complete fanny. FFS!

No harm done…well aside from the fact that by the time I got home I was starving, with no daily points left. So I just had to have an early night and suck it up. Muppet.

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Police, Fire, Ambulance, Me.

Biggest struggles, Freeform thoughts, ,

help

Are you good in a crisis? I am – I sort of come into my own. I reckon lots of my friends would be able to give you examples of me mopping up tears, putting band aids on broken hearts and dispensing the occasional nugget of wisdom over the years. It’s just kind of what I do. I’ve got one or two friends who, I’m not going to lie, have sometimes made my heart sink when I’ve seen their number come up on my caller ID. Because I just knew that it was going to be another drama, which would be really similar to the last one, and which I’d have to live through with them in glorious Technicolor as they settled down to give me every last detail.

One friend in particular, who I’m not really in touch with any more was especially great at calling me somewhere north of midnight on at least two Saturdays each month, after a blazing row with her boyfriend. Between slurps of wine, she’d replay his latest transgression and agonise over what she should do, what it meant, what he might do next, what she should do next, why her…you know the story. I could have answered all those questions right off the bat as it happens – he’s a twat. Get rid of him. The End.

I didn’t, of course. I listened…because that’s what friends do, right? I was proud of the fact that my friends knew they could come to me when they needed support. It was like a badge of honour you know? Besides, I was sure they’d do the same for me…except I never tested the theory. Ah hang on a minute, there was one time when I forgot to put the number five guard back on the hair clippers after cleaning them, and shaved a stripe up the back of my little boy’s head one Sunday night when he was about ten.

Not an age where a wonky bald stripe is a cool thing to have let’s be honest. A very good friend of mine managed to rustle up an emergency hairdresser from her contacts list within thirty minutes and disaster was, if not averted certainly disguised very well…cut in I think she called it.  I mean it still looked ridiculous but he didn’t have to wear the hat for quite as long as he would’ve had to otherwise. I never tested the theory more widely than that though. I’m more of a story-teller after the event, with some wry humour chucked in for good measure.

It was only years later, during a particularly enlightening therapy session with my hooky spooky magic lady that she gently steered me around to the realisation that by constantly acting as the rescuer, the fourth emergency service to my friends if you like, I was able to focus on everyone else’s issues and in the meantime mine remained unresolved. I was a classic case apparently. Who knew?

I need to be needed. It’s one of my things you know?  It’s always felt like an anchor to keep me connected to the people who matter to me. But when the shit hits the fan in my life, I don’t reach out for help, ever. I just get on with it. I cope. Then I eat my feelings, get a bit fatter and continue looking out for everyone else. Essentially I deny my friends the opportunity to support me. And when you put it like that, how is that a balanced friendship? It’s not…it can’t be.

The people in my life who love me, would support me till the end of time, if I allowed them to. I’d have no need to medicate things which hurt me with food. I could be the one on the phone at 3am, hot tears and snot mingling with cabernet sauvignon as I hiccupped my way through the action replay of my own drama in glorious Technicolor whilst they lost the will to live, and dispensed words of wisdom.

Thing is, it’s one thing recognising that, and another thing doing it, right? Once an island, always an island…I might need to work on that a while longer 🙂

 

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Failure To Launch.

Biggest struggles, Freeform thoughts, In the here & now

meditation

So you know how I love to poke around in the corners of the internet for ideas and concepts that pique my interest or inspire me to try something new?  I came across an article by a lady called Kerry Petsinger, and some of her ideas I really liked. She reckons that you should find ways to love yourself, every day. She even divvied the ideas up into different categories, one of which was spiritual wellness. I’ll come back to the others, because they’re definitely worth exploring, but I like to think I’m quite a spiritual person so that seemed like a good place to start. One of her suggestions was to try meditation.

Now, I love the idea of meditation. Spending quiet contemplative time, mind and body in total harmony, thoughts stilled. Utter calm, the feeling of peace and being at one with myself. When I get really carried away, I imagine myself in flowing robes of soft white linen, with nothing but the sound of trickling water and maybe the odd soft wind chime…the smell of incense…the sensation of floating…I feel so relaxed just thinking about it. The reality is though, I can’t do it. At all. My meditation button seems to be broken and I can’t make it work.

One of two things will happen. I will either fall asleep immediately – I’m not talking about a light meditative trance, I mean I’ll really fall ‘snores and chin dribble’ asleep. That generally happens if I try and meditate in my armchair. If I go the whole hog, light candles, make myself a little sort of area on the floor and strike a meditation pose, my mind will go immediately into overdrive. It doesn’t matter how carefully I prepare everything. Or how artfully I settle myself on the cushion with my fat girl knees arranged in the least painful way possible. Not in a classic meditation pose, I’m not that bendy. But near as dammit.

I’ll make sure that Charlie the dog is otherwise occupied – it’s generally accepted that the floor is his territory, and if you’re at his level, he makes the assumption that it’s playtime. If he was in the same room, within two minutes I’d be surrounded by squeaky toys and as many shoes as he could find, with his wagging tail generating a wind chill factor of ten. So I’ll make sure he’s busy elsewhere. And I’ll sit there, waiting for my mind to empty, and for zen to come flood me with inner peace.

OK zen, I’m ready for you. Ready now. Ready and waiting. Sooo ready. Dammit I forgot to turn off the big light. But that’s ok, it doesn’t matter, my eyes are shut, it’s fine and it doesn’t make a difference. Relax. Just wait. Let your mind float. Zen’s coming soon, I’m ready.

I should have picked a different cushion, this one’s too flat. It’s flatter than an after eight mint and my bum’s going to sleep. Shhh it’s fine. I’ll stop noticing in a minute when the zen comes and takes me to another place. Relax…I’m feeling sleepy…well not sleepy exactly, but I’m ready for the zen.

I wonder if those scented candles will start to smell in a minute…I can’t smell jasmine yet, which is what the label said. Or was it  honeysuckle..? No, that’s a yellow flower…there were definitely white flowers on the box. Hang on though, isn’t jasmine a blue flower? I must have a look later on when I come out of my trance. After the zen’s been.

Maybe if I hum? Maybe that’ll make the zen come. Yes that’s it, I’ll hum. Ommmmmmmmmm. Ommmmmmmmmmm…no I can’t keep that up, it makes my lips tickle. Actually my lips feel a bit dry…should’ve put some lip balm on before I sat down. My back’s aching. And I’ve got pins and needles in my foot. Aw, remember when my boy was little and he thought pins and needles were invisible insects crawling on his feet…bless. No, I’m going to have to move my leg. I wonder if I lean back a bit…aaargh no that’s not helping. 

Oh bugger, I forgot to take those chicken breasts out of the freezer…

And so on…you get the picture. The zen remains elusive. I’ve got my favourite spots obviously where I like to go relax, admire the view. When I’m skinny I love to sit on the beach and hug my knees, gazing out at the ocean…I think I shared the photo with you back near the start of my blog. But that’s not meditation is it, in the true sense of the word? That’s just relaxing by the ocean.

I don’t think it’s that I’m afraid to be alone and at one with my thoughts…I quite enjoy that. But my understanding of meditation is that I’m supposed to be able to empty my mind and be transported to a deep and calm place. That remains decidedly elusive.

Any tips, or are my expectations just way off base..?

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