Category Archives: Freeform thoughts

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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Eat This Instead!

Biggest struggles, Freeform thoughts, , , ,

This is an evaluation image and is Copyright Chud Tsankov. Do not publish without acquiring a license. Image number: 0521-1102-1611-4613. http://www.acclaimimages.com/_gallery/_pages/0521-1102-1611-4613.html

I get very excited when someone offers me a piece of bona-fide advice which has been endorsed by people with letters after their name, especially when it claims to eradicate some of those bumps in the road which could make the wheels come off my diet. I was totally ready to be impressed yesterday when I saw an article on cravings, and how you might stop them in their tracks. Granted the article was in the Daily Mail rather than the New England Journal of Medicine, but hey it could’ve been scribbled on the back of a fag packet for all I cared, so long as it worked.

In my haste to get to this holiest of holy grails I was even prepared to pretend I hadn’t zoned in on the typo on line four which referred to the ‘sweet draw’ rather than the sweet drawer – yes I know, I’m a freak, but stuff like that really twangs my strings. Anyway, there was a team of nutritionists – a whole team mind you – who were standing behind this research, so I ignored the typo and pushed on.

And it started well…I was nodding along by line eight.  Yes, I completely bought into the fact that your body finds ways to tell you when you’re deficient in something. I remember drinking about 2 litres of fresh orange juice every day when I was expecting my son, even before I knew I had a baby on board. Totally random fact which might have nothing to do with anything, but I was relating, you know..? There was definitely an air of expectation…like this was it, I was going to learn how to get rid of all those cravings once and for all. A defining moment. I’ll run through the advice shall I..? Distill it for you and give you just the good bits, you know, the highlights…?

“If you crave something sweet, eat broccoli instead.” Yeah because that’s going to cut it. The Asshole will totally go for that.

“If you crave chocolate, have some.” Right then. Way to go to combat the craving. Did the Asshole actually write this one? He uses that line all the time.

“If you’re craving a salty snack have some anchovies.”  Are you fucking kidding me?

“If you’re craving some dirty carbs, eat some turkey instead.” And again…wtf?

I stopped reading there, having written off said team of nutritionists as skinny dimwits who had obviously never experienced a fat girl craving in their lives. I mean come on. A craving will turn your head inside out. I’ve been known to drive the 15 miles to Ikea in my slippers at warp speed, screeching into the car park at 9.55pm a whisker before they close so I can buy a Daim cake, simply because I cannot contemplate getting through the night without one. I’ve eaten dog chocolate when there was nothing else sweet in the house. If you’d offered me a broccoli floret when I was in the grip of that craving I’m here to tell you that you’d have been invited to leave with the suggestion of shoving it sideways where the sun doesn’t shine ringing in your ears.

For advice on how to combat cravings, don’t ask the experts – ask a fat girl. We might not always be able to follow our own advice, but we know better than most what might work, sometimes. I’ll give you a clue…it’s not broccoli or anchovies. For me, right now it’s toothpaste. If I’m desperate to eat something and I’ve spent my food budget for the day, going and brushing my teeth with an overloaded toothbrush takes the edge off. It’s not much, but it’s something.

No holy grail today then…ah well. We’ll all just keep plugging away shall we? 🙂

 

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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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What Would YOU Keep?

Freeform thoughts, Reflections on past times,

loveSo I was telling you yesterday about my epic fail in the hypnotherapy stakes, and it prompted me to have a look through some of the homework I had to do during the time I spent poking around in the dark corners of my head. I nearly fell off my chair when the word homework was mentioned, I mean I didn’t think I’d signed up for that…I didn’t even turn homework in on time at school.

As a grown up somehow I felt less of a need to rebel,  although given that I still regarded the therapy lady as a bit mystical I think perhaps I was just a tiny bit scared that she was hiding some eye of newt in her cupboard to use on wayward clients. And to be honest, if this was the woman who could unlock my head and break out the skinny girl, the least I could do was give it my best shot, right?

So she asked me what I would change about myself if I could start from scratch and design a new me. Well, let me tell you I was out of the traps like a greyhound. By the time I’d finished my list she was the one with glazed eyes. It was like giving a four year old the Argos catalogue at Christmas and asking them to make a list. I wanted to change quite a lot, as it turns out.  But then she started to play dirty, and asked me what I would keep. That was so much harder to answer.

I settled on my eyes. I’ve always had quite nice eyes I think. Sadly mother nature forgot to bless me with thick dark silky eyelashes – bitch, they’re probably in the back of her cupboard along with my long skinny legs and impressive chest which have never seen the light of day either – but they’re a nice green colour and with the aid of either mascara, or falsies, they can look quite striking.

Actually I should caveat that – they used to look quite striking. I thought I was doing really well in the face department as far as ageing was concerned until I started wearing contact lenses a couple of years ago, and after I’d tried to blame the first lot for being defective I realised with 20/20 vision I really wasn’t ageing quite as well as I’d thought. I sulked for a week.

And that was kind of the end of my list…a bit pathetic really. I did try and explain…my hair almost made the list. I like the colour, it’s very silvery blonde now (80% mother nature and 20% because I’m worth it 🙂 ) but it was disqualified due to its tendency to kink, curl and generally misbehave whenever there’s a sniff of moisture in the air. Do you remember Leo Sayer..? That’s all I’m sayin.

My knees, well they would have made the list if I’d been 140lbs lighter but sadly they were disqualified too on the basis that nobody could remember what they looked like in their former glory, and seriously, no matter how kind someone was being, they’re not ‘keep list’ material in their current state. One of them really hurts, all the time, and the number of dimples per square inch would only look appealing on toddler.

So yes, just the eyes. It’s funny, her question was what would I change, and what would I keep. I’m the one who made the leap to all the physical things, which shows you the level of my preoccupation with what I look like when I’m fat.

So, my homework was to reach out to five of my friends, and ask them what things about me they would keep if they had to re-design me. So I did. And all five answers made me cry. Nobody talked about my kinky hair, or my dimpled knees. Or my eyes actually…they talked about my warmth, and my humour, and the fact that they knew I was in their corner no matter what. They talked about how I’m always positive and how I challenge them in a good way and make them realise when they’re being a dick. They talked about lots of things that had chuff all to do with what I looked like. Isn’t that interesting.

Why don’t you try it? I felt ten feet tall and on days where everything’s a struggle, those words will help to light you up from the inside…promise.

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Magic Me Skinny Please.

Freeform thoughts, Reflections on past times, , , ,

IMG_3588

This is the first thing I see every morning when I open my eyes – yes, that’s right I really did write ‘I am awesome’ on my bedroom wall.  My mum, who was never particularly arty and who has, many times over the years looked at me like I had a screw loose just didn’t get it. She stood there last year, five feet nothing in her stockinged feet, admiring my newly decorated bedroom, enjoying the feel of new carpet under her toes, admiring the new throw and the window seat, and the new shutters, nodding her approval, then she saw the writing and just looked…confused. She genuinely thought I’d lost the plot.

I bet you get it don’t you?  I’d put money on the fact that a fair few folk in our posse would understand the need for validation before they’re ready to get up and at the day. It’s an idea I got from a great lady I spent a couple of years soul searching with…therapy makes me sound very pretentious and actually that’s not really how our paths crossed. Like too many times in the past, I’d decided to go on a diet – it was a Monday, of course (it always is) but prior to the actual day I’d not really decided what food plan I was going to follow, so of course I woke up full of enthusiasm but with no real plan or idea of how this diet was going to pan out. There’s a surprise said nobody!

So anyway, in the absence of a plan, and without wanting to fall off the wagon before I’d even left the house, which would have been a personal best even for me I decided that since one of the things I’d never tried was hypnotism, this might be the right time to have a crack at it. I mean on the face of it, come on it was a bloody marvellous idea. Somebody talking to me in a soft voice whilst I sat in a chair and relaxed, my brain all the time absorbing all the hooky spooky magic, and I’d wake up with a craving for carrot sticks and a hatred of cake. Get in, how come I’d never thought about this before..? So out came the laptop, I googled hypnotists in my local area and by lunchtime I was on my way to my first appointment.

I have to admit that first meeting didn’t go quite the way I’d expected. Well actually you know, I don’t really know what I expected. Mystic Meg maybe? She wasn’t wearing a kaftan or a turban and there was no sign of a watch on a chain. We sat and chatted for an hour about what I wanted (to be skinny) and how I might get there (penny’s starting to drop now that she wasn’t in fact going to magic me skinny) and I left after an hour feeling a bit deflated – that’s not how it happens on the TV. I was still fat, I still loved cake and I had no cravings for carrot sticks whatsoever.

But I went back. And then I went back again…before I knew it I’d been back lots of times. She did in fact agree to hypnotise me once – it wasn’t a great success, even I had to acknowledge that. After snoring my way through 45 minutes that I have no memory of at all I conceded defeat. I mean there’s relaxed and suggestible, and then there’s fast asleep with dribble leaking out of your mouth. Enough said.  But, over the course of a couple of years’ worth of going back I learned more about myself than most people could hope to know.

The more digging I did the more layers appeared and the more it felt at times that I was a hopeless case. I’d describe myself as still work in progress, although I’ve been on an extended hiatus from all the soul searching for the last year or so. It’s exhausting. And if I’m honest, what the blog has done for me over the last two months has probably given me more practical support than therapy ever did. But one thing that I realised as I turned over stone after stone is that I might be broken, wired wrong, fat and not getting skinny any time soon, but I’m still bloody awesome on the inside, where it counts. That doesn’t mean I’m comfortable in my own skin…you know I’m not. That’s why I’m here. But on the inside, I’ve got it all going on.

I am awesome. It says so on my wall.

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