Category Archives: In the here & now

Using Life’s Imperfections Perfectly

In the here & now, , ,

can

How about this for a great quote…

Your ability to grow to your highest potential is directly related to your willingness to act in the face of imperfection. You will come to succeed not by finding a perfect moment, but by learning to see and use life’s imperfections perfectly.

Isn’t that awesome? I tripped over it on the way around my virtual stomping grounds a couple of days ago, and it struck me as useful, but I needed to play around with it a bit in my head before its meaning sort of morphed into something I can really relate to.

Shall I paraphrase in plain old Yorkshire speak? I’ve interpreted it to mean stop dicking around using the excuse of I can’t, because…instead, say I’m going to, even though [insert whichever bump in road here]. Adopt that approach and you’ve cracked it.

Today’s particular bump in the road was all tied into the fundraising efforts of me and my four colleagues who are trekking 90 miles across the Escambray mountain range in Cuba, to raise money for our chosen charities. We decided that we would run a bake sale in the office, and over the last week or so we’ve been busy recruiting bakers from around the various departments. Today was the day, and there was much anticipation.

In my car, on the way to work I was sat beside three airtight containers, one holding flapjack (my favourite), one holding chocolate brownies (my favourite) and the third one containing baked raisin and oatmeal cookies. My favourite. The Asshole voice was almost apoplexic. You can’t put those on the table and sell them if you haven’t tasted them, come on they might not be nice! What will people think! You at least have to try one of each. It’s a necessity, it certainly doesn’t mean you’ve cheated on your diet.

Remember, I have a near 50 mile commute…that’s a lot of time to spend trapped and alone in the car with the Asshole voice, where nobody would see if I caved in and plundered the boxes, right? I was so busy mentally calculating how many smart points might be in each, and getting stuck on the sums that by some miracle I made it safely into the car park without consuming so much as a crumb. I’m here to tell you it was a very close call.

The actual bake sale was easy…our bakers had done us proud, and there was an amazing spread. I’ve put it right out there that I’m losing weight to be able to do the trek, so surrounded by words of encouragement, and with the ching-ching of pennies hitting the bottom of the collecting tin as folk lined up to choose their cake, I could hardly be seen face-planting into any of the baking could I..? I might have licked my finger from time to time when I was helping to clear up afterwards but in the grand scheme of things I consider that a victory.

Trouble is, not all the cookies were sold, so they came home with me. My boy will vaporize them over the weekend and to be honest I’m over my wobble…in reality if I was going to have a treat, it wouldn’t be cookies. I actually cut myself a slice of carrot cake to bring home, and I’ve wildly over-estimated the smart points value, so I will have that after supper, and I will enjoy every single guilt free mouthful. It looks like heaven on a plate.

What’s more, I can look back and say I did, even though… 🙂

If you haven’t read about my trek to Cuba, and you’d like to understand more about why I’m passionate about getting fit enough to be able to honour my dad’s memory by raising as much money as possible for people affected by mental illness, you can see his story HERE – I’m grateful for any support you feel able to give, no matter how small 🙂

 

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Different, And Yet The Same.

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I was doing a bit of mooching about on-line last night, and I think I’ve mentioned before haven’t I, about how I love the website StumbleUpon? For folk like me who are interested in stuff, but who have the attention span of a gnat, it’s perfect. There are literally squillions of soundbites of things that might end up being interesting and which you can explore further if you want to, but similarly you can just keep clicking past the things which don’t grab your attention straight away. It could have been built for me.

One of the pages that I lingered over yesterday was in the section about eating disorders, and it contained quotes from people who are living with Anorexia. In recent years I’ve actively sought to understand eating disorders in the context of my own broken relationship with food, and whilst I’ve never felt like I could relate to people who rejected food, I’ve probably got more of an understanding about this illness than I had in the past.

I’m ashamed to admit that growing up as a fat child, in a very naive way, my lack of real understanding meant I was just desperate to catch it. I mean, I didn’t want to be poorly as such, I just wanted the getting thin bit. I used to think if I could somehow catch it until I could wear a pair of hot pants, and then not have it any more, I’d look like all the hot girls I saw in magazines. I was never in any real danger you understand, because becoming anorexic would have required me to stop eating, and that was never on the cards.

I was even fascinated by some of the hard-to-look-at pictures of people who had it. Not because I wanted to look like that, but I used to look at them and think about how much those painfully thin people would be able to eat without getting called greedy. What I never understood in the days way, way before I acknowledged and separated out the Asshole voice in my head, was that they’d lost control of their perspective in the same way that I lost control of mine years later, but at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Just listen to some of the words though. They really got to me.

The word fat assumed a meaning as deadly as cancer. Getting fat was worse than losing your job, worse than being jilted at the altar, worse than living in a trailer park and growing up without shoes. You need to start watching yourself, my Mom said, before it’s too late.

I mean..wow. That’s some serious conditioning about the perils of having a body shape that doesn’t confirm to the norm. I’m sure this young girl’s mum was doing the best she could, and it sounds like she was maybe trying to correct an unhealthy eating pattern with the right intentions, but the fuck-up fairy definitely had a hand in the way that message landed.

People don’t see me. No one sees me. It’s like being fat. No one takes you seriously. You just don’t exist – you’re so big, you’re not even there.

That’s another very profound observation. I remember mentioning in a really early post that sometimes the bigger you are, the more invisible you feel. I’m quite a gregarious character when I’m in the mood to be and I’ve never been one to fade into the background, but some people just have a way of looking at you like they’re looking through you, you know?

At my heaviest I noticed that, a lot. They know you’re speaking but they obviously make some kind of snap assessment which tells them you have nothing to say that they might be remotely interested in, so whatever you say is just white noise. You’re not heard.

You will be tempted quite frequently, and you will have to choose whether you will enjoy your self hugely in the twenty minutes or so that you will be consuming the excess calories, or whether you will dislike yourself cordially for two or three days, for your lack of willpower.

That’s a bit of a leveller, isn’t it? That’s not just anorexia…anyone who’s ever been driven by an urge to use food for all the wrong reasons would identify with that, me included.

What I find difficult to process, is that some of the broken thinking is the same, and yet. If you’re starving yourself half to death and you’re diagnosed with Anorexia, you’re regarded as sick and there’s help, and protocols, and understanding. It’s an illness.

If you’re overeating to the point where your own body is consuming you bit by bit, the vast majority of folk would just write you off as being really fat. Get over yourself, stop eating all the pies, like it’s that simple.

That feels a bit harsh, to be fair. What do you think?

 

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Two Bad Mangoes

In the here & now, , ,

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I’ve always wondered at the ability of food to affect my mood one way or the other. Take yesterday morning for example, I’d mentally drafted out my food plan for the day before I even got out of bed. That often happens anyway when you’re preoccupied with food like I am, but I’m trying to be especially diligent this week due to my baboon-coloured bum and enforced inactivity. I barely managed three hundred doddery steps yesterday and I’m not holding out much hope that today will be a whole lot better.

As I shuffled downstairs, I was visualising the juicy sweet mangos that I had picked up at the weekend, which together with a handful of blueberries would provide me with an exotic point-free breakfast. Mango is my favourite fruit, so despite the lack of a big fat bacon sandwich I was approaching breakfast with enthusiasm, you know? No watery skimmed milk and MDF cereal on my watch.

They were monster mangoes, I mean a proper fat-girl pick. I couldn’t wait. However, as it turned out, both of them were rotten. I mean come on, both of them. Instead of sweet juicy mango coloured flesh, I was met with dark mushy stuff that gave off the kind of whiff that said don’t eat me unless you want to shit through the eye of a needle for a week. I was gutted. So my points-free breakfast back-up plan, having decided that an egg-cup sized portion of blueberries flying solo wasn’t going to cut it, was a tin of grapefruit segments.

Which would have been perfectly lovely, if my palette hadn’t been anticipating mango. When I’m in the mood for sharp zesty and citrus, grapefruit does the job admirably. When I’m in the mood for exotic juicy and tropical, it doesn’t. It scored an epic fail. And just like the flavours dancing on my tastebuds, my mood immediately turned from sunny to sour.

If I really think about it, food has always had the ability to colour my mood a few shades lighter, or darker depending on the situation. And I’ve always struggled with food envy, you know when you’re out with friends and they order food which is better than yours when it all arrives? Or bigger than yours, which is even more irritating.

If you read the Tapas, Anyone? post way back in the early days you’ll already know that the food element of any evening out can completely overtake any social aspects for me, as the asshole voice gets involved with an opinion, no matter how unwelcome.

And let’s not even get started on how many times the needle has moved from one end of the spectrum to the other, when I’ve been in the grip of a binge…I could easily move from anticipation and euphoria to satisfied and all the way along to frustrated, resentful, guilty and devastated…all in the space of an hour. And every bit of it was food-related.

I realise I’m probably coming across as all kinds of weird. But let’s be honest, if the relationship I’ve always had with food was on the right side of normal, we probably wouldn’t be here, right? Just to put it into context, much of this conflict goes on on the inside, and you generally get an even-tempered smiley person facing out to the world in general.

I know that the key to a life free of food-inspired mood swings is all about striking the right balance. Nutritious and tasty food with the odd treat thrown in for good measure. Creating a framework that works for me and which I get comfortable with to the point it becomes my new normal. And I guess that’s what this whole thing is about isn’t it…me finding my new normal. I know I’ve got a way to go but I’m working on it 🙂

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Helping To Mend Me

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I’m incredibly touched by all the lovely notes and thoughts and messages you’ve sent following my inadvertent gymnastic incident…what a response, honestly! I can’t remember the last time I felt so cared about. I mean my boy looks after me in his man-child way of course, which has even involved doing extra chores uninvited over the last couple of days whilst I’ve been hobbling around feeling sorry for myself. The pills and potions are definitely helping, and I feel very wrapped up in this wonderful cradle of support.

It was a similar thing the other day, when I talked about my obsession with Moussaka, despite it being really high in terms of my food budget. The ink was barely dry on the page before you started sending me low-point adaptations of moussaka recipes, which was awesome, and it sort of got me thinking about stuff. You know me by now, and the way in which my head tends to wander off at a tangent when something strikes a chord. I woke up this morning feeling remarkably clear on things which I’d only half acknowledged before. I love it when that happens, you know?

This blog, and the way I set out from day one to be really honest with firstly myself, and then when I picked up a bit of company with you guys too, is probably the first time I’ve ever presented anything other than a bright and breezy hard shell to the outside world. I’ve never been particularly good at vulnerability, you know? Chinks in my armour..? No, that would never do. Help..? No, not me I’m good thanks, I’ll manage. Sympathy..? Fuck you, I don’t need your sympathy, I’m doing fine. I still shudder at the thought of sympathy, if I’m honest.

It’s always been about putting my game face on and just cracking on with stuff, and never showing if something hurt, or even that I might be struggling. Why? It’s complicated. Some of you are familiar with my dad’s story (which you can see HERE if you’ve not seen my fundraising page) – I had to grow up real quick and be strong as a little girl, and I guess it just stuck. Strong with a hard shell is all I’ve ever known how to be, and yet on the inside I’ve never been like that at all. Fake it ’till you make it, right? If that’s what you choose to show, that’s what people will see.

On here, it felt different. It helped, because I kind of did it in stages. At first my words only had one reader, and that was me. Then I invited a handful of close and trusted friends to peep inside the shell, and I got comfortable with that too. Nobody judged me. Then my friends shared it a bit more widely and that felt okay too, because it was with strangers, you know? I didn’t need to look them in the eye and I could carry on being honest.

In between the jokes and horsing around I peeled away the layers and laid stuff bare. Painful stuff. Certainly stuff I’ve never shared with anyone before. And the most unexpected thing happened…talking about stuff in what feels like a really safe environment, and realising that nobody keeled over in horror meant I gradually got more comfortable with sharing what I thought of as the dysfunctional bits of me. And I’ll tell you what, that feels truly liberating.

I am not the only one who has an asshole voice on speed-dial, nor is the concept of a self-destruct button unique to me. Turns out I’m not that different after all. Turns out that dysfunctional is actually quite normal. Who knew that? I didn’t. I have no need to hide. And I don’t need to be perfect for people to love me.

And you know what else..? It’s okay to let people help. Being vulnerable doesn’t result in me being marched out of town. If anything, people have embraced me because of my vulnerabilities, and not in spite of them and that’s been the biggest revelation of all. That’s acceptance, you know? I love the fact that I can tell you that I don’t have all the answers, and you all pitch in with stuff to help.

Honestly, it feels pretty good. The medication I got yesterday is helping settle my black and blue arse down, but you lot are doing a far better job than the anti-inflammatories in helping me heal…you should come on prescription  🙂

 

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OUCH That’s Torn It

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cartoon of a girl slipping an falling on a banana clipart

So, you know that expression pride comes before a fall..? Yeah well I didn’t actually think it was meant literally you know? I was almost home yesterday after a nice long walk with the furry one, and I was feeling proud, having seen the output from a really great week. I had a proper spring in my step, I mean I was motoring. I’d shaved five whole minutes off my best three-mile-walk time, and I was nearly home. And then I fell. Well, I’m saying that…I didn’t fall exactly.

If I’d fallen I don’t think I would be hurting quite as much as I am. I had to come right into the side of the lane so a car could get past, and I was so busy reeling Charlie dog in on his extending lead that I didn’t take much notice of where I was putting my feet. So my left foot hit a patch of moss and mud, and as I followed the step through and transferred my weight onto my left leg, before I had chance to react it sort of took off unexpectedly and although I managed to stay upright, I pretty much did the splits.

Ouch, just bloody ouch. My body’s not built for moves like that, you know? I kind of hovered there with my tushy skimming the ground and wondered how in God’s name I was going to get up again. Of course the car had gone sailing past and even splashed me, to add insult to injury. Twat. And as I descended in slow motion to his level, Charlie immediately thought it was some new kind of game and he was well up for some fun, running around me in circles with his tail wagging ten to the dozen. I managed to push myself upright and hobble home, but oh lord I swear I almost split my difference.

So now, today, I’m really really sore. The muscle that runs all the way up the back of my right leg to my butt cheek is screaming at me with every step and I feel like I’ve had a good kicking. I didn’t actually hit the deck, but I may as well have…the back of my thigh and my bum are a lovely shade of purple. Overnight everything stiffened up, so as I drafted this first thing this morning, having already hobbled to the bathroom and back I knew today was going to suck.

The funniest thing, was going to pick up my mum yesterday afternoon so she could come and spend Sunday afternoon here as she generally does and walking so tentatively to her room through the residential home where she lives that I almost got overtaken by an elderly gentleman on his zimmer frame. In hindsight I should have borrowed it, something tells me it might have come in quite handy over the next few days!

So, no hurt machine for me last night, and I suspect I’m going to be keeping a low profile for the rest of this week where exercise is concerned…having just visited the doc, I’ve come out armed with anti-inflammatories and painkillers and instructions to take it very easy for the next few days before building up my activity again slowly as things start to settle down.

The best laid plans, and all that. Still, frustrating as it is, it could have been worse. Nothing’s broken, just twanged muscles, a trapped nerve and a multicoloured backside. I’m a tough old bird, and I’m sure by the weekend I’ll be feeling a bit better but I can’t even begin to tell you how much it hurts!

 

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