So we’ve reached the time of year where the usual Facebook posts hit “New Year, New Me”. A load of bollocks in my opinion. What’s wrong with the old you? January is the most depressing month of the year and it’s not hard to see why. There’s so much pressure these days to be the “ultimate woman” the answer to all needs. Need a glorious housewife? I can be that but I’ll also work full time and have children who are all immaculate and the house will be show home perfect (unless you look upstairs which is where I dumped all the crap when I saw you pull up outside). I’ll also strive to be picture perfect. Yes I can be thin and trophy wife ready whilst doing home made cakes……..lie. The image must me maintained.
Sometimes it’s ok to say f**k it I’m not wearing make up today and I haven’t hoovered for 3 days and this morning I walked in to my 2 year old eating a cheerio off the living room rug and can’t in good conscience honestly admit how long that’s been there. Can you catch food poisoning from a stale cheerio? I wonder if I’ll be scooping vomit off said rug later? All this before coffee and I’m still pressuring myself to be trophy wife ready? Really?
The truth is my husband’s amazing and incredibly supportive. The only pressure in this relationship is internal and comes from my own subconscious which is heavily supported and influenced by social media.
I’ve been building myself up all December. Psyching myself up ready to “be the new me”. Over coffee and my second helping of carrot cake and a sneaky side helping of mince pie I’d confidently muse “this time next year I’ll be 4 stone lighter and sporting fashionable fitness wear on the school run”. Now January is here with none of the obnoxious confidence of the carrot cake eating idiot of a month ago. All that remains is an extra stone to shift and some serious self-doubt.
What if I forever feel like this? What if I’m just stuck in side this body that doesn’t feel like my own. I remember at 18 ignorantly looking at women like me on the bus and repeating insistently to myself “I’ll never let myself look like that”. I wonder how many ignorant 18 year olds I’ve inspired to think the same litany?
After much musing in this way I’ve come to the decision that diets and weigh ins are not for me. I’ve looked back at my track record of weight watchers, slimming world and even the herba life era. They’ve all had aspects that have worked but I think anything formal and I can’t stick with it. I’ve realised over this past week, of being shot down with flu, that what I really need is to be kind to myself. I’m not talking pamper day and a bar of chocolate and all will be well. I’m saying be truly kind to myself deep down to the bone. Body and soul. It’s time to tell some home truths to my inner self and the truth hurts.
It’s time to accept that I’m fat. Oh sure I could gloss it over and say I was voluptuous, curvy, or my all time favourite…….broad. The only way to be truly kind to yourself is to also be honest with yourself and accept you for who you are. This is no easy feat and I’m far from being good at it but I’m trying.
Another string to the negative bow is that I’m not honest with myself enough. I’ll eat things and explain and excuse them away
- carrot cakes OK it’s part of your five a day
- I was good today I ate raisins for a snack, it was a 500g bag but that’s still good right?
- I’ve been good all day today, truth – drinking coffee and not eating all day is not “good”
I don’t sleep enough. I get too geared up on finishing my most recent crochet project or trying to promote the blog and then I’m too wired to sleep. I also don’t drink enough water. These are such basic requirements and yet I still can’t seem to get them right.
With all this soul-searching I also want to tell myself what’s positive. There’s too much negative focus. Too much finger pointing. Well I’m sticking out my Peter pointer and directing it straight at myself to say I’m a good person. I regularly help people. I can’t leave a car park without giving my ticket to someone else if there’s time left on it. My husband has forbidden me to offer out our garage to anyone else after I allowed different people to use it for storing things and he couldn’t get to his tools for weeks.
I’m funny when I relax. Most of the time I feel like a social reject but when I’m in the company of the people who get my inner crazy I’m not such a reject any more.
I throw myself into any project I take on. Even the ones I know deep down will fail miserably. I love an underdog story and will often fight even harder for the losers!
which is why I’m fighting for me now because on the face of it I’m still losing this body battle and I really want to win. Not so I can be trophy wife ready, not so I can be the image that must be up held but so I can feel like me again. So I can enjoy summer without having fat sweats because I’m so insulated I can’t get cool. So I can wear vest tops without disguising the muffin tops with floaty scarfs. I want to swim in the sea with my boys and have the confidence to walk the beach in my swimsuit like the other mums.
So I’m starting off with some herbal tea. I’m not going all guns blazing. There might still be days where I’ll eat cake and say its part of my five a day but as of right now I’m gonna start with tea. It’s what we British do, right?