Self Worth/Love

And now we come to yet another thing that has been mulling around my head for... well... for years!

Self worth, self love, be kind to yourself, body positivity, body acceptance, loving your body for what it does for you, etc. All of that jazz.

I have spent my entire life hating me. Who I am. What I look like. Things I've done. 

I have said things more cruel to myself than I have ever had someone else say to me (and I've had some pretty cruel things shouted at me by strangers). More cruel than I would even say to my worst enemy.

In fact today I lay on the couch thinking about how I am a complete and utter failure and then, just to make myself feel worse, I got up, grabbed a tube of red lipstick and marked all of the bits of my body I don't like. Red lines and dots everywhere. I looked like those diagrams of cows you see in the butcher that tell you where each cut of meat comes from. In fact, I thought that to myself and then I actually said "but no-one wants such a fatty piece of meat".

Really. Really. Really!?

Is this how I am going to spend my whole life?

I lost my job last month. I was working there for almost 8 years. It was welcome in so far as it was really time for me to move on but also it turned out to be unwelcome because not only did I have my confidence trounced on for 90% of the time there but I was effectively told (without actually being told) that my role was unnecessary.

No matter how you dress it up, it hurts. It hurts where I was already hurting. 

Sure I understand that the role was made redundant and not the person... me... but it still smacks.

I've decided to take a little time off to write which is why this blog is slightly more active than it has ever been and I'll properly start the job hunt in January. However, I spend most of my days being afraid that I'm not a good writer so I'm wasting my time and then creeps in the thoughts of "What am I actually good at!?" and then suddenly I'm down the rabbit hole of berating myself for not being good enough.

I try and try and try and yet I'm still sitting here feeling like nothing I have ever done has hit that sweet spot of perfection (Look, I know perfection doesn't exist and yet still we all search for it...).

I'm tired. Really tired. And struggling with dark days/weeks/months. I still get out of bed and hope and try but it is getting harder to see that bright light at the end of the tunnel.

I've taken on the expectations others have for me and elevated them to a level that no one could ever reach. See? The rational side of my brain sees that, acknowledges that and ignores it.

I spend most of my time feeling like I've let people down. Other people. Not myself; although that happens more often that I would like it to. Always fixated on what other people think I should be doing and how I should be doing it. Losing myself in the process...

Then there's the body stuff. I have been above what is considered a "straight" size (that's a phrase I just learned) for most of my life. I have had every insult there is about being bigger from people I know, strangers, and, mostly, from myself.

I have diaries that show how I've bullied myself from the age of 9. Weight was always top of my ranting; ranking even above romance which is shocking!

I settled in relationships where my weight was commented on by my partners. My first ever long term boyfriend even told me that he was breaking up with me because he was less attracted to me because of my weight. Things like that stick with you.

I don't look at other people and see their weight. I see their beauty, their smiles, their eyes, the way they hold themselves. I could write the most beautiful poetry on these things alone.

But when it comes to me. I can't see it.

I joined WeightWatchers in 2012, not long after my daughter was born. I will never forget stepping on
the scales that first day when the "leader" said "Oh! We'll have to take it slowly with you!". Shame. I still cringe when I think of that memory. 

I don't blame her. She was doing what she was paid to do. Over a year and a half I lost weight until I got to the 3rd goal they set me (yeah, they lowered my goal weight twice over that time). That goal felt good. Just as good as it did to feel hungry because I set my mind to the idea of hunger being a good thing. Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, they said.

Christmas 2013, an old friend came up to me to tell me he had met up with people we went to college with and told them "Have you seen Shivvy? She got hot!". There it was. Affirmation.

I was running 60-70km a week. I was walking 10km a day. I was eating maximum 900 calories a day. BUT! I was hot! I was noticed! 

Then came what I now know to be an eating disorder. I gained weight because I started to allow myself to live life a little. I freaked on the scales. Morning and evening I was checking. The morning weigh would determine how the day go and the evening weigh would either congratulate me or send me spiralling into starvation or overdosing on laxatives.

One time in work, someone said to me "OH! Your face!". I stood there confused. "It's so bloated!!" I tried to laugh it off by saying "Haha! I had pizza last night. Maybe that's it." Little did I realise that this seemingly innocent conversation would begin what some colleagues called "Face watch". They would take turns guessing whether I had eaten pizza or not the night before depending on how bloated my face appeared...

That really didn't help things.

The skinniest I've been in the last 3 years was when I was diagnosed with depression. Of course I was skinny, I paced my apartment because I couldn't bear to go outside and the only food I ate were peas... supplemented with laxatives.

Lockdown hasn't helped my body image but I have a little more time to try and take the time to learn to love who I am. It's a work in progress.

I haven't taken anything silly in the last 5 months. My therapist recommended this great book called "The F*ck It Diet" which has helped me deal with realising cravings are ok and cheese is not the devil! But as I said, it is a work in progress. 60% of the time, I'm ok. Then that 40%... Pfft, that 40% is difficult to say the least. 

As I write this, I actually haven't even eaten today. I went for a bath after drawing the lipstick lines all over myself, had a glass of wine, did my make-up and spent 2 hours poking and prodding my rolls in front of the mirror. 

They're me. They're me trying to cope with all of the craziness in the world right now. They're me trying to forget about calories and restriction. They're me celebrating every time I go to the chemist and I don't buy laxatives.

Fuck.

I don't even really know what I'm writing anymore.

But I do know that I'm not writing this so that I can get compliments from anyone who may read it. I'm writing this more for the people who think I am insanely confident and have my shit together.

I'm not and I don't.

Life should be for living. And life should be enjoyed. And no matter how tired I get, I will never ever stop trying to get to a point where ok is good enough, where other people's opinions of me don't matter, where I can look in the mirror and thirst myself every single time.

I am me even if I don't know who that is and whether or not I like it, I gotta learn to love imperfect, flawed me.

First Dates

Yesterday I binge watched various romantic films. Some good. Some horrendous. But whatever, I love terrible movies. Especially terrible romantic holiday films.

I love love. Always have, always will (despite my heart begging me to quit it).

I've had various relationships over the years; long term, short term, "fun" friends. Heck I've even been the unknowing "other" woman. Still, no matter how many times I get hurt, I bounce back up again and hope.

I used to believe that my life would be complete once I met "the one". I dunno if I necessarily believe in "the one" anymore but I do believe in love. And most of all, I believe in first dates.

I am grinning as I write this. 

First dates... My first ever first date was when I was 28. I'd been on dates before but they were always after a stolen kiss in the nightclub (I am writing that to sound way more romantic that the reality).

That first date was wonderful. He was gent who had a great sense of humour. We had some drinks, we played some pool and he kissed me at the end of the evening. A great kiss. We ended up seeing each other for a few months after that and even though it ended, I still think back on that time and smile.

The power of the first date.

The nerves as you get ready.

The fantasies that you try to push back so as not to get your hopes up.

The trying to figure out how not to be the first one there or to be the first one there so you can be set for when they arrive.

The do you hug or kiss on the cheek or maintain a distance.

The opening strains of conversation.

It's all good up to here.

Then obviously the date can go one of two ways. Great or bad (I include meh dates and the "we're better as friends" dates here; you don't date to make friends). 

I'm going to focus on the good because I'm sticking to the positive today.

As I sit here just typing what comes into my head, all of these amazing memories are making me stupidly warm and cuddly.

There was the first date where we went up the Dublin mountains on cold night with flasks of tea to watch the lights of the city.

There was the first date where we went to a Mexican restaurant and I accidentally ordered a whole chicken for dinner and he had to cut my food for me because after I attempted to dice that chicken I sent black beans flying all over the place.

There was the first date where we didn't want the conversation to end so we went back at his place and he sang Damien Rice to me (sounds cringe but I can assure you that if the person is talented, you go with it and you melt).

No matter how these relationships ended, it nice to focus on their beginnings and remember why you were drawn to that person in the first place.

That first kiss. The one where you're trying to suss out whether or not they want to kiss you. Should you let them make the move? Should you make the move?

And then before you know it, they have placed their hands on the sides of your face, hooked them under your ears, looked into your eyes, and leaned in...

I really, really miss good first dates...

Anyway, I could go on but it would turn into the most ridiculous romantic drivel so I'll stop there and hope that you can look back on some of your first dates and smile.

Use a different excuse to not date me

I have a million things I need to be doing right now but I just had to sit and write about something that's been on my mind a lot lately.

How would you feel about dating a person who had a child with someone else?

I had my daughter when I was 25. I was in a long term relationship that ended when she was 2 and since then I had one other serious relationship.

I've dated. A lot. TV shows depicting singletons make it look a heck of a lot more fun than it actually is.

I've been upfront about having a kid and been ghosted. I have hidden that I had a kid and been ghosted. I've not talked about my kid and been told I don't mention her enough. I've also talked about my kid and had the subject quickly changed.

There is no win. You never know how a potential partner may feel when confronted with the extremely obvious evidence that you have in fact copulated with another individual.

When myself and my daughter's dad broke up I remember convincing myself that I was damaged goods and that no-one would ever want to be with me because I'm a mom. And as you know, when you have a child THAT DEFINES YOU. 

Everything about you is that child. 

YOU ARE A PARENT. 

YOU HAVE NOTHING ELSE GOING ON IN YOUR LIFE APART FROM PARENTING.

Yeah. This was only further affirmed by a (ex) friend of mine sending me a flurry of 4am texts after a night out telling me how he was "flattered" that I had shown interest in him romantically ("Did I?" was my first thought) but that he wasn't ready to be a father (ignoring the fact that my kid has a perfectly good father present in her life) and that I'm a "great girl who will make someone very happy someday" (ehhhh... splendid?) so, essentially, "thanks but no thanks".

I'm paraphrasing. I could go and look for the messages but I'd rather not pick at that particular scab.

That guy hit every single sensitivity I had around being a single mom who would like to meet someone.

It hurt.

Still kinda does if I'm being honest.

Looking back, I do think the real shock of this whole scenario was that he had made up his mind that I was into him... Bit of a stretch considering I was trying to get stuck into an ex.

Meh.

That chap is married now and has a baby. Good for him. 

It took a while for me to tease out all of those insecurities, deal with them head on and finally realise that if someone doesn't want to be with me, then they don't want to be with me. My kid has nothing to do with it. No matter what, if the person is right... well, then the timing and conditions will be right.

I remember being at a friend's wedding a couple of years ago. I had gone to chill out for a few minutes in a locked toilet cubicle when a group of ladies came in. They were chatting about dating and one of them mentioned that she had gone on a few dates with a guy but called it off because he had a kid and she just wasn't ready for that sort of commitment and she didn't know how she felt about him having a child with someone else. I stepped out of the cubicle. There was no disguising the shock on their faces. Quick apologies were flying at me because they "meant no disrespect".

I didn't feel disrespected. I wasn't upset. I actually thought "fair play" to the woman who was saying she broke it off because she wasn't sure how she felt. To me, I would rather that than go through months of dating, "catching feelings" and then finding out. The heartbreak is so much worse.

A quick rip of that band-aid rather than the crushing soul-destroying "I'll be alone forever" heartache.

Oh I have eaten so very much ice-cream in a fruitless bid to numb the pain of a good aul dumping.

Anyway, I'm kind of just landing this on the page as I think and I have to go and collect my child from school.

It's just something that creeps into my head.

Yeah. I have a kid. I'm 35. We ALL have something going on by the time we hit our mid 30s and if you don't, have you really even lived!?!

Date me or don't. I'm cool with it. Just don't make it all about my kid because I have so much more wrong with me that you could use as an excuse!

Anyhow, I'm getting cats.

"We need your bio"

As soon as I hear or read these words, my mind melts and I feel like I am the biggest imposter/failure/brag artist ever.

I get the same feelings when I think about updating my CV. So I don't. I send my crappy draft to friends and get them to write down just how fricking amazing I am (Sorry, friends!).

I know I'm not alone in this.

Most of us find it difficult to receive compliments and to talk about our achievements, especially after the excitement of the achievement has passed.

When people see my dire CV or my attempts at writing a bio they always have to remind me of the many good things I've done and then I end up all like "Ah yeah, but that was ages ago!". 

We spend so much time telling ourselves to "let go of the past" and "live in the now" while "working toward a better future"; so much so that the holes in the sieves that are our minds expand and everything goes. The bad stuff goes (sometimes but that stuff seems to stick like limescale to the element of a kettle... can you tell I'm facing my kitchen?) but also so does the good stuff!

We have great memories when it comes to tragedy and trauma. It's not only kept in our minds but the body knows the score and all that jazz. I just wish I could retain the amazing things just as clearly.

Again, I know I'm not alone in this so this is not some earth-shattering "Oh my god, me too!" moment. I promised myself I would get used to blogging again and this is what came into my head... Because I have to write a bio...

So I sit here writing this in yet another bid to avoid writing the bio. Earlier distractions included knitting a pair of legwarmers, cleaning my oven, and dancing about to my burlesque playlist. I mean I do avoidance really well but that's not something which I think would win me points on my bio/CV.

It doesn't help that my confidence has taken quite bashing over the last 6 months. Furlough bled into redundancy. My brain knows that redundancy is the position and not the person but, bloody hell, as break ups go, this was a toughie. I mean, now I sit here wondering what I'm actually good for, what should I do next, how do I pay rent... BLAH DI BLAH BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. (Just bit of frustration there)

I have decided to take some time off to work on some creative projects (which I have loads of) and therefore am calling myself a writer.

I told my kid not to tell people I am unemployed; tell them I am a writer. 

She has taken this request too far and now whenever anyone even mentions me to her she says "Mom's fine. She's a writer.", "Mom will send in a note. She's a writer.",  "Mom cut my hair. She's a writer.", and "The toilet is broken in our apartment. Mom is a writer."

Yeah... Need to have a chat with her about how the mom being writer thing should only come up if someone asks her what I do for a living.

So here I sit. With free time. A laptop. And many pens.

A writer who cannot write a bio. A writer who feels like she needs to keep her light under her bushel so as not to seem full of herself. A writer who is wasting your time just as much as her own by writing this.

But hey! It's writing!

Fine. I am awesome. I shall write the sodding bio... After I clean my windows.

(I'm sure I'll get better at this...)

Step One...

It's been a long time since I considered myself a blogger... Probably about 9 years which is a bit insane. I used to blog about everything and anything and now as I sit here trying to flex those writing muscles, I'm finding it so very difficult.

Over the last few years I've focused mainly on poetry and only writing when something huge is happening in my life and now... I feel blank for the first time.

It's not that there's nothing going on. It's me and if you know me, there is always something going on. 

I should start this renewed blogging attempt by mentioning that I finished up in my job last week. I worked there for nearly 8 years. I made so many friends, I learned a lot. At this point in time, there is no need to go over the negatives. There were a LOT of negatives but I guess it turns out I'm pretty resilient and therefore just got on with things. Anyway, I'd rather look back with rose-tinted glasses than feel a frustration that I can do nothing about.

When I knew my time in the company was coming to an end, I decided to take some time off to chase dreams for a little while. That sounds silly I'm sure but if there is one thing I don't want to regret when I'm on my deathbed, it's that I didn't even try.

I listened to all of the rational and realistic advice and so my back-up plan became my life. I didn't even try to chase the dreams of theatre and words but they were always there, at the back of my head. Calling me. Making the corporate world all the more difficult for me to fit into.

Hey, I'm not saying that I will succeed in giving this life a go but at least I will have tried.

I've given myself a deadline to see how far I get and what I manage to accomplish and then I'll re-calibrate and go from there.

It's terrifying. It's exciting. I feel alive.

My first step is to give this blogging lark a go again.

Step one taken-ish...

This was a non post but it is a post nonetheless... 

*ahem*

'Voices'

Last year I set myself the goal of writing a poem every day, even just a line. Some days I missed, some days I wrote a lot more than I had intended and so 2019 ended with a small suitcase full of my scribbles.

I once read that "poetry is when you stop thinking and just feel" and that felt more true than ever when I attempted my challenge.

There were those days where all I could write was "Breathe" because I needed the reminder but there were the times where I needed to let my heart lead my pen.

I am not going to sit here and tell you that I know all about poetry. I don't. There are so many different styles, far more than what you learn in school. Don't get me wrong, Seamus Heaney is great but what about Leonard Cohen and Jim Morrison? And heck, I've just fallen in love with Scroobius Pip and Kate Tempest. Poetry is so more than what we were taught. There are more meanings than teachers lead us to believe, we just have to be that little bit more open to it and toss aside how we were told to think in school.

Anyway, I am really going off topic here!

The whole purpose of me writing this post is that last October I pieced together some monologues and poems I had written over 18 months and submitted them as a script to Smock Alley Theatre's Scene + Heard Festival. It was a long shot but, as they say, if you're not in, you can't win.

As silly as it sounds, I don't think I'll ever forget the evening I got the acceptance email. I love to write but I don't have my faith in my content or my abilities. It's only recently that I've even started putting my name to poems rather than posting them anonymously on a separate Instagram account. But my writing got in. I may (read as totally did) scream when the email came through.

The thrill of an audition, of the stage... nothing has compared to the feeling I felt when I read that my

writing was going to be performed on the Smock Alley stage. It was validation, something I've been trying to train my mind to not need. I am a writer. I do read and enjoy poetry. I am a poet. It feels so wonderful to not feel embarrassed saying that out loud.

So... what's my play about?

I struggle to describe it to people who aren't directly involved with the production. I've been leaning on my assistant director, Ciaran, to explain what I seem to be unable to do. He's all sorts of amazing and has been my rock since November. Putting up with me and my neurosis is not an easy task.

It's not that I don't know. It's that... well... it's made up of my stories. Like, literally my stories. The poems and monologues are all based on different times in my life, different people in my life; some good, some really awful. One of the things I firmly believe about writing is that you should always write about what you know and I have spent the last two years trying to figure out who I am so I may as well be brave enough to share my findings. Essentially what is going on that stage is my heart.

It is terrifying. Beyond terrifying actually. However, my stories aren't just my stories. They are the stories of so very many women out there. We keep our secrets so that we can stay shiny in the eyes of society. Secrets that could break us but yet, somehow, we still get up every morning (or try to at least), put on that face, and brave the out. Through various conversations with women who I have encountered over the years, I know I'm not alone and there is a comfort in that... But we shouldn't have to enjoy this camaraderie in the shadows. Actually we shouldn't have so many of these stories in common in the first place.

I won't go into the content because I want you to come see the show and if I reveal too much then what's the point of that?

I am so very lucky in the cast of people who have agreed to give my words their voices. Louise Dunne, Charlotte Keating, Kate Cosgrave, Rahul Dewan and Megan Carter, thank you for agreeing to come on board and for putting up with my abundance of emotions after every single rehearsal. I will always be grateful to you.

Michelle ni Fhaircheallaigh (I'm finally able to spell your name without having to look it up), you have the voice of an angel and we all promise to not keep quiet anymore.

My brother and my daughter. Singer and artist.

Terry Kenny, you took a blurry photo and made something beautiful.

My father. He gave me the gift of words and being able to use some of his writing in this piece fills my heart. So far away but I keep him close.

Gah... This is becoming some dodgy Oscars speech or something so I should stop now.

I wrote this because I need to get used to explaining what my show is without either pawning people off on poor Ciaran or downing a glass of wine for courage.

I do hope that you can make the show and I would accept any and all feedback because I intend to develop into something much bigger.

If you've read this far, thank you! I'll stop now.

'Voices'

The Boys' School, Smock Alley Theatre

21.30, February 12th & 13th

Tickets can be purchased here

'Alone', originally performed 2006

This is a piece I originally wrote as a duologue in 2006 for DCU Drama Theatre.

The below is a revised monologue version for the No Drama Theatre shindig in 2014.

Please note that this could potentially be triggering/upsetting for some.

***

I’m not sure why I’m here to be honest.

Something happened and I think maybe I…uh…need to say it out loud to believe it’s real. I can't forget what happened.

I was on my way home. I took the shortcut behind the old church. It takes about five minutes off my walk home… (Gasp of nervous laughter)…

Before I knew what was happening someone grabbed me. I didn’t see him. He came from behind. There was no time to scream.

(Whispers to unseen party) Why aren’t you saying anything?

*deep breath*

I am…

Pause

He caught me around the waist and something was shoved into my mouth. I thought someone had to see me... Someone had to help me... I prayed...

Close eyes

I closed my eyes as he dragged me. I knew where I was and what was happening to me. I didn't need to see. I thought that maybe... maybe if I couldn't see, then it wasn't really happening.

Longer pause

Takes deep breath, holds it and exhales slowly. Voice is getting shakier at this point.

I could feel his hands shaking. His breath was heavy on my neck. My heart was beating hard and fast. He fumbled his way up my top... His hands were so rough. They were like ice. It was so cold and then... (Abrupt stop)

Voice is getting louder and trembling more

I couldn't breathe. I was dying inside. He was taking everything from me. (Getting hysterical now)

                                                                 

It felt like it went on for hours and finally... he pulled himself off me. I thought this must be it. He's going to let me go. The tears were flowing from my shut eyes. He stood up. I could hear him zipping up his jeans and sighing and then...he hit me.

Put face in hands breathing heavily

Pause

I thought I couldn't hurt anymore but there it was. Then came the next blow and the next... He wouldn't stop.

Pause

I guess I just blacked out...

Suddenly it was morning and he was gone. I stood up and walked home. It wasn't until I looked into the mirror that I saw...

My face was cut open and smeared with dried blood. I could barely see because my eyes were so swollen. My clothes were ripped... And I was covered in mud... There was so much blood...

Speech a bit staggered at the start but gets hysterical by the end

I feel torn. My head hurts all the time! My body hurts when I think about it.

I can feels his hands on me all of the time. It's like...like they're burned into my skin. I can hear his breathing every time I close my eyes. I can still hear the people laughing as they walk by without even realising what's happening right beside them... (Takes sharp deep breaths)

Speaks to unseen party

How could you say I'm safe? I'll never be safe. You don't understand. I live through this all the time. I'm stuck in that one moment. It's as if it happens to me every day and no-one will help me!!!

Pause

Points

They wouldn't help me. They had to have heard something. How could they let this happen to me? It's all their fault. They did this to me. If they had just seen me. It was at the side of the road. What if they'd paid attention? They would have seen his face and then I could have done something about it but what happened? What did they do?

NOTHING!!

I couldn't leave the house for weeks. I had to hide from my family. I was beaten to within an inch of my life that day and I couldn't tell anyone. I had something so precious taken from me that night. I bled for days. I lost a part of who I was and you sit there asking me questions about it trying to make me feel better! You're probably sitting there thinking 'Well didn't you deserve it you stupid bitch!?' That's exactly what’s going through your head. My life was ruined that night and you're on his side!!!

Pause, looks at unseen party

Who do I blame?

Myself...

It was all my fault... I shouldn't have been walking alone. I thought I was I was doing the right thing by going home early. I wasn't drunk. I hadn't even been drinking that night. I was the one who walked out there alone...

(Dejected tone for end of this)

It was all my fault...Maybe I wanted this to happen... I asked for it…

All my fault....