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Wednesday 23 December 2020

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.

Tuesday 15 December 2020

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.

Thursday 3 December 2020

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.