confidence Archives : Me, Annie Bee.

I thought the bride looked awful…

Anna — Sun, 29 Apr 2018 18:04:47 +0000

I must make a confession , one that I’m not proud of. What did I do that was so bad? I told the bride she looked awful at her wedding. It wasn’t my proudest moment and, in my defence, my hormones were leading the charge. Let me start at the start…. I recieved the email I had been awaiting for four weeks (I am impatient), saying that our wedding photos were ready to view. HUZZAH! I couldn’t wait to see them. We gathered round the laptop and began to click through the 200 photos and, as we did, my heart sank. The pictures were beautiful, the colour and composition was perfect. They really, truly captured a moment and a feeling, yet still I was sad. Why? Because in many of the picture lurked this neckless, hunched troll-like blob ruining every shot. I quickly shut down the laptop and went off to cry. My wonderful (but not waterproof) Soap and Glory eyeliner ensured that it was an ugly cry just to REALLY make me feel shit. I was so sad and embarassed. Poor Rory had married THAT! I messaged Erica who did what any good friend would do – told me to give myself a shake and that she would slap me if she were closer. After throwing myself a small pity party and pulling on my big girl pants, I went back to the photos and looked through them again. I REALLY looked at them and decided I had to choose some to put on Facebook where everyone would see and judge them. As I went through the pictures I got really cross with myself. The first time I’d looked at them, I had done so in the way I thought other people would look at them. I had picked out every flaw in the way I assumed everyone else would. What I didn’t do was look and see how happy I was, I didn’t acknowledge that every picture contained pure joy. How dare I do that to myself? More to the point, why would I even assume others would do that to me, I’m sure they have more important things going on. I’m the kind of person who likes to big up other women, I think we’re all fantastic. I’d like to think I’d be one of the first to tell someone off for being hard on themselves yet here I was looking at pictures of the happiest day of my life and ripping myself to pieces. Why can’t I be kinder to myself? Worst of all, what am I teaching Aoife by behaving in such a way? I want her to grow up to be full of pride and confidence, instead I’m demonstrating how to be self critical and full of self loathing? That’s so not cool Anna! A massive parenting faux pas! I gave myself a stern talking to and made a decision. No matter how hard it is and how weird it feels I’m going to start being nicer to myself. I’ve now looked at my beautiful wedding photos a few times and I see them differently. My smile may not be perfect but it’s the only one I’ve got. The face may not be the most beautiful (or youthful) but it’s mine. That gorgeous dress may not have been designed with this squidgy body in mind but it made me feel pretty. I see a happy woman with beautiful family with wonderful friends, the kind I always hoped I’d deserve some day. I see the most perfect day of my life. They’re the best wedding photos ever. They capture happiness, family and friendship and it’s all mine. Being kind to myself is not easy but it’s better for my eyeliner.

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Off up a mountain, BRB

Anna — Sat, 30 Jul 2016 18:20:00 +0000

After a lengthy trip from North Yorkshire we have arrived in Wales! From the minute we crossed the border I’ve pointed to pretty much every hill and said to Rory “Is that it?” None of them have been it yet but they’ve all been pretty frickin’ big, apparently it’s bigger. EEEEEK I know I’ve gone on about it a fair bit but this is my blog and I can do what I want, also this going up a mountain lark IS a big deal to me. Some people have implied I won’t make it up, others have implied it’s a piece of piss and not that big a deal. But to me it’s massive. Not just literally. I’ve admitted before, I’m fat. I’m fine with that. Well I’m not, I hate it but that’s what I am right now and I’ve got to live with it until I can change it. I’ve always been fat, for as long as I can remember, even when I got down to a size 12 I thought I was really fat. I don’t think there’s any pleasing me. Anyway, as much as I know folk have so many better things to concern themselves than me, I’ve always had this weird kind of hang up. I don’t like to eat in public. A restaurant isn’t so bad but I’d never pick up a sandwich or cake from a bakery and eat it in a public place. Why? Because I honestly think that people will look and think “she’s so fat she doesn’t need to be eating that” In the same way I’ve always pretended I’m absolutely not interested in running or doing active stuff. It’s ‘not my thing’ but in reality I’d really quite like to. I often think it’d be nice to run or play a sport or frolic in a meadow, the problem is I go a shade of red when I exercise. Not just red,more a maroon colour! Not only am I fat and wobbly but I’m bright red too, like a beacon. Not a good look. Now I know, I KNOW other people aren’t looking at me but my brain tells me otherwise and I am so scared that someone will say something mean and I’ll feel so ashamed of myself and so I avoid this scenario. A few weeks back, I went paintballing for my brothers birthday, I wanted to go but I also really didn’t. I thought I’d end up sat in the middle of a forest being shot as I was the easy target. It was actually brilliant fun. I loved it, (to my surprise). I had to draw the line at Go Ape for my best friends birthday though. Ropes can break with too much weight, I’m not a fan of heights either. Anyway, I digress. Paintballing was so much fun I opened my mind to doing other active stuff and that’s how I’m sat here in Snowdonia, drinking wine, putting glittery laces in my ugly shoes (thank you Lilpot) and preparing to climb Snowdon tomorrow. We will be heading up that bad boy at 7 am in hope that it will be pretty quiet. I will wear a face full of make up, not because I’m vain, but because I feel so shockingly fat and uncomfortable in the walking ‘gear’ that I need to at least feel like my face is it’s normal self. I will struggle to do it because I am unfit. I will moan and whinge all the way because that’s how I roll. It will be a massive challenge for me, psychologically more than physically. I know fitter people than me will trot up like mountain goats like it’s a mere blip on the horizon. But I WILL do it and I will try so hard not to listen to my brain telling me that folk are looking at me a judging me when they’re not. And if anyone DOES have the lack of manners to say something mean, I’m going to push them down the mountain and pretend it wasn’t me…..

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“Blessed are the curious for they shall have adventures”

Anna — Tue, 26 Jul 2016 18:21:00 +0000

We’re two days into the school holidays and I’m actually quite looking forward to climbing that mountain at the weekend just for a bit of bloody peace! Aoife is tired, I think she needs to sleep for a week. As we’ve learnt, a tired (or hungry) Aoife is a grumpy Aoife. She is talking a lot but saying very little and on the rare occasions she has run out of things to say she just makes noises. Or sings. It’s constant! She starts asking for lunch at 8.30 am (after her two and a half course breakfast). She starts asking for dinner before she’s even finished her lunch! Then “What can I have on Thursday?” “On Thursday?” “Yes on Thursday, for dinner” “Aoife man, we’ve not finished Tuesday yet!” Aoife is also spending a lot of time next to me. Like RIGHT next to me. Like ‘I can’t move one side of my body as she’s attached to me’, next to me. Don’t get me wrong, I love cuddles with her and that she wants to be with me but I get a little claustrophobic when she’s RIGHT THERE. “If you’re happy and you know it tap your head….why aren’t you tapping your head?” “Because I’m making you more flipping food!” Meanwhile, Seth is becoming increasingly frustrated because he is still a boy of very few words and I’m a Mummy who sometimes just can’t guess what he wants. I have come to realise that a plastic cup thrown at me means “Mummy, could you kindly fill this receptacle with a beverage for I am rather thirsty”. Being shoved towards the kitchen means “Could you be a doll and prepare me some dinner please?” At the dinner table, a shove or kick of my right elbow translates as “Please put more food in my face”. Unfortunately I still don’t know what ‘shrill scream’ means and I can’t change a DVD quite fast enough for his liking. Both of them think that because there’s a lot of me I make a terribly good bouncy castle/ trampoline/crash mat so I’m constantly being dived on. I tried doing a workout with them around, they seemed to think that me doing sit-ups meant “Please, one of you sit on my throat whilst the other elbow drops me in the stomach” And a push up is clearly an invitation to pretend I am a bridge. As I said, that mountain looks VERY appealing and I’m strangely looking forward to it now. We’ve booked a lovely little cottage, right in the middle of a field. It looks gorgeous and cosy. The kind of place that a British horror film would be made, you know the one. Lovely, peaceful surroundings. Calm and relaxing. The children aren’t there, the silence is deafening. You let your guard down, there’s no one around. You leave the door open to let in a breeze…. NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM. That kind of place. No children though. Perfect. On Sunday I put on my ugly shoes to ‘wear them in’, a professional walking term I believe. I got them on eventually after tripping over them and nearly putting my hip out (seriously, I’m getting injured before I even leave Leeds, I wasn’t feeling positive)! I feel ridiculous in them, like the love child of Herman Munster and Wreck it Ralph. It’s like I lose all control of my feet and crush everything in my path. My PE kit is all clingy and unflattering to anyone with a wobbly bit (of which I have a few) I’m hoping this works in my favour and will make me move faster so no one will see me. I ordered everything in black so I’d blend in but now am secretly worried that I’ll fall down a crevice (or canyon would be more my size) and I’ll blend in too much and no one will find me. I can’t imagine Vodafone has great mountain coverage. My mum is lending me a waterproof jacket to complete the sexy mountain ensemble and I’ve absolutely drawn the line at a ‘fleece’ *retch*. Rory says we don’t need a compass as neither of us know how to use one anyway. I hope he’s right or the poor lad will be getting in the ear for ETERNITY if he loses me. Or maybe that’s his hope. I’ve dyed my roots, painted my nails and dug out my waterproof eyeliner. I’m ready to rock and roll (hopefully not literally). Do me a favour, if I’ve not updated my blog by Friday 5th could you please alert the relevant authorities. I’ll probably be up Snowdon, blending in in black and weeping, send one of those wine dogs!

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“There ain’t no cure for the Summertime blues”

Anna — Tue, 07 Jun 2016 17:04:00 +0000

It’s 22 degrees outside. For those of you outside of the UK, this is a pretty big deal! Just one more degree and we’ll be complaining en masse about how it’s far too hot and we can’t possibly survive it much longer. We’re a fickle bunch. We don’t know how long this sunshine will last so we’re all over it straight away. Sun cream is being liberally applied. Paddling pools are being filled with ice cold water. BBQs are being dragged into the garden and that dusty bottle of Pimms are being pulled out of the cupboard. SUMMER IS HERE! That means only one thing. No, not bronzing in a beer garden without a care in the world. Not frolicking through a meadow in a swishy white dress and a straw hat with my children by my side. It means fretting about my nowhere near ‘Summer ready’ body. It’s that time of year where it’s too hot to wear clothes so the cardigan is relegated and the bingo wings are out. (Boots have been warning me it’s time to prepare but once again, like every year past, I just left it too late. ) I hate it, really hate it. Actually no. I love the summer. I love the warmth on my face and the fact that life is just that little bit brighter in the sunshine. What I hate is the feeling that I’m either hanging out all over the place or slowly cooking inside. The sunshine also brings with it the Summer wardrobe. An interesting and eclectic mix of fashions. There are those who are wearing jumpers, fleece jackets, scarfs and cardigans as if it’s 5 degrees outside and then there are those wearing next to nothing. Topless men and women in little more than bras as if that suddenly became acceptable in Waitrose (Oh how terribly posh). I scorn at these people in all their fleshy goodness. I say to myself “really, is that really school run attire?” but the reality? I’m jealous. There, I said it. My name is Anna and I am jealous. I’m jealous of those ladies with a thigh gap and boobs that probably stay right there even without a bra and those lines on their stomachs. I believe they’re called ‘Abs’. I’m jealous of their short shorts and strappy vests and slightly bulgey bits at the top of their arms (or ‘muscles’). Then I’m jealous of those larger women. The ones with the muffin top over their skinny jeans. Their back boobs. Their bingo wings, their cleavage that looks a bit like a leather bike stand. In both cases it’s not the bodies I’m jealous of, it’s the confidence that those women ooze. The confidence in themselves and their bodies that makes them feel so utterly comfortable dressing for the heat and in a way that makes them feel happy and cool. Take Tess Holliday as an example. I am so jealous and in awe of her. I don’t look at her and think ‘I’d like a body like hers’, not because there is anything wrong with her body, it’s fab, I just figure if I’m unhappy with my body as it is, then gaining weight won’t make me happier (I’d have her face though! She is one pretty dame). It’s the confidence she exudes that I’m jealous of. It’s immense. She is so genuinely happy and comfortable being her. She absolutely does not give a shit about bingo wings, flobby thighs or what people think. Where does this confidence come from? Is it innate or can it be learned? I asked this question a few years back on Facebook and my lovely friends who would never say mean things to my face (but probably say mean things behind my back because, y’know, that’s how people are) all commented on how I should be proud and confident as this body had made, carried and birthed children. It had done exactly what it was designed for and it has the badges to show its achievements. The stretch marks, the kangaroo pouch, the deflated boobs (I can’t blame the bingo wings, fat arse and thighs on my children, they’re thanks to crappy genes, wine and chocolate). My lack of confidence in my body isn’t due to having children. It’s something that’s lingered since my dawn of time. For as long as I can remember I’ve been aware that I was fat and felt uncomfortable in my body. When I met Rory I was probably the slimmest I’d ever been (I oft feel sorry for him, he must feel a bit conned at times, he fell for a fitty and now has a fatty) but I really thought I was fat. It was wasted on me. Today, I’d give a limb to be that slim again, heck if I actually lost a limb I still wouldn’t be as light as I was then! I’ve mentioned before that I’ve been doing slimming world, I lost nearly two stone* (stands and bows). On the one hand I was very pleased with myself, on the other I saw no difference and felt as big as I’ve ever done. Though, rather sweetly, Aoife tells me ‘mummy you’re not fat, you’re beautiful’. *heartmelt* This almost counteracts the times when she pushes her hand onto my tummy declaring with delight “look mummy, it goes really far in”. Thing is, due to this stupid lack of body confidence, I’m sat here sweltering in the heat in a pair of cropped jeans, upstairs in a drawer I have a pair of jersey shorts that I bet will be lovely and cool but I won’t go and put them on in case I gross Rory out when he gets in and he realises that (shock, horror) I gained some weight in the last 8 years! Plus side, I may sweat the pounds off! So, how do I get me some body confidence? Is it available from Amazon? Is it just the hand we’re dealt? Like they only had 70% confidence to dish out to humans and I was in the loo so I missed out on it? More importantly, how do I make sure Aoife and Seth grow up with body confidence? They have tonnes now, they both love to run around naked and think nothing of how they look. Since birth both have ‘enjoyed’ comments like “Oh isn’t s/he heavy” “How much does s/he weigh” “Isn’t s/he big” “S/he looks like s/he eats well” from loving family members and I’ve managed to counteract that by saying “They’re just old and silly” But what if it leaves a mark? What if that’s the chink in the armour that can be slowly chipped away at by media, society and peers? My worry is they will become, overtime, body unconfident. Somehow, it’s my job to stop that happening…… So, while everyone else is enjoying the sun, feeling cool and wonderful, I’ll continue to feel rather awkward with my arms out and rather warm with my jeans on and fretting about my ‘Winter ready’ body. Admit it, come winter those with the short shorts and the thigh gaps will be envious of me with my blubber to warm me up. I’d also be very useful in an ‘Alive’ situation, I could feed a small group for quite a while. *and put the best part of one back on. Booooooooooooo

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