Quick Pop of Hope

This was my feeling this morning... but the day seems to have spun out.

I suppose its easier to slouch in the bushes than to stand proud balancing on a sunny branch. It's easier to be complacent and when trying to find healthy balance, our muscles both physical, spiritual and mental strain. 

I pulled and stretched my physical body in yoga last night, exceeding the limits my mind had placed on my body, allowed some calm to descend, opened myself to love and as a result had an emotional break down in the gym change room. It was embarrassing and yet cathartic.

I absolutely believe that our emotions get stuck in between our muscles, like crumbs in between the couch cushions... They itch until we shake them out. 

Balance is beautiful once achieved but not achieved overnight - so I continue trying, stretching and strengthening. Even if it hurts sometimes.

FOLLOW UP MOAN – Your Concept of My Beauty

Ok, this post is the continuation of my moan from earlier.

I have short legs, toddler knees, small feet for my height with short toes, a tummy, bendy fingers, unruly hair, and a family chin. I also have killer legs, cute ears, beautiful eyes and the perfect nose. And even after all these years my leg hair grows out blonde.

I love me – why do I worry about what everyone else thinks?

I’m trying very hard at gym, admittedly my eating isn’t perfect and I’m for the most pretty emotionally stable. I seem to be writing again, albeit when insecure and moody, but it makes me feel better.

Maybe I need to project some love on myself, find a better moisturiser and start swigging my way into my 4th litre of water for the day.

Peace & love darlings
xxx

YOUR CONCEPT OF MY BEAUTY.

First a thought – why when someone sees my photo online and they message me to tell me I’m beautiful/pretty/sexy, do they not say it to my face? Suddenly they are very encouraging of my exercise program because I “carry more weight than suits my bone structure”. I didn’t want their sycophantic praise to begin with, and I certainly don’t want their critique. Ok granted they don’t call me fat every time, but I really want to start poking my finger at their wild chest hair growth and point out that I will never be able to wear heels near them without towering above them, and that they smell funny, or need a pedicure. Don’t get me wrong, I could learn to love a Hobbit, but not when they are calling me an Umpa Lumpa!

Ok, I am grossly exaggerating but sometimes it’s an overall perception rather than hard fact in life?

Sometimes I feel pretty, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I love my outfit, sometimes I don’t. I spent too much time in the sun this weekend and now my skin is an itchy cage for my soul. When it comes to sunscreen I’m damned if I do and stand a 50 % chance of being damned if I don’t. I’m allergic to sunscreen in my old age. I’m also partially allergic to the outdoor. I get hives. My lips dry out and crack. As I type my face feels like an itchy desert mask but I’ve drunk 3 litres of water and resorted to nipple cream as a moisturiser. Do I feel pretty – NO.

This is at risk of being a full blown pity party. Can’t I just be pretty? Can’t someone just say it for real who isn’t another girl or biologically linked to me? Yes, I’m probably just having a bad day, but for Franks Sake!!!!

 

Maybe I just need to accept that I'm pretty funny, pretty insane and pretty much me.

 

 

Mediocre Monday Moan

Time for some philosophical ramblings again… about getting what you think you want and then hating it.

A couple of weeks ago I went on a date with a boy who wanted to hold my hand in public. How sweet? How romantic? No. I felt trapped, stifled and panicked. 

I spent months lusting over a certain style of shoes, now I own those shoes and feel like a fraud if I wear them. They don’t feel like me.

Ok I’m not sure what more I have to say… just thinking about how bratty that is. What I really want versus what is expected of me? I should want to settle down and be sweet? But sometimes I just want the attention without the effort of actually being a nice person. I guess a sense of entitlement comes through. What would make me happy? If someone just handed me the keys to a brand new car? Told me that I never had to work again and could write a book for fun? If I woke up with a flat stomach?

I’m in such a mediocre self-obsessed cloud right now.

Yes, I’m probably thinking too much and being too mean. But goodness me… It’s not always easy to be nice.

Sometimes you just make friends with fear

What is normal? What is ok?

I totally beat myself up over my apparent failures in life. It’s like a bizarre internal battle ala Sia’s new Elastic Heart video (which I’m obsessed with, both song and video).

I’ve learnt in recovery that pretty much everyone battles not to be totally driven by the fear of not being good enough. A perfect body doesn’t mean that you are capable of a healthy relationship with another person, that you won’t be lonely. You can study and study, yet still not understand a billion things. You can be the most incredible artist or dancer, and someone will criticize your art.

Gosh look at the word criticize… say it, let it roll around your mouth for a moment. Critter-size? Criticize me and reduce me to the size of a bug you can squish under your cracked heels. Oops did I just judge you back?

How did we get to the point where we find it ok to hurt each other? I’ve said it before, how every so often I look at my own hands, my arms, I feel my own pulse – blue and fragile beneath the skin of my wrist. You are exactly the same as me. You hurt inside too. You live on the same hairline tight rope. So why do we thrash at each other? Would I be happier alone here?

I’m not even thinking of a specific human. It flickers between boys who have broken my heart to car guards who make my blood boil to friends who have thrown their hands over their eyes and fled from me. Look at me, I’m all bruised too. Maybe if I acknowledge your bruises you will acknowledge mine? I’m sorry if I inflicted any of those horrible purple blemishes. I’m really sorry.