Self. Body. Acceptance.

So usually in my blogs I try to give advice through my own experiences. Before, I have posted personal advice about dealing with depression, anxiety and everything else that goes with being an overly complicated and over-thinking millennial. But this time, I think it is me who is asking for advice, for help.

My name is Joanna, I am 27 years old, and I cannot accept my body.

No, I don’t have a disability. Yes all my limbs work. I don’t have a degenerative disease slowly taking away abilities. I am not overweight (at least not by average everyday standards – I don’t think). I can even dance a little.

I just simply cannot love my body.

Sure, there are days when I look in the mirror and I think ‘ooh, that bit looks nice today’ or ‘wow haven’t my legs improved with all this exercise I’ve been doing’ but as soon as you can shout ‘HORMONES-A-COMIN!’ I am staring at myself and poking my wobbly bits, convincing myself I have cellulite for days, fat gigantic arms and a stomach that resembles a 5 month pregnant lady.

It frustrates me so because in every other aspect of my life I seem to have brought myself to a place of peace, of acceptance, of euphoric and celebratory weirdness.

When I was younger I suffered from eating disorders. I used to starve myself for say, a couple weeks, drop lots of weight, be overwhelmed with hunger and stuff myself silly with everything I could find. One day I would pouring crumbs of cereal into a bowl and a dash of milk and leaving it in the sink so my poor mother would think I had eaten breakfast and the next day I would be eating icing sugar with a spoon. I used to throw away my lunch, be ‘too tired’ for dinner and eat a pint of ice cubes at my evening am-dram rehearsal. I tried making myself sick for a while and it worked but I didn’t enjoy it much and it made my voice red-raw so I opted for taking the Cadbury’s chocolate mini rolls into the toilet with me and chewing them up and spitting them out so that I could ‘just get the taste but not the calories’. I ate kitchen paper, smoked cigarettes, became a diet coke addict, all so that I could have a body like Britney Spears. Her super low-slung jeans and her oiled-up stomach haunted my dreams at night and my every waking thought. It was all I wanted. And if I got it, I told myself I could achieve everything I ever dreamed.

Now, I’m sure a few people out there are utterly shocked at this and a few others (including close friends of mine) are unfortunately thinking ‘that’s nothing, I was hospitalized, I couldn’t stop myself and I nearly died’ and here’s where it gets really horrible. I was JEALOUS of those people. I wanted to get so thin that I might break. I hated anyone who could resist eating for just a day longer than me. I went on pro-ana websites and printed off images of seriously ill women and pritt-sticked them into a sketch book next to lyrics I’d found that encouraged me to keep going. If I caved and ate anything I was a failure. So you can only imagine how I felt after an almighty binge. A dear friend of mine told me how she was hospitalized when she was young and how horrific it was and all I could think was ‘I’m so jealous, she is so much stronger than I am to get to that point’.

Yep. Totally fucked up.

Anorexia is an illness that affects more of us than we realize. But unfortunately until that person is literally dying from starvation no one really has the guts to do anything about it or help. It seems, to most people, that it’s not really a problem until it is REALLY a problem. And up until that point it is mostly attention seeking. I never got help. It’s not that my parents weren’t loving and attentive – my Mum certainly noticed the fluctuations at times. But I was a well functioning kid. I got good grades, I never passed out (much to my disdain) and to be honest, apart from a few brief moments in time, I would usually have been described as more ‘chubby’ than thin.

It didn’t get easier on my move to drama school. Now there were boys. Proper boys that lived in their own house-shares and could party all night with us at our house with no curfew. I had only just turned 18 and I came from Somerset. This was big news. I fell in love rapidly with no chance to stop myself. I told him everything. I wrote terrifying poetry about my need to be thin and my unhappiness in my own skin. Obviously the poor sod thought this was a bit full-on and quickly broke up with me (while I was naked in his bed – thanks mate) and so I was heartbroken and the cycle continued. At this point I got very thin. An average day’s food intake would be about 30g of frozen veg quickly zapped in the microwave. People started to show concern. Family and friends would seem alarmed and be checking that I was ok. Teachers, on the other hand, would congratulate me on my fantastic weight loss and ENCOURAGE ME TO KEEP GOING.

And, here’s the kicker, I STILL didn’t like my body. I felt awkward and un-womanly. I looked at myself in the mirror confused about who I was and what I was supposed to do with this strange and gangly body.

I spiraled back and forth for a number of years. Shortly after this thin period I suffered 4 losses in my life (yes, 4) and I got very fat. Crisps are a brilliant comforter. Returning to drama school I was told that I was ‘too pretty to be fat’ and that I needed to change. On and on it went through graduating, working, comments from older actors advising me that I would work more if I lost a few pounds (like this wasn’t already consuming the inside of my brain day in, day out), through breakups and house moves and unemployment, back and forth I would go. Constantly trapped in a never-ending self-hatred.

This was my main overriding thought: I do not want to be the type to conform to an ideal body size in order to obtain leading roles. But, I do not want to never fulfill my dreams because of my body size.

Just over a year ago, a friend suggested a wonderful book to me called ‘Intuitive Eating’ and I can, hand on heart, say it changed my life. The ideas in the book are perfect and would help anybody. I’m not going to tell you what they are, you just need to read the book. But anyway, the book changed my life, I have formed a relationship with food that is mostly healthy, I rarely binge, I NEVER starve myself and most importantly, the idea of crazy crash diets has long been thrown out the window. So, all’s well that ends well, right?

Well…..

I tried on my wedding dress the other day and I thought I looked fat. Now this is the most beautiful dress I have ever seen, let alone spent a lot of money on (thanks parents, Grandma). Why the FUCK (sorry parents, Grandma) did I think I looked fat?

I am not a size 8. And my ass is not a size 10. I think I am taller than I actually am. I look in the mirror and I CANNOT SEE WHAT I AM. I cannot tell if I am fat or thin or just right or in proportion or if I have weirdly large thighs, thin arms, fat arms, tiny waist or just tiny because the rest of me is super large. Am I pretty? Or am I just alright at make-up? Are my boobs banging or are they flobby pieces of lard that hang unattractively from a not-as-bony-as-I-would-like chest?

I am sick to death of it.

Hello, my name is Joanna, I am 27 years old and I can’t even SEE my body for what it really is, let alone accept it.

So what do I do? Well, old habits die hard. I exercise twice daily and put myself on a calorie restrictive diet. I become obsessed and hostile towards other people’s perfect bodies. I become angry. All the while in the back of my head, a resilient little voice is going ‘you don’t need this, you’ve come so far and you KNOW this isn’t right’. At the end of a torturous week I step on the scale to see I’ve GAINED half a pound.

Next thing I do is throw it all in the pan, eat 2 plates of curry and a chocolate bar and buy several self-help books on amazon. Yes, I realize I am a walking cliché. No, I don’t know what to do about it.

The thing is, I think, unless I torture myself, this is the shape and size my body is supposed to be. But I still yearn for something that it’s not. It begins to consume me and it bloody wastes my time. Most of me realizes that the only answer is to just keep going. Keep exercising (for your health) and eating fresh (for your health) and the rest will just fall into place. Most of me understands this. But there is still a large part of me that aims and wishes to be something other, something unachievable.

I need to learn to ACCEPT myself as I am, right now.

I don’t want to be the old lady that regrets that she spent her entire young life worrying about how fat she looked in high-wasted skinny jeans.

How do I do it?

I am at my wits end. I want to love myself. I want to embrace myself. I want to walk with confidence and not feel uncomfortable in every outfit that I have lovingly and elegantly put together. I want to walk into a room and feel that I’m being greeted with love, not everybody inwardly commenting about how chubby I am. I want to feel beautiful. I want to accept my body shape. I want to change my undying and unconscious opinion of what beauty is.

If I want all of this so badly then why can’t I find a way in?

Answers on a postcard, please.

Love,

Woman writing at laptop with cute cat sat on her slightly too wide lap. 

xxx

CRISIS

The mid-twenties crisis is a real thing and I am living it.

Once upon a time I was a cool, often inebriated, young thing, that partied all night and ate pizza all day. I had bleached blonde hair and wore crazy clothes. I sang in strip clubs for money, drank 4 bottles of Cava and rolled home in a taxi covered in glitter and McDonalds grease. I slept all day like a starfish in my house-share in Walthamstow, did every waitressing job possible to pay the bills and stripped off my clothes at every lock-in while fellow drunks proclaimed me hilarious and fun.

That girl is no more.

What is it about reaching your mid-twenties and completely reassessing your entire life structure? I’ve felt it coming. I slowly went through every hair colour imaginable coupled with drinking in every swanky cocktail bar I could find. I started feeling more shy and reserved, spending money on furniture and craving nights in with a cheesecake and a single fork. 

Eventually I have ended up here. Staring at myself in the mirror like I’m a giant question mark.

Nowadays I have brown hair and I wear a lot more jeans. I make green smoothies for breakfast and my google history reveals things like ‘the benefits of quitting drinking’ and ‘how to become a buddhist’.

I realize that both the bleached blonde and jean-wearing-brunette scenarios sound completely bonkers and like an idea for a Bridget-Jones-meets-Girls sitcom but I think I’m onto something. And I’m not alone. I only had to mention to the other girls at work that I couldn’t really drink anymore without turning into a suicidal snap-dragon and everybody my age completely agreed. The girls over thirty looked at me with a knowing smile. They knew. They’d been through all of this and come out the other side realizing that there’s more to life than trying to find out what will happen if you finish an entire bottle of tequila. But how do we get to that comfortable 30-year-old place? How many more embarrassing nights out, hair colours, fitness routines, religions and sparkly Asos mini-dresses do I need to get through before I become a well-rounded, stable individual who doesn’t overthink every waking moment of the day?

I think the problem is this: I am an adult now. I have a proper job and a house and a fiancé and I often feel broody and think about which shade of beige will look nice in the en suite. But by letting go of my past wildness I feel like I am losing a part of myself and like I never really knew who I was in the first place. Was I always just playing a role? Am I now just playing a new role? Who the HELL am I anyway?

How do we get back to ourselves? How do we pursue true happiness? Answers on a postcard, please.

Personally, despite the fear I have about change and the fact that sometimes when people I ask me a question I feel like I no longer have the skills to answer truthfully because I JUST DON’T KNOW HOW I FEEL, I know I am on the right path. I am forever trying new things to explore who this new me should be. And instead of moving through it with obsessive fear I should try to enjoy these new discoveries about myself. I enjoy learning, so why not make myself the new project of ambition?

I have given up social media to see what that was like.

I have died my hair back to my natural colour to see how that makes me feel.

I have stopped drinking and challenged myself to a big night out with only hilarious sober jokes with which to entertain.

I have searched for solo trips to India to spend two weeks doing nothing but meditating.

I have written a list of all the places in the world I suddenly want to go.

I have looked at maternity clothes online even though I’m not even thinking of getting pregnant.

I have planned out my whole life one day and then scrapped it and made an entirely new plan the next.

I’ve looked at masters degrees, new careers, volunteering, borrow my doggy, life drawing classes, tree-houses in the woods, piano lessons and becoming a vegan.

I think the point I am trying to make is that this mid-twenties crisis is actually a real thing and you are not alone. And that instead of putting pressure on yourself and questioning your every motive just go forth and learn. You are suddenly realizing what a big, huge, enormous world this is and how much possibility there lies within it. You are not this ‘thing’ that you labeled years ago with a fashion or a personality. You are you and you are ever changing. Ever evolving and learning and growing. And how exciting is that?!

Turn that frown upside down and jump in. Then tell yourself it’s ok to go home, stick on your PJs and have a nice cup of tea.

Depression: The Silencer

What does it feel like?

It feels like everything slows down, like the world is moving through slow mud or quick sand. My limbs feel heavy and I can't move at my normal pace. Everything is hard work, from lifting my arm to climbing the stairs. The people around me seem fast and wild and happy, expertly navigating their way through crowds and emotions. I sit on the side lines, baffled. I cannot join in. I do not have the skills. I do not have the love. I am a stranger. I do not belong here.

Wanting to hide, wanting to cry. Longing for bed as it seems like under the duvet is the only place for rest but when I get there, there is no peace.

It feels like a mask over my eyes, like a weight pushing down my eyelids. Like something is forcing me to cover up, to bury myself, to push my eyes deeper into myself. I do push my eyes into myself, I make them sore with wiping and pushing and itching, my hands searching for some kind of end, some darkness, trying to block everything out and find clarity inside myself.

I am ugly. I am heavy. I am not worthy. I am not clever enough to understand the point of it all and yet I understand it all so deeply.
I can't eat. I shouldn't eat. I am deeply hungry. I starve. I binge. I cry.
I am horrible to those around me. I blame people for not approaching me. I punish those that do.
The special person that cares for me, I hurt him with words I don't mean. Expecting him to understand something I cannot understand myself. I am destroying myself. I am manic. I am lost.

I am silent. I sit and I breathe and I watch. I go about my business and my job as best I can. I am the miserable girl at work. I am struggling.

I don't know how much you can see or how much you care to see. I am drowning inside myself. I keep myself to myself. It is not your problem. I don't want this to be your problem. It is my problem. The problem is me.

What does it feel like?

Change

Change.

What is it that makes it so scary? Without change we would never grow or learn or have anything new and get it's always so scary to leave the old behind. Nothing needs to be forever, I know that, but sometimes it can feel like a whirlwind has gobbled you up and all you can do is chant 'just keep swimming, just keep swimming' like the hyperactive and disturbed fish from Finding Nemo.

Everything is good in my life. Everything is moving in the direction I want it to but it is terribly hard to say goodbye to bits of yourself that have been your home for however long. Maybe it's because I'm an actor and adapting to new personaities is a skill that we have to have but I am actually nervous that all this change is going to change me. 

We're moving house. I've left cabaret - a huge part of myself - to pursue my dream job. We're going to get a cat and car. I'm going to die my hair brown. Ok, that last one sounds like it doesn't belong in the list but changing the way you identify yourself is quite a massive deal, particularly for women.

I've always been insecure about my weight and body. When I discovered Marilyn Monroe, I clung to her like a lifejacket. She was blonde and curvy and sexy as hell. I held onto my blonde sexiness for a long time. And now.....whether it's from exploring playing the part of Carole King - an apparently very comfortable, boyish woman when it comes to style, someone whose work comes first and appearance after - or whether it's from my wonderful therapy sessions and me exploring actually being happy in my own skin....I feel....well, I feel different.

I feel grown up.

I suppose, maybe, I feel like I am going through some monumental change within myself. That I am finding myself? To be honest, I thought I had myself pinned the moment I discovered Marilyn Monroe and the 50s. I feel like I'm peeling back the layers to find the girl I actually am, the girl who, for so many years, tried to reinvent herself to create happiness.

I'm tired of fighting to be the thinnest. I'm hot. If you don't think so, YOU'RE BLIND. Jokes. If you don't think so, I'm not your type. And it doesn't matter anyway right? Maybe I'll dye my hair and move house and have a breakdown because it's all too much. But then, you know, I figure I'll just buy a kitten and a bottle of champagne and sit down and try to figure it all out again.

It's just surprising how you can really feel you've arrived, and then suddenly feel like the journey's only just beginning. But that's life. One big scary journey. I don't know why I keep expecting it to settle down (and that I'd ever be happy if it did).

Is this a common thing for a woman of my age? Do you suddenly realise that going home to a loved one and not having a hangover is more interesting than whatever is at the bottom of that vodka bottle? Or am I just running away and burying my head in the sand? Ex-party-girl issues right here.

I think I'm on a journey to find true peace within myself, my life and the people that surround me. I think that this is the beggining of something beautiful. A new me. The real me. A me that doesn't punish myself for not being perfect, for not being everybody's cup of tea.

I propose a toast to women everywhere. Let us forever not fit in. Let us forever experiment. Let us create. Let us feast on life.

Here's to us!
International Women's Day 2015.

I choose
Here and now
And onwards
To love myself.
I will no longer punish myself
Or look in the mirror and
Compare my body to
Other perfection.
I am perfect.
I am my only me,
My one.
I will rise like a Pheonix from
The flames of self-hate.
Self-reprimand.
Self-harm.
I shall stand tall and proud and exclaim:
"I am wonderful".
I will understand my past and
Tunnel my future with
Focus.
Poise.
Setting a good example for
Women.
Girls.
The sex of birth, recreation and struggle.
I will fly.
I will fly.
Because I choose
Here and now
And onwards
To love myself. 

Sensitivity and Anxiety

As I trundle along, day by day, in an effort to self-heal, to blossom and to learn, I find myself wondering about the other culprit often found alongside the depths of depression: Anxiety.

I never talk about anxiety in the same context but unfortunately for me they come hand in hand.

Currently, I am rehearsing for a new West End musical. This, in itself, isn't *too* stressful. It is, of course, what I have always wanted to do and what I have trained for my entire life. I have found my levels of depression have depleted. I am medicating myself through joy and love for what I do. The stressful part for me comes because of the fact I am understuding an undeniably MASSIVE leading part. Again, this isn't a problem. It's a dream come true. But there's no denying that my nights are restless and my head is full to burst with lyrics and lines and mock scenarios of terror. And so the anxiety within me has begun to pop up again and say 'hello'.

The truth is, that when we are anxious, our body and soul functions on a much more 'fight or flight' mechanism. Everything is hightened and the smallest of issues can expand in our minds to become impressive problems and upsetting scenarios. I have found myself getting upset and nervous over the tiniest of things. Angry, even. This is no pretty thing when you are flung into a new job and desperately find yourself trying to make new friends. 'Do they like me? I don't think they like me. Oh god, why did I say that? Why is he being mean? Does she think I'm an idiot?'....and so forth.

How do we control ourselves to stop our little problems becoming catastrophic avalanches of stress? I am, of course, following my own advice for happiness (see earlier blog). These include: exercise, meditation and thinking positively. But sometimes you can feel a wee bit like you're forcing yourself to become happy and positive and this all adds to the pressure you are already putting upon yourself to be perfect around the new people you are already trying so hard to impress.

At this point in the blog, you, the reader, are probably thinking 'Woah. Just chill out!'. And you'd be right. But does anyone else feel like this phrase, when presented to you, only makes you do the opposite? Like when you were a kid and a bully tells you 'don't cry' and you immediately feel your cheeks flush red and your eyes begin to leak as you tense your buttocks in a vain attempt to stay strong.

Hormones don't help. Kudos to all the women out there who are trying to balance it all.

I don't really have a conclusion. It's the same old thing of 'let's all care for one another and be sensitive' - there's that word again: sensitive. Sensitivity.

As we become more in tune with our feelings do we become more sensitive? As we peel back the layers to reveal our inner truth and honesty does that make us weak somehow? I suppose, as we peel, we have to toughen up our new layers. Wearing your heart on your sleave is a wonderful motto for life but there will always be someone ready to make you feel low, or weak. And the truth is, that person probably doesn't even know they're doing it. The truth is, that person is on their own journey or self-discovery and it's their own anxiety and sensitivity causing them to muddy your path.

I'm going to lie low for a while. I'm only going to present my heart-displaying-sleave to those whom I feel deserve it. In other words, those I can trust. I'm not sure I like this. But maybe it will help me re-establish my own solid ground amogst the anxiety. And allow me to go forth, stronger and kinder, and ready to face my own challenges one step at a time.

Up and Away! (But for how long?)

This is a piece that I am forcing myself to write.

As you may or may not know, I often write about depression and it's relating issues. And my pieces usually come from a place of real knowing - meaning that I am usually suffering, badly, at the time I publish.

I thought it was about time that I write about it from a relatively happy place. A stable day. A stable couple of months if I'm truly honest.

I don't know how long I will feel this way or how quickly Mr. Black-Dog will be bothering other people before he's back scratching at my newly varnished door. But I'm trying to focus on the fact that I feel good RIGHT NOW. And what have I done to make myself feel good?

Here's a few things that I feel have really helped to make me happier and healthier:

1. Exercise. This can be a tricky one for me. As an ex-crash-dieter and eating-disorder-er, I often worry about introducing exercise into my life too whole-heartedly as old obsessions can begin to take hold. But the difference is that now, I'm not doing it to be skinny (though we all wish we could lose that annoying half a stone), no, this time I am looking at the long haul, the life long health, the strength, the healthy blood and bones, looking after ME.
Once you begin to see your body as important, once you care for yourself enough to stop with any self-destrcutive actions like binging, smoking, drug taking or drinking too much, you can begin to feel physically and mentally stronger, day by day. I'm not saying I think it's easy to suddenly regard oneself as a temple, I'm saying it's a marriage.
Like it or not, find a way to get up and exercise. Even if it's running on the spot in your onesie with one hand still firmly clinging onto your duvet in case you need to jump back into bed. Getting into a sweat is really bloody good for you. And as much as we procrastinate and think of reasons not to do it, no one ever regrets a work out.
When you finish, smile. Pat yourself on the back and say 'well done'. And then eat something yummy.
I bet you will feel better. At least a little. Pinky promise.

2. Meditation. Wait, don't sigh and call me a hippy-wanker. Meditation means different things to different people. It's giving yourself a break, a rest, without napping away the day. You are recharging your body and mind and relaxing your heart rate.
Whether it's looking into Mindfulness (I recommend Jon Kabat-Zinn. Start with his videos on youtube and follow up with his books and CDs if you get into it), or whether it's downloading apps onto your phone with more specific goals (Andrew Johnson apps are brilliant for dealing with different issues from weight loss to positive pregnancy). Sometimes, it's great just to lie on your bed with some relaxing music or your favourite album. Stop and actually listen to the music. This used to be so important to us when we were teenagers but how often do you allow yourself nowadays to lie down and really listen to your favourites?
Breathe calmly but don't enforce a change in your breathing. Meditation can only do good. Don't fester on sad or stressful subjects, breathe it out. Even if you burst into tears for absolutely no reason (I've done it), it's better out than in sometimes. You've given yourself the time to realign.
This is particularly important if you are an ex-smoker or someone trying to give up. The one AND ONLY thing I miss from smoking is giving myself five minutes of still. Now chuck that habit and give yourself twenty minutes.
Do it.

3. Positivity. If I haven't lost the cynics already....then this is for you.
I challange you. I challange you to listen to the things you say and think and try to turn them into a positive. Being grateful is a good way into this. What are you thankful for? Truly? Even if you can't see out of the blackness to be thankful for anything. Are you thankful for your legs or your eyes? Go on, tell me you're not thankful for the basic things that we take for granted. Actively thinking these things and practising gratitude will only bring more happiness into your life.
Try to find the light in everything, the silver lining. (Also, watch that film about silver linings and have a dance, on your own in your house, like you're Britney Spears in the 90s. It works).

In the words of Jon Kabat-Zinn: 'You don't have to like it but you have to do it'.
Cure yourself. I believe in you. And when you find yourself back in the darkness of depression, just remember you're not alone. I will be there too soon I'm sure.
But for now, I'm going to get out and LIVE.

When I go, I'm going like Elsie...

Now, I'm determined not to post one of those dramatic 'I'm leaving cabaret' type statuses. I don't want any drama and I certainly don't want any sympathy. But I'm not going to just fade away either without (at least personally) noting how wonderful and important my cabaret life has been.

Soon I'm about to embark on an exciting new job. In less than two weeks I start rehearsals for 'Beautiful' - The Carole King musical going to the west end. Our hopes are high for this to be a hit. On broadway it's doing exceedingly well. But, let's be honest, the west end doesn't have a great track record for new musicals at the moment. Still, fingers crossed and all being well, I will be in this musical for at least a year.

Due to this (and also some unfortunate behaviour that I have experienced), I am running away from cabaret for a while. And although it feels scary and strange, it also feels exciting and freeing and new.

I fell into cabaret. Almost by mistake. While on my cousin's hen do five years ago, I decided that the singer that I was hearing was not using the space well enough and due to my champagne-induced cockiness I went marching up to the host and told her that they needed me. I came back the following week to 'live audition' and the rest, as they say, is vaguely-well-known cabaret history.

I was a body-insecure girl. I was always veering to the wrong side of chubby for my liking and put myself through treacherous crash diets and the like all the way through my teenage years. But about 4 weeks into my new life as a cabaret singer I found myself wearing stockings and suspenders ACTUALLY IN FRONT OF PEOPLE and not feeling too bad about it. Actually, feeling really fucking excited. I learnt to be a woman in cabaret. (No, I'm not saying that wearing stockings makes you a woman) I'm saying that I slowly stopped being awkward and trying to hide my boobs or slim my hips, I started to embrace my curves. I discovered Marilyn Monroe, vintage clothing, high waisted pencil skirts, beautifully curled hair, high heels, red lips - ALL of which the emo hippy child from Glastonbury had never even thought of before.

I became a compere. And I was terrible. TERRIBLE. Not least of all because I hated it. But when you've left drama school and you're a full time waitress and an email pops up in your in box saying 'do you compere too?' you of course say 'yes indeed I do, when do I start?'.

Over the years my confidence in my compering grew. You write your schtick and you create your character and your branch out from your usual cabaret clubs. I found myself on a UK Tour hosting in theatres and then The Hurly Burly Show on the West End. I couldn't believe it. Little nervous me stood front and centre in a beaming spotlight talking to an audience of 400 - 2000 people all on my own and making them laugh. ENTERTAINING them. Madness. I once even performed my entire routine in italian to 2000 in Milan's massive theatre.

Anyway, this isn't supposed to read like a CV.

The people I have met in cabaret are the most incredible people you could ever wish to meet. I am welling up as I write this. I was thrust into a world of the most hard working people. Night by night a different venue. Creating every act and skill from scratch. Sewing on sequins, glueing on rhinestones, sewing until their fingers bleed. People who go out and create, who throw around electric carving knives and bowling bowls, people who set their tongues on fire, who hang upside down from a pole and plunge themselves to the floor. Beautiful burlesque dancers who taught me what it is to feel sexy, to embrace the tease, to immerse oneself in glamour and sexual resplendency.

I have made real, long life friends. I have talked about periods and anal sex in a corridor with women as they stick a merkin on their vagina. I have seen real heartbreak, I have seen real drunkeness, I have lost myself in the underground world of gin and dancing and nakedness. I have sung songs and looked into the audience begging my poor lonely heart to love. I have looked into the audience and seen my love. I have passionately sung 'Cabaret' a gazillion times and believed every word with every fibre of my being. I have spent too much money on corsets and long dresses. I have hung from the ceiling of a strip club singing Shirley Bassey. I have laughed until I can't breathe and my corset forces out a little wee. I have cried, I have been angry, I have shouted and screamed.

I have loved you cabaret. And my goodness I shall miss you. The people mostly. But also that part of me that I found that I didn't think was there. Coco, the girl who gets up and makes people laugh, the entertainer, the clown, the part of me that says 'yep. I'm going to sing a classical song and strip out of a reindeer onesie' because why the fuck not? Life is too short. Things come to an end. And I feel like this may be our end, Coco.

Sometimes, you have to close a door in order to force yourself to move on. I have given nearly five years to cabaret. Five incredible years. But now I must become the actress I've always wanted to be and become the writer that I know I can be. New adventures, new roads to drive, new places to see.
New people to meet.

But. To the people I have met along the way, the people that have made my life so very full and beautiful, THANK YOU. You mean more to me than any blog can ever explain.
And Holy Crap, we made some memories.

"What good's permitting some prophet of doom to wipe every smile away?
Life is a cabaret, old chum, so come to the cabaret"