Breaking the Bridal Body Belief

It's a long and stressful road for a woman in the run up to her wedding. Not just for all the obvious planning-related stresses (which really IS very stressful, go figure) but also because a bride, on her wedding day, is expected to look the most perfect version of herself. And when I say 'expected' I don't just mean the imaginary pressures we put upon ourselves of what our family and friends will think, because really, everybody there should be people who love you and would think you look beautiful weighing 58 stone and wearing a plastic bag on your wedding day. It's the added pressures of the beauty standards of all the millions of brides you've seen in bridal magazines, on Pinterest, or on 'say yes to the dress'. It's social media and all your beautiful dancer friends. It's the fact that these photos will last FOREVER AND EVER. But mostly, mostly it's the fact that so many other brides that you've met over the years has put themselves on a strict regime of eating nothing in preparation for the big day. It feels expected. 

Each and every little comment from fellow brides who look at you like they're just two eyeballs on a toothpick but their 'dress still doesn't fit' and from people telling you 'don't worry, you'll lose more weight anyway just because of the stress'. All these little niggly comments build up to make you feel more and more inadequate and feel more and more pressure to be perfect and THIN on your big day. 

Now, if you've followed any of my blog posts in the past you will know that I've had a very long and complicated relationship with body image, food and diets so I think it would be fair to say that I'm over sensitive and susceptible to the image pressures of being a super slim and perfect bride. After such a long timeline of extreme eating habits from verging on anorexia to dabbling with bulimia before full throttle binging, I've been spending the last couple years trying to cure myself and reach a place of total body confidence. And I've been doing really well. But the stress of the ideal wedding image has started to bring out my old nasty habits and A LOT of internal bullying. 

Two weeks ago I had a break through. I just stopped being nasty to myself and started telling myself how beautiful I am. I started to revel in my differences from other girls that I saw all around me and just downright refused to call myself fat anymore. I was in bliss. I had NEVER achieved this for more than five minutes let alone a whole week or so. I put it down to a mixture of the ageing process of not caring what people think so much anymore and also all my hard work and self discovery into beating the food demons. 

But, of course, the last couple days, with the wedding only a week away, the little demons have started to tap me on the shoulder and pinch my hip fat once more. 

All of the internal stresses and excitement of our upcoming nuptials has caused celebrations, nice food, alcohol and legitimate reasons to be too busy to go to the gym and the girl in the mirror is starting to threaten me again with self deprecating words. 

But it needs to stop. We, as women, need to stop confirming to each other that it is important to starve yourself before the big day. That being skinny on your wedding day is the most important aspect and that if you don't you will forever hate yourself in your photos. EVERYONE looks beautiful on their wedding day because they are happy. They are so happy that it beams out of their eyes and smiles and surges from their butt cheeks and armpits. 

My dear friend who recently got married said that it upsets her when she sees a perfect cardboard cut out of a starved bride on her wedding day. That she would rather see the 'real' person any day. I now agree with her (though at the time my first thought was 'easy for you to say, you are beautiful and a perfect size 8'). But she is right. I don't want to be the most perfect version of myself. I just want to be my ultimate real self. 

I am a human being. I am a woman. I am a bride. I may stress-eat my way to the wedding. I may be bloated with booming tits up to my chin because I'm due on my period. I am real and I am thankful for the body I have. Yes we can always eat better and exercise more. But ultimately it doesn't matter on this day. What matters is that you are there, and he is there, and the people you choose to share it with you are there. What matters is that you smile so much your cheeks ache. What matters is your union. 

I hear by promise to rock whatever body I wake up with next Sunday. I promise to cherish it and dance and feel like the most beautiful and loved woman that has ever lived. 

I promise to love myself. Because in the words of Whitney Houston "learning to love yourself, it is the greatest love of all".  

*Cracks open a beer. Breaks a nail. Calls off wedding* 

Learning from it. Accepting it.

So, this is a follow up from my blog post a few days ago about self acceptance and body image.

Firstly, I cannot express how much writing it down has made me feel so much better. It was a piece I have been wanting to get down in writing for many, many years but haven't felt ready to talk about it or admit all my issues. Mostly because some evil part of me hoped that I could still, in the future, shrink down again and keep all my demons a secret, as most people who suffer with eating disorders do.

But no. I have written and shared and admitted and I feel different now.

I make a promise to myself from here on in to love myself.
That is a scary thing to promise when you've dedicated your whole life to punishing yourself for not having a body that resembles an air-brushed barbie.
I had a lot of responses to the blog both online and also over the telephone, all of which have been helpful and interesting and allowed me to accept that it's all out in the open now. I thought that I should put what I've learned into a plan of action, both to help me stick to it but also to help anyone else out there who may be in a similar, recovering postition.

Here is how I promise to love myself:

1. When I look at the mirror at myself, or at photos of myself, I will not immediately look at myself from a place of judgement. I will smile, un-screw those brows and just look at myself as a person. I will not compare the width of my arm in a photo to the width of the girl stood next to me. I will see myself naked and be thankful for what I have. I am not skinny, but I am BANGING. You heard it here first, back off all those who think otherwise.

2. Eat what you want, when you want and stop when you are full. You are damn right I'm going to eat that cake but I'm not going to wolf it down and pretend it didn't happen, I am going to enjoy everything mouth-watering gulp and stop when I am satisfied. If I restrict myself or make myself feel bad I know that I will later binge and feel worse. Eat what the hell you want. If you tell yourself you can have pringles every moment of every day, very soon you will not want pringles anymore and you will be reaching for that salad. I love healthy food, I bloody thrive on cooking and eating it. No more good and bad foods. Just food.

3. Wear clothes that make you feel good. We all have those items that we love but that don't fit us properly. Whether they are too big or two small or just the wrong shape for us GET RID. Sell, donate, throw away but don't keep them in your wardrobe haunting you. The hardest but ultimately most satifying thing to do is to give them to your friends who they do fit. At work we have a bit of an ongoing swap-shop in our dressing room. Yes, it is hard for me to give away an awesome pair of trousers that don't fit me and see them looking incredible on someone else but look at how happy that person is with their new trousers? And if you love that person then surely it should give you a sense of pride that you made them look that good. Which brings me to my next point...

4. Stop comparing. The comparing game is an easy option but it will NEVER make you feel good. NEVER. If you spend your life picking out people's good and bad bits and not looking them in the eye truly then you will be unhappy. WE ARE ALL DIFFERENT. Look around honestly, beauty is confidence not waist size. EVERYBODY has hang ups. I share a dressing room with 9 other women. I see 9 other women naked every day. It's really hard not to compare yourself. But thankfully these 9 incredible women and I have implemented a safe place to be. The compliments are flowing in that room I tell ya. So much so that I dance around butt naked at least once a week. I think this helps too. Get naked. Get comfortable. Embrace yourself.

5. Stop reading beauty magazines/fitness magazines/reading pop-up stories about weight loss or gain. CUT IT OUT. Do not support an industry that is making you and your future children feel inadequate. Get angry at adverts that make you feel bad, tweet about it, post about it. These adverts are not the truth, they are selling a product. Be the change you want to see.

6. Exercise for your soul not your butt. I know that I feel bloody fantastic after a good session. Much like I feel fantastic after eating great food and not sluggish. Relearn what makes you feel good and introduce variety and excitement back into your exercise regime. Don't go to spin if it makes you hate yourself and want to vomit, go to dance class. Don't go to dance class if it makes you feel insecure, go for a breezy run in the sunshine alone. Go to yoga and stretch and learn about this body that you have a new respect for. Respect your body and it will respect you right back with strong muscles and a long healthy life.

7. Treat yourself as you treat your loved ones. No more negative self talk. You have to implement this now and work on it slowly. Just simply don't allow any negativity. I realise this is hard, especially on those days when you are due on, your belly is an angry football and you've eaten an entire packet chocolate eclairs. But talk to yourself as you would talk to your daughter, husband, mother. A few women talk about how having a child can make them see a younger version of themselves. Remember that you were a young person once. Treat that person nicely.

8. Shake what ya mama gave ya. Walk with confidence, head held high, shoulders back, smile on face. Sometimes when we're stuck in a rut we need to work from the outside in. Believing in your own confidence will build it up. Accept the compliments that will undoubtably come, store them in your brain bank and most importantly BELIEVE them. Other people don't need to compliment you, be glad that they have, be thankful.

9. Finally, you must share. Whether that be writing like me or calling a friend or coffee chats or whatever. You have to talk about how you feel. Otherwise the negativity inside you will fester and grow. We are all excellent puppateers and the puppet shows in our head are crazy, negative, spiralling stories that only get worse not better. Talk openly and honestly to your chosen friends or family, it is good for everyone. You will feel better for sharing and your chosen person will feel special for being trusted and will be more likely to come back to you to share in the future. Compassion and connection is what we all need and thrive on. Give yourself the gift of truth.

And that's that. This won't all happen overnight by any means but at least I see now what I need to do. And I hope you do too.

Good luck!
xxx

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.