and now you’re mine

I don’t believe in God, but I do believe there are small acts of magic in the world. Unfortunately not the kind you’ll find in Harry Potter; but subtle sparkling threads of manifestation and enchantment that weave together and bring you something you knew you needed but never thought you would get.
Little messages sent from the sky that remind you of the power of magic and love. When white feathers swirl in the breeze outside my window I think of my mother and grandma, no longer here but making their presence known in my life.
For a while after my mum passed I was visited by a sparrow. She would perch on the handle of the garden door, peeking inside to watch. Or sit outside my bedroom window whilst I straightened my hair, always flittering in the background of my life.
I have always sought magic, whether it was fairies and making magic potions with my grandma when I was small, spells and crystals in my teenage years or magic realism pouring from the pages of a Sarah Addison Allen book.
Hocus Pocus and witchcraft are woven into my soul.
It’s exciting that we can tap in and harness an energy that cannot be seen nor sometimes felt, and little hopes and wishes we have been storing will begin to come true. I’m not out here believing that a brief bibbidy-bobbidy-boo will be turning my Halloween pumpkins into glittering carriages though, sigh. The magic I believe in is so little you may have missed it, or called it a coincidence.
Closing my eyes for a few seconds when travelling to imaging us being enveloped by white and gold bright sparkling light, for protection, is not all that different to saying a blessing over someone. It is just a different belief system.
I’ll admit that growing up in Brighton surrounded by women that believed in something akin to witchcraft may have skewed my views. But we have all been left bewildered by some life event or another. My mother had a premonition about the death of her grandfather, my grandma could see and speak to spirits even though she didn’t believe in ghosts and I’ve had my magical moments too.
It’s been a while since I have written anything for my blog and I wasn’t entirely sure where this post was going, I just know that it keeps leading me back to Christopher.
I believe that my mother was the one that led him to me. When the black fearsome smoke of grief was still trying to suffocate me, a handsome bearded man stepped through the smog and began trying to fan it away from me. He was from the only place in the world that I felt I could breathe properly, and that’s exactly what he helped me to do.

Now, three years on, we are engaged to be married. I am so excited about our spellbound life together. Not having my reigning Supreme to help guide me through it though is tough. She is the person I want to tell everything to before I realise that I cannot, not empirically anyhow. However, I think she’s out there somewhere amongst the trees and the breeze sprinkling a little enchantment over my life.

Me too.

I was ten when a man old enough to be my grandfather stuck his tongue in my mouth. We were at a party after a christening and I was saying hello to lots of people who knew me and I had no idea who they were. This man approached me, I thought to kiss me on the cheek, as the middle classes do. Instead I was met with his old tongue wriggling inside my mouth. I pushed him off and left the kitchen quickly. It didn’t seem that anyone else had noticed this heinous interaction. I kept quiet.
Shame, disgust and fear coursed through me. I didn’t tell anyone what had happened for years, pushed it down and tried to never think about it. If the memory did rear its ugly head I would distract myself with something else. When I did finally say something it was met with “oh, Blah? Yeah, he does that – you have to watch out for him”.
This man’s behaviour was explained away as something I should have guarded myself against. There was no blame put on this man, it’s just something he does. I should have been the one to know better.
Seventeen years later and I still have flashback memories of this event, I still feel panic when I think about it.

I was fifteen when a boy got angry with me because I didn’t want to kiss him in the dark shed at a party. What he didn’t realise is that I was seeking solace in his, what I thought was friendly company, because a boy much older than I had kissed me without asking if it was okay first. He stuck his tongue in my mouth too, and I tried hard not to bite it off. He gave me glandular fever and a guilty conscience when I heard he had a girlfriend.

I have been catcalled for years, sometimes ‘positively’ sometimes ‘negatively’, ALWAYS unsolicited. Always when I have been alone men have shouted at me from the window of their van, from the top rungs of scaffolding. Always I have felt like I want to disappear. My heart drops the second I see a group of men; whether that be on a night out, on a building site or just popping to the shops. I can feel the panic in my body almost stop me dead and assess a new route that I can take to avoid them. I am scared of men in groups, male dominated businesses, being reduced to something to leer or jeer at.
The ‘lad’ mentality terrifies me, it reduces women to nothing more than objects for men to get pleasure out of, whether they think that’s sex or making their mates laugh.

I was in my twenties when a group of four men surrounded me in a pub, making the assumption that because I was fat I would be appreciative of their longing stares, their strokes on my body, their promises to love me until I loved myself. Rubbing my stomach and cupping my bosom. Their ring leader doing the stroking was conveniently placed behind me, whispering his ‘sweet nothings’ in my ear. They may as well have been licking their lips. Making my skin crawl and brain frantically search for an escape route. Thankfully a few male friends came to my rescue and removed me from the situation.

I have endured men touching my bum as they squeeze past me in a crowded place, I have been flashed at on the bus. I’ve been sent dick pics I never asked for. I’ve been sought out by men on Instagram who want to talk about my sexual preferences and experiences. I have let men get away with this behaviour for so many years, mostly because I didn’t think anyone would believe me because of my appearance (I should be flattered they gave me attention, right?). And partly because I have been conditioned to explain it away as “boys will be boys”.
I have accepted that as a woman I will never feel safe walking home alone at night, or in the back seat of a taxi, an empty carriage on a train. I will always cross the road if I see a group of men coming towards me and I will avoid male dominated businesses/shops with every fiber of my being.
I am saddened at knowing that little girls will also endure this societal burden, will deal with sexual harassment, assault and having to live with those scars and the fear of not being believed.
I believe you.
And I want to change things for you.
We need to start putting more emphasis on the men that commit these acts rather than the victim blaming that I see so often. We need to believe every confession these women (and men, I know this isn’t just about women, but I can only write from my experiences) bring to us. If the burden of proof wasn’t so heavily placed upon the victim more people would come forward sooner, and the hideous people committing such acts would be brought to justice quicker.

When I first saw the hashtag going around on twitter, I didn’t think my experiences counted. I didn’t think that mine were severe, dramatic or horrific enough to speak up about. But then I read other women’s accounts and I realised that they all ‘count’. That we have once again be conditioned to keep our mouths shut, just like they all wanted us to.
I understand and fully respect the women that don’t agree with the #MeToo or who don’t feel comfortable or safe sharing their experiences. I want you to know that you are not alone. And I hope you one day feel safe enough to tell someone so the heaviness is no longer just yours.
My mind was racing in the early hours with all of these old memories, some I had forgotten or tried to re-write until now, when I had to come here, my safe space, and just let them out.

“Isn’t it strange how every woman knows someone who’s been sexually harassed but no man seems to know any harasser?”

Forgetting all the hurt inside you’ve learned to hide so well

It’s been a week since Chester Bennington took his own life. It has taken me this entire week to build up the courage to listen to his voice again. I have purposely avoided listening to Linkin Park for the past ten years where possible; since Chester helped save my life. It always felt too raw when I would hear his beautiful voice and take me straight back to the grey.
I found it hard to cope with my feelings and the misery that often consumed me as a teenager and from the age of thirteen for around three years Chester’s voice was a beacon for me. I had been listening to them for years, but the lyrics and his voice became so much more when I needed them most.
Sitting on my bedroom floor sobbing, their words and his all encompassing vocals held me. They kept me from letting the darkness take over entirely. I have never wanted to be enveloped by sound as much as I do when I hear his voice pleading and singing my thoughts.
As far as I’m aware my inner turmoil was fairly well concealed, I don’t think my parents ever knew how much I struggled or about the cuts that laced the top of my arms or thighs. Being a goth/fat it made it more normal for me to be wearing long sleeves in the summer. I didn’t want them to know. I still don’t, but I think these things are important to speak about, so here I am. I would hurt myself because I needed a physical reason for feeling the way I felt inside. For me it wasn’t about control, it was about rationalising the angst and turmoil within my own head. I wanted to see it.
It has been a long time since I have dealt with self harm and the scars have well and truly faded. There were a few factors that helped me stop, one being that Chester made me feel less alone in this crooked grey little world that I was living in.
If you have read my blog before then you’re probably aware that I still suffer from mental health issues like anxiety. Over the years I have been lucky to find new coping mechanisms for when I feel buried under, much healthier ways to function in the face of my inner monsters.
To anyone that ever needs someone to make them feel less alone when they notice the walls closing in, I am always here to talk. I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t need all of the courage you can muster to speak to someone when you feel this way, but if you can, please do. And if you can’t, I always find writing helps…
I am aware that it is irrational but I feel guilt over Chester’s death. Here he was telling everyone that he was struggling, whether through songs or interviews, helping so many people just like me, and nobody was able to save him the way that he saved us.
I hope that wherever he may be now, his mind is quiet and his wounds are healed.
I am thankful for his honesty and how he guided me through something at the time, I never thought would end.
Unfortunately this post is not as articulate and thought out as I wanted, but I have just spent the last hour mourning his death and listening to Linkin Park and I needed to write.

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I’ve done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
And don’t resent me
And when you’re feeling empty
Keep me in your memory

You will forever be missed Chester.
Thank you for all that you did.

Let’s let ourselves go under, someday we will all be ghosts

Yes, it has been forever since I posted anything. Honestly I have been struggling to find my inner voice so I thought I would try a few small writing exercises, super short stories. Publishing them makes me more accountable and hopefully feel more confident in putting more of myself back into this blog.
Enjoy…

She could feel the stars running through her veins but she knew that they weren’t shining anymore, her glitter had dulled.
Her reflection in the moonlit puddle was not one she recognised anymore, a stranger stood before her, gazing back. A wave of numbness passed over the girl, “I do not know who I am” she sighed.
Her shadow followed alongside her  but she could not be certain it was hers any longer. She considered asking Peter Pan about the complexities of ones shadow. Was it necessary to have your own fairy in order to find and capture the escaped silhouette of self? Did it hurt to sew them back on?
Upon returning home she removed her make up and took her time taking off her clothes. Slowly unbuttoning her jeans and undoing the fly before stepping out of them and allowing her glare to meet the stranger’s eyes. Standing before the bathroom mirror, searching for the girl she had lost; the one that sparkled and magnetised those around her. Instead the insecurities she had been carrying and battling daily for as long as she could remember took a fatal blow and the goblins emerged.
With their malicious whispers and sharp scraping fingers grabbing at her flesh, billowing grey smoke began to rise around her, filling her lungs. Suffocating. The darkness growing thicker still until she could no longer see the stranger staring back at her. Only the words in her head crackled around her and illuminated the overwhelming dark – “you will never be good enough”.
The girl took a deep breath and with all her anxiety rattled strength she sucked all of the damage back into the seeping box that lived deep inside of her. A few tendrils of self loathing left squirming in the closures, trying to gain purchase on anything around them. The smell of smoke hung in the air as she brushed her teeth and avoided the pinpoint of the onlookers stare.
Climbing into bed, heaving her burdensome body onto the uncomfortable mattress, a sigh and a tear escaped her, sleep enveloping her shell.
The following morning fire danced inside of her, ignited and determined not to allow the box to open again, not today at least.

You are made of waves and honey

I have been struggling with my self image recently. It’s most likely hormonal but it’s something I cannot shake. The lurking dark shadows always telling me that I am not good enough, pretty enough.
I went through a period of time where I was feeling really good in my own skin, empowered by my curves and rolls. Currently I cannot find that girl, that sense of self love, of confidence. Now all I see in the mirror is a potato; lumpy, bumpy and plain. I long for my flamingo to rise and spread her wings once more, but I don’t know where to look for her at the moment. It all seems a little futile.
I will never be her. Dipping in and out in the desired way, conventional beauty.

I am fighting hard to find the bold and self-assured woman I am again. Treading water and keeping my head above. There are many tears and doubts to work through before I get there, but I will find the love I have for myself once more.

I am made of waves and honey.

Your pretty eyes I pictured in the fading light. Little darling, little darling, you’re mine

It may almost be halfway through November, but I haven’t forgotten about the fact that I have neglected to fill you all in on September and October. So, prepare yourself to be bombarded with selfies and other such snapshots from my trusty iPhone.

September, week one.
The month of September kicked off with a trip to Starbucks with Floss on our way home from a very fruitless appointment. Now that it’s November, I had forgotten just how hot September was, so frappachinos were purchased. A selfie, mostly because I was enjoying my new NYX soft matte lip cream in the shade Transylvania. And a shot of the big blue sky on a lovely day.

September, week two.
Another very warm day means trying to keep Dolly cool, so we had a fan on all day at her height. I thought she looked funny with all of her fluff wiffling in the wind. A lovely lunch and catch up with my aunt and cousin in one of my favourite places.My mum used to love the same place, so it’s always nice to go there as it reminds me of her. Great food, conversation and so many doggies! Another day of catching up with some of my favourite people. Sam was home from Oxford and it was such a lovely evening spent chatting with her, Meredith, Lee and Christopher. Plus, the pub we went to do y favourite gin glasses.

September, week three.
A selfie, I really enjoy the combination of MAC Diva and my rose gold septum ring. An ‘artsy’ shot of the sea from behind some glass…I was on my way to see Christopher and I am always in awe of how beautiful the sea can be. Sometimes it feels like I spend my life at train stations waiting for the terrible service that Southern Rail provide. There are always, without fail, delays, cancellations or changes to be made. There is never a day that is straightforward when traveling on this awful service.

September, week four.
Waiting to be picked up I got a little chilly and sleepy, so I decided to get myself a cappuccino. I don’t often drink caffeine because it can effect my anxiety and wont make me feel any more awake until two-am when I cannot sleep. Thankfully this one didn’t effect me negatively. This is Christopher’s cat, she is gorgeous and the only cat I have ever even remotely liked. She is so friendly and I love her. We visited a model railway on Sunday, we got given a checklist to try and find all of the different things hidden in the scenes. An hour well spent for sure, especially when you realise there is a brothel with a long queue of people waiting outside of it in the landscape that the old people have set up.

October ~

October, week one.
I think I was ready before Christopher this day, so I used my time wisely by taking photos of myself…yeah, I know how to be productive. We went out for the day, starting with a few hours in Lewes looking around the antique and flea markets and then heading to Eastbourne for ice-cream, however before we got to the gelateria we spotted an adventure golf place. We love a bit of mini-golf, so it was straight in there for some very water logged pirate themed golf. I was appreciating how my hair, golf ball and scarf all matched so well. Mid-week dates lovely, this one involved a wander around town, an hour or so spent in Snoopers Paradise before heading for some cocktails. We tried a few but decided that Tropical BonBons were our ultimate favourite.

October, week two.
Early morning makeup application always means being tucked up in my bed to stay as cosy as possible. This is all of the stuff i fling on my face on a daily basis. I don’t know if that’s a lot or not. A trip to Oxford with Kit and Christopher to visit Sam, Adam, Tom and Shelley and see You Me At Six play. We went to a bar that doesn’t sell full pints but made delicious food, it was too hipster in there even for Brighton however. Then we headed back down Cowley road to see YMAS play. They were good, although some more of the first two albums wouldn’t have gone a miss in my books.

October, week three.
I have never been one for sport, let alone willingly going to watch it and actively enjoy it. But the ice hockey has sucked me in and I find myself absolutely frozen but enjoying it entirely. It’s fast paced and a little violent, I like it. Christopher and I went for lunch at the place I went with my aunt and cousin that I mentioned previously. It is always filled with gorgeous dogs, and this puppy make my heart swell. She was absolutely gorgeous and so so fluffy. Then we went for a little stroll before enjoying the last of the sunshine and watching the waves crash along the shoreline. Mother nature really is amazing.

October, week four.
Halloween week  brought pumpkin carving and watching my favourite, Hocus Pocus, both of those were firsts for Christopher and I think he thoroughly enjoyed both. We didn’t have any actual pumpkin carving tools, so a steak knife each were what we used to hack away at these. Dark lips and dark eyes, an easy go to Morticia look. This year my Halloween didn’t involve Kit and I covering ourselves in fake blood and getting ridiculously drunk. This year we at food, had drinks and played board games with Christopher, Floss and Sam. We played all of the games and ended the night in the wee hours after a very long game of Booooopoly (Halloween themed Monopoly). A lovely new Halloween tradition I think.

Staring at the clouds looking for a silver line

I have been away for a while now and I’m not going to apologise for it. Sometimes life and hormones get in the way of me waffling on the internet to no one in particular.
Since having my contraceptive implant fitted I have felt like I am losing my damn mind. There are ghosts that swirl and float around me, touching moments and sucking away all the colour and I cannot stop them. These goblins make me feel sad, prodding me until I am unable to do anything but cry. People staring at me on the train as mascara stained tears streak my face, I think someone is going to ask if I’m alright; instead I get asked directions. I don’t want these peoples pity, I don’t want to be crying at all, but the goblins clap with glee.
I have spent the last five weeks feeling insane. I shouldn’t feel like this. Exciting things are happening, I am loved and I am in love. After the chasm of losing my mother last year, the ladder has given me more rungs to climb and I am making progress. Due to this sudden surge of hormones skittering around my body like an intense game of Air Hockey though, a couple of the rungs have broken, and I slipped.
I have been doing my best to try and be my normal. To try not to keep from burdening the man I love with my insane reasonings for why I’m crying for the fourth time that day. This isn’t me. I suffer with mental health issues and I am not afraid to speak about them, but this isn’t my wheel house of anxiety, this is pure misery.
I had no idea that this small piece of plastic tubing in my arm would turn my even keeled lunacy into this woman I don’t recognise but cries a lot. Once the floodgates open I have little control to close them again. I have always tried to conduct my tears behind closed doors, so it’s becoming very embarrassing when I’m on the train and even when I have finished crying and want to eat my cheese, people are still staring at me.
I feel a tonne of guilt for often making Christopher feel helpless in the moments when I can’t catch my breath because I am crying so hard but I don’t know why. I just know that I feel overwhelmingly sad. My foibles are a lot to deal with at the best of times, but currently I know I must be a nightmare. I’m trying to hold it together.
When surrounded by those that support and love me, that want to spend time in my company I am held together tighter. It’s easier to hold it together, they stop my organs from leaking out of the big slit down my side. When I’m alone again I find it much harder to bandage, and often I am swayed to the grey and consumed by the colourless.
I have been told that my hormones will settle, and I know that they will at some point, but oh my am I exhausted. Grief and anxiety are grueling and demanding in their own ways, but this feels self inflicted and layered with guilt.
Trying my best to repair the broken rungs so I can see and feel the warmth of the sunshine again is a long process, but by writing again I have made a start.
My mum knew I was in a rough place when I would stop singing, but I am finding my voice again every now and then. I hope that means an establishment of cordial relations will soon be underway. That this tiresome rapprochement will soon be done with and I will be back to my normal.

I missed September’s monthly photo blog (sneak peek above), so I’ll combine those with Octobers and have a double feature. Hopefully now I have dipped my toe back into the water I will be writing more.

Oh you begged me to keep you in that house on the hill, looking out for love

And with the new light there was young hope, to underline the meaning and carve our names in.
At the end of August.

For a girl that revels in the general melancholic nature that bestows autumn, August has been far too hot for my liking. The striking sunsets have been a little compensation for the stifling and sticky heat, but not enough to make me fall in love with the summer. The steel grey skies and gentle fleeting kisses of cold on my bare skin are exciting to me. So, with this months photos we say farewell to the summer.

August, week one.
Sunsets over water are one of my favourite things in the world to see. A congratulations for surviving the day, a reminder to rest now. I had to capture this beautiful one, even if it did mean strangers staring at me. Then Snapchat blessed us with a filter that made us look like Bratz dolls, and I couldn’t pass that up. Followed up by more boats moored on a very still sea. It was a lovely evening for a stroll (okay, Pokemon hunting. shh…), I’m sure you’re all aware of my love of boats by now.

August, week two.
A lunch out at a firm family favourite, The Urchin in Hove, with my dad, nan and Floss. Some delicious seafood was devoured and a cheeky glass of Pimms was well and truly enjoyed. I didn’t have time to sort my hair out so had to throw it up one morning. It reminded me of cheerleader hair and this pleased me. It’s the simple things in life. Ah, my phone charger, perfectly safe to still be using I’m sure. right?

August, week three.
I needed American pancakes with chocolate sauce, syrup and sprinkles for pudding one evening. Yes, needed. I don’t often crave sweet things, and rarely have anything sweet to follow my dinner but it was necessary that night. My neighbour has these ridiculous fifteen foot aerials in his garden, this is the view I get when laying in my bed. I have come to like them in an odd way, they frame the sky nicely on nights like this. Floss has just qualified to be a hairdresser, so I asked her to re-bleach my pink strip as it hadn’t been done in about two years. It was so pretty when she too it off, this baby pink candyfloss colour emerged from the lingering pink. It’s a shame it was a little patchy and I couldn’t keep it this colour.

August, week four.
It was bank holiday weekend and Christopher was here. We ventured to see a local cathedral and it was beautiful. I, like my mother, have always enjoyed a church. We don’t subscribe to a particular belief set that would warrant us attending a church but I can always appreciate the beauty. Stained glass windows are magical. It’s been a while since I haven’t just straightened my hair, but the humidity and the wind made me remember why I had been doing as such. I looked like a lion by the early afternoon. On the Sunday we went into town to catch up with some friends, and meet Meredith’s lovely new boyfriend. This is a terrible snapshot of such a lovely afternoon but I accidentally deleted the better one, typical. Gorgeous friends, lovely catching up and even debates about who would win in a fight – a Dragon or a Unicorn (clearly the unicorn Theo, they’re magic!).

A delightful end to the last month of summer.

It’s a hard life to live, so live it well. I’ll be your friend and not in pretend, I know you girl

My inspirational women are back and to kick us off is Erika. We met at age eleven in secondary school and quickly became inseparable for the next four or so years. The bond we made then will forever tie us together as friends, even if we haven’t lived in the same town for eight years. Erika will always be my friend that I remember hazy summer days spent laughing and singing with; her family became mine and we faced the world together her and I. A woman who constantly moves forward and takes risks even when intrepid to begin with. Her work ethic has always been inspiring as well as her drive to see new places. To watch my teenage partner in crime flourish and become the woman she is today makes me grateful to have such a friend in my life.

Name: Erika

Age: 26

Location: Originally from Brighton, living in Nottingham

How have the women in your life shaped you and your ideals as a woman?
I’m lucky to have a mixture of both ‘traditional’ and unconventional women to look up to from my home-baking, retired school teacher Granny to my ale-loving, biker Mum! Between them they’ve shown me it’s perfectly fine to be either extreme or anywhere in the middle.

How do you deal with body image pressures and accepting yourself?
I try not to compare myself too much to other people because everyone is different and variety is what makes us all interesting. I think people are getting better at remembering that the images we are bombarded with from magazines and social media etc are made to look more perfect than any real human ever could! It would be great to see more varied models without the need to make it a ‘feature’. Can’t we just include plus size or petite models without pointing them out as such??
I’ve been on a weight loss journey myself for the past 18 months and the closer I get to feeling like the old me, the more comfortable I feel in my own skin. I am also extremely lucky to have a wonderful, kind boyfriend who really does seem to love me through thick and thin – literally!

What beauty product is a must for you?
Anyone who knows me knows I am rubbish at being a girl and never got into make up or beauty products. I am, however, OBSESSED with eyebrows and cannot cope without my Tweezerman tweezers. I feel like a werewolf without them! I love admiring other women’s eyebrows!

Do you have a piece of advice for teenage you that you think would help growing into a woman easier?
Probably just to stop trying so hard! True friends will like you and one day someone will love you just exactly as you are.

I think we need to be more open about women’s bodily functions such as periods. It is a natural process that we are made to feel is taboo. How did you deal with yours at first and do you have any tips?
Oh god I cried! I was 11 and I remember trying to tell my Mum, but she got annoyed because I couldn’t get my words out, so I told my older sister who told my Mum for me and then they were both great. It must be so hard for single Dads to go through this with their daughters and I’m so grateful to have had that support. I do agree that there’s still a taboo about such a normal thing. I was shopping with my boyfriend the other day and he made a comment about all sanitary products being “gross”. I feel like I have to hide away from him for a week every month! These days I find periods an inconvenience more than anything and try to use my pills to time them in a way that won’t affect my social life too much!

What songs do you listen to that strike a spark in you and make you feel like you can take on the world?
Since I was about 11 I’ve loved Alanis Morisette. Her song ‘You Learn‘ is a great, singalong life lesson! Dolly Parton’s Jolene is not a typical love song begging her man to come back, but instead appealing to the ‘other’ woman’s better nature not to steal her man. Such a classic and I love covering this one myself. A fantastic Scottish folk singer called Karine Polwart wrote a beautiful song based on the tragic story of how she lost her husband. It’s called ‘The Sun’s Coming Over the Hill‘ and is a reminder that however bad things seem, there is a light at the end of the tunnel and things will get better. Highly recommended. When I’m running, you can’t beat a bit of of Katy Perry’s Roar or Pink’s So What to get you through the wall!

Who in your life inspires you?
Most people in my life inspire me, otherwise they probably wouldn’t be in my life anymore. My friends have a huge range of qualities that I admire and would love to master myself, from unshakeable confidence (Sam) to selflessness (Med) and incredible strength (Lydia). My sister in law recently had a baby and didn’t want to go back to her old job. Instead she has set up 3 beauty businesses from home and her drive and positivity amazes me every day. Check out Forever Living Aloeholic and Bethberry Nail Wraps.

How has age affected your perception of womanhood?
As I’ve got older I feel less competition and more solidarity with other women. I’ve taken a leaf out of my sister’s book in that if I think another woman looks nice, I’ll tell her! Some people are so taken aback if a stranger compliments their dress or their hair, but I think we need more of this championing of one another.

What does Girl Power (/feminism) mean to you?
I’m definitely all for equal rights but I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself a feminist. Humans work best together and I do believe sometimes men and women might have different qualities or ways or looking at something which can compliment each other. Feminism is a bit of a buzz word at the moment and it’s brilliant that people are reconsidering those old fashioned views of feminists as man-haters who don’t shave their armpits! That’s definitely not what it’s about!

How would you set about making Gender Equality more equal? Perhaps more gender neutral bathrooms or scrapping ‘tampon tax’?
I think it’s absolutely ridiculous that men and women doing the exact same job can be paid different amounts, as though one is more or less valuable than the other. Likewise I think important things like paternity leave still need addressing and improving.

Independent business women spotlight!

I’m afraid I don’t know much about the business world but if you don’t mind I would like to highlight the work of a female scientist as I think they are often overlooked. Charlotte Uhlenbrook is a pioneering zoologist, particularly known for her work in animal communication. In the past she has stated she doesn’t feel her peers take her seriously because she can’t possibly be beautiful AND intelligent! (She is!). If you are interested, take some time to read her books, she’s fascinating 🙂

What is something you do to take time for yourself?
I’m very much a social person and really don’t enjoy being on my own. I go to a Pilates class which is so relaxing and makes me feel like I’m having ‘me’ time without actually being by myself! I also love half an hour with my piano or guitar.

What has been your biggest struggle as a woman?
I do battle with the kind of woman I want to be. Sometimes I wish I was glamorous and feminine but at the same time I think life is too short! This pretty much sums up my daily struggle:

How has your sexuality shaped you as a woman?
I’m very happy now in a long-term relationship, but I do think everyone (male and female) should experience a period of casual dating (and casual sex if they want to!) to find out what they are looking for in the other person. For me that period was during uni and my first year living in South Africa and I did enjoy feeling in control. Unfortunately there are still double standards, where the men in this situation are hailed as heroes and the women are considered sluts. As long as it’s safe and legal, nobody should be ashamed of their sexual preferences.

(I do not own these images).

 

She just might be out of her mind, well she’s got baggage and it’s all the emotional kind

It is often said that you have to love yourself before you can love someone else. I don’t believe that’s particularly true, but what I do believe is that you can start to love yourself and become more relaxed in your body when someone else loves you. Learning to love yourself through someone else’s love of you.
We all have our insecurities and body hang ups, no one is fully content but being a plus size woman my body image comes under the scrutiny of strangers every time I step out of the house. I hear sniggers and whispers, catcalls and some incredibly confronting comments upon my appearance from people I have never met before. For some unknown reason society has deemed it almost acceptable for this behaviour to occur.
Over the past few years I have tried to take ownership and be happy in the body I have, finding inspiration and courage in the body positive communities of plus size women on social media. I have finally found women with bodies that represent me; looking amazing and doing incredible things. I’ll admit there is still a long way for us to go in changing peoples perception of us, whether that’s within the clothing industry or having TV and film recognising us as something other than just the ‘funny women’ and realising our potential as the sex symbol.
Throughout my life I have rarely sought the approval of others in anything I have done. Yet, when you label someone for long enough, even the strongest of us can start to believe it eventually. The mean words that get screamed at me in the street start to penetrate the force field I have tried to build around myself. And sometimes, if the blow is hard enough and hits just the right spot, a crack can appear. A chink in my armour. These words that I have had thrown at me over and over since the age of ten have taken their toll on my self worth. Slipping in to my anxieties and seeping into the way I conduct myself daily, these aggressive mean spirited narrations have altered me as a person.
It took me five months to gather the courage to meet my boyfriend, terrified that he would run away screaming on sight because I am not a conventional size. Of course he knew this before we met in person and my anxiety wasn’t allowing him the benefit of being a decent human and accepting me as me.
Until my early twenties the men I often encountered were still being governed by what their friends might think, regardless of how they actually felt. That coupled with my underlying force field traumas always left me in the role of the good friend. I stopped trying around men, I wasn’t interested in playing this weird game of snakes and ladders. I didn’t want to keep seeing them slide down snakes every time they realised my appearance, even if they liked it and liked me, wouldn’t be accepted by their peers. Living in that weird limbo just cracks the force field further and I didn’t have time for that.
But then this man entered my life unexpectedly. I wasn’t looking to be rejected by someone elses insecurities so I never even tried things like Tinder. This was just a photo sharing app I downloaded as a way to distract myself after my mother passed away. I posted a selfie, always knowing my best angles, you wouldn’t even know I was plus size, but he was still sweet and interested even after I told him.
Having my fleshy curves admired and my wobbly stomach kissed can work wonders for a girls confidence. The parts of me that I was only just coming to acknowledge are entirely accepted and honoured by this man. He is not embarrassed of me as I was myself, standing by my side and telling me that I am beautiful. I think stretch marks are bewitching; mermaid scales and secret silver streaked maps written across my body. I didn’t always feel that way, embarrassed by them when getting changed for P.E. and having other girls ask what they were. Whilst I desperately wanted to be like these confident plus size women I admired, it took seeing myself through his eyes to make me believe that it is possible. I feel less need to try and make myself smaller and apologise for my appearance. He tells me I am beautiful, unprompted, even when I am convinced I am looking my absolute worst. Feeling more at peace and less aware of the looks and whispers going on around me. I have seen my friend, who had her own body confidence issues, become more accepting of herself because of the way her boyfriend loves her.
I am not saying that my self worth is reliant upon a man, because I don’t think anyone should be reliant upon someone else to feel worthy in this life. Sometimes though, it takes standing back and viewing something from a different angle to really allow you to appreciate the beauty. And with every kiss and sleep laced declaration of love, the insecurities I have had over the years become smaller, beginning to fade away. My nonconformist body is loved by this man and now, in turn, by me.

 

I was honoured to be ask to write something for Christa’s blog, A Voluptuous Mind. This piece is a result of that and one of my favourite essays I’ve ever written. Mrs Bass said some ever so lovely things about me too *blushes*:

“This week’s Guest Post comes from one of the most beautiful writers I know. I’m not a fan solely for the stunning prose and vivid imagery conjured up by her words, I’m also a bit of a fan girl for the frank way in which Lydia speaks. She’s also incredibly inspiring when it comes to her inner strength and I hope she knows it.

Lydia and I met ‘doing nails’ at a short-lived salon in Brighton and although that never took off, I’m very grateful for the talented and interesting folk I met there, which of course includes this lady here. If you like what you read here, which you definitely will, go check her out on her own blog, Belle of the Bluegrass.”

Check out this Inspirational Woman Q&A I did with Christa, and of course her other guest blog writers.