Showing posts with label lifestyle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lifestyle. Show all posts
04 April 2020

#3--Surviving a Pandemic when you have some Seriously Bitchin’ Anxiety.

14:21 | Posted by
Look, I’ll be honest, this could be the shortest post ever, because honestly, I don’t have a fuckin’ clue. 
I, along with literally everyone else in the world, have been having a hard time with the fact that everything seems to have gone to hell in a very large, rickety basket, that may or may not, have been built by a blind, inept toddler, who only has control over one arm.
It’s all just a bit mad, isn’t it?

Sunshine before the Social Distancing 
 My partner and myself are both classed as Key Workers, so we still have to go to work. Obviously, we’re both incredibly lucky to still a) have a job, and b) be well enough to get to work, but it’s still very difficult to get out of bed every morning, knowing that you’re putting yourself and your family at risk. As I’ve mentioned EXTENSIVELY before, I have some pretty sweet anxiety (try to not be too jealous), and anxiety in the time of Covid-19--much like love in the time of cholera--is really not the one. Or maybe it is, I never finished the book. Every time I get on the train for work, I worry that this will be the time I’ll get it, or every time he goes to work, I worry he’ll catch it from a customer who doesn’t feel like telling him that they’re quarantining. I worry about my family, his family, my friends, their friends; I am a constant ball of worry and stress. I try my best to keep my panic to a minimum, or at least keep it internal, because I’m worried if I told people how much I actually worry about literally everything, they might actually think I am insane. I mean, I'm even worrying about my worry. Everyday in work we sit and chat about what’s happening, and I can feel the panic rising inside, but I have to pretend that I’m not completely freaking out, so I have become the champion of Changing The Subject. 

‘Cold today, isn’t it?’ ‘Aye, a drink would be lovely.’ ‘Isn’t starting a new job in a the middle of a pandemic a terrible idea?’ Any number of inane subject changes, all to avoid talking about our spiralling into what I imagine an apocalypse feels like. It’s like 28 Days Later out there, except everyone’s fighting over toilet roll and battering old people out of the grocery aisles, rather than worrying about zombies.

With that all said, here are my top tips for not Completely Freaking the Fuck Out, I hope they help you, and if you have any other ideas, let me know! I am always open to more ways of not just being a ball of panic all the time. 

Find a place that makes you feel relaxed
1)  Change the subject! I am very open about this; I will just stop talking about something if it makes me uncomfortable. My go-to technique is to slowly stop replying, and then completely change the subject. I am not subtle about it, but I also have no shame in it. Don’t talk about things that make you feel shitty, or stressed if you don’t need to. 

2)  Avoid the news and social media! Keep up with developments when you can, or when you need to, but don’t submerse yourself in every piece of news that comes out, because you will drive yourself mad with worry. The media exists to inform, but also to sensationalise because they want you to keep clicking on their links, keep buying their papers, keep talking about their stories. Please remember that the media works as a business; not everything they say is with your best interests at heart, it’s with theirs. The more dramatic the headline, the more they sell. Take everything with a pinch of salt, and try not to just read every terrible piece of news emerging. Read what you need to be informed, and then click away. I’d take the same approach with social media, even though I am more than guilty of wasting hours on it. Facebook is littered with news that has never met a fact checker, Twitter is full of angry people and conspiracy theories, and Instagram is bursting with people who want to convince you their lives are better than yours. Get your fix, and then move on. 

3)  Find something Positive! Find something that makes you happy, something that makes you smile and forget what’s happening for a little while. I mentioned in my last post, I have started writing two good things that happen everyday. It’s not always easy, but it does force me to realise that not everything is terrible. So try finding something everyday that brings you a bit of joy, something that helps you see that not everything is awful, because if we only focus on the shitshow around us, we’d never want to leave the house anyway. With that being said, don’t feel like you have to be positive all the time to keep morale up, just keep on top of your feelings; if it all feels like it’s getting too much, talk to someone. You’re not under any obligation to do anything, other than take care of yourself. 

4)  Don’t put Pressure on Yourself! I’ve seen so many people setting mad goals for them to achieve during their self-isolation. Look, if you want to learn a new language, write the new War and Peace, or cure cancer, more power to you, but equally, if all you want to do is survive, then go on with your bad self. I’ve seen so many parents convincing themselves that they must educate their kids to the same level that their teachers would, and I mean what I am about to say in the nicest sense possible. Teachers are people who have trained how to teach your kid shit, stop trying to come up with a better curriculum than the trained professionals. Just do your best, make sure they don’t become illiterate, and enjoy an extra glass of gin to celebrate surviving spending another 24 hours enclosed with hyper children who are desperately trying to escape. All you can do during times like these, is look after yourself and the ones closest to you. 

5)  Keep Yourself Distracted! Listen to music, read a book, watch TikTok for 16 hours, find a new show to watch, find 10 new shows to watch, enjoy spending time with your family. I know that last part might be difficult when you’re stuck in isolation, and your kid has asked you for the 300thtime if they can have another biscuit, or if they can they go to the park, and you’ve watched your 75thepisode of Hey Duggee, but honestly, I’d love to be home with my kid, even if he is annoying the shit out of me, because at least we’d be safe. Just try and find something that makes it easier to see something good in each day. Maybe you get to watch a really sweet episode of Hey Duggee, or maybe that glass of wine at the end of the day tastes extra good. I’m not suggesting you take up alcoholism, but if a glass of wine helps get you through the days, you do you hun. Spend time in your garden, or go for a walk somewhere quiet. You are allowed to get fresh air, just don’t be a dick and go with 30 of your closest pals.  Break your day up with different activities, and hopefully it’ll help the time pass quicker.
A ray of sunshine.
I know these all seem very vapid, and when I’m feeling particularly anxious, the existentialism hits me hard, and I wonder what the point even is in any of it, because in the middle of all this; of life seeming to have ground to a stop for most of the world, of people dying, of people losing their jobs, their financial stability, it’s hard to see a point, it’s hard to find the hope. That’s the thing though; if we allow ourselves to just wallow in that despair, we will never come out the other side. To find the other side, we need to find a reason to look for it, and the only thing that gives reason to something like this, is hope. So even if these tips for helping you to Calm the Fuck Down, seem wildly obvious, hopefully seeing them written down will help keep them in your mind when it all feels like it’s getting too much. 

Keep safe, 

Becca
Labels:, | 1 comments
25 March 2020

#2-positivity journey.

15:27 | Posted by
I wrote this all before the COVID-19 outbreak, and never got round to publishing it, yet it seems more apt than ever. It is such a tense, scary time to be alive. There is so much uncertainty and fear, and everything seems so very overwhelming. Every time I go to work, I worry that this will be the day I catch it, that I’ll bring it home, that I’ll infect someone I love, and it's bloody terrifying.
 On the flip side—those who are hoarding toilet roll and pasta aside—the way people have stepped up for society is truly awe-inspiring. The hospitals, the supermarkets, the public transport, the teachers, all these people who too often get overlooked, are helping keep some semblance of normality for us, and they cannot be praised enough. No matter how dark things may get, the gratitude we should feel for them should always shine bright. It’s so important in times like these that we always look for that light, because we’d be lost without it.



Recently I’ve been trying to lead a more ‘positive lifestyle’. Nothing particularly dramatic—I haven’t signed up to retreat to connect with nature, or commune with my inner spirit animal or anything like that (although, for the record, definitely something cool like a tiger, and not the more likely scenario of a sloth). I’m just trying to be kinder to myself, not letting the little voice in my head convince me that every bad thought I’d ever had is true—that everything is my fault, that those people are definitely laughing at me, that everyone thinks I’m a bad person, that I deserve to hurt, all that fun stuff. I’ll not lie; it’s tough to train yourself out of thinking the worst about yourself when you have been doing it for so long. 

I’ve been having a difficult time with my depression. I’m used to my sadness being a constant companion; like a friend who doesn’t realise the party is over and follows you around making ‘jokes’ that are meant to be funny, but are just kind of mean. That sad, angry little voice that disguises itself as your pal, that tells you all the things you think you need to hear because it’s true. That voice is, frankly, a little bitch. Professionally, I’ve had a tough time at work—not knowing where I was going to be, how I was going to get there, if I would like it there. Changes like that are tough for anyone, particularly tough for someone who has a small breakdown over ordering first at a restaurant. (I desperately want to pretend that last part is a joke, it’s not, it has absolutely happened.) I spent most of the past 3 months alternating between panic attacks, crying, lying and staring at the ceiling for hours, feeling sick all the time, and just being really angry. I just felt so incredibly defeated by something that I couldn’t comprehend. I’m good at my job. I’m good with customers, I’m good at helping, and I’m hardworking, so to be treated like that was heartbreaking, because I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. My anxiety flared up in the worst way— I couldn’t sit still, I was agitated constantly, and my brain would not.fucking.settle. The blind panic was the worst, because that led to the crying, then the fear, then the mind-numbing realisation that this was going to happen all over again tomorrow. There were points, when I would just look at Eli, desperate to play with me, and I would just think I was utterly useless I was to this child. This ray of sunshine and happiness, who just wanted me to do something, and I was just gripped by this terrifying wave of ineptitude. I could do nothing for this kid, because I could do nothing for myself. I would look into his face that held nothing but adoration, and all I could think was ‘you deserve a better mum’. 

After a while, the neverending onslaught of shitty thoughts and panic attacks just became the norm, I’d be walking through Tesco thinking about pointless things I wanted to buy, like the iridescent shell penholder currently sitting on my desk, and then the next thought would be ‘imagine how sweet it would be to just disappear’ and I’d find myself nodding along like those are two perfectly normal thoughts to put together, and then I’d get distracted by a mug I didn’t need. This constant train of incoherent thoughts that would ebb and flow, until one day, in a moment of clarity, I realised it probably wasn’t normal to daydream about just disappearing. I booked an appointment with the doctor, swore I wasn’t going to cry again, cried everywhere, and then was prescribed anti-anxiety medication. In my head, part of me thought I had failed in my control because I had done well without medication for so long, I always managed to reign myself back in when it got bad before. The funny thing is, I would slap anyone else silly who had that same thought about themselves. Imagine thinking you failed because you needed medication? It’s like saying that a cancer patient needing chemo failed because they couldn’t cure themselves with their minds. I never cured myself before, I just handled it, and sometimes handling it isn’t enough. Sometimes you need help. Along with the medication, I decided to take an approach a previous counsellor had suggested to me. I decided to try to not just focus on all the shitty things that happened, I would try and find just two good things that happened each day. Two things, so that when I was feeling low, it would force me to think about my day, to search for something that made me smile, if only for a moment, so I’d know that not everything is awful. It’s not revolutionary, but it works. Some days it’s really, really hard, some days it’s not, but the main thing is that I have managed to find something for each day, and that’s a big thing for me, and I’m proud of myself for trying.

I hope you’re all well, take care of yourselves and each other.
I’ll write to you soon,
Becca.
Labels:, | 1 comments
27 January 2020

#1--back at it again.

14:04 | Posted by
Sometimes I worry that I’ve left it so long between actually writing something, that I’ve forgotten how to write. I constantly panic that my words have dried up and left me; that I don’t know how to just concentrate long enough to string a vaguely coherent sentence together. What could I possibly have left to say that would be worth reading, that I haven’t already said? I used to find writing really therapeutic, but then I allowed myself to get wrapped up in my own expectations. Every word I wrote had to be gold; it had to be a gold-covered nugget of pure, unadulterated wisdom that would exponentially improve someone’s life, and that’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself. 

Every year I say I’m not doing the ‘new year, new me’ bollocks, because that shit just never works for me. I always have such good intentions, but I know come February, I’ll be right back where I was, just meandering through life. I’ve never been particularly good at planning my words out; most of my writing is a sporadic thought that strikes and then flows out. Whenever I’ve made a concentrated effort to plan something, the inspiration shrivels up and dies like every houseplant I’ve ever had. All of a sudden, every idea morphs into a 3 hour Instagram and Facebook scroll, and then by the time I decide it’s time to put my head down, my kid is either awake and kicking off, or it’s 3am and I’m falling asleep at my computer. Hell, I say I’ve never been good at planning my words; frankly, I’ve just never been good at planning my life. I’m very good at a daydream. If it were a career, I’d be top of my field, but living practically has never been a skill I’ve been particularly good at. I’m what I have politely deemed a ‘romanticist’, or what I have also less politely deemed ‘a liability with a poor grasp on reality’. I could probably blame too many movies, or too many books, but I’ve always been a drama queen with big dreams. The big issue is that those dreams are unfortunately wildly incompatible with my depression and anxiety. It has taken me a long time to get to where I am now, mildly content with who and what I am--which might not sound much--but is a very big deal to me. I still have days where I’d much rather lie in bed and hate myself in peace, where I’d ideally like to avoid every mirror and reflective surface because it’s painful to look at myself, but compared to where I was, I feel like a superhero. I’ve had depression since I was…11? I’m pushing 31 now (good grief). That’s a long time to feel like your dreams aren’t valid, realistic, or achievable. I mean, to be fair, some of dreams aren’t valid, realistic OR achievable—the chances of me marrying Jake Gyllenhaal seem pretty non-existent at this point, but some of my dreams were things that, in another life, would’ve seemed perfectly attainable. I always wanted to go to university, for me that just seemed the next logical step. I was decent at school, why not just keep going? I had this perfect idea of how it would be (which I blame entirely on my unhealthy obsession with American teen rom-coms) and I was sorely disappointed when that is not how my uni experience went. I would watch my friend’s power through their work, with a confidence that seemed utterly awe-inspiring to me. Now, with the gift of hindsight, I can see that wasn’t necessarily the case. For me though, it was painful. Every word, every sentence, every thought, had to be second and triple guessed, if it didn’t pass the triple guess, it was deleted. God knows how many times I would just delete huge passages of work, just because I hated everything that spilled from my brain. I once deleted 1,000 words after reading it for the 45thtime, 3 days before a deadline, closed my laptop, curled up on my bed and cried for 2 hours because it felt like I just didn’t get it. I wish I could read all the work I deleted now, just so I can tell baby Becca that she isn’t stupid, that what she has written is worthy of attention, is worthy of reading. On my worst days, I would spread my work out around me; all the books and notes I had taken, set my laptop up, and just sit and stare at the screen for hours. On those days I’d sit there for maybe 6-7 hours, and write about 15 words. I’d ‘finish up’ for the day and pretend like I’d had a productive day to anyone who asked, when inside I was, to put it bluntly, freaking the fuck out. I had days until my deadline and I felt like I could do nothing except watch the time pass by. I met some of the best people I’ll ever meet when I was in uni, but I was also the most miserable I think I’ve ever been.

I don’t think there’s really a point to this; I think this is just me trying to get back to something I love (writing, that is, not narcissistically talking about myself). I’m trying to get back into the habit of thinking of writing that is something I can do for fun, not something that has to change the world. If something I write helps someone in some way, then that’s amazing, but if not, as long as it helps me. I think I have to get in the habit of thinking selfishly about my writing, that it’s okay just to do it for me. If I don’t want to read my own writing, after all, why would anyone else?

I hope you’re all well; it has been a very long time. I will, hopefully, chat to you soon.
Becca.

Labels: | 2 comments
22 January 2018

An Idiot's Guide to Starting Motherhood

10:42 | Posted by

Hi, 

 Since my last post (make sure and read to catch up), I only blimming well went and had a baby, didn't I!? To say that my life has changed in the most monumental way, would be nothing short of an understatement. I don't think you can ever actually prepare yourself for becoming a parent, no matter how many books you read, or how long you have to get ready. Once it happens, it's nothing short of mind blowing how little you really know. That's how I felt anyway. I frequently look at my son and panic that I'll not be able to keep him happy, or even on a more fundamental level, I'll not be able to keep him alive. The amount of times I have panicked every time I have lifted him up, that I will fall and crush him, is nothing short of insane. Every time he pauses breathing, I have to stop from having a nervous breakdown. Even now, he's playing beside me on his playtime mat, and he has the most brutal hiccups, and part of me can't stop thinking that they aren't just hiccups, they are something more insidious. I mean, on a logical level I know they really are just the hiccups, but the emotional part of me is very loud and she demands to be heard. So, I guess we're going with blind panic rather than rational thought. 
Elijah, one day old.

 Elijah is now four months old. For four whole months we have been blessed with this adorable bundle of joy and happiness, who loves cuddles more than anything, who adores his dad bopping his cheeks, and who smiles for everyone except the camera just to annoy me. He is a happy, joyful boy, who is loving learning about the world. He loves studying people's faces and using his hands and mouth to discover everything, and watching him learn is my greatest happiness. I always thought people must be exaggerating when they said that having a child creates a love like no other, but the second he was put in my arms, that feeling of love hit like a tidal wave. A terrifying, overwhelming, awesome tidal wave. I had been very apprehensive of how I would feel after giving birth. I have a long history of depression and anxiety, so I was very aware that I would be more likely to suffer from post-natal depression, but thankfully there have been no signs. I keep a close eye on my mood anyway, if the feelings of negativity arise, I deal with them head on because otherwise I would let them overwhelm me. It's very easy to let the negative feelings take root, because there really are no words for just how overwhelming it is to become a parent. One minute, you only have to make sure you keep yourself alive, the next, there's a tiny human being completely reliant on you, and they're screaming and you don't know why, and holy shit this is terrifying. The moment he smiles though, that single moment is enough to make me feel like I can do this. 
Look at that smile!

 Having said that, I wouldn't be able to do this alone. I am very lucky to have the most fabulous fiancé, and a wonderful family to help and support me, I can only imagine how scary it must be for those who have to face it alone. In these four short months, there have been a few things that have made this transition slightly easier, so here are my top tips for how to cope with having to look after a tiny person.

 1. Look After Yourself.
Seems a bit counter-productive when you're meant to be looking after someone else, and I'm not suggesting that you ignore your child while you pamper yourself and paint your nails. What I mean is, don't let yourself go by the wayside, make sure that you don't just exist with only one purpose. Particularly, I would say, keep a close eye on your mental wellbeing. Postnatal Depression is far more prevalent than society lets on, and it just makes a difficult job even harder. If you are struggling with your thoughts at all, let someone know. 

 2. Take Advantage of Any Help.
My fiancé has been beyond fab, and our families have been wonderful and supportive whilst we've adjusted. Beyond that, we've been incredibly lucky with our midwife and health visitor who have been so helpful and informative. Don't be afraid to ask for help the you need it, I know how much we can want to do everything ourselves, but wearing yourself out only makes everything more difficult. If someone offers to cuddle the baby so you can nap, do it. It doesn't mean you can't cope, it just makes it a little easier.

 3. Make Use of the Medical Professionals.
Here in the UK, we're incredibly lucky to have the NHS, and the beyond fabulous human beings in work within it. Like I mentioned before, we have been very lucky with our midwives and our health visitor. They have been helpful, supportive and encouraging. They've never made me feel like I'm asking a stupid question, and have been a wealth of information at every point of the journey. If you are lucky enough to have medical professionals you like and trust, make use of them. 

 4. Don't Compare Yourself.
It's hard not to compare yourself to others in a social media heavy society. We are lambasted with images of picture perfect mothers with their perfectly presented children, who have absolutely no puke on them. It's a bit hard to take when you're still in your pyjamas at 4pm, with unwashed hair, puke on your t-shirt, and are in the middle of changing your child's explosive poonami situation that has gone all over their vest. The reality is, those images are only a split second, carefully curated image of a life, so there's no point in feeling bad if you don't look like that. As long as you and the baby are happy and healthy, you're doing just fine. 

 5. Prepare Yourself.
Look, there's only so much you can prepare yourself, because parenting is the equivalent of throwing yourself in the deep end of the pool with only a pair of armbands to keep you up and no knowledge if how to swim. It's very much a learn on the job situation, but I found that reading books helped me to get in the right mindset, and they gave me an idea of what was going to happen. The three I found particularly helpful were; How to Grow a Baby and Push It Out: Your no-nonsense guide to pregnancy and birth by Clemmie Cooper, The Positive Birth Book: A new approach to pregnancy, birth and the early weeks. by Milli Hill, and The Happy Birth Book: Your trusted A-Z of pregnancy, birth and the early weeks by Beverley Turner. I know that books aren't everyone's cup of tea, but if you are after as much information as possible, they are a fab source for getting yourself ready. I personally wish I'd been more prepared for Breastfeeding. I knew that it would be difficult initially, but no-one mentioned how much it takes out of you for the first four weeks, or that the cluster feeding to establish your supply is so draining. It wouldn't have changed my mind, but it would've made me mentally prepared, at least. Now, I wouldn't have it any other way, and I love feeding him, but it would've saved some tears at the start! And, of course, if books aren't your thing, ask people who know. Friends and family who've had kids are a wealth of information that they'll be only too happy to share, so don't be afraid to ask, there's no such thing as a stupid question. There are always resources online as well, parenting groups on Facebook for support for breastfeeding, mumsnet, etc. A quick search and you'll find a forum for you. 

 The best advice I could give, is to not overthink it. Don't allow yourself to work up into blind panic, it'll just make it harder. Yes, childbirth will hurt like a bitch, yes, parenting is the hardest job in the world, but when you see them, you'll know it is worth it. It is so worth it. 
First smile.

 Right, I'll leave it there for now, this has taken 60 years to write and I have a crying child looking to sleep and eat at the same time. I will chat to you all later, and I hope this helps someone! Remember, there's always help if you're struggling, never be afraid to ask. You can keep up with our families shenanigans on Instagram, as I am always on there.
Hope you're all well,

 Becca xo


Labels:,, | 0 comments
16 October 2017

The Perfect Pregnancy?

10:37 | Posted by
*Please note, this was written a good two months ago. At least, I started it then in one of my rare productive periods. I am now no longer pregnant, and am now the proud owner of a beautiful baby boy! Expect a blog post about that in the next year. I mean, I'll aim for sooner, be we all know my limitations.*

When I was younger I used to put a pillow up my t-shirt and waddle around and pretend to be pregnant. Not because I had an overwhelming desire to be pregnant at eight, but because I thought that pregnant women were the most beautiful, fascinating creatures. To me, they were magical. Now that I am actually one of those pregnant creatures, I don't feel beautiful, or fascinating, or even magical. I think my body is doing something miraculous, sometimes I'll just stare down at my stomach in utter disbelief that there is a tiny human being growing in there, but I don't feel particularly miraculous. I feel tired. So tired. 

It's my own fault for falling into the social media trap, I spend half my life on Instagram and Facebook, so it was very easy for me to fall for the image of social media perfection. It was even easier to make myself feel bad for not being the same as the pictures of perfection that these accounts portray. I have not spent my pregnancy dressed as though I've waltzed off the pages of Vogue; I've spent my pregnancy mildly sweaty, living in leggings, and looking kind of homeless. I have not been an avid yoga attendee; I've been an avid attendee of my bed. I spent the first five months of my pregnancy trying not to throw up and failing miserably, I had a brief month where I felt vaguely energetic, and now I'm just utterly exhausted. My back aches, and my adorable child is definitely sitting on a nerve somewhere because I can't walk for longer than ten minutes without a shooting pain travelling down my right leg. I wanted so, so badly to be one of those pregnant women who just smiles and glides their way through pregnancy; who eats all the right food, does all the right exercise and who doesn't dress like they've just rolled in their closet and thrown on whatever shit actually fits. I, however, have not eaten the right food. I have spent the first five months eating barely anything, and then the rest eating food that I spent the last two years avoiding. The changing body image has been a very difficult thing for me to wrap my head around. I spent over a year and a half losing five stone, which was really fricking hard. Like, really hard. Now, when I look in the mirror, I see my face as it was, my ankles are swollen and I feel desperately unfit because my lungs are being crushed. It's been hard, I won't lie, and it's been a massive adjustment because I had gotten used to liking the way I looked, then slowly, I've watched my body slowly morph back into the body I desperately wanted rid of. It's been a bit of a strain on my confidence and my mental state, but at the same time, I'm utterly, utterly obsessed with my bump. I can't go a day without stroking it, or holding it; hell, I can't even go an hour without touching it. I always hated my stomach, and now it's my favourite thing to hold, it's incredibly odd. It's a bit of a catch-22 situation; as much as I'm a bit devastated that the body I worked so hard for has changed completely, I don't regret the events that have made it change. I think it's important to say; regardless of any negative feelings I might have felt during my pregnancy, I know how lucky I am to have been able to get pregnant and have a safe pregnancy. I might have thrown up a lot, but apart from that, I was pretty blessed.
See what I mean? Belly cupper.  

The main advice I'd give to  anyone expecting is this; don't put pressure on yourself to be like anyone else. You do whatever you want, or need to do. If that means getting up for sunrise yoga classes, fair play to you, you mad woman; if it means eating an entire tub of ice-cream, more power to you. You are the one who is pregnant, you look after yourself however you see fit. Obviously, some semblance of a healthy approach is ideal and you should look after yourself the best you can, but don't put pressure on yourself to live off kale salad and smoothies, mostly because kale is horrific. I read so many pregnancy books and had such high expectations for how I wanted my pregnancy to go, but you really can't micro-manage your body, whatever your body wants to do, it will do. You can make life easier for yourself, but you aren't going to be able to completely change how your body reacts. I spent the first five months trying everything to get rid of my sickness, and while some things helped, the nausea was not to be defeated. I desperately wanted to be more like the women on Instagram who seemed to flourish and thrive in pregnancy, and look completely fabulous, but I have slowly come to terms that I just don't have that in me. And that's fine, it might not be what I wanted initially, but once I realised that it's not reasonable to expect to be like that all the time, I was happier for it. If you spend 95% of your time looking like leggings are the only thing you have in your wardrobe, and the other 5% looking put together, then you're doing well. Every time I actually manage to make an effort I feel like I deserve a medal, which just makes it more special. 
Besides, we may as well all get used to never looking put together again, babies have zero tolerance for nice outfits. All it means to them is they have a better looking target to spit and poo on!

I'll leave it there, and I'll hopefully chat to you soon. If you fancy keeping up with my craic, I'm on Instagram forever, which you can find the link for on the side or here, or on Facebook, which is linked here. I imagine they'll soon be filled with baby pictures because that's just the kind of person I am.
Hope you're all well,

Becca xo

UPDATE: since writing this post, I have had a lil baby boy, spoiler alert, he's perfect.
The best thing that's ever happened to me. Or Elijah for short.

Labels:,, | 0 comments
11 January 2017

New Year's Resolutions for Grown Ups.

13:18 | Posted by
So, I am a big fan of making New Year's Resolutions. Every year I make some ridiculous resolution like 'Go Skydiving', which I will most likely never do, unless I suffer from some sort of personality transplant, because heights scare the living shit out of me. Ever since I was a kid, I'd make some unbelievable resolution, that is so much more like a wish or a dream (for example; win the lottery? You can thank 9 year old Becca for that fantastic one) and then when the new year rolled around, I'd be so disappointed in myself that I didn't succeed. I'd set myself up for a massive fail before the year even began. 

 As I got older, my resolutions began to reflect more of what I thought about myself and my self-worth. They turned from things like 'skydiving' (I mean, honestly 10 year old me, why!?), to things like 'get a boyfriend', 'lose weight', 'be less of a loser'. My resolutions turned into ways I could change myself, mould myself into the people I so desperately wanted to be like, who I so desperately wanted to like me. Needless to say, resolutions started with that mentality are doomed to fail from the start, how can you succeed in 'bettering' yourself when you don't even believe you can? If you think you're shit, you'll only treat yourself as such. Again, I'd set myself up for disaster before it had even began, and it made it impossible to pull myself out of my negative way of thinking. I'd spend the year in this constant cycle of knowing I was heading for failure in my mind, but doing nothing about it because I didn't know what to do. It took me a very long time to pull myself out of this repetitive, useless cycle, but this year it appears I've turned a corner. It was a Christmas miracle!

 This year my Resolutions aren't anything big or fancy, I still have high aims for the year because I am the eternal dreamer, but to me they are achievable, and that's all they need to be. Without further rambling (of course there'll be further rambling) here's my resolutions;

 1) Get my Passport
I've been putting this off forever because it seems too grown up and I am apparently the laziest of all the shits, but I AM going to do this.

 2) Go Travelling
This links nicely with point one, obviously. I already have a bucket list, god help my bank account.

 3) Write more
Last year I made big claims about 2016 being 'the year of the blog', turns out 2016 was actually the year of the mental breakdown, so we'll just pretend that didn't happen. I'm not necessarily saying I'll be a top blogger, I mean, I am still me, and I am still Queen of the Procrastinators, but I am saying I'll try better. I would like to possibly finish any one of the three writing projects I have been working on for forever.

 4) Get Organised
I think this also links well with point three, I'm doing a very good job linking things together. To help me with my whole 'getting organised' thing, I have started a Bullet Journal, which looked so pretty in the youtube videos and tumblr pictures I looked at, but good grief it is time-consuming. Like, I enjoy it, but in my determination to make it look Pinterest-tastic, it apparently takes me 34 years to do anything.This will definitely be a work in progress because I over-complicate things, but I'm oddly excited about it, which must mean I am officially middle aged. 

 5) Be happy and healthy
This is a constant wish, rather than just a resolution. This is something I always overlooked when I was younger, even up to last year. I'd write down all my aspirations and hopes, but I'd forget the most important one. There's no point in having all these dreams if I'm miserable, so this year, I'm taking better care of my mental health and physical health. I'm not aiming to all of a sudden be cured of depression, and I'm certainly not aiming to 'be skinny', I'm just aiming to handle it. All I want is to be happy, healthy and confident in myself. I say 'all I want', when I'm aware that's actually quite a lot to ask of myself, but I think it's important that I ask it of myself. To me, it's important that I take stock in how I feel in myself, rather than focusing on everyone else around me. I spend a lot of time worrying about how other people view me, and whether other people like me, when I should've really been worrying about my own view of myself. 2016 was not a great year for my mental health, I wasn't in a particularly good place in my mind, but I am determined for 2017 to be better. 

Okay, that's me! Resolutions that would make any grown up proud! I know it's late, but I hope you all had a fabulous Christmas surrounded by the people you love, and I hope you've made resolutions that make you feel good about yourself, even if that includes skydiving, you mentalist. 
You can find all my links on the side, I am forever on Instagram, much to the bane of everyone I know. I hope you're all well, and I'll chat to you soon.

 Be happy, and be kind.
Becca xo 
Labels:,, | 0 comments
12 May 2016

Why Are You Sad?

12:52 | Posted by
Hi,

 It's been a while, I suck, I know. 

I've had a tough time dealing with my depression the past few weeks. This was the longest spell I've gone without having a depressive episode, which meant that when the bad day hit, it hit hard. I had lulled myself into a false sense of security, it had been months since I'd had a really bad day, I was cured! It was a Christmas miracle. At least, I thought it was, until one day I woke up and felt the familiar painful ache in my bones, the weight in my stomach and the unending dread. There isn't really an easy way to describe the feeling of this kind of bad day. It's like waking up underwater and constantly having to tread water to keep your head above the level. It's exhausting, and there's a part of your brain that can't help wondering 'what if I just stopped?'. Being sad isn't the worst part about depression, it's the thoughts that sneak their way across your mind like lightening, without permission, that tease and taunt you. It's the single, pervasive thought of 'what if it all just stopped?'. That thought, out of all the bad thoughts I've ever had about myself, is the most frightening, because it's the most tempting. 
Kristian Nygård
When I have a bad day, I constantly ask myself; 'why are you sad?', and I'm really asking myself; 'what the hell is wrong with you?'. And it's this question that bothers me most. I don't know why I'm sad. Nothing terrible has happened to me recently. I'm healthier than ever, I can look in the mirror without wanting to cry most days, and I have wonderful friends and family, so what's with the never-ending urge to cry for 64 years? The answer is, there is no answer. There is no reason for my sadness, there is just sadness, and this is one of the shittiest parts of depression. When you're sad for a reason, you can indulge your grief, you can sit in your room and cry and let it all out and move forward. When there's no reason, you can sit and cry, but then all you're left with after is confusion. Why am I crying? Why can I not stop? That confusion in my case, more often than not, leads to anger, because I can't stand feeling that out of control with my emotions. Then after the anger comes the guilt, what right do I even have to be sad when there are people out there suffering so much more? These emotions play with your head, you feel like you have to hide them, because how would you even explain that to people when you can't even explain it to yourself?
Elysian-Dreams
Often depression is simplified to just being really fucking sad, but it's so much more than that, it's so much more overwhelming. There's the loneliness, the isolation, the fear, the confusion, the unending exhaustion, the fact that you don't even know how to function as a human being anymore, the utter emptiness, the not caring about the things you used to love, the just not caring in general. When you simplify depression to sadness, to take away all the other factors that change you from the person you used to be, into the shell that you become. 
Depression Comix

 There is something incredibly narcissistic about depression, all you can think about is yourself and your feelings, and the worst thing is, when it comes to actually talking about those feelings, the words fail. You end up isolated in this bubble of horrible thoughts, and fears that eat you alive, but on the outside you carry on as though you don't feel like you're dying. It's a lonely experience. It feels like you're talking to people through a glass wall and you can't find a way through it. You want to get involved, you want to laugh and have fun, but all you can hear is the voice in your head saying they don't want you around. And it's so much easier to give into that voice, because fighting it is exhausting. So you stumble around the glass wall, lost in a state of confusion and disorientation, but looking like a 'normal' human being and hiding the storm that is killing you inside.
I'm, generally speaking, an incredibly sensitive person, I don't know if it's the depression, or me just being a delicate flower, but I take everything to heart. This becomes so much worse when I'm having a bad day. The worry that somebody doesn't like me anymore is one of my most pervasive fears. I wish I was one of those people who didn't care what people thought. I have wished that more than anything for as long as I can remember. I've always wanted to be that badass who stands up for themselves and tells everyone else to go fuck themselves, but the most I can muster up is an arched brow and a quick scuttle away from confrontation. Even when people hurt my feelings, or make me feel shit, I'll go out of my way to avoid confronting the problem because I'm too scared of them not liking me. It's pathetic, but it's just the way my mind works. If people don't invite me out, I'll automatically assume they don't like me anymore and I won't know how to act around them because I won't know what I've done wrong. Hell, if I'm not even included in a tagged post I'll assume that we aren't pals anymore. It's an incredibly exhausting train of thought that leaves you scared of everyone and makes me an emotional nightmare to deal with. I don't know how my friends and family have put up with it for so long. 
Sylvie Reuter
Sometimes I'll have these brief, glorious moments on the bad days where it feels like the clouds of parted, and I can smile without feeling like my face is tearing itself apart, but then the next second, that little insidious voice is back. With feelings as mercurial as that, it's very hard to grasp how you feel at any point of the day. When people say 'just tell someone', it's so much harder than that; how can you articulate something that you don't fully understand, how can I tell someone how I feel, when I'm not entirely sure how I feel? The anxiety makes it even harder, because as understanding as society is now, it's very hard for people to fully sympathise with someone who doesn't like answering the phone, going new places, or even talking to new people. It's incredibly frustrating being too scared to do the simplest things that are easy to everyone else, imagine having to talk to somebody about something that terrifies you. 

 I don't know if I really have a concise point to this ramble, I think I just find it easier to type out my feelings than chat about them. I can find more words when I'm typing than when I speak, when I speak it feels like the words get lost on their way to my mouth and nothing I say makes sense. This, I guess, is my way of trying to make sense of my thoughts and my broken brain. I don't know why I'm sad, I wish I did, because at least then I could do something about it. I don't know why I feel so alone, or lost, or confused. I don't know why I feel like everyone hates me. I don't know why I'm so confused, disorientated or scared 75% of the time. I just don't know. If I knew, I wouldn't be spewing my thoughts all over the internet, I would be out having a life, I would be living the dream.   
Shannon Sophia

 I'll leave it there, I hope you're all having a better day than I am. If you want to chat, you can leave a comment below, or find me on any of my social media links on the side. Thanks for reading my ramble, if you made it all the way down here.

EDIT: Alright, I feel like I ended this on a really negative note, so I'll just add; I won't give up, I'll never give up and I live in perpetual hope that tomorrow will be a better day than today. I am the eternal dreamer haha. 

 Be happy, and be kind,
Becca xo

 P.S. The Guardian had a great article for Depression Awareness week, I'll link it here, you should give it a read. 
P.P.S The comics are all on this Buzzfeed article. It is great.
Labels:,, | 0 comments
11 January 2016

Value Your Self(ie)

11:07 | Posted by
Hi!

 First of all, I'd apologise for the title, but part of me thinks it might be the best thing I've ever written. So instead, I'm gonna go ahead and give myself a pat on the back for being hilarious.

 Second of all, hello. It's been a while since I did the blogging thing, I hope I haven't forgotten how this thing works. I don't have any excuse really, other than I was focusing on getting myself happy and healthy, so I'm happy enough with the time out. I am back now, I can't promise a post every week, but I'll try my best! In terms of life achievements, all you've really missed is me losing 3 stone (GO ME) and I saw Star Wars and The Martian, both of which were most excellent. I mean, I did other things, but those felt like the main things. I'm not sure what that says about my life, but I don't really care, so there's that. 

The new love of my life.
With that all out of the way, let's chat about selfies. I get made fun of on a fairly regular basis for the amount of selfies I take, and that's fair enough, I do take an alarming amount of selfies. There's a lot of chat about people who take selfies, none of it particularly heartwarming. The majority of the opinions I've read about them generally follow the whole 'could you be any more in love with yourself?' (I hope you said that in a Chandler Bing voice) train of thought. It's not good. There seems to be a resounding belief that selfies are a sign of a vain, vapid generation who care only about themselves. Allow me to offer an alternative view because, after all, what's wrong with loving yourself?


 I used to hate having my photo taken, even now I get a bit antsy if I'm not the one holding the camera. I'd look at every photo of me that was taken and pick out every single flaw. My face was too fat, my eyes were too small, my nose was too weird, what the hell face am I making? Everything. Everything was wrong with those photos, even if someone said it was a nice photo, they were lying. When I was in the height of my depression, I couldn't even stand looking at pictures of myself. I would actively avoid the three thousand pictures my Mum has hanging up around the house, because to me, they were just a reminder of my failure. All I wanted was to be able to look at a picture of myself and be happy with what I saw. 
After a while I learned how to manage my mental health and take better care of myself, and I taught myself to not automatically doubt everything I did, and that burgeoning sense of confidence and security was just awesome. Suddenly I didn't feel like shit 24/7, there were brief moments when I actually thought 'y'know, I'm not too bad!', and soon those moments happened more frequently. Then I fell in love with makeup and it was like a whole new world (I, 100%, started singing the song from Aladdin there, I hope you did too) opened up to me. It was like magic! This was something that allowed me to control how I saw my face, how others saw my face, I could hide what I wanted and enhance what I liked. I was finally in charge, and after years of feeling like I wasn't, it was a glorious feeling. 

 With the makeup, came the selfies. Every time I liked what I'd manage to do with makeup, I'd take a photo of it, and instead of hating everything that I saw, I'd see something that I liked, which felt like a life achievement to me. Being able to compliment yourself when you've gone for so long only able to put yourself down, is just the best feeling in the world. When I hear someone complaining about people taking selfies and hear them say 'they are so in love with themselves!', a large part of me thinks 'good. I hope they are'. Because when did it become a problem to love yourself? I'm not saying that posting selfies is going to cure the great issues of the world, and sure, like everything there is a limit, but if that photo made that person feel good for even just a moment, then what's the problem? 
I don't post pictures of myself to gain anyone's approval, the only person's approval I need is my own. I couldn't care less if someone doesn't like a photo of me, because if I've posted it, it means I like that photo and that's all that matters. Sure, when I post my 389th selfie to Instagram and get a few likes, I'll not deny that it feels nice, it feels like a little internet compliment, even if it is just someone double tapping picture. I challenge you to find anyone who doesn't like a compliment, and if they say they don't, they're lying. And you should probably compliment them because they sound very sad.

 I don't post selfies because I think I'm the best looking person in the world, I post them because I do think I have a nice face, I do like what I can do with makeup and I do feel pretty, and I don't think any of that is a problem. Those pictures might be 'vain', 'vapid' and 'ridiculous' (thank you social media for all your opinions, as always) but they made me feel good about myself in a time when I didn't think I could, and my opinion of myself is far more important than anyone else's. 

The next time somebody tries to make fun of you for taking selfies, ask yourself; how do you feel about that photo? If the answer is that you think you look bomb as hell, then post that picture to every piece of social media in existence because the world deserves to see a moment of you being happy in your own skin. It's a bizarre turn of events when we're trying to teach everyone to love themselves, but the second they show a sign of doing it, there's someone right there telling them to reign that shit in. Don't reign it in, love yourself proudly and publicly because you deserve to. 
If you're the person who makes fun of people who take selfies, try it for yourself. Take a photo of yourself that you like and point out five things that you like about it, and if you don't feel marginally good about yourself after, you're probably a robot. 

I'll leave it there because I've already lost this blog post once and I won't risk it again. I hope you all had a magical Christmas and a wonderful New Year! I can't wait for 2016 because I feel like it might be a great year, and maybe I'll actually post some blog posts! We'll not place money on that though. I will chat to you all soon(ish),

 Be happy and be kind,
Becca xo
Labels:,,, | 1 comments

Motherhood, films, beauty, and life

Search

Friends!

Follow on Bloglovin

Instagram

Powered by Blogger.

Translate