High Maintenance or Self Care?

High Maintenance or Self Care?

In no way shape or form could I ever be described as ‘high-maintenance’. Not even in my younger, thinner, prettier days. The bottom line is I’m just too damn lazy. The second to bottom line is I couldn’t afford it (or justify spending that amount of money on myself). Having children and being married (or as good as without the dress and piece of paper), meant that the bit of time I did spend on myself, kinda went out of  the window. It wasn’t helped by living with a partner who would regularly throw around accusations of affairs every time  I put on some slap and high heels. However, that was then and this is  now. Yesterday I talked about the mirror. So insignificant to most but a huge step for me. My mindset has definitely  shifted recently. A need to self-care again has risen from the ashes. When I look in the mirror I no longer see someone who is beyond help. Not worthy of help. I see a woman with potential; to be better and greater than she was the day before.

My world is beginning to feel quite alien. It’s scary but exciting.

So with this new perspective on life,  and myself, I thought the time had come to try and go a bit more high-maintenance. I awoke this morning full of the joys of spring and with many many plans for today. A transformation from a dowdy 44-year-old to middle-aged glamour puss (*Miranda style turn to camera* “…no sniggering … we all need dreams…”) was on the cards. I have a birthday coming up and it seemed as good a time to start as any.

It hasn’t gone  to plan  and it’s only eleven.

It turns out this high maintenance stuff isn’t as simple as I’d imagined. First disappointment was remembering I wasn’t going to be able to lose 60 pounds between breakfast  and dinner. The second disappointment was remembering that to lose even a single pound there could be no breakfast or dinner. Unperturbed, I whipped out my pencil and paper and commenced creating my to-do list whilst munching away on my fat-free, gluten-free, dairy-free breakfast.

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  1. Dye Eyebrows -Kids have thrown away the box of dye I’d secretly stashed in the bathroom cabinet.
  2. Make hair look lush (Hair colour) -I can’t find the gloves, and no one applies Sebastion Cellophane without gloves. No one.
  3. Tidy up eyebrows – “… ya tweezers fell down the plug hole last week mum…”
  4. Nails –  No nails!! Probably should have stopped biting them last week in preparation
  5. Legs – I still have a pair. Possibly an orangutan sanctuary existing in ‘undergrowth’. (Half way through my shower I remembered new packet of disposables is still downstairs.)
  6. Face mask – Do Avon still do those peely ones? A bit like the glue we all painted on the back of our hands as kids but smelled of lemon. (Remembered I was supposed to do one an hour after my shower.)
  7. Exfoliation of entire body! (I remembered two hours after my shower. Fitness levels probably aren’t ready for this yet anyway. There  is a lot of body and a lot of exfoliation.)
  8. Feet – Urgh, I’m not ready to go there yet.
  9. Yoga work out on the Bastard-Ball –  The day isn’t over yet. It’s still a possibility. *Crosses fingers behind back.*

And so it goes on …

How do you girls do it?!!!

There is so much to think about and plan! It’s like having another full-time job on top of the full-time work that most of us already do! I’m going to need extra pages and columns in my diary if this has a cat in hells chance of working. I probably would also benefit  from a sugar-daddy / crowd-fund / Swiss bank account (full) / trust fund / lottery win. I’m thinking this high-maintenance would be so much less stressful if I could afford to hire a housekeeper to do my chores and look after the kids, whilst I pottered off to see a ‘lady wot does’ to get all the beauty stuff done.

I need to reassess how I can make this happen. Or bits of it at least.

Current High Maintenance Level Achieved: I’ve washed my hair. 😀

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The Morning After The Night Before. ( The Indian Chronicles.)

I don’t have many words to share with you this morning, but I felt it only polite to follow up on yesterday’s blog. I shall do this using the medium of giphys.

So first this happened ….

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This of course, is an actual photo of me and is pretty much how I both look, and start all my mornings. Flower changes depending on seasonal availability. Prince changes depending on kidnapping availability.

All was good in the world as I set to, commencing what was to be a glorious day.

Time for morning ablutions.

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I obviously don’t get paid to poop. There are many things I am happy to do for money but pooping isn’t one of them. Nor is making my own giphys.

 

And then this happened.

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At first, I thought the rumblings were some kind of earth movement,but I soon realised that my soul was trying to remove itself from my body.

 

It got messy.

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I googled quickly whilst loo-bound … ‘upset tummy after eating Indian food’ … 

The news wasn’t good. It looks like I could be here for the foreseeable future. ‘Here‘, being on the loo. Still. My legs went numb about 30 minutes ago and I can no longer feel my face.

Please send gifts and donations. Money and diamonds are renown for their healing properties.

Until tomorrow. If I make it.

Anna J xxx

 

Mildly Dramatic Light Bulb Moment Strikes.

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I have a lot of lightbulb moments. Some of them are lasting, and some of them have got a bit of dodgy switch which leads to intermittent flickering and eventual failure. However, I think, I hope, that this morning’s one, was of the more permanent kind.

I struggle with I’m Not Good Enough Syndrome.

It’s common amongst the female side of the species, and sadly, I think in recent years, has grown dramatically amongst the guys too. So much social and media pressure, 24/7. Unless you have a self-esteem that is made from anything less than steel and Teflon, it’s a difficult little fucker to avoid. However, mine didn’t come from that. We didn’t have the same pressures when I was a kid; in fact, most of my childhood was spent staring at posters of John Taylor from Duran Duran.

Mine came from my father.

I was a high achiever with a ridiculous amount of ability until high school at least. He encouraged me in the only way he knew how. By yelling at me and telling me that I could do more. Achieve more. Be better. Reminding me every single day that what I did, who I was …wasn’t good enough.

I wasn’t enough for him.

And there it was.  The message took root and evolved into my own personal nemesis. A self-belief that fused with every atom that made up the person I was. Am. With no conscious awareness, I spent my adolescence choosing  both friends and boyfriends who would re-enforce the message; and in return, I would play up to the person everyone ( and I) thought I was. Over the years I learned to flick away compliments like a highly skilled tennis player returning serves. I’ve shied away from doing things, going places and meeting people, all for fear of rejection of what I can bring to the table. i.e. Me.

I’ve held  back emotions for the same reason. To evade the possibility of rejection. To sidestep any chance of being told, either by word or deed, that yet again, I wasn’t good enough.

” I will never be enough.”

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I’ve worked on it continually as I know many do. Reading  the self-help books, watching the videos on YouTube, clicking ‘like’ on the trillions of memes that travel around facebook. Tried losing weight, tried gaining weight. Grew hair, cut hair, grew hair. Like a sticking plaster, the difference was always temporary because they only affected my thoughts and not my feelings. No matter how many times you go over a mantra, if the emotions behind the facade remain the same, we will always return to type. Eventually.

So what changed? 

I’m not ashamed to admit that I am Abraham Hicks’s biggest fan (these days), and it was hours and hours of listening that finally got a new message (and method) to sink in.

Life isn’t supposed to feel shit.

I started taking responsibility for my own emotional well-being. Made a decision that whilst I couldn’t stop life chucking things at me that made me feel yukky, I could choose to walk away from those that made me feel anything less than good. And I have been. Where ever possible. And the number of those ‘possibles’ appears to be growing.

It’s getting easier to say ‘No’ to that, and ‘Yes’ to this.

Shit things don’t just feel shit anymore. They feel wrong. That’s a big difference. A huge shift in perspective.  And this is what led to this mornings lightbulb moment. A conversation online with an old friend who happens to be abroad. Discussing what different people are attracted to (potential relationships). An old friend who also happens to be incredibly confident, and good looking.

“I’m generally only attracted to confident people,” He said. “even if I was initially attracted, without that confident element it wouldn’t last. Not with me.” Or words to that effect. It was open and candid, as our time together generally is. It’s one of the  things I love about out  friendship. And I was in agreement. Being around people with low self-esteem can be tiring. It’s exhausting having to constantly prop up another human being.

And then I remembered that I am one of those people, lusting after people like him. 

<Cue my brain caving in.>

I begin reminiscing about how it’s always been ‘my issue’. I could feel the childhood stories backing up inside. Tales of woeful romances that had fallen by the wayside because of ‘my issues’. In previous times this would have continued until I’d all but brought myself to tears; at which point I would shuffle off into a corner, faceplant some cake and ice-cream, and berate myself for hours for not being enough, or good enough. Resign myself to eternal singledom because no one was ever going to love someone so broken as me …. that no one should ever have to carry that burden of carrying me.

Seriously. By the end of the first tub of Ben & Jerry’s, it was not a pretty sight.

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But today was different.

I have no clue when the penny dropped. But something had changed. I had insight.

I recognised that I was talking myself down, and not only that, I was doing my darndest to get my friend to join in too. Subconsciously trying to get other peoples validation of how horrible a person I was. Am. IS THAT CRAZY OR IS THAT CRAZY!?

Not content with my own constant self-punishment, I’d decided I needed some reinforcement! Thank god it was with someone who not only won’t play ball but who also won’t hesitate in telling me to ‘shut the fuck up and get off the train bound for Pity-Ville’ … but today it wasn’t needed.

I spotted it. Felt It.

That horrid sickness that accompanies self-loathing and sneaks into your gut like a grey sticky shadow … it stuck it’s head through my door and I smashed it right back out.

“I don’t like talking about how crap I am!” I announced. The words fell out. “It’s making me feel even crappier about myself and I don’t like feeling like that anymore. I’m off to do some Yoga Ball.” And I did. And the bad feeling went away.

It was that easy! After all these years of wrestling!

It felt bad so I walked away. It. Is. That. Simple.

Only we can stop the rot. Only we can be responsible for what we allow or don’t allow. The hardest part about all of this, is learning just how easy it is.

I could go on forever and waffle people into a coma on the subject of Abraham / Ester Hicks these days, but I won’t. So if you’ve managed to get through this fuelled only by the power of a couple of coffee’s, then well done. Your prize is in the post.

Till tomorrow.

Anna J ❤