The new healthy

‘More interested in how my life feels than how my life looks to others.’

As this little challenge progresses I have felt the ease of my writing return. I will sit and the words will flow. I can talk both nonsensically and seriously and I hope at times I really make sense. I know at other times I let the words flow over the laptop keyboard, like ink spilling from an inkwell over stark white paper, so freely that it’s only when I pause that I realise I’m 300 words in and have no idea what was said. As a reader I can imagine you may have to reread the jargon in front of you on more than one occasion.

At other times, I force myself to write something, anything, to complete this challenge. To write every single day for 365 days. That challenge has been marred by the website I use when it didn’t publish properly one day and it felt like a failure on my part. So I gave myself a telling off and pledged to continue on and ignore a failing that wasn’t mine.

The easiest piece of writing I find is to do with travel. Whether it is a day out, a weekend away or a mammoth trip somewhere new it’s just easy. Sadly, I cannot travel all day everyday. This is a bad thing. It means when I do I make the most of everything and take nothing for granted. It gives me an opportunity to write something I am passionate about rather than the mess in my head that makes little to no sense to other people.

We are lucky to travel as much as we do. Owning a home and experiencing lockdown restrictions during a worldwide pandemic saw our relationship with travel change vastly. In a way it has made me so much more aware of how lucky I have been in the past and how lucky I am now.

The last week or so has seen me take you to Majorca through my memories, talk about mental health and share older blogs. I don’t feel like it has been my best contribution but I have felt happy enough that I haven’t broken the consecutive run of the blogs written so far. I have spoken before about how I get writer’s block and I feel this week has been particularly challenging with a combination of this and mental health.

In the past I have read endless articles online and heard several stories from friends and family where the word ‘boundaries’ has been used. I’ve always come away from such encounters wondering if having a boundary in place means you shut people out. If the people you construct those boundaries against are bad people. Or if you, the boundary maker, are a bad person by giving up on others. I could never truly understand what it meant and why people reached the point to set their own limitations.

I have spoken before about how in its way covid granted us the time to reset our social lives and redefined what being ‘busy’ meant. Mr W and I regularly block out days on a weekend now to stay at home and actually exist in the home we work hard to pay for and create. Covid gave us the opportunity to see just how busy our lives used to be. Entertaining on a Friday night, running endless errands on a Saturday morning, rushing home to get ready to go back out for a family event, up early on a Sunday morning to go shopping or head somewhere to explore before heading to a friends for a social get together. It was often the case that we were out three or four times during the week too. It often felt like our home was a shell that we sometimes saw the inside of. There wasn’t much complaining because none of the social engagements we had were chores or forced upon us. Between the two of us we have a large blend of family and friends. I have kept a lot of friendships from my school days and they are some of the dearest, most cherished relationships I have in my life. They are important enough to nurture and I would never give them up. By giving ourselves time to stop recently and relax at home we are better people when we do visit our loved ones.

I feel this strongly at times when I become a shell of a person in other ways. I have been realising for a very long time that I am a people pleaser. I will step in to help anyone at the detriment to my own ability or energy. I’m also married to another people pleaser. Now, this can be misconstrued as only helping people to fulfil some need to be a people pleaser. This is not true. We would only ever help when there is love there. When the relationship is genuine and you want to help. Plainly put, you want to help because it’s nice to do so. There is no wrong in this situation.

However, it becomes hard when you are tired. When life is getting too busy, too much, too stressful, too tiring. TO THE LIMIT. And you don’t realise. Your cup runneth dry and you are scraping the paint off of the china. No energy but still pushing on. It ends up feeling like a chore. The once happy days out are filled with yawning, attitude and with the mental capacity of a flea. Going through the motions would be an accurate description.

I think I have started to understand the need for boundaries. As long as I live I will want to help my loved ones. In any way I am physically able to. But I want to be fully able. I want to be in a place where I can help in the best way I can. I’m no good to anyone running on empty. Something has to give.

It is hard to say no. It is never meant in a bad way. It’s never intended with malice. When we are asked to help with something or to go to a get together my/our immediate response is, ‘yeah great.’ But we now take the time to check our calendar and figure out how it works for the rest of the week. Most of the time it works. Occasionally it doesn’t. Do I feel guilty? Absolutely. Is it necessary? Again, absolutely. It is the new healthy. And ultimately people that care about you will absolutely understand the need to make that decision.

In a morbid moment of tiredness I started wondering whether my saying yes all the time, in relation to helping people, had almost become expected behaviour. And by always saying yes, I had given up my right to say no. That the guilt of saying no far outweighed the feelings of tiredness I would feel when pushing myself to the limit. It is the fear of letting people down that controls the ‘yes’ response. Your life should not be about how guilty you feel being the deciding factor. It should be about wanting to help because you are a good, nice, kind person. And it’s rooted in a loving and reciprocal relationship. I will never be that person that sits and expects a give and take in order to help others. When you have the ability to help others it is regardless of anything other than love that is part of the decision making progress. If it’s about gaining something back you don’t fit into the good, nice, kind tick box. HOWEVER, and this is one huge ‘however’, there will come a time, when you keep helping someone and you feel used. When the roots of the loving relationship are only nurtured from your side. You nurture while they take. You help while they take. It is a drain on your mental health and when your mental health takes a hit it will inevitably cause you physical problems and it has to stop. The guilt is a short term problem. Your health in both senses is much more long term.

People pleasing is a great feeling. It is how we show love, concern and compassion. When we find ourselves going out of our way to extend those parts of ourselves it is so natural that when it is seen as something ‘other’ it is really quite harmful. Going out of our way to help without being asked was always something I saw as a plus. To help someone without them asking was just another way to make someone smile. To predict a need before being asked, I thought, was a way of truly knowing someone. Some people may see it as interfering and recently I’ve had to defend my actions. In a big way. It cost me a day of my life due to worry and anxiety. It made me question how I could be misunderstood in such a negative way and what I’d done wrong. It’s the worst feeling to think someone looks at you in such a bad light. I lost my voice.

The situations made me look at boundaries completely differently. That boundaries don’t mean you stop seeing someone out of anger or you change who you are and not help in the future. It made me see that boundaries on how people talk to you and react to you are within your control. That standing up for yourself and challenging someone’s treatment of you is itself a boundary. It questions someone’s respect for you. It gives you the answer of what you mean to them. If they think it’s okay to treat you badly without hesitation there is a reason for a boundary. Talk about why they are talking to you in that way and come to some kind of understanding about what has actually happened, rather than what has been perceived. To have a discussion about it may not be possible, there are some people who have their own mental health issues that stop them seeing past their anger or own views. And that is where another boundary would come in.

I used to think boundaries were there to stop people getting close. To keep people away. A real physical boundary. No invites to dinner. No days out. Making your excuses as to why you didn’t get to talk at a family party. But these days, with mobile phones and instant messaging on all kinds of platforms, the barriers of the physical world will always be beaten by the technological world. How do you politely ignore messages and phone calls and social media conversations? It makes sense now that the boundary is within ourselves. It gives ourselves a guilt free existence and the power to say no. To talk up despite our fears and question those around us about why they treat us how they do. To not place our sense of self worth in the way others behave towards us. It is a barrier in which we can peek over or close entirely. It is ours to control. It is unlike the walls you build up after a break up. One you hide behind. It is a barrier that you control and negotiate from. It is a safety barrier for our mental health.

My barriers are small, but growing. My newest one is a barrier from myself. My challenge to write every day, however great a feeling, will be met with the struggles of writer’s block and tiredness. It is a question of limits, not of laziness, that may stop me on the very odd occasion and that is okay.

I release myself from the guilt of not writing. I release myself from the guilt of saying no. I release myself from being a people pleaser.

I am allowing myself the time to be at home. To look after my health from time to time. To nurture myself so I can be the best person for those I love in my life. I am more interested in feeling good with my own mental health than being a person who always says yes. Saying yes all the time looks good on paper, being known for saying yes has its merits, but behind the scenes it can have its after effects, and those don’t make for happy feelings. So despite life looking good from the outside, it’s gone to pot on the inside. The smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes and the fear of letting people down aren’t indicative of inner happiness.

Boundaries are the new healthy.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Blocked

I am sitting here frustrated. 

I can’t write. I’m wondering why. I am hitting the keys of my lovely laptop with such vigour Mr W is occasionally looking at me. I know he wants to calmly tell me to go easy. This is frustrating. So frustrating I am allowing the laptop to pick up the errors in my typing rather than sort them myself. I’m usually a good touch typist. I owe that to years of staying up late on MSN Messenger with my friends during my school years. 

I absolutely detest writer’s block. My last two blogs have come from my archive of past writings. It has been a busy month I’ll admit but when I’m stuck I’ll look to life as I know it or past trips and away I go. But today – nada!

Maybe today’s shopping experience has left a sour taste in my mouth and brain. I’d like to share with you one tidbit. Maybe you won’t have heard of it. Maybe it’s something you’ll relate to. Not ALL girls like shopping. I for one will find one staple and buy it in every colour rather than tour around a shopping hall. And I have. During my twenties I had every colour of one particular jumper going. And when the shop changed that jumper’s design I felt attacked! How very dare they. 

When I worked in London, the story was very similar, I would wear one staple dress in various colours, leggings and a jacket or cardigan to suit. I was a slave to Primark and its easy wear items. 

These days, I wear the same two pairs of jeans and choose from my faithful 6-7 tops out of a sea of clothing in my wardrobe. I will occasionally buy a dress for a wedding or a party and it’s the only time I take care in what I’m wearing. I suspect this is because there are other people around and I want to make sure I’m looking the part. Which part that is I’m not sure. Wedding guest. Cousins 30th attendee. Engagement celebrator extraordinaire. 

Last year, I did something completely out of character and bought a vivid yellow casual dress. Did I like it? Yes, enough to buy it. Do I like it now? Completely and unfathomably, I have no idea. It fits, it doesn’t need ironing (always a bonus) however I’ve come to the realisation I don’t even know what my style is.  

If you’re a returning reader you’ll know I’m a big girl. If you’re a first time guest, I’m a big girl. Small in stature. Curvy round the middle. It’s caused by emotional eating (hello poor mental health) and my life long struggle turned-fight with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. So growing up it didn’t really matter what I liked the look of in the shops, it wouldn’t fit anyway. And therein started the problem. Why try and find a style that didn’t cater for the plus size teenager?

Things are a lot better now for plus size peeps. You’ll find a lot online and have it delivered right to your door! Isn’t that swell! But… What if we want to venture out into the world and shop til we drop? To spend money on clothes instead of bills. To bring home pretty things after a long day with friends, shopping, chatting and enjoying it all. 

The last few days, Mr W has tried to push me, ever so gently, into buying new clothes. The vivid yellow dress is the one outfit I can wear without bursting into flames in the recent heatwave. While at home I am the queen of pyjamas and most recently a comfy jogging bottom. Which is fine when you have a fan whirring alongside you but out in the fanless real world, I need some clothes. I had a snoop around online and found a few dresses I liked the look of but I want to see them in person! I hate not being able to feel the fabric and check the length. I ordered a pair of trousers recently and they were definitely not designed for my 5’5 height. I think maybe a height of 6’5 would have worked well. I pulled them up to my bra and went on my merry way. 

Lesson learned.

Tonight, we headed out into the dreaded unknown to find the dresses I’d seen online. Only to find, on arrival, that the store was closed. Disappointed we spent the next hour scouring the shops for anything bigger than a UK size 16 and came away entirely empty handed. Oh wait, tell a lie I got some day cream, body scrub and bin bags! Wahey! 

It’s only now I truly understand that the highstreet does not cater to anyone above a size 16, who does not want gaudy prints or shapeless sacks to wear. What is interesting about this little conundrum is how the UK’s average dress size is a 16. And yet in all shops but 3 today the biggest size they stocked WAS a 16. I’m inclined to think that the only place my money is any good is online. I’ve heard this so many times on the ‘Go Love Yourself’ podcast (link below) but not yet realised it for myself. All this time I thought I was being picky or not knowing my own style but I’ve come to realise today that I’ve grown up not being given a chance to experience clothing like others. 

And that is a very sad situation.

I can hear a few people, there in my head, saying why not lose weight so you can fit into the high street clothes? And the simple answer is, why? Well, and how. My PCOS doesn’t like me thin, in fact it likes to add to my weight whenever it feels prudent to. And there are other women AND men out there who are big for a variety of physical and mental health reasons too. And even if they aren’t big for those reasons, it’s their life, their choice and is their money not good enough?

I came away today deflated, defeated and crying. It’s hard to feel good without being able to project that through clothing. It’s a form of expression. It’s hard to come to the realisation that when it comes to style I have been stifled. As other people have. I assume this is the same for people who don’t fit the ‘normal’ range of heights too. Something has to change. 

Well, would you look at that the writer’s blockage has come unstuck. Now if only the block in shops could be removed too!