Lifestyle

‘Cos every inch of you is perfect….

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 6 Comments

On my way to Dublin last week something happened that not so long ago would have been a massive issue for me. The fact that it didn’t really phase me proved to me how far I’ve come. 

The incident was an airplane seat belt that didn’t fit. This is something that I actually used to fear. A while back every time I boarded a plane I braced myself for the humiliation of being too fat to fit. It turned out to be no big deal. I had a brief moment of panic, my thoughts raced through all the seat belts that had fitted & how big I was then. Then it dawned on me that I didn’t care. It didn’t matter if I was bigger or this particular seat belt was smaller. It just didn’t fit & there was an easy rememdy for that. I asked for an extender & stopped thinking about. 

Until yesterday when it dawned on me what that meant. I wasn’t embarassed to ask for the extender meaning I wasn’t ashamed to acknowledge my fat body. That is incredible. Being a part of the body positivity community has led me to a place where I can genuinely appreciate my body. Once I realised that I started thinking about all the little things that marked real progress. 

It recently occurred to me that I had gained some weight on my bum. The marvellous part was I liked it. I’ve found myself dressing to show off my bigger arse &  I am so chuffed about that. 


Then on Saturday as I was dressing I automatically tucked my top into my skirt. Not a very momentous act except that I spent years of my life ensuring that my top always covered my stomach. I was that person tugging at my clothes to ensure I was hiding flabby bits. Now I just wear what I feel nice in & here’s the kicker, I look better tucked in or in clingy vests. 


Along the same lines whilst out with my sister I asked her to take blog photos. I am usually a pain the arse about pictures. Never happy with who I look, probably because I wasn’t happy with my body. In the past I have ducked out of pictures at big events & special moments, which  I’ve come to regret. So, in recent times I have made a conscious effort to push through my discomfort & mark significant times. I was however still dissatisfied with my appearance in the photographs. This weekend was different. My sister snapped pics of me in various poses & I loved them all. Break through!

The last and probably most obvious symbol of acceptance of myself is how comfortable I am naked. I run about my house in the buff all the time. I look at myself in a full length mirror whilst I dry my hair and I do not feel critical. I have no desire to hide. I notice the parts of my body that look amazing rather than hating my stomach or chubby arms. This carries through to being naked with others. I no longer feel worried about comparisons when changing with female friends. In the same vein I confidently show my body to anyone I get jiggy with. 

This may strike a lot of people as unremarkable, but it’s a life changing shift. Immersing myself in the body positive has helped me alter how I think & feel about my body. I’ve gone from yo yo dieting, disordered eating & choosing clothes to specfically hide ‘problem’ areas to being a woman who no longer believes there are any bad body parts. I like me. I like my curves, my wobbly bits & everything else. Body positivity works. Women supporting & encouraging each other moves mountains. So, I owe a big thank you to all of you who read, comment & create fat friendly content. High five, ladies, we’re changing the world. 

Dirty Old Town….

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 2 Comments

This week I treated myself to a little Irish adventure. Accompanied by Mum and sister I paid Dublin a flying visit. So, what did 3 Scottish ‘girls’ get up to on the emerald isle? Give me a minute and i’ll tell you all about it.

First stop was of course the GPO on O’Connell St. The building itself is impressive, it’s history even more so. The beautiful structure that housed the birth of modern Ireland still bears the bullet holes. I failed completely to get any decent pictures of the landmark due the sheer volume of people attempting to do the very same thing. In lieu of that I offer you a glimpse of the attractive clock the GPO is adorned with.

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A few feet from the historic landmark stands the Monument of Light (An Tur Solais). The stainless steel sculpture is 398ft high & believe me, it’s an arresting sight. If you stand directly below it up look up, which is exactly what I did, it appears to go on forever. I’m a fan of the juxtaposition of traditional architecture & striking modern art. I highly recommend admiring Dublin’s Spire from the cover of the GPO’s pillared frontage. 

Next we cruised through Georgian Dublin on our way to Trinity College. I have long admired the library at trinity. The prospect of floor to ceiling tomes tickled my book loving fancy. The Longroom is that rare gem that exceeds expectations. I was in awe from my first step into the room. The steep spiral staircases, dark shiny wood, Latin & that unmistakeable book smell were intoxicating. I had found my spiritual home. If it weren’t for all the annoying tourists I would have been in heaven.

Dublin is packed with grand buildings, cool fountains & pretty things that catch your eye. 



The Irish charm flows across the Liffey with an array of bridges. Be they an 80million state of the art construct or the iconic ha’penny bridge. My personal favourite was adorned with horse mermaids. Yes, I said horse mermaids. 

Mum really wanted to visit St Patrick’s cathedral & we of course obliged her. I’ve never caught religion so allowed my Lauren to join her on the tour whilst I admired the floor in the gift shop.


From St Patrick’s we strolled past the Christ Church & headed to perhaps Dublin’s most famous spot, Temple Bar. Temple Bar is exactly as you would expect it to be; vibrant & cool. The streets are packed with street art, funky eateries & of course lots of pubs. 

Mum was lured into THE Temple Bar by the strains of live music. Dublin pubs are much like its people; friendly & boisterous. The Temple Bar was no different. The place was packed & the music (Wild Rover & other familiar tunes) was loud. It also afforded me the rare opportunity of taking a pub selfie with my tee total mum. 




Dublin was a joy. It was just what I needed to perk me up. Watch out Ireland, I’ll be back. 

Woman of the Week…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 3 Comments

Picking a woman of the week has never been simpler. In the turmoil of the EU Referendum results only one politician has come out prepared. Nicola Sturgeon is an impressive politician. In a sea of vague non answers, she has a definitive plan. 

  
 Watching the First Minister speak on the steps of Bute House really made me proud to have voted SNP. Not only did she calmly lay out the steps her government would take to maintain European business links & investment in Scotland, but she unequivocally declared immigrants welcome. Her language made it clear that there is no room in Scotland for racism or Xenophobia. 

‘Indeed, I want to take the opportunity this morning to speak directly to citizens of other EU countries living here in Scotland – you remain welcome here, Scotland is your home and your contribution is valued.’
The leaders of the leave campaign are either silent or back tracking on promises. The government has no strategy for negotiating our exit from the EU & both the Tories & Labour seem determined to destroy their parties from within. There is justifiably an air of spreading panic. Nicola Sturgeon has been my sole ray of hope. Her clear & authoritative addresses have reassured me that Scotland, at least, has solid leadership. 

  
I am proud to be governed by such a progressive & passionate woman. I am delighted to belong to a country that has rejected fear & prejudice. I live in hope that Ms Sturgeon will steer our  celtic ship to independence. 

Tell me lies….

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 3 Comments

The older I become the more I realise that the world lies to me. I keep coming up against perceived wisdoms that just aren’t true. In particular I feel some life events are so surrounded in supposed gravitas that we’re all set up for a fall. So many situations that I was led to believe were scary, amazing or life changing were in fact no great revelation to me. So, here’s a my top five non milestones.

 

My First Time

Losing my virginity was no big deal. It wasn’t planned, I was just getting it on with a teenage boyfriend and it happened. I can’t even really remember the details. We progressed past our usual stopping point and I realised I didn’t want him to cease. So, we continued and had sex. It wasn’t fantastic and it wasn’t awful either. I didn’t feel any great pain; I didn’t really feel much beyond a sharpness when he first penetrated me. I didn’t bleed other than slight spotting in my knickers the next day. Afterwards we didn’t have a big discussion, there were no I love yous or promises. I think we went to sleep. It was nice. We had a cuddle and kiss in the morning then I left with my best friend to find food to cure our hangovers. I honestly didn’t feel changed in anyway. It seemed to me just a natural progression. I hear other women talking about regretting who they first slept with, wishing they’d waited for someone really special or even they person they married. I’ve never felt that way. The guy I shared my first time with certainly wasn’t a great love, he turned out to be a bit of a pig, but it’s never given me a moments pause. I was a teenager, even then it never occurred to me that he would be The One. I think that’s how it should be. Sex doesn’t define a person. It’s entirely healthy to experiment, make mistakes & learn from them. For girls especially we need to remove the idea that losing your virginity is somehow losing worth. We also need to ditch expectation that your first time should be an amazing, cherished moment. It hardly ever is and that’s ok.

 

Graduation

Graduation was another milestone that didn’t rock my world. Sure I was proud of myself for attaining a good degree. I had to wade through some adversity during my university years and I was glad I had made it to solid ground. Other than that, it was unspectacular. I didn’t even attend my graduation ceremony. The thought of the gown and marching on stage when my name was called made me feel nauseous. So, I didn’t bother. Neither did I have a fancy dinner or party. At the end of all our exams my friends and I had a mighty piss up, but come graduation time we were all onto the next stage. We were trying to find jobs we actually wanted whilst working jobs we needed to pay the rent. In short I was getting stuck into being an adult. Graduation already felt like old news.

  

First Period

Getting my period was another supposed life changer that left no discernible mark. I can remember my friends getting theirs before me and feeling a tad left behind. The actual details of my first period have left no imprint. I have a vague memory of perhaps calling my mum into the bathroom, but that may just be the influence of countless teen movies. My mum had gone over what to expect long before the event, so there were no shocks. My early periods were unremarkable. I didn’t suffer from cramps or mood swings. I merely found the whole thing a messy nuisance. I didn’t feel like a woman, I felt inconvenienced. 

  

Moving Out

For me, leaving home was also accomplished without a fuss. I had always had a good relationship with my parents, but I craved independence. So, when I fell head over feels with an inappropriate guy, I leaped at the chance to move in with him. I was young, yes, but I wasn’t scared. My mum thought it an ill fated idea and told me so. I ignored her and she knew me well enough to know she had to let me make my own mistakes. There were no arguments or tearful goodbyes. I didn’t have a lot of belongings, so the actual moving was a simple task. I had already been spending most of my time at the boyfriend’s flat, so there weren’t any ugly surprises. I had to learn to be a little smarter with my money and the bf obviously turned out to be a big error in judgement. That said, I have no regrets. I wanted to spread my wings and I did. I loved the autonomy of having my own place, even more so once I freed myself of the stupid first love. I never looked back. I have lived independently -mostly on my own- since & I wouldn’t change a thing.

The Big 3-0

Now for the one I was actually scared of, but turned out just fine. The big 3-0. In last couple of years of my twenties I had begun to slightly dread turning 30. It wasn’t the aging, but realising I was nowhere near where I thought I would be at 30. I had for some reason believed I would be settled, own my home & be well on the way to motherhood. Turns out that’s not what life had in store for me. So, I made the usual jokes about mourning my youth and felt uneasy. The funny thing is when 30 became a reality, I was completely fine. It dawned on me that my, childless, less than settled state was not actually a problem. I hadn’t met anyone I could be happy with, so singledom was clearly a better option. Living alone suited me, in fact I wasn’t sure I really wanted anyone else invading my space. As for children, yes, I wanted them, but I knew It wasn’t my time. On top of that I felt pretty good. I didn’t feel old & I still looked rather nice. My 30th birthday ended up being a lot of fun. My family and friends organised various lovely events. I was whisked away for a spa weekend and glammed up for a drunken nights out. Yet, again I had been deceived. 30 wasn’t scary, it was a blast.

  
So, what’s my point? Relax. Hardly anything ends up feeling the way we’re told it will & that’s just fine. 

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Daddy Cool….

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 1 Comment

It’s Father’s Day & what better way to celebrate my lovely Dad than to take a trip down memory lane. 

My dad worked shifts when I was a kid. He’d do a twelve hour night shift & arrive home just as we (I have three siblings) were getting up for school. Instead of retiring directly to his bed he would make us breakfast. Cereal with bananas hidden in it. Mountains of toast or boiled eggs made three different ways to suit out picky tastes. The really special thing about it was he always did it with pleasure. He didn’t rush us or shirk our requests. He kept making that toast until we were satisfied & he made sure every banana slice was hidden in those rice crispies. Making your kids breakfast is a simple everyday  occurance, but when I look back at my childhood these small acts of love really matter. 

  

My sister & I sometimes call our father Daddy Cool. I think it started on a holiday in Mallorca & it stuck. It sums up so many aspects of him. From his little air guitar dance when he hears a tune he likes (which are often by edgy new bands) to his random fancies for designer clothing. The now famous ‘ porno’ moustache he sported my entire childhood also played into the nickname. Wether he’s sporting some Armani or hitting some cool new restuarant he is totally our Daddy Cool. 

  

My childhood is bursting with good memories of Dad. He used to pick us up from primary school & let us walk home through the park. While we galloped along he would be cheerfully carrying all our super girly school bags & paraphanelia. He frequently took us walks in pollok country park, allowing us to carry on & explore. He introduced me to The Burrel Collection  & highland cattle, both life long loves. Dad always had time for us to check out the Rangers station, or the ancient tree or a million other things. 

  

In Glasgow there’s an old tradition of people singing at parties. Right into my teenage years I remember family & friends always calling for dad to sing. I loved it when he did, he usually choose rather meloncholy songs. He sang them so clearly & with real feeling. I fell in love with John Lennon & Janis Joplin after hearing dad’s renditions of Jealous Guy & Bobby McGhee. 

My dad did all the things that storybook father’s are supposed to do. He taught me to ride a bike & to swim. He checked my homework, helped me fill out UCAS forms & grounded me when a boy gave me a nookie. Besides those things he has given me so much more. He gifted me the wonders of 60’s & 70’s music. Whilst my classmates were loving techno I was discovering Joni & Bob. Dad also played a big part in developing my political views. From asking him questions about the night’s news to talking over what I’d been learning in history. I’ve always respected his socialist values. Dad has been unceasingly present throughout my life; encouraging & advising. He has also been tolerant if bemused by some of things I’ve gotten up to. 

  
  

Now that I’m grown & some of my siblings have had children I have the joy of watching my fantastic dad become a wonderful Granda. He will hide under tables, bite balloons & get down on his knees to become a horse who gives rides. He’s exactly the kind of Granda every child wants. 

  
   

  

In conclusion, I love you dad. Thanks for raising me right. 
Happy Father’s Day. 

I love to live so pleasantly….

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 3 Comments

Last Saturday the sun decided to shine on Glasgow. My sister & I took full advantage of the glorious weather by raiding our summer wardrobes & hitting the Burrell.

The Burrell collection is one of my favourite places. It’s the private collection of Sir Wiliam Burrell, a man with eclectic tastes & a generous spirit.  As well as collecting 9000 precious articles he worked to improve housing & conditions for the poor of Glasgow. As a final act of generosity he donated his entire collection to the city of Glasgow for all to enjoy. 

The collection is an intriguing mix of distinct items. From Chinese pottery, to ancient church facades & stunning sculpture. It’s housed in the most amazing building nestled in pollok country park. A innovative piece of architecture that combines steel & glass with sandstone. The building has Tudor rooms built into its fabric, whilst also managing to create light airy spaces. In short it’s fabulous. 

  
  
  
The Burrell holds a special charm for me as my Dad took myself & my siblings here frequently as children. I have been bewitched by this place since I was little. I have also harboured a desire to get married there, but with no prospective groom, that remains unlikely. 

Anyway, for my visit to this most chilled of museums I opted for a distinctly loud outfit. I love colour & summer always seems to scream at me for more. Hence, the yellow ra ra skirt.

  
  
  
  
Skirt – H&M

Kimono – Alice & You

Bandeau – Primark

Necklace – Taking Shape

Sandals – Hotter 

All that culture worked up an appetite, so we rounded off the day with a sushi feast.

  
I’ll leave you with my favourite spot at the Burrell, the place I’d make my vows should I decide that I’m the marrying kind. I love how they’ve managed to bring the surrounding woodland in. Standing in this spot you feel steeped in greenery & perfectly still.

  

All things must pass….

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 13 Comments

Last week I finally got an appointment with the pain specialist I have been waiting see. I had pinned my hopes on this Dr having some answers for me. He did. Unfortunately it wasn’t a diagnosis I wanted. 

My new consultant is convinced that I have Fibromyalgia.  As you may know I have been living with chronic illness for some time. I have a number of debilitating digestive tract issues. I also have problems maintaining a healthy haemoglobin level, which causes a raft of symptoms ranging from fatigue to angina attacks. Along with these known conditions I have increasingly had mystery symptoms. Pains with no definable cause, intensification of pain resulting from my health issues, continual sleep disturbance despite taking really quite strong sleeping pills, confusion , memory loss & needing to pee constantly. Add that to my existing physical symptoms & PTSD and you begin to get picture of what I’m dealing with. 

Pain in particular has been taking over my life. It limits almost everything. I can’t make plans, my social life has contracted & working outside the home is impossible. Even keeping up with housework is a mammoth task. I needed help. I was clinging to the idea that someone would find a problem that could be fixed. That I’d be offered surgery or medication of some crazy treatment, at the end of which I would reclaim some of my life. I knew that my diagnosed problems wouldn’t go away, but I held out hope that these newer cryptic concerns would be cured. Sadly, that is not to be. 

There is some relief in having someone say this is what’s wrong with you. I am glad not to have been patronised or had my mental health blamed again. I just wish the outlook was a bit sunnier. Since Thursday I have been adjusting to the fact that my pain is never going away. My current condition is likely to be my continuous one. I’ve had to read up on fibromyalgia & prepare myself for all it may mean. I have also been confronted with the new knowledge that pregnancy, which was never going to be straightforward is hugely impacted by fibro. This has been a big blow. I’ve wanted to be pregnant for a very long time. Knowing that I will most likely struggle to enjoy the experience is a punch in the gut. 

So, accepting this new diagnosis is a process. However, I am by no means defeated. I will start a new medication tomorrow. It’s likely to be a rough ride as it is harsh on the stomach, but the pain relief it can offer is worth trying for. I’ve already been referred to various groups & medical professionals. I’m doing my own research; I am open to anything. Expect to join me on a journey of experimentation with pain management techniques. 

I refuse to be beaten by this. Which is not to say I won’t bitch or wallow sometimes. I’m not superwoman. I accept my body will always place limitations on me. I also acknowledge that I am nowhere near to being at peace with that. I’m angry and sad, but not defeated. I have a very clear picture of the things I need to be happy. It’s just a case of working out how to achieve them within the confines of my illness. Let’s face it, I’ve been playing with a bad hand for a while, but I can bluff my way to a win. 

  

You can’t touch this…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 10 Comments

It’s a rainy bank holiday Monday & I’ve decided to have a lazy day. I’m just casually scrolling through Facebook when a post gets my attention. I’m not surprised by the post, it’s nothing new. Nonetheless it makes me feel a tad ragey.

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My first thoughts run to the sheer entitlement of this man. He wants to do something & no one else’s feelings on the matter count. These thoughts are swiftly followed by exhaustion at constantly having to explain why this is not ok. His dismissal of rape culture as something made up by ‘angry women’ & his total refusal to accept women’s safety concerns are appalling. The problem of course, is that these attitudes are pervasive. Men routinely behave this way.

I am aware that I am not the first woman to raise these issues, but I really think it’s important that we share our experiences. 1 in 5 women in uk have been sexually assualted at some point in their life. To be honest I’m surprised this figure isn’t much higher. Women and girls are harassed daily. It’s infuriating, frightening, humiliating, stressful & so much more. Still girls are told by teachers that ‘boys will boys’ and schools put the onus on what girls wear rather on male behaviour. We are told cat calling is a compliment and police down play our reports of sexual assualt.

Men, it seems have no concept of the female experience. They will never understand the extent of the harassment we endure unless we speak out. Basically, we need to ram it down their throats.

With that in mind I want to share some of the stand out moments of sexual intimidation that I have experienced.

1/ I was approximately 10yrs old & wearing my favourite outfit. It was one of those heat sensitive t shirts that change colour & a velvet skirt. The t shirt reads hotspot, I thought this was the coolest thing ever. At a family gathering an adult, male family friend slaps my bum & says ‘that’s your hotspot’. I was 10yrs old. The incident confused & frightened me so much that I didn’t tell a soul it had happened.

2/ I’m 11 or twelve and have just started secondary school. The boys in my class routinely try to undo girl’s bras through their blouses. I don’t wear a bra yet & so am mercilessly mocked.

3/ That same year myself & a friend are followed off a bus & right to her house by a complete stranger. He’s a middle aged man & we are terrified.

4/ On my way home from school one day a man approaches me & warns me that there is another man playing with himself ahead. A week or so later the same man does the same thing. On speaking to the police it turns out there have been dozens of complaints.

5/ By 15 my flat as a pancake figure has ceased to be. My breast growth has gone into over drive & my boobs are large. My life long battle begins. Boys at school grab me and make crude comments. Adult bus drivers make disgusting comments despite my wearing a school uniform. For the first time I hear the male theory that big breasts mean I am slut.

6/ At some point in my mid teens I go on holiday with a friend’s family. Throughout the holiday my friend’s mother alludes to the size of my breasts & my refusal to hide them under tent like apparel, means that I am not a nice girl.

7/ When I begin clubbing at around 16, I am confronted with the fact that my body is not my own. Men in clubs consider the female form to be fair game. I am groped, slapped, pinched, rubbed against over & over. When I complain I am verbally abused & told I shouldn’t be wearing revealing clothes if I don’t want this. I’m a bitch, slut, frigid, a tease.

8/ I’m 20 and on my way to meet a friend for drinks. As I walk down a busy street a group of young teenage boys surround me, shout about my breasts, one boy thrusts his hand into my dress & violently grabs my nipple. None of the passers by make any attempt to help me. When I report this incident to the police, the first question I am asked is what was I wearing. No action is ever taken. I am left feeling dirty & angry.

9/ In my mid twenties I faint at a street market. When I come round a man is taking a picture of my cleavage.

10/  I try internet dating & am bombarded with sexual comments. If I ignore these comments I get abusive messages telling me I am rude & stuck up. If I say no thanks, I receive messages telling me what an ugly, fat bitch I am & how dare I reject this prize of a man. Several times I block men only to have them create new accounts so they can continue to abuse me.

11/ At an early post graduation job I must wear a blue shirt provided by my employer. I request the largest size, but it still gapes at the bust. I am summoned to HR to talk about how I am dressed inappropriately.

12/ I am leading a sexual health workshop with teenagers. Their teacher requests my card & then adds ‘you look like you could improve my sexual health’.

13/ By my early 30’s I am thoroughly disgusted with all this abuse. I am collecting my prescription from the chemist when an old man looks me up & down, shouts ‘nice’ & proceeds to squeeze both breasts. I automatically harshly push the man away from me. Later when reporting this to the police I am questioned about how I pushed him, how much force I used & why I hit the man. Again, no action is ever taken.

14/ A man I dated briefly over ten years ago periodically sent pictures of his penis despite me telling him not to. When I blocked him from one way of contacting he found me somewhere else & continued.

These are only a tiny taste of the aggravation I have endured. My experience is by no means unique. So, next time you want to complain about women being on the defensive or not appreciating your advances have a think about why she is reacting that way. Before you laugh at a friend’s unsolicitated comments to a female stranger, consider how much of these ‘compliments’ she must deal with.  Ask the women in your life about their exposure to molestation (verbal or physical). Hopefully a glimpse of the reality of the female experience will alter you view point.

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This goes out to all the women…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 4 Comments

Lemonade. I know, everyone is talking, writing & I suppose singing about it. I must confess to not having heard (or seen) the complete album. I’ve sampled some highlights and whilst not a member of the beyhive, I’m excited to hear more. I have no issue with Beyonce’s music (her fur wearing is another matter). I applaud the increased political input in her work. Her support of black & feminist issues is on point. Her artistic viewpoint is increasingly progressive & radical. Which is why, some of her fans retrograde behaviour of late has been particularly hard to take. 

  
Oh, I know fans are fanatical these days. Bey is queen & they worship her. That’s all good, but the reaction to Lemonade & hints that Jay Z may have cheated are down right backwards. 

Rachel Roy’s ‘ Good hair, don’t care’ Instagram post ignited smouldering rumours that she was Mr Carter’s indiscretion. The beyhive immediately launched a social media witch hunt. Bee & lemon emoticons appeared en mass on her various pictures & posts. Along with the taunting images came more serious abuse, which inevitably led to her making her accounts private. Today’s tabloids decided that it was in fact Rita Ora would had done the dirty with Beyonce’s spouse. She too was lavished with the same treatment. 

  
Perhaps you think those involved in infidelity deserve what they get. Maybe you feel betraying Bey is worthy of a good hounding, but wait, what about Jay Z? If he did in fact step outside his marriage surely he’s where the hive loyal should turn their scathing tongues? He’s the one who made vows & a child with Yonce. Why does the arse who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants get a pass?

  
The answer, as is so often the case, the patriarchy. Woman are still being conned into feeling that other chicks are the enemy. Our old boy’s club society wants it that way. It’s much better for the status quo if smart, talented women view each other as the competition. Stop letting yourself be suckered by the tired old trope that cheating men can’t help themselves, but cheating women are whores. It’s such a dangerous road to go down. It ultimately leads us to rape apology & the dismissal of female sexual agency. That’s not what we should be teaching our daughters. The bottom line is the Carter’s marital woes are not my business, but women tearing each other down is. 

Cheating is cruel. I’m not loving anyone who participates. But, ladies, come on. Stop beating on your own whilst letting men off easy. We’re better than this.  

The time is now…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 3 Comments

I’m lying on my bed with the sun streaming in my window having a lazy morning. I’m planning dinner in my head & pondering what colour to paint my nails, when it happens. A vivid flashback, of a day like this, but 16yrs ago. 

  
Like today I am resting on my bed observing the sunny world outside. Unlike today, back then I had a life growing inside me. I can smell the incense I used to burn in the flat & see the steeple of the church at the the end of the street. I feel the warmth on my face, the ache in my back & the love pounding through my veins. 

As fast as it strikes, it wanes. Part of me wants to cling to those sensations, the rest still finds these memories tender. I’ve been having these flashes a lot lately. They’re not new to me; I’ve been living with PTSD for a long time. This wasn’t a bad one, but it still leaves me feeling sadder than I did before. I’ve been thinking about why these bolts into the past have become so frequent of late & I think I know the answer.

For the first time in a very long time I am making baby plans. I have always wanted to be a Mummy. The loss only increased that desire. For years I’ve watched friends & family create beautiful little people. It’s never been the right time for me. Well, I’m 35 now and life never really gets any simpler. There is no right time. There will never be a perfect set of circumstances. So, the time is now. 

  
Or the time for planning is now. I’m getting my self and my life in shape for baba. It’s a little scary, but I don’t have any doubts. My life will never feel complete without children. It’s going to be a long campaign, but Operation Baby is go.