Make me feel…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Of late I have been bothered by much of the therapy speak I see cropping up everywhere. I’ve always been slightly irritated by the therapy buzz words, but it used be reserved to certain arenas. Now it feels impossible to get away from it. Some are impenetrable, some misapplied and some a little stupid. So, come with me in a little therapy rant.

Sit with it.

The ‘it’ being emotions. I doubt there is anyone who has ever sought mental health treatment who is unfamiliar with this phrase. I have been advised to ‘sit with’ all manner of feelings. I’ve never been entirely sure what this means. Nor has any explanation ever satisfied me. Let yourself feel it makes sense if you are actively avoiding emotions. I used self harm, disordered eating and occasionally alcohol to block emotions that I wasn’t able to deal with. However, when I moved past avoidance it was still the guidance I was given. When I was ready to acknowledge and tackle those feelings I needed more. ‘Let yourself feel it’ is redundant. I am feeling it; that is the problem.

Sit with it in black letters

Don’t Judge it.

Once you are sitting in all that emotion you will often be advised ‘not to judge it’. Just feel it, they’ll say. Well, I’m sorry, that’s impossible. I have already judged it. Judging is a prerequisite for finding something problematic. The judgement is automatic. More than that, it’s involuntary. The minute I find the emotion unpalatable it has been judged. I came to the (sometimes correct) conclusion that perhaps what these therapist meant was don’t judge yourself for having that emotion. That makes sense, I can work on not attaching negative connotation to what I feel or how uncomfortable that makes me. I can even get on board with attempting not to label specific emotions intrinsically negative. I’m not convinced, but I do see how in some cases that could be fruitful. However, removing the intuitive I DO NOT LIKE THIS just doesn’t strike me as a realistic goal. If I were able to control my brain in that way, I wouldn’t have a problem.

Let it go.

Feel it and then let it go is definitely the aim. I’m not sure it actually counts as advice though. I know that getting stuck in difficult emotions is not good for me. What I need is help learning the way out if that. Restating what I should do is not helpful. I know the problem, I am here because I am looking for answers.

Inner Child

Many years ago when I first experienced therapy the inner child thing was kind of a joke. It never came up. Of course therapists talked about childhood experiences & being compassionate to past versions of yourself. However, a psychologist would never say the words ‘inner child’. Now it is everywhere; from woo woo spiritual healers to actual trained therapists. I’m sure it applies to some people, but it’s just not relevant to me. My inner child is a ok. I had a remarkably lovely childhood. I was loved, appreciated, supported, safe and very well taken care of. My ‘inner child’ is probably the healthiest part of me. I’m not carrying any painful scars from childhood. So, I have found it incredibly frustrating that everyone and their granny wants me to get in touch with my inner child and heal her. Even when I proffer my history and explain that my upbringing is not a problem area, I am still pressed to explore it. I don’t know how or why this happened, but I really don’t love it.

Picture of ly with her hands on her hips and drawing of a child in her belly

Be vulnerable

This is another one that totally has merit in the right situation. There have been times when I have been scared of touching memories and emotions that made me feel vulnerable. I did need to work through that. Being vulnerable can be frightening, but it is also necessary. I would argue that engaging in therapy is already submitting to vulnerability in many ways. The showing up is a great first step. However, the canonisation of vulnerability has gone too far. There is definitely a time and a place for vulnerability. We can’t and shouldn’t always expose weak spots. We live in a fairly brutal capitalist society and being completely honest about your vulnerabilities will not serve you in many situations. People will take advantage, they will bypass you based on their perception of that vulnerability and many folk will judge you. Still I hear professionals who really should know better urge everyone to embrace their vulnerability throughout their life. It drives me crazy; we need to protect ourselves. Let yourself be vulnerable in safe spaces only.

Drawing of hands holding a heart on green background

Am I just jaded? Or do you feel frustrated by these therapy catchphrases? Maybe you have your own therapy pet hates. I would love to know your takes.

Close up of sleeining cat face and paws
Adorable Bronan for rant tax.

If you enjoy my writing you can support me here or on Patreon.

A drop of golden sun…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

If you have been eagerly anticipating the second part of holiday escapades, today is your day. When last I left you I was chugging out of Munich. So, let’s get going on magical Salzburg.

Our trip was a 70th birthday present for my darling Mum. Her favourite film is The Sound of Music. She never tires of Sister Maria and all the Captain’s children. Thus our (& now the grandkids) childhoods overflowed with edelweiss & doe a deer. Mum has talked about visiting Salzburg forever, the big 7-0 seemed the perfect opportunity to take her there. Purpose explained it won’t surprise you to discover that we stayed in the hotel where they filmed the movie.

Schloss Leopoldskron

Schloss Leopoldskron was a dream. Everything about the hotel is luxe. The rooms are gorgeous, the views are breathtaking and you have breakfast in a ballroom.

The exact spot Maria & the children fell out of the boat.

The hotel is gated. When you arrive it feels like you have entered a secret world. Wandering around the grounds I grew up watching on screen was so lovely. Sound of Music aside, it is a beautiful place. The grounds sit right on the river, looking out onto the most picturesque mountain scape. The only sounds are the ducks & geese on water. The air feels fresher. It is a wonderful spot for a complete escape from real life.

Breakfast Ballroom
Mirror Ballroom

The hotel (& Salzburg in general) aren’t big on the film connection. It wasn’t a hit in Austria for various reasons & the hotel is keen to focus on its links with Harvard. That doesn’t take anything away from the experience if you are a fan.

Since we are fans we booked The Sound of Music Tour. As it was a special trip we opted for the private tour. It was expensive, but I felt it was worth it. The hotel doesn’t grant access to the tours, so if you aren’t staying you can only see the captain’s house locations from across the river. We were very happy to have had access to those spots, but there is still plenty more to see. Our wonderful guide, Alenka knew everything there was to know about the film & the city. She led sings songs on the drive out to the mountain locations & made the experience a total delight.

Mirabel Garten
The gardens the children & Maria sang Doe a Deer
None of us are 16 going on 17
Mondsee
Basilika St Michael, Mondsee
The chapel Maria & The Captain married in.
Wolfgangsee
Ariel shots in opening were filmed here.
The hills are alive with the sound of ly!

All of the locations on the tour were accessible. The group tour is on a coach, which would present accessibility problems. Our hotel had great accessibility; lifts in both buildings, wheelchair accessible entry and adapted bathrooms (on request). On the Covid front I felt pretty safe the entire trip. Masks were mandated indoors and we had to present our vaccine passports to enter any premises.

The final chapter of my holiday saga will be coming soon & it includes a castle.

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Favourite things…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

After a few misfires, yesterday I finally got to see my favourite man. Since he is my fav I decided I would put on some make up and find a cute dress. Turns out that was a good idea; I felt pretty!

I went all out on the eyeliner. It’s amazing what a difference a winged eye can make to tired face. We bit of blur primer, some concealer and my face was ready to rock. No lippie because MASK.

Glasses – Where Light*
Mask – Topple & Burn

Outfit wise I went for an old favourite. I have had this dress for years, but I still love it. I gave it a new look with this lace crop top and these gorgeous blue tights.

Dress – New Look
Crop Top – Tutti Rouge
Tights – Pretty Polly

I absolutely loved how this look worked out and much fun was had.

* You can use my code LHK30 for 30% at Where Light (affiliate code).

You’re toxic…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

If you are at all interested in dismantling diet culture you will be aware that new government legislation regarding calories on menus has now come into force. The legislation is part of the government’s plan to tackle ‘obesity’. Whilst I have a lot to say on that larger topic, I’ll stick to the calorie information for now. It will come as no surprise that I am not in favour of this development.

As a fat woman who spent years of my life embroiled in yo-yo dieting I know how dangerous constant calorie counting can be. In the depths of my disordered eating I was obsessed with calories. They were my enemy and required constant monitoring. I had calorie based rules for everything. Limits for every meal and limits for the entire day. If I was going to drink alcohol I wasn’t allowed any food. I counted the calories burned during exercise in an attempt to cancel out what I had consumed. I knew & counted the calorie content of everything; a smint, a grape, a sip of wine. Calories were omnipresent. It was an exhausting battle against my body’s basic needs and I was miserable. My quest to be thin damaged me, physically & mentally.

I’m not the only one nor am I the most severely impacted. We live in a world that is constantly reinforcing the message that smaller is better. Putting the calorie content of every item in every menu only compounds that. It won’t encourage ‘healthy eating’, everyone already knows what foods are full of saturated fat. What it will encourage is distorted view of what a healthy lifestyle is. It will support the diet culture narrative; fewer calories are better. Looking at the numbers every time we go out to eat will reinforce an unhealthy relationship with food. People will feel guilty for ordering the dish they want. It’ll trigger obsessive thoughts and behaviours in those who are dealing with or have experienced disordered eating. It will cement the connection in the collective mind between health and calorie control.

I posted about this legislation on my Instagram stories today and have already received multiple messages from people who have been distressed by seeing these menu additions. These are people trying to claw back control of their eating. People who have worked hard at ignoring that voice in their head telling them what they can and cannot have. They’re scared. Genuinely frightened of how they feel when they see signs telling them how many calories an adult shout eat in a day. Worried about the thoughts the calorie count on their coffee provokes. This isn’t a surge towards a healthier society, it’s a huge step backwards.

The problem with this move is the thinking from which it stems. Our government is telling us that being fat is a problem. That fat people are a burden we must shift. That isn’t true. There is no proven way to permanently make a fat person thin. Diets do not work; within 5 years 95% of those who intentionally lose weight will regain all they have lost and more. Calorie restriction is not sustainable. More over, it is not good for you. It ignores the intersections between weight and poverty & disabilities. Not to mention the impact of medical weight stigma on the health of fat patients. There are many lifestyle changes a person can explore if they want to improve their health. Focusing entirely on calories and weight loss is not one them. Health and weight are not intrinsically linked. Adding the calorie content to menus is dangerous. It sidesteps the issue of public health and props up stale old diet culture tropes.

I am not a doctor or an expert. I am merely an informed former victim of the diet industry. I am a fat activist and as such I can see that many people may dismiss me as having an agenda. With that in mind I point you towards the following resources.

Dr Asher Larmie

Marquisele Mercedes

Dr Joshua Wolrich

Gillian McCollum

Alishia McCullough

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Oompah pah…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I returned from my German speaking adventure a week ago and am only now in possession of the spoons to tell you all about. I had such an amazing time that I wore myself out entirely.

We started with a few days in Munich. We got unbelievably lucky weather wise. The sun shone every single day. It was so warm that I wished I’d brought less cardigans and more floaty items. Don’t worry, I still put together some excellent outfits. We also saw many excellent sights and had a grand old time.

Our first stop was Munich’s old town hall. It is an incredible building located in a square full of beautiful architecture. The boy loved all the gargoyles and crazy creatures sculpted in stone. We enjoyed the sunny square whilst we waited for town hall clock to do its thing. Its thing was worth the wait. At the stroke of noon court characters began to dance and play the organ high above us. Royalty, drummers, jesters and even a joisting match spun above us as the gold clock glinted in the sun.

Munich old town hall and crowded square
He loved the hybrid creatures on this fountain.
ly posing in square wearing black jumpsuit

Just around the corner from the town hall is Munich’s old fruit market. These days the stalls have a variety of wares; hand made crafts, flowers, cheese, fruit and plenty of beer. The market is also home to lots of drinking water fountains and my nephew adored them. You can take a 4 year old anywhere in the world and they will be happiest playing with simplest of things. Thus he spent many a delighted minute emptying & refilling water bottles.

After a wander around the picturesque market, with our handmade delights purchased we found a lovely outdoor cafe to sample some German yums. The boy selected authentic Bavarian sausages and munched the lot. His Mummy & I played it safe with giant pretzels. Gran went for a truly a delicious apple strudel. We were mildly pleased with ourselves for navigating the German menu with the help of google. Even happier to receive what we had intended to order!

Our rooftop lunch spot.

We rounded off the square with stop at the the exquisite St Peter’s chapel. Although I am not Catholicism’s biggest fan, I do enjoy the beautiful architecture. My Mum, who is regular worshipper, took the opportunity to say a prayer. Meanwhile the & boy I lit a candle for our respective Grans. As we waited outside for my Mum the boy was overjoyed to meet a headless busker. Watching him come up with explanations for the man’s lack of head was exceptionally entertaining.

Our final stop in Munich was the Englischer Garten, an awesome oasis in the city. This park is the perfect sunny day outing. As you enter you can see people surfing on the man made river. The water moves so fast, watching folk brave the rapids is amazing. A few steps into the park there is the cutest little cafe, which we took advantage of. Refreshed, we ventured further and discover a fab play park for the boy to rascal. After a little rest for Gran and Auntie ly we continued on to admire ducks, pretty bridges and have a tonne of carry on.

Of course I spread some fat positive vibes.
The boy loved tricking me with the clear cola.

Munich is a handsome city. There was so much more to see, but we only had two days. We ate lots of yummy food and found the people to be really friendly. If you can catch the city in the sun even better. Public transport is abundant. If you’re struggling (like I was) street taxis are all over the place and I got Ubers really quickly when not near a rank. It’s fairly flat city which makes it easier to walk. I also found most places to have good accessibility. I’d rate it a good city for spoonies to get around.

On day three we were Austria bound on the train. Stay tuned for the next chapter of the adventure.

I was childishly amused.

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Paint me like one of your fat girls…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

If you are a regular reader you may be aware that my bedroom houses a sexy/self love wall. I’m always on the look out look for cool independent art to add to my collection. A few weeks ago I got lucky.

Abbie Illustrates announced she was opening commissions for digital portraits and I snapped her hand off. I am utterly in love with this incredible piece. My curves look so soft and delicious. I cannot wait to get me framed and up on the wall.

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Something’s gotten hold of my heart…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

As I have mentioned, more than once, I having been some extra health issues. Yesterday I saw my GP and she gave me some answers. Unfortunately they were neither want I expected or wanted them to be.

It seems that long covid has become permanent a more of a problem. The tachycardia and breathlessness that I have been experiencing since having covid in Oct 2020 have been significantly worse over the last few months. I am breathless after a few steps. My head spins the minute I stand up. I faint daily. My heart tries to burst out of my body and my chest hurts. All the time. In the past when I felt like this it has been related to aneamia & b12 deficiency. I have had lots of issues with really low haemoglobin and although I never get to ‘normal’ my bloods aren’t dangerously low at the moment. We did a bunch of treatment, but I didn’t feel any different. I had some more tests, kept a symptom diary and recorded my heart rate a few times a day. My GP’s conclusion is that covid has damaged my heart function.

She is fairly certain that I have some kind of heart arrhythmia or PoTS. The prospect of neither fills me with joy; PoTS in particular is very frightening. I have been referred to cardiology and more tests will ensue. I really expected these issues to be related to existing conditions. It was a shock to be presented with a possible new diagnosis. The thought of these symptoms not improving or even worsening is overwhelming. I have enough health problems. I don’t need anymore.

All of this to say two things. Covid is no joke. Even if you get through the initial illness ok, there is no telling what it will do to your body. Please don’t pretend this pandemic is over. There are still huge communities that of sick and disabled people who are high risk. Even healthy people can be really badly effected. Wear a mask, keep your distance, wash your hands! None of these things are hard to do. And, I am feeling scrambled. I don’t know how to process this new information. Physically I am a mess. I’m very apprehensive of what is to come & my head is all over the place. So, please bear with me if things get inconsistent around here.

close up of ly’s face wearing brightly coloured mas and thick black glasses

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Let’s talk about…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Let’s talk about breasts. Boobs, titties, knockers, baps. Whatever you want to call them. Just a human body part. So, what is all the fuss?

For a long time I thought I hated my breasts. I resented the attention they brought, the assumptions & limitations they imposed. I even looked into a surgical reduction to be rid of their weight. It’s only in recent years that I have realised that there is actually lots I enjoy about breasts. I didn’t hate them, they had just been weaponised against me.

Boobs are great. They feel nice. Breasts can be comforting. Nipples can have incredible sensation. They add lovely curves to the body. Mine look great in lots of things. They can sustain new life. Sure I wish my own didn’t give me back ache but they’re part of me and I like me.

Why all the hate, then? Well, we live in a world that projects so much onto these mounds of tissue. It starts so young. If you are a late bloomer, you are free game for mocking. Develop fast or bountifully and you will be Objectified. I managed to combine both. I was flat as a pancake and then between 14-15 years old my breasts went into overdrive. There’s years of being sexualised. Your peers will do it and you’re told ‘boys will be boys’. Then it somehow becomes a teenage girl’s fault that adult teachers are uncomfortable that they can see bra lines through a white school shirt or that her breasts bounce in P.E. Strange adults on the street will shout gross comments at a child in a school uniform. The bus driver will come onto you every day on the way home from school. Friends Mum’s will view you suspiciously because your body means you are not a ‘nice girl’. All along assumptions are made about who you are and how you can be treated purely by the fact that the tissue on your chest grew bigger than other girls your age.

As you grew older it just becomes more overt. Men in bars will comment on your body and if you complain you’re told it’s your own fault for showing cleavage. Any night out will include at least one random groping from a person you didn’t even say hello to. Getting angry garners insults. You are a slut or you’re ugly because you object to being sexually assaulted. Friends of friends will refer to you as ‘that girl with the huge boobs’. Jokes are made, envy expressed, inappropriate bra size enquiries are never ending. All the while there is an underlying implication that this is your fault. You are judged because of a body that you didn’t choose or have any control over.

It extends way beyond individual experiences. Everyone in possession of a pair is bombarded with messages about our own form. We have all had lists of things we can & cannot do. Don’t show bra straps, but you need a bra to control or enhance your shape. Clothes that aren’t ok for your body. Clothes that are sending a message. Activities we give up because we’re so tired of the attention we attract. We’re shamed if someone can see the outline of a nipple. Censored everywhere because a female presenting chest is sexual; even when it is feeding an infant. We still live in a world where using a breast for its intended purpose can be controversial. It’s all patriarchal bullshit.

ly is wearing a white t shirt with red print saying , if you can see my nipples under this t shirt it’a because i have nipples.
Tee – Curated by Girls

Our bodies are not inherently sexual. Seeing a nipple isn’t provocative. Breasts are just fat and tissue and skin. No more or less obscene than a nose or an armpit. The size and shape of our constituent parts bears no indication of who we are. Neither does how we choose to adorn them.

I feel sad that I ever considered surgically changing my body purely to avoid misogyny in its many forms. I am exhausted that at 41 I still have to explain the same point I was making at 16. None of this new. Yet, there are still umpteen men in my DMs every week talking only about my tits. I still get cat called and disapproving looks. A few years back a GP pointed out that she could see my bra poking out of a vest top and asked what message I thought that sent. This educated, professional woman could not understand my anger or the reason I complained about her comments.

I don’t how or when we bring this to an end. I do know it starts with me (& you) taking back my body. I am not for public consumption. I will continue to wear whatever pleases me. I’ll delete gross comments and if you dare to sexually harass me the very least you can expect is a loud fuck off. My breasts are large, my cleavage exquisite, but most of all they are mine.

ly is lying in a circular swing wearing black & white print dress ad harness bra

If you enjoy my writing you can support me here or on Patreon.

Fun Street…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Last Friday I had a big treat day with two of my niblings and their Mummies. We checked out a new (for us) play place and had a very yummy dinner.

Fun Street was a hit with both little ones. It comprises a soft play, role play (mini hospital, garage, library etc) and a really cool digital play area. The climbing wall seemed to be the big hit of the day, but they loved they whole day.

I wore something comfy and cute in preparation of much carry on. My little ones didn’t disappoint and much sun was had. Auntie ly may have done a little bit of spoiling in the toy section before we sat down a tasty Wagamamas. That’s what Aunties are for!

Dress – Boohoo
Cardi – Asos
Tights – Snag
Glasses – Where Light

Caught in a trap…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I’m stuck. Chronically stuck, you could say. My body has been refusing to behave for months. I’m operating at minimum capacity & maximum exasperation.

My pain levels are high and brain fog is impenetrable, but I also have a variety of ‘bonus’ complaints. This is a thing my body seems to do when I am particularly run down. A change in medication from injectable to oral about 18mths ago resulted in some messed up test results late last year (I had been against the change, but hey, what do I know?). Around the same time I had a bad cold that would not shift (definitely wasn’t covid) and culminated in Labyrinthitis. I was fairly lucky with that as I didn’t have pain, but the vertigo & nausea stuck around for ages. Into the new year the impact of that med change has made all my Long Covid symptoms more pronounced. The fatigue was never ending, a few steps left my heart rattling & my lungs crying out for air. Add a uti that quickly turned into a kidney infection. Then the three weeks of treatment required to correct the impact of changing the delivery of that medication left me vomiting all day & unable to eat. That of course messed up my electrolytes and landed me in hospital hooked up to a drip to get me back in shape. All in all it has been rough and I have struggled to get anything at all done.

That’s where feeling stuck comes in. There are so many things I want to get done. From big career moves (finish the book) to everyday task (mop the floors) it feels like everything is on hold. I am so exhausted and sore and foggy brained that it really is baby steps all the way. I write to do lists that are never completed. Every task takes a ridiculous amount of time. Proof reading each email you send three times cuts into available working time. If I put some washing in the machine, I need to rest. Some days a shower will be all I can manage. Spend a day out of the house and I need two or three days to recover. The ‘to dos’ get longer, the ideas go unexamined and I am trapped by all the unfinished everything.

It’s impossible to break free. There are things that could make my life easier, but they are of course costly. Usually a person could take on extra work, get a side hustle, but I can’t keep up with the bare minimum. If one has a deadline they could work all night. However, I can barely get through an afternoon without a lie down. Pushing myself to keep going not only results in less than my best work, but also puts me out of work entirely for days. Chronic illness pens me in. I can’t afford to buy the services & items that would make my life easier. The lack of those things contributes to worsening symptoms and limiting my ability to earn. See how it goes around & around?

I also feel welded to the spot. There are jobs I would love to accept, projects I badly want to complete, but I just don’t have the capacity at the moment. Thus, my career feels stagnant, it is heart wrenching to so badly underperform. My life is similarly entrenched. I want to see more people, have nights out, try new things. Of course, I can’t. My body simply will not allow it. I am so tired of saying no or rescheduling. It’s a no win situation my mental health suffers from being home alone so much. My physical health declines if I do too much. Again, the balance seems impossible to get right.

Finally, there is the mundane. I’d really like to have an empty washing basket. I want to be able to spend a day tidying the spare room. Instead, I do ten minutes a day for weeks and never quite get it done. It would be lovely to go out spur of the moment; but having a shower and putting on clothes can wipe me out. I never thought I would long to walk to the corner shop for cat food. Yet, here I am stuck in my house unless I can get a taxi or a lift. It is exhausting and demoralising. There is no easy way out. All I can do is wait and hope that I feel a bit better soon. I ran out of patience a long time ago.

An hour glass with iron filings

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