If you’ve been with me a while you will know that I love original art on my walls. In recent weeks I have hung some magnificent additions.
My living room has gained this beautiful sketch by Robyn Boyle. It’s my nephew and I when he was still tiny. I adore everything about this. It’s so soft and perfectly captures the tenderness I felt. I particularly love that Robyn got the shape of his wee baby skull exactly right. I spent lots of time stroking that tiny head and I love having this permanent reminder.
Robyn Boyle
My sexy self love wall in the bedroom has also welcomed a new portrait. It is of course my fat and lovely self. This digital sketch is by Abbie Illustrates. I’m in love with the chaos & curves of this one.
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.
Don’t Judgeit.
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.
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.
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.
Adorable Bronan for rant tax.
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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).
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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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.
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.
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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
I had a big party to attend this weekend. Most of the attendees were 4 yr olds, but it’s still important to look my best. Not to mention I have to keep up my crazy auntie reputation.
My pirate crazy nephew obviously had a pirate themed party. If you have a kid around this age I highly recommend hiring a bouncy cancel. My sister found a cool pirate assault course bouncy thing and the kids were ecstatic. They ran and bounced and pirated all day long!
I opted to wear a party dress because what else does a girl wear to party? I layered up some sheer with opaque and added these excellent tights. I felt cute.
I gave a little nod to the theme with my nail art.
Can we give my sister a round of applause for her incredible cake make skills. My nephew has very specific ideas and she totally nailed it. She is a creative genius.
I have been catching up with And just like that & I’m having a lot of feelings. I know, I know, it’s a tv show. These people aren’t real. Except, they kind of are. A little bit.
S&TC caught me at just the right time. I started watching right before leaving home & starting uni. I continued through 18 to 24, prime discovering yourself, life & love years. I re-watched again & again, Carrie & the gals my trusted companions. It hasn’t all aged well, there’s some really dodgy shit. Plus sometime I don’t even like them; Carrie could be truly toxic things. But, I still love them. There was nothing else talking about the kind of female sexuality I was exploring in the late 90’s. There were little bits of myself & my friends in all of the fab four. I could relate to their sexual & romantic adventures. I knew the unbreakable bond of female friendship. Carrie was a writer with a penchant for the older man for goodness sake. Then of course it was all so much more glamorous than my life. They were running around Manhattan in Manolos, whilst I could barely afford Malboro lights & rent on my dodgy student flats. We were both hiding our broken hearts in a haze of smoke & high heels, though. Fantasy wrapped up in just enough reality to capture my heart.
So, I loved them. I felt like I knew them inside out. Both the characters & the all the fragments of real people I saw in them. I have twenty odd years invested in these tv people. That’s crying on the sofa, drinking cocktails with the girls, hungover Sundays, hours of explaining to stupid boyfriends why Aidan wasn’t right & so much more. I want them to be happy. Real life is perilous on the happy ending front, but when last we saw Carrie & Co is was as close to a fairy tale as you get in NYC.
I awaited this re boot with trepidation. There was never any chance of me not partaking, but I was worried. I feared they’d mess it all up. Successful drama needs conflict and I didn’t want my middle aged babes involved in any of that. They almost killed me with that first episode. I was always rooting for Big, even when he was a total fuckwit. I wanted Carrie & John to grow old together in harmony. Given what we found out about Chris Noth, it’s just as well they killed him off (but I can still mourn the character, right?). We also had Samantha’s absence to deal with. That empty chair at the restaurant. Those flowers at the funeral. It’s heartbreaking. I’m 41 now, I know those female bonds aren’t always so indestructible, but this is fantasy. Samantha would never have had such a silly huff. Two hard blows right from the kick off. The rest are good. I can take it.
Then comes Che and all bets are off. All of sudden I’m supposed to believe that Steve can’t make Miranda cum? The Steve that knew how to get her off from night one? They make him some lame guy who can’t finger his wife. Now Miranda is running off to surprise Che, who will almost certainly be screwing someone else when she gets there. I don’t want this. I want my loyal cynical Miranda with her sweet, loving Steve. I’m taking this betrayal personally.
That’s before I even touch on how they handled Stanford’s exit. Carrie going on dates or that hideous new apartment. Thank god for Charlotte & Harry. I hope. I may be a bit more jaded and lot less likely to fall head over heels, but I can’t take it if all those happily ever afters fall apart. Make believe is supposed to offer some escapism. Will no one think of the ageing romantics?
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After some recent ‘market research’ I discovered that folks would like me to share more of what I’m reading. I have always been a total bookworm & am pretty much constantly reading. I always intend to share books I enjoy, but never remember. My goodreads is neglected for months & then a tonne of books of are added at once. Now that I have confirmation that people do actually want this type of content, I am going to try much harder. Starting right now, with a rundown of some of my favourite books.
Delusion of Grandma, Carrie Fisher
Carrie Fisher was incredible in every single way. I absolutely worshipped her. Her acting, comedy & activism were all top notch. Her writing was sublime. I have never found anyone else who writes in such a poetic stream of conscious like style. Carrie draws from her own life to create works of fiction that take my breathe away. Delusions of Grandma centres around Cora, a script fixer who discovers she is pregnant just as her relationship ends. She then goes on a road trip with her eccentric Mother to fulfil her failing Grandfather’s last wish to return to his home town. Her Grandfather has dementia & so may not actually know when he is ‘home’, but they feel duty bound. Her mother is loving, but A LOT. She has a writing partner & best friend who is wonderful, but A LOT. Cora herself could be described as, you guessed it, kind of A LOT. Cora becomes convinced that she won’t survive child birth & starts writing long letters to her unborn child. These letters detail major relationships & events in Cora’s life. They give the reader insight into who she is and how she feels about herself. The way Fisher handles mental illness through these narratives is one of the most lucid accounts I have ever read. I knew exactly the feelings she was describing. Her writing is so exceptional that I practically felt them as I read. If you haven’t experienced Carrie Fisher’s unparalleled writing talent I urge you rectify that as soon as possible.
The TravellingHornplayer, Barbara Trapido
The Travelling Hornplayer consists of multiple intersecting stories. The connections in the characters lives are revealed as the book unfolds. Each of the tales are woven together so skilfully that it feels somewhat magical. That hint of magic persists within the little cosmic drops throughout each character’s narrative. Trapido’s storytelling is beautiful. All of her books feature the same families of characters, but explore different aspects of their lives. Background characters from one novel push centre stage in another. This particular book became my favourite of the authors by virtue of featuring a cycle of poetry I fell in love with at university. A quote from which is now permanently inked on my body. Words have always been my religion and this book is part of my bible.
My Thoughts Exactly, Lily Allen
This book is of course Lily Allen’s autobiography. I’ve always liked her music & most of her candour. I felt a sort of fellowship with her after her first child was still born, which made me more interested in her work. What I admire most about this book is Lily’s honesty. She speaks so openly about her life even when it is not remotely flattering. She lays herself bare as she recounts her childhood, mental health battles, experiences of motherhood, fame, sexual assault & infidelity. It is a brave and raw book. Not at all the typical show biz memoir. I can’t recommend this book highly enough.
There you go, some of my very best books. I have a million favourites, so there will probably be more posts like this. I will also endeavour to post what I am reading (& enjoying) on Insta.
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Something in the way she moves... 
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