my body my business

Ins & Outs…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I haven’t made New Year’s resolutions since I was a child. At first glance I thought the In & Out trend was just a rebranding. However, on further investigation I have decided that I like this less momentous approach. Instead of massive declarations, we’re just reassessing what everyday things serve us well. Less changing who you are & more smoothing life’s aggravating edges. I’m willing to give it a go.

In

Swimming

More of it. I love swimming. I feel less pain in the water. I can whizz up and down in a manner I haven’t done on land in years. I enjoy it. I don’t know why I so frequently let life get in the way, no more. I’m carving out time every week to indulge in a dip.

Do it for fun.

I am pretty useless at crafty things. I do however enjoy the process. I like pottery and painting and making my own flowery bits. I’m often put off by the fact that the finished product is not grade A. Bugger that, why relinquish pleasure because I’m not good at it? No one is good at everything. Just for the fun it is good enough reason.

Currently reading

I like seeing what others are reading & enjoying. I’m often asked which books are on my shelves. Unfortunately I forget to share as I’m reading. Then when I remember, I have dozens of books I haven’t talked about. This year I will endeavour to share my books as I devour them.

Have a little faith

In my own talent. I know I can write. People pay for my words, lots of folk read this blog, my work has been praised and published for years. I know I can write. Yet, the imposter syndrome is real. Doubt is always creeping in, I drag my feet on some opportunities because I’m not convinced I’m good enough. It has to stop. I’m 43yrs old, I can do this.

Out

Matching Socks

I have various singleton socks. Perfectly nice, soft & cosy socks. Bugger it, I’m pairing up the odd ones and wearing them. No one with any sense cares a jot.

Guilt

I have a long established guilt issue. I can & will feel guilty about almost anything. Given that I have plenty of real things to feel horribly guilty about, I am going to try my hardest to let the insignificant things slide. There are only so many hours in the day, it does no one any good for me to spend most of them worrying about what is my fault.

Explaining

It’s exhausting and most the time it’s no one’s business. I’m no longer explaining why I need to know if there are seats or stairs. Folk can just answer the question. I ask politely, it’s straightforward information, just say yes or no. Randoms don’t need to know what pill I’m taking, why I’m vegan, why I fainted or any number of other things. Curiosity killed the cat and constant explaining knackered his Mother.

Making exceptions

This is the big one. There are one or two people in my life from whom I accept less. I love them, I know them inside out & I want them in my life. As a result I tolerate certain things from them that I wouldn’t from anyone else. Mostly this is absolutely fine. I’m not talking about horrid or cruel behaviour. Just the odd less than ideal lapse. Here’s the rub, sometimes those lapses hurt. I’ve decided it’s time I shift things away from swallowing that hurt. Everyone deserves to their have effort & care reciprocated. I must stop making exceptions. When annoying becomes hurtful, it is time to speak up.

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I am anything I want…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I’ve had another sleepless night and I used the extra hours to clean up outstanding admin. One of the tasks I enjoy the least is dealing with the angry dms/emails etc I get from random followers who hate fat, single woman being happy & online. Recently there has been a sharp upturn in the number of messages telling me I should be ashamed, i’m a bad influence, should have more self respect… To those I say, SUCK IT,

close up of red haired woman with retro glasses & septum piercing sipping straw in iced drink

You’re not a slut (unless you like that term) if you enjoy lots of sex. Nudity is not inherently sexual and even when it is, it is not dirty. No one has to justify their sexual agency. I’m a grown ass woman with a healthy sex drive & I give zero fucks about what anyone thinks of that.

I have a sex life. Fat women are desired. I’ve had various partners. Some were great ideas others not so much. I’ve shed some tears, discovered things about myself, been frustrated & had a fucking ball. I’m am sick & tired of the contempt for female sexuality. I’ve regretted some of my sexcapades, but I’ve never been ashamed. In fact, I’m delighted to offer some high(& low)lights in service of the sex positive feminist agenda.

There was the Brazilian bus driver turned surgeon who was fun and precipitated an embarrassing incident.

The night club bouncer I fell arse over elbow for only to have him wreck my life.

The university professor who was kind, smart, committed & gorgeous, but just not the one.

The stunning aspiring stage actor who had the sexiest curves I’ve ever seen. She soothed my broken heart, boosted my self esteem and invited me to her wedding years later.

The film critic who gave great date and turned out to be full of shit.

The part time novelist who was a talented writer (& lover), but wanted me much more once he couldn’t have me.

The librarian union rep who presented as the ultimate lefty. Unless it related to feminism, then he was the laziest of ‘not all men’ misogynists.

The post man who was just a terrible rebound mistake and had to get up way too early.

The student whose very catholic Mum popped in when were having sex on the sofa. The 3 minutes it took me to find anything to hide behind were probably the most awkward of my life.

The bar manager who got clingy two dates in despite telling me she didn’t want anything serious.

The biologist who was fine really, but always thought he knew best. Good time in bed. Frustrating conversations.

The IT analyst who wanted to move way too fast. Very romantic, but scared the shit out of me with detailed future plans.

The tax man who started out a lot of fun. Settled into something comfortable. Ended up a huge cowardly disappointment.

The electrician who was a whirlwind. Crazy night outs. Cuddly weekends watching old movies. Fizzled out fast.

The newly divorced Mum who was actually pretty incredible, but really wanted to live the party girl life. I was just too old & tired for clubbing on a Wednesday.

The rugby player who was an entirely different person in front of his friends. I met a cool, sensitive guy. Every time we went to the pub I was with a rugby boy cliche. Big nope.

The lottery fund allocator who could have been perfect if i wasn’t so ridiculously bad at recognising the nice guys.

The mental health worker who was all erudite and kind. Big social conscious. Fostered rescue cats. Was also way too interested in my scars in bedroom. Creepy & ugh.

The photographer who was exciting & hilarious, but only because he took copious amount of cocaine. Pro tip ladies coke is no friend to the old erection.

And more.

I have a favourite who blew my mind. There were crazy hot folk, guys that others thought weren’t attractive at all, relationships, flings & the odd one nighter. It’s all fine. Every (consensual) sexual encounter was ok for me. Sex is fun. It’s natural. It can be as big or as little a deal as you feel it is.

ly is posing in black underwear with red faux suspenders tights . She has her arms above her head

Safe sex between consenting adults is A OK. Have as much or as little as you want. Talk about it or don’t. Your body is yours to do with as you please. Enjoy.

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