growing up

Growing up and learning to find your voice

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Step right upWe were watching that episode of The Simpsons where Bart fights back against Nelson’s crew when they pick on Lisa and he gets beaten up for it. Marge wants Bart to report it to Principal Skinner but Homer says he can’t, it’s against the code of the school yard, which states:

  1. Don’t tattle
  2. Always make fun of those different from you
  3. Never say anything unless you’re sure everyone feels the same way you do

So instead, Bart puts together an army and teaches Nelson a lesson. It’s every bullied child’s dream outcome and makes for a great episode. We had it on video at home so I know it pretty much word for word.

That code really does exist, or it certainly did at my school. To tattle or ‘dob in’ as us cool kids used to call it was very much frowned upon. Rule 2 was definitely kept to – sometimes at my expense, sometimes at other people’s, and I wouldn’t go back to that way of life for all the money in the world. 

And rule 3 – I followed that so closely that I’m still learning to break it. I’m 31 years old and I know I don’t always value my voice. And I don’t think I’m alone in that – I think lots of us struggle to remember we have as much right to speak up as anyone else.

When we step into the real world, independence forces us to stand on our own. And with that comes a daily set of decisions – about whether to stand up for ourselves, for other people, and for what we think is right. Sometimes we make the correct call, sometimes we pick the wrong argument, and sometimes we walk away, never knowing what we could or should have done.

How to interact with people is a life-long course that we never finish taking. And the hardest part, in my view, is working out how to stand your ground without smashing it to pieces. How to say your piece without just screaming the house down or calling people names. How to come away having made a sound argument and, ideally, having persuaded somebody to think a little differently.

NoIf having arguments with people in your head isn’t one of your favourite pastimes then I guess we’re just very different people but I do it ALL the time. I run through exactly what I’d say if only I had the guts and the promise of no repercussions. I’m excellent at it when I have total control, but sadly the world will never know.

In reality, speaking up can sometimes feel like a maverick thing to do, even when it’s totally justified. Whether it’s to say no, I’d rather we didn’t split the bill, I only had a tap water and a side, or, actually, that was my idea, not yours and you know it, or I’m not going to let you speak to me that way, fighting back can feel so bold. I am doing it now, more and more, but I’m never not shaking afterwards.

There are lots of things that can make speaking up feel like the hardest thing in the world. Louder voices, hierarchy, education, subject matter. Sometimes you worry that you’re going to ruin a nice time by contradicting a group decision or a consensus. But it’s OK – as always, it’s all about how you say it. Think like a human being and you’ll be fine.

I’m talking about this now because it feels more important than ever that we’re not afraid to speak up for what’s right. There’s a lot of nastiness, a lot of hate, and a lot of frightening rhetoric around. In this country, in the US, all over. And if we don’t speak out against it and challenge those trying to marginalise and disempower people, it’s going to become the norm. Then goodness knows what comes next.

Of course, what I’m talking about is more complex and important than minor social disagreements, but empowering yourself to take those on puts you in a better position to tackle the big stuff when it comes – and anyway, this is also where you’re likely to hear a lot of it. Whether it’s misogyny over the dinner table or racism on social media or bullying amongst so-called friends – it’s our duty to call it out and push for kindness, equality and understanding instead.

I have a voice and so do you and we don’t just deserve to use them, we have to. If The Simpsons has taught us anything, it’s that bullies know exactly what they are, they just think they can get away with it.

31 things that continue to surprise me about being alive

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IMG_20160707_160600It’s birthday time for me 🎂 and this year I’m turning 31. It’s not Big News like turning 30 was – there’s no ’31 things to do before you turn 31′ lists to read. (I assume because people think the only thing you really need to do by this point is recover from turning 30).

Nope, it’s just a middle of the road, hardly worth mentioning sort of age, and I’m fine with that. It’s nice to go under the radar for a little while.

But just because 31 isn’t considered to be a particularly remarkable milestone, it doesn’t mean I have nothing to say. Regular readers will know that it’s become something of a tradition for me to write a list as long as my age to mark my birthday – a decision I imagine I will regret enormously by the time I turn 75.

When I turned 29 and 30 I jotted down a series of things I had learnt. So this year – in the interests of keeping things fresh – I’ve opted for a list of things that continue to surprise me about living in the world. Because the older you get, the longer that list becomes.

1. That there are people who do not like Jaffa Cakes.

2. That after almost 11 years together, the text message I’ve sent my husband which has provoked the most positive response to date said: I’ve managed to fix our WiFi.

3. That the lyric ‘My mama don’t like you and she likes everyone’ was all it would take for me to like Justin Bieber.

4. That, rather than a hilarious joke, ‘This train is delayed due to a lack of driver to drive it’ is a commonly used excuse for transport disruption. 

5. That the amount of money you spend on a pair of shoes has absolutely nothing to do with how much they are likely to hurt your feet.

6. That the glare I gave the man on the train who said “I’m on my way to London Houston” didn’t turn him to stone.

7. That I once offered a friend one of my pick n mix sweets and they took the single, giant fondant filled liquorice lace I was clearly going to save till last. WHO DOES THAT

8. That it’s possible to select an outfit to wear at at 8am, and then realise you hate it more than anything you’ve ever seen in your life by 10. 

9. That after two years as a glasses-wearer, I still fail to anticipate what will happen when I open the oven or dishwasher door whilst wearing them.

10. That eventually my life would be divided into two halves: Before I started enjoying gin, and after.

11. That there is nothing quite like the incredible sense of achievement one feels following the successful usage of drain unblocker.

12. That intense feeling of loss a woman feels when she looks in her make-up bag and discovers that her blusher has shattered into a million pink, dusty pieces. 

13. That there is nothing more frightening than the prospect of hearing a recording of your own voice.

14. That there is so much happening in the world, and yet I still feel the need to correct people when they say ‘I’ when they should be saying ‘me’.

15. That I still get invited to parties.

IMG_745916. That I ever thought simply wearing my sunglasses over the top of my glasses would fill the gap that only prescription sunglasses can. (And how unbelievably heavy that felt on my face).

17. That I get worryingly close at least once a week to sending an email that features the word ‘afterboob’ instead of ‘afternoon’.

18. That there would come a time when somebody saying they spent an afternoon reading a book – rather than looking at any kind of screen – would seem like the greatest demonstration of willpower the world has ever seen.

19. That my husband expects to receive the kind of praise one might reserve for a person who has just run the marathon for simply putting a wash on.

20. That nothing on this earth – not purchasing an appropriately ripe avocado, or figuring out what level of postage to put on a package, or attempting to cook one of Jamie’s 30 Minute Meals in less than an hour – is more difficult than finding a Friday night on which all members of a female friendship group are free to have dinner together. 

21. That the simple act of removing the Facebook app from my phone has done more for my mental health than any holiday ever could.

22. That one minute you swear you will never let a single crumb come near your precious new phone or laptop, and the next you’re tapping at the keys with peanut butter-covered fingers like there’s no tomorrow. 

23. That expression friends make when they discover that you’re left-handed. Like they don’t really know you at all.

24. That however hard you think it is to make a human being love you, it’s a walk in the park compared to trying to befriend a cat. 

25. That just because a hangover isn’t there when you wake up, it doesn’t mean it’s not coming for you in a few hours’ time.

26. That admitting that you suffer from anxiety is like mentioning that you own Adele’s album ’25’ – dude, everybody’s got that.

27. That I remain incapable of having a conversation with someone who is crying without also crying myself.

28. That some gluten free brands have the audacity to call the crumbly slices of disappointment they produce ‘bread’. 

29. That I now live in a world where recognising people because you’ve seen photographs of them on the Internet is considered evidence that you have strong social awareness, and not that maybe a restraining order should be issued.

30. That for so many of us it’s not until we reach our fourth decade on earth that we start to realise what it is that we want to do with our lives.

31. And that if the speed of the last 31 years has taught me anything, it’s that we don’t have time to spend a single second doing anything else.

23 unspoken promises behind every great female friendship

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20151112_1429231.That neither of us will ever say “I really shouldn’t” when the dessert menu comes and let that stop us ordering something.

2. That you’ll never mention it when I show up in a piece of clothing that clearly should have been ironed. I know it, you know it, but I just couldn’t be arsed, OK?

3. That wherever we are and whatever we’re doing, cake will always be an appropriate snack.

4. That if one of us fails to get the job or the boyfriend or the house that we wanted, the other will provide the required dose of IT’S THEIR LOSS ANYWAY, BABE, YOU CAN DO SO MUCH BETTER to restore our faith in humanity.

5. That whatever it is, you can tell me.

6. That you’ll smile and nod when I start talking about the level to which it is currently KICKING OFF in Coronation Street [or enter your own televisual favourite here] – despite not watching, caring, or wishing to hear a single detail more about it.

7. That if there is something on my face that shouldn’t be there, you will tell me STRAIGHT AWAY.

8. That I will always let you finish having a well-earned moan before I start to explain why things really aren’t that bad.

9. That if I’m being a dick, you’ll let me know. And that I’ll have the courage to do the same.

10. That when you ask me how ‘following my dreams’ is going, you’re prepared for a long and emotional response.

11. That when I cry at your wedding/birthday party/leaving do, you’ll be kind enough to lie and say that nobody noticed.

12. That we’ll run all photographic evidence of a night out that involved dancing passed each other before uploading it to social media.

13. That we can discuss the highs and lows of having bodies, bowels and brains without embarrassment. There’s no room for shame between friends.

14. That I may not have the required skirt, hair, or ability to kick my legs more than two inches above the ground, but I will be your cheerleader for life.

15. That ‘because I was planning to spend today doing absolutely nothing’ is a perfectly reasonable response to the suggestion of a get together. Everybody needs their space.

16. That I won’t let you walk around with food all over your top. I can’t promise I’ll always have a replacement on me, but I will dab the hell out of that stain like any good friend should.

17. That we won’t feel the need to beat each other around the head with our mistakes – but just to slowly place them under the other person’s eyes if it looks like they might accidentally start walking down that road again.

18. That a ‘What are you wearing tonight?’ text message sent ahead of an evening out will always receive a thorough response to ease the nerves of the woman who sent it (who is no doubt currently on her knees in front of her wardrobe and claiming she has so few clothes that she may as well just cut three holes in a bin bag and wear that etc.).

19. That we’ll both just pretend not to notice what happens to our hair in hot weather.

20. That you understand that when I buy a bag of Percy Pigs, it’s because I want to eat every single one of them. Best get your own packet, yeah?

21. That if you choose to spend your life with someone, I will not let you settle for anything less than the superhero you deserve.

22. That we’ll put the necessary effort in to making sure we’re still friends when we’re old and grey.

23. And that you’ll be kind enough not to mention that I am already both of those things.

 

Solitude is good for you, loneliness is not

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IMG_7519No matter what I’m doing, where I am, or who I’m with, I’m always conscious of the next time that I’ll get to be on my own. It doesn’t matter how much fun I’m having, the knowledge is always there, like a security blanket I never thought I’d need.

For me, solitude is as important as breakfast. I need a strong dose of it everyday to help me stay upright. Partly because I have social anxiety, so get-togethers can be a bit exhausting, but also because I’m 30 years old and this is what it’s like to be a grown up – we love other people’s company but we enjoy our own just as much.

Sometimes I wonder if I look forward to a social interaction being over as much as I do the event itself. I feel a great sense of achievement when I’ve been out and had a great time – when I’ve been to a party and stopped noticing whether I’m enjoying it or not because I just am. I love coming home knowing I’ve done some seriously good socialising and then feeling free to enjoy a spot of solitude because I’ve earnt it.

Time alone hasn’t always felt so precious, though. I’ve written before about how we all have to learn to love our own company. When I was at university, my friend Emma and I would hang out – sometimes in lectures, often at her house, mostly in Primark – and then she’d disappear off for an afternoon nap to prepare for whatever evening activity we had planned. She needed a rest and some shut-eye before further fun could commence.

But I didn’t need this break. We still laugh now about how I’d say “If you need me, I’ll be at home, lying down with my eyes shut,” because I wanted to join in but I just couldn’t nap. (I still can’t, actually, unless I’ve had an alcoholic drink, in which case NIGHT NIGHT.) I didn’t know what to do with the time. I was bored on my own, I’d have to go and buy a magazine to entertain myself. I’d will the time away until somebody was free to come and play with me.

And yet now I crave that time. Modern life demands a lot from us. We work, we go out, and we’re all constantly in touch with each other via phones and emails and apps I sometimes wish had never been invented. If a colleague says they have no plans for the weekend, you can hear the office groan with envy at their freedom, everybody else’s diaries gasping for a gap to pop a wash on, do the weeding, or just lie down.

IMG_6523It’s hard to keep going non-stop for days on end. We need time when we don’t have to think about making the right facial expression or saying the right thing. A bit of space to think it all over, or to think about nothing; to be alive but hardly moving. I like to have a bath and do a face mask. I like to watch Friends episodes I’ve seen so many times that it feels like some of the storylines actually happened to me. And I like to go to bed without having to set an alarm because – for once – nobody is expecting me to be anywhere the next day.

I say all of this mindful that I can enjoy occasional solitude because it’s a treat, not a constant. I’m not lonely. Leon will be home again in a few hours, all being well. I have dates in the diary to see my friends and family soon which I’m looking forward to. Without these things it would be a different story. It is for so many people. The joy of solitude is not to be taken for granted because it’s only a pleasure when it’s a break from the norm.

The realisation hit me hard after we got married that even forever has an end point, that we’d signed up to be each other’s world and that we were relying on each other for company for the rest of our lives. I’ve had to force myself not to worry about it all the time, but I try to hold this knowledge close when I’m frustrated to find the fridge door has been left ajar, or that a world of grated cheese has mysteriously appeared on the kitchen worktop after somebody has come home from the pub. I try to think – what does it even matter? A love of cheese was all I ever wanted in a man. We can buy more. I’m just glad you’re home.

Like everything in life, it’s all about balance. I’ve spent today alone. I made a bacon sandwich and set the smoke alarm off. I listened to Hugh Bonneville’s Desert Island Discs and cried twice, as is standard for an episode of D.I.D. I saw for myself what it means when a cat starts digging a small hole in your back garden (no, it is not treasure they’re planning to bury). And I sat outside and wrote this.

But tomorrow I’ll be in company again and I wouldn’t have it any other way. What’s important is to know yourself well enough to build in what you need, and to try not to budge if anyone suggests that you do otherwise. You can feel it in your bones when you need a rest. Look in the mirror and your eyes will beg you not to leave the house, to stop just for a little while.

I am grateful for a life that is busy enough for a spot of alone time to feel like a treat. Like all luxuries, a life filled with solitude just wouldn’t be right, but a regular dose will do wonders for your health.

On getting older and making CHOICES

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IMG_6378When I sit down to write this blog, I rarely know what I’m going to talk about until I start typing.

I tend to perch myself on the edge of the sofa, thus adding an element of drama to proceedings, turn over all the things I’ve been thinking and talking about in my mind, and then start writing about one of them. (I realise you didn’t necessarily ask about my writing process, but I’ve been enjoying the My Writing Day series in the Guardian so much that I just couldn’t help myself).

And today, that process made me realise that the subject of most relevance to me right now is the variety of CHOICES we make as we get older. So here’s some thoughts on that:

When Wednesday rolls around and I have special, dedicated time for doing my freelance writing thing, the whole day is about choice. Who will I pitch to? Which idea is worth pursuing? Will I let myself be distracted by the pile of hand-washing that suddenly looks so appealing now that I’m supposed to be doing work? Or will I chase the dollar and get to 6pm before realising I haven’t breathed an ounce of fresh air (or as fresh as London can offer) since yesterday? So many choices and so little time. I spend hours wondering if I’m making the right decisions, as I’m sure we all do.

On a related note, I’ve come to realise how helpful it is when editors choose to spend a few seconds sending a response to a pitch to let you know that it’s not quite right. Nobody likes to be rejected but it’s still so much more helpful than silence. I can tick them off on my list, move on, and try to do better next time. I know that people are busy – and that lots of editors receive so many emails each day that responding is just not feasible – but when you spend your day seemingly sending emails into the abyss, it’s good to feel acknowledged, and hopefully one step closer to getting it right.

Our time is precious and choosing who we spend it with is a serious decision. Sometimes we choose to fight for more time with a person, and sometimes we decide to step away because, for whatever reason, the relationship just isn’t giving us what we need. My new rule is: if it feels like someone is stealing your time rather than giving you the gift of theirs, it’s time to make a change.

This week I chose to take Facebook off my phone. It was making me feel anxious and stressed and constantly in demand and I didn’t like it. Even though the little red notifications were rarely aimed at me personally, I felt that if I didn’t click right now to see what was going on, I’d be missing out or being disorganised in some way. I haven’t ‘left’ Facebook – chill out – I’ve just left it on my laptop for looking at when I want to, rather than carrying it around in my hand all the time. And I feel a lot better for it.

I like writing on here about my life, the lessons I’ve learnt, the things I find interesting, and I like sharing tips and advice that I can only hope someone will find useful. Whether you write for a living or for fun, you have to make a choice about what you will and won’t share. Whenever I come to this blog, I think through the unwritten policies that decide what I write about. For example, I want you to feel like you know me but not so well that I may as well have hung my laundry around your lounge. I want you to know that I’m human without making myself too vulnerable. I want to talk about my marriage without sharing so much that I somehow bring it to an end. It’s nice to have a place where I make the rules – and where I can choose to break them any time I like.

For the last week or so I’ve been getting up just a little bit earlier than usual to start writing some fiction. I don’t really know how to do that (but does anyone before they try?) so I’ve just been sitting down with a pen and my idea and seeing where it takes me. I do about 20 minutes a day whilst still wearing my pyjamas and with my husband sound asleep upstairs and each session gets me about two or three pages of words. Not words I’d like anyone to read right now, mind – my goodness no – but it’s a start. I realised that if I wanted to try, I needed to choose to find more hours in the day. It turns out they are there if you’re willing to respond to a slightly earlier alarm.

It’s very much acknowledged now that we’re a bit older that we have to build time into our lives to do nothing. To choose to have days when we class ourselves as being busy, but what we mean is that we’ll be busy doing nothing. Looking after ourselves. Managing our mental health. Eating our way through our second bag of Wispa Bites. Whatever. This time is ours. Please don’t come round.

We’re about to go on holiday and I’m choosing – as much as possible – to have an internet free time. I want to look at Florence, not my phone. I want to scroll through lists of gelato flavours, not pictures of other people’s lattes. And I want to talk to my husband face-to-face, rather than typing away about idontevenknowwhat on a device that I’m becoming more and more sure is trying to kill me. I choose to have some time off, and I can’t bloody wait.

A love letter to all the sweaty girls: You are not alone

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Tray chicThere are so many things that women are conditioned to think they’re not supposed to do. Sweating is one of them. Going to the toilet is another.

And it’s so strange because both definitely happen every single day.

As a woman who has always suffered from the charmingly named condition EXCESSIVE SWEATING I can confirm that this belief is particularly unhelpful.

There are people who say that men sweat and women perspire. Well, you can call it what you like, but it’s the same thing. It’s as basic as coughing or sneezing or yawning so loudly that you sound like Chewbacca. We all do it.

Yesterday, whilst out dancing at a friend’s birthday party, I was reminded of my true sweating credentials. I moved seamlessly from looking like a person who’d put a good couple of hours into straightening her hair, applying liquid eyeliner, and colouring in her lips with a pencil, to a shiny-faced mad woman who appeared to have just done 20 lengths in the swimming pool, and no amount of hand fanning, forehead dabbing or sticking my face out of a window could stop it. I mean, everybody was hot but this was ridiculous. If only I’d been flexible enough to slot myself into the Dyson hand dryer in the bathroom, I would have done it.

I first discovered that I had this issue when I was a teenager. As if growing up wasn’t already hard enough – boy troubles, friend fall-outs, and a permanent fear that I was going to be called a weirdo was already keeping me busy enough – but then I had this little treat thrown into the mix. Thanks very much, genetics.

It didn’t even have to be hot. I just had to be awake. Of course, heat made it worse, but for the real sweaters among us, Winter is no holiday. If anything it’s worse because nobody expects to see somebody mopping their brow when it’s minus one outside.

I became super strategic in my clothes buying. I knew what types of colours and materials were most likely to show patches, and which could shield a day’s worth of salt loss. I didn’t have much money at the time – because who does at that age – so I kept a small number of tops on rotation that shielded me from being outed as the sweatiest girl in town.

And then one day I heard my dad talking about a special type of deodorant that can help people who sweat too much. I’d never told anybody about my problem before – I just assumed I’d have to live with it forever and hope that eventually I’d grow out of it – so I was ecstatic to hear that maybe there was a way out.

I booked an appointment with my doctor and had to stop myself from crying when I asked him to please prescribe it for me. I was 16 and awkward and desperate to feel normal. It was going to take a lot more than a sweat gland annihilating roll-on to do that but it was a bloody good start.

And ever since then, things have been better because I’ve had some control. Like so many situations, knowing that there’s something you can do about it is everything. Of course, it doesn’t mean I’m cured, it’s just much more manageable. Now it only really kicks in when it’s actually hot, which helps.

Thankfully it doesn’t really affect my self-esteem too much these days. And I have a critical moment that happened in February 2006 to thank.

Leon and I had only been together a few months and we went to see The Arctic Monkeys play in Leeds. This was prime Monkeys time – we were at university in Sheffield and the whole city had gone mad for them.

We went to the front and jumped around and it remains to this day some of the most fun I’ve ever had. When they went off stage I realised my entire head, back, and chest was soaked, my hair was like wet string, and my eye make-up was a distant memory. I looked at Leon and said:

“Sorry, I must look disgusting.”

And he shook his head and said:

“No you don’t – you just look like you’ve had a really good time.”

And ever since, I’ve held onto that answer.

I know that if I go out and let my hair down, I’ll end up looking like I’ve been left out in the rain. I know that dancing for five minutes does to me what 45 minutes on a treadmill does to other people. When I look in the mirror I do feel pretty alarmed – I mean, that level of perspiration does nothing for a heavy fringe; if I went out partying more frequently I might need to reconsider my hair style – but at least it shows I’ve had a good time.

I’m not writing any of this down to gross you out, though I guess there’s a chance it might have that effect. I’m writing it down because this is the internet and those of us who have learnt to deal with the little surprises that life throws our way have a duty to talk about them so that others know that they’re not alone.

I think things have moved on quite a long way since I was young. The This Girl Can campaign has done us the world of good. Hey, guess what, women exercise and when they do it, they look like everybody does when they exert themselves – hot and a bit red in the face – and nobody cares.

We could spend our lives being worried that we might accidentally be revealed as having been human beings all along. That we’re not all that different after all. That our bodies need to do things to keep us alive.

But that feels like a terrible waste of time. For every moment that we’re doing that, we could be dancing to Beyoncé or Taylor Swift. Or The Arctic Monkeys.

I can’t imagine they’d let a bit of sweat get in their way.

Goal for 2016: Be authentic

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Happy New Year to you all!

The taste for Hendrick’s Gin that I developed in 2015 ensured that 1 January started very slowly, but it was nothing a large sandwich couldn’t resolve, thank goodness.

I’ve been looking forward to 2016. When we were in Australia I bought a beautiful diary and I couldn’t wait to get going with it. There’s nothing like a new piece of stationery to make us think that everything is going to be ok, is there? The feeling will last right up until I write ‘launch’ instead of ‘lunch’ in it and am forced to decide whether to scribble the mistake out, remove the entire page, or throw the whole diary in the bin and start again. (Beware stationery enthusiasts: we are always on the brink of a paper-based meltdown).

And with a new diary also comes thoughts about plans, goals, and New Year’s resolutions. As I get older, I know that it is always a good time to come up with new ways to better yourself – it doesn’t need to be January. But what I do find helpful about the end of one year and the start of the next, is the opportunity to think about what you want to be in the 12 months ahead.

Last year, I wanted to be brave. And sometimes I was. And when I felt my bravest – and indeed when things went best – was when I allowed myself to be myself. So for 2016, my aim is to be authentic in all areas of my life.

Be authentic in your work

If you’re not presenting a real version of yourself, people will be able to tell. And, more importantly, it’ll feel rubbish.

A couple of weeks ago I spent an hour working on a pitch for an article that, in the end, I decided not to send. And the reason was because the publication and I just aren’t compatible. If it saw me on Tinder, it would swipe left. I’d feel bad about it for a while but then, when I’d slept on it, I’d think – no, you were right to do that. You’ve saved us both a lot of trouble.

I was constantly editing the pitch to make myself sound like somebody else, and what’s the point of that? They’d most definitely have seen through it, and I wouldn’t have liked writing it anyway. I won’t go into the specifics but just imagine I’d pitched an article on the benefits of walking around my house with shoes on whilst eating a particularly crumbly biscuit. You see? Not me at all.

Remember, friends, it’s your own time you’re wasting. I’m not saying don’t test yourself or step out of your comfort zone – definitely do that – but do it for things you actually want and will enjoy. Because there will be lots of those.

Life is tough my darling but so are youBe authentic in your personal life

It’s OK to let people know you, to tell your friends what’s really going on – that you’re feeling good, that you’re feeling down, that you’re feeling bloated because you just discovered a new kind of blue cheese (damn you, Cambozola). Whatever it might be – and when you feel able – chat it out. The last couple of years has taught me that people are really rather nice all in all and that as soon as you have the courage to talk about a problem, it’s amazing how quickly you discover that other people struggle too. Hell, everybody does.

I like to return from a catch up with friends feeling exhausted because we’ve laughed and cried it all out. It’s sort of like therapy, just more expensive because we did it whilst consuming cocktails/sushi/all of the cake.

It doesn’t have to be like this, of course, some people just need to be allowed to sit quietly and not say anything at all. And that is just as important. The point is you that you don’t need to pretend. Like I said in my last post, we’re in our thirties now (or some of us are…), if people have you in their life, it’s because they really want you there. So give them the real you – cheese-fuelled stomach aches and all.

Be authentic in your look 

Just before Christmas I sat in front of a mirror in a make-up shop while a very nice lady put lipstick on me.

This process would previously have left me in a hot panicky sweat. How could I believe that lipstick would look nice on me? What must all the other people in the shop be thinking? Why is everybody laughing at me? STOP LAUGHING AT ME.

But this time I didn’t feel like that, which was nice. Partly because she’d chosen me a colour that made me look an adult woman rather than a clown, which is an achievement in itself. But also because of my age. I’m 30 now and after three decades living with this face it’s about time I started liking it. I’m also rather enjoying having brown hair. After 16 years of dyeing it blond, it’s quite nice to be getting closer to my natural colour. Perhaps it’s because I’ve removed a level of pretence from my life, or perhaps it’s just that I’m too tight to keep forking out for bleach. I’ll let you decide.

For some people, dyeing their hair blue, pink or purple brings about a feeling of authenticity. Whatever works for you, I say do it. You should look how you want to look. After 30 years of listening out for it, I can confirm that nobody worth listening to is laughing.

Be authentic onlineBe authentic online

Some of us exist as much in people’s lives online as we do in real life. You may well be reading this despite the fact that we’ve never met. How nice are you?! It’s important to be a real version of yourself on the internet as much as anywhere else. If for no other reason than because you’ll probably enjoy it more.

If you’re not careful, you can spend a lot of time online thinking that you need to make yourself more like other people. Twitter and the like are filled with successful people, chatting – as they should – about all the great things they’ve been doing. And it can be a struggle to just look at them without feeling that maybe you should take up their tone or their choice of words or their excessive use of the exclamation mark because surely that will help you make your fortune too. I doubt it. You’ve got to do it your own way. Sure, take a bit of inspiration from the millions of great people who live in your computer, but don’t feel you have to try to be all of them. I mean, I’m not even sure how that would work but it sounds exhausting.

So that’s my aim for the year ahead. What’s yours?

GROWING UP AND LEARNING TO LOVE HANGING OUT BY YOURSELF

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IMG_1046Today, for the first time in my life, I went to the cinema by myself.

There was a time when I would have responded to the suggestion that I might go and see a film on my own like I would now if somebody asked me if I’d like to go out on a Monday night – ARE YOU INSANE? ABSOLUTELY NOT! GOOD LORD, DON’T EVEN SUGGEST SUCH MADNESS!

But that time has passed.

And I’ll tell you what, I loved it. (I went to see Suffragette which, if possible, seemed all the more powerful because I was alone. I cried and cried and wanted so hard to go back in time and say THANK YOU).

I think it’s a sign of age when you start really enjoying hanging out by yourself.

When I was younger, the pure idea of doing anything on my own was just too much to bear. I was so self-conscious growing up that I felt like I needed other people around me at all times just to justify my existence. Whereas now, not so much.

I always used to be late when going to meet my friends – partly because I’m a disorganised mess who decides to start straightening her hair at the time when she should be leaving the house – and partly because I never wanted to be left sat or standing there, just waiting. What would all the strangers around me think? I’d be a laughing stock, surely.

But then I decided to cut that out. I realised it’s not cool to be late (just do your hair earlier, yo) and that I really don’t care if I have to wait by myself. I’m an adult – extra free time when I can read or write or STARE at the clothes and shoes of strangers (don’t pretend you don’t do it too) is very welcome in my day.

IMG_20150819_175401Because, guess what? Nobody cares (alright possibly re: the staring but just try to keep it more generally-having-a-look-around than super-creepy-weirdo) And if they do, do you? I’ve gradually managed to train myself not to.

In a couple of weeks this apparent newfound confidence is going to be put to the test. My husband is going to Australia for work and I’m taking some time off to go along for the ride because WOULDN’T YOU and will be hanging out by myself in Sydney.

And I must admit that I am a little apprehensive about this. Admittedly this is mainly because Leon is usually in charge of directions when we go away – like all good couples, we play to our strengths: I’m great at sorting out the admin, the dollar, and making sure I’ve got plenty of pants, and he’s good at working out which way we should turn when we get there.

But this time I’m going to be responsible for my pants AND which way I’m pointing. And I’m going to be a one-woman tourist party – seeing the sights, hitting the beach, and hopefully adding ‘turning right when I should have turned left’ to the list of things I’m not ashamed to be seen doing by myself. I’ll let you know how I get on.

A girl travels a long way on the route to turning 30. There are a lot of opportunities during those three decades to learn to like yourself enough not to fear the judgement of every single person who might happen to cross your path. It’s hard to put into practice but I know that, on the occasions when I do manage it, it’s the absolute sh*t.

A solo cinema trip might not sound all that impressive – and it isn’t in the long scheme of things, of course – but it’s always handy to be reminded that you’re no longer the terrified teen you used to be.

And that if you want to go to the cinema, eat some chocolate covered raisins and have a good cry on your own, you should.

Because there’s nothing embarrassing about that.

Four years after moving day

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20150705_184939I was the hungriest I’d ever been.

You’re always your hungriest at the time, aren’t you. Until the next time when you think, no, this is definitely the one. This time I’m proper starving. That last time was nothing compared to this.

But this was the real deal.

Moving house will do that to you, what with all the packing and piling and dragging of your stuff. It’s enough to make you kiss the cheese and beans on toast that you sit on the floor of your new house at 9 o’clock at night to consume from the only plate you could find. To this day I’m confident: that is the greatest meal I have ever had.

When I walked through the door that September morning four years ago, I went over to the kitchen window of the home I suddenly owned, leant against the washing machine I was yet to be acquainted with and had a little cry.

I doubt there’s ever been a house purchase made that wasn’t loaded with emotion. A shopping trip that significant has to mean something – that a divorcee needs a new address, that a growing family needs more space, or, as in our case, that a young couple was being given their very own one bed, two bathroom step on the property ladder. If that room ratio alone doesn’t bring a tear to your eye, I don’t know what will.

I’d cried when we’d walked out of our solicitor’s office too, after signing all the papers that said that the little maisonette with the spiral staircase was soon to be ours (and also something about ‘conservation areas’ that I still don’t quite understand. Perhaps David Attenborough will pop round at some point? I do hope so.).

“Don’t you realise what we’ve just done?” I said. “We basically just got married.”

My husband wasn’t my husband yet at the time. He was my boyfriend who I’d been going out with for a solid, sensible six years before committing to co-owning any bricks. We’d rented some together – sure – but owning them meant we’d have to paint the walls, and change the lightbulbs, and we’d never really had to do that before (we just moved out if they went. It was easier). There was so much to come.

With a new house comes so many firsts. The first bath in the new tub, the first flower planted in the garden, and the first ‘discussion’ about how, in this house, we replace a toilet roll when it runs out, because we’re not savages now, are we.

And then things get more advanced, more complicated – rooms get renovated, floors get replaced, and tempers get tested like they never have before. What we know is that I have one and that when workmen are late it is short, very indeed.

But this is all part of the game we’re so privileged to play. And four years on with the walls intact and the roof still in place and a pair of sofas that we’re now just days from owning outright (we’ll take it from here DFS, thanks very much), it seems only right to charge a glass –

To the next chapter in this home of ours – to the next Christmas, the next Spring, and the next battle with a complicated bulb. And to that very first night in our very humble abode – with the floor as our chair, and the floor as our table, as we ate the greatest meal we’ve ever had and looked ahead to everything we’d no idea was to come.

 

Nights out in your 30s: Preparation is everything

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Shell we dance?

As I lay awake after the first big night out I’ve had which wasn’t at a wedding for the past approx. five years – feet burning, ears ringing, room doing an unhelpful spin – I wondered how on earth I used to do this every night. Because there was a time when that happened. I won’t be too specific but let’s just say MSN messenger was a BIG DEAL back then.

Yesterday’s frivolities brought my 30th birthday celebrations to a close in the best way possible – with drinking and dancing and hanging out with the kind of friends that you want to stand on a stool in front of and declare “I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU” until you realise that’s a bad idea as your ability to remain balanced even when you haven’t drunk anything is limited. Best to just text them all afterwards instead.

But aside from other people’s nuptials and birthday parties, big nights of boozing and shape-throwing just don’t happen so much any more. And for that reason, when they do come around, I have to spend a few days getting myself physically and mentally prepared for it. For example, this week I:

– didn’t go out on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday evening in the interests of storing up as much energy as possible for last night (much like a hamster loading up its cheeks with nuts or bits of carrot, except I just stocked up on sofa time, Orange is the New Black and sweets).

– considered my pre-party diet very carefully. I had to make sure I ate enough so that I wouldn’t get drunk at the first whiff of alcohol, but not so much that I’d need to lie down in the corner of the bar mid-party and have a nap – OR look so bloated that everyone would think they were at a baby shower instead of a 30th. A very tough balance to strike.

Lucky

– added an extra half an hour to my getting ready time so that I could put on liquid eyeliner. Sure, it looks nice but my main reason for choosing it is because once it’s on, it doesn’t move, whereas after a couple of hours in eye shadow, it’s not so much that I look like I’ve been punched, more like someone has slapped me in the face incredibly slowly, dragging every grain of colour across my eyes.

– decided to wear jeans with a very comfortable waistband. I was going to wear a dress that is very tight around the middle but I shunned it in the interests of being able to breathe – something that matters to be more and more as I get older.

– selected a pair of heels with a very strong strap to avoid stepping out of them and breaking my ankle mid over-enthusiastic dance move (FYI all of my moves fall into this category – if you’re going to go out, you might as well get an entire year’s worth of exercise done in one evening, in my opinion). Of course such a shoe doesn’t necessarily save you from a tumble but my rule is: if I’m going down, my shoes are coming with me.

I didn’t used to need all this preparation – I remember being at university and not even deciding whether to go out until 11pm whereas if you suggested that to me now I’d… well, I wouldn’t hear you because I’d be asleep.

But the good thing is that the less frequently that something lovely happens, the more you appreciate it when it does. Celebrating with friends, drinking cocktails filled with raspberries and lemon (oh and gin, loads of gin), and struggling to go to sleep because your feet are throbbing so hard from all the jiving that they’re just not used to, doesn’t happen every day (and for that my toes will always be grateful) so we have to make the most of it when it does.

I’m already looking forward to next time, whenever that should come around, just as long as I have plenty of warning. In the mean time, I’ll be sat safely on my sofa, nursing my poor feet back to their former glory and preparing them for their next expedition outside.

If my current state of exhaustion is anything to go by, I fear I may be 40 before I’m ready for that to happen.