Inner peace… of cake.


I’ve always been one of those people who holds onto weight. My metabolism is like a dog with a bone, it grabs those calories and shakes them straight onto my tush. This isn’t helped by the fact I’m pretty short, and so the weight isn’t distributed and instead is firmly placed around my middle. Throw having two children pretty close together and having them pulled out of the sunroof into the mix and it’s a recipe (wink wink) for disaster.

I’ve tried A LOT of diets. Atkins, 5/2 fasting, Rosemary Conley, Dukan and calorie counting either manually or with a Fitbit. It’s taken 20 years of nutritional research (eating loads) and subsequent education (gaining weight) for me to discover that basically, I can only eat 1300 calories a day and those calories absolutely cannot come from curly wurlies, monster munch or a block of brie.

As school looms around the corner for my 4 year old, I’ve been thinking a lot about the mum I want to be at the gates. I have the opportunity to choose how I appear to the other mums (and dad’s – although I’m going with the stereotype here for lazy reasons). How I look. How relaxed I am. How ‘not at all stressed’ I am despite saying ‘please get dressed’ approximately 86 times before 8am.

Knowing the hard deadline of September, I decided to start dieting in March. I wanted to give myself a chance to feel a shred of confidence meeting new people and I’d been struggling for about a year with losing some sticky weight (now there’s a phrase). Every week was the same:

  • Monday – eat super well, no treats, all within calorie/ diet allowance.
  • Tuesday – continue eating well as surely have lost majority of all weight by now and am super smug healthy person.
  • Wednesday – bored. Haven’t had snacks for so long. Surely it’s only fair I have a biscuit. Everyone else is doing it. Also looks like LB is leaving half his pizza again.  I should demonstrate the valuable lesson of not wasting food, right?
  • Thursday – *eats everything*
  • Friday – *eats everything* with a side portion of guilt and a sticky toffee pudding
  • Saturday and Sunday – sod it, as I’ll be dieting from Monday I might as well eat what I want as it’s my last few days of freedom.
  • Sunday night – cry into pillow. Surely my scales are broken?
  • Monday – repeat.

Ah the guilt of gaining or not losing weight. I hate the guilt. And sometimes I have guilt about having guilt. I need to teach my daughter that we are all beautiful, no matter what the bloody scales say. I shouldn’t feel guilty for being overweight. I genuinely believe beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, but for some reason I can’t apply that logic to how I feel about myself.

This is one of the biggest challenges of parenthood, shaping a young sponge like mind into a confident one instead of the burbling mess of anxiety I’m stuck with. Practising what I preach. Eating well, exercising and showing LG that the most important assets she has are her attitude and confidence, knowing she can do anything she wants to, and not being pigeon holed or defined by what size jeans she wears.

So now I’m crusading (I’ve always had a flair for drama) to lose weight and gain confidence before September and it’s going…. ok. In an attempt to say I’ve literally tried everything, I’m now doing Weight Watchers (online). I’ve lost about 8 lbs so far. Not life changing yet, but my clothes are not quite as snug and I feel better for doing something – for recognising that I was making myself unhappy by ignoring the weight creeping on and taking action. The Weight Watchers app is pretty sweet (ironically), it lets you scan most foods which tells you the points and it’s super easy to use. For the most part its not too hard to stay inside the points allowance and if you do, you definitely lose weight. And it means that if I want to have a bit of a cheat day, I can have an ice cream with LG and share her insatiable love of a sweet treat (LB doesn’t like ice cream, he would rather eat 20 pieces of bacon).

So along with working on my outward appearance, I need to promise myself that I am going to try and practise some self love regardless of the junk in my trunk. Every night before bed, I stand with LG and LB and get them to do some positive affirmations in the mirror. They repeat after me:

I am brave. I am strong. I am clever. I am special. I am important. I am beautiful. I can do anything I set my mind to. I am me.

So I’m going to leave it there, and let writing this blog be my version of a mirror affirmation.

Until next time, peace out. N 🙂 ♥

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