Body Image Distortions

Dear Reader,

Big work function at the weekend.

Formal dress. Strike fear into the heart, summon major anxiety.

What do I wear? Will I look good? What will people think? Does my stomach show?

I’m not going, I don’t want to go.

I know I’ll be fine once I’m there.

And so it goes, my genuine emotional melt down over what should be a simple evening out.

I have a lovely simple dress which I like. It’s just my distorted less than supportive uncompassionate sense of body image that erodes any potential sense of pleasure that maybe felt leading up to it.

Hubby dresses up in a nice suit with smart shirt.

He’s no trim lad with a drool worthy 6 pack and biceps begging to be squeezed. He’s a big lad with loose abs. He looked handsome and stylish and I’m sure if he wasn’t already mine I’d certainly be giving him a second glance if my eyes came upon him and even a coveted 3^rd glance.

I asked him how he was feeling about himself, about how he looked. Now I know he gets body image woes at times so I was expecting a comment along the lines of “like a fat pig”. But no and this is a good thing he says “I feel smart”. I of course in wifely support confirmed that indeed he did look smart.

I was hoping he’d respond in kind. After all that is the PC thing to do isn’t it? But he didn’t. Of course that may have had something to do with the fact I’d asked numerous times ‘How do I look” and “are you sure” when he’d respond with ‘You look good”.

So I ruminated on this wondering why I just couldn’t look at myself and think yeah I look good. I must have mentioned this out loud for suddenly there was a tapping on my head followed by the comment ‘It’s all in here”.

Damn but isn’t that the truth.

Later on in the evening chatting with a couple of ladies about clothing and fashion as you do I mourned my lack of style – you know how some women can put items of clothing together in a way you wouldn’t even consider doing and the whole ensemble looks fantastic and the accessories totally top it off into a wow category – well that’s so not me!

One of the ladies looked at me funny and said ‘But you always look good”. Wait what, I do??? The other lady said how lovely the dress I was wearing is and how she’d been walking behind me as we made our way to the venue thinking that I look really good in that dress from behind. Okay summon drum roll for booty pride.

Now they were genuine in their comments. No PC exchanges here.

Which got me thinking, is it really a possibility that people see me differently than I see myself? Is it possible that people look at me and’ think love that outfit, she looks good in that and what about this one...I wish I had her sense of style’. Okay I so don’t believe in the possibility of that last one.

But my point is that maybe I spend so much time going into the wrongness of me in my head that I leave no room for even the remotest chance there might just be some rightness of me.

And what if I just played around with rewriting those messages I give myself to something more positive, more affirming, more loving and supportive. What if like my hubby I thought to myself ‘looking good babe’ when I looked in the mirror.

What if what I believed to be the truth of myself may in fact be a distortion of an errant ego and what if I choose to believe in the possibility of another truth.

Ponder that.

With Love

Breezi’s Spirit

The Artists Way

Dearest Reader

This blog name just isn’t working for me so I’m going to change it; I’m now thinking “A little bit of me”. After all its little bits of my thoughts or my life, excerpts from where I am at in any given moment.

Granted when I started it I figured I would be successfully writing a tell all about my journey with weight loss, my struggles but how I bravely overcame them with the resulting loss of kilos from all over my body. Well, it hasn’t turned out quite like that, not even remotely although I have lost 5.5kg’s and while that counts as achievement it’s very flexible with more gains than losses. Bloody menopausal body [okay that and  my penchant for chocolate].

I’m writing today’s post because it’s part of my ‘homework’ from  week one of The Artists Way by Julia Cameron – a course in discovering and recovering your creative self. I’ve never really believed in myself as a creative being but according to Julia my little artist is there inside me so I’m committing to putting in the work to locate her.

Task 8 was if you had 5 other lives to lead what would you do in each of them? This is one of the easier tasks options to choose from, some of them are somewhat confronting requiring a trip back down memory lane looking at past experiences I think best left in the dark but which Julia believes influenced the building blocks of my core negative beliefs and thus need airing out and dealing with. Anyway, my list of 5 are; a writer – as in a published author, a singer song writer, a nurse in stressful situations [kind of like Margaret Hullahan in Mash but without the added stress of Frank], a yoga instructor [how cool would that be] and a famous actress.

Then we had to review our list and choose one from it and do it! Hence this blog post, honouring my other life as a writer.

Perhaps by the completion of this course Julia will have unlocked my hidden writer artist.

The truth of the matter is I really like to write but find I write really well in my head but getting it out and onto paper [real or virtual] is often a difficult transition.

I try to meet some of need to write by having a blog – where I don’t post often enough - , by journaling – again which can be sporadic, and by writing letters. I’ve now got a few overseas pen friends and we converse via snail mail which really is a lot of fun and it’s exciting to empty the mail box of the junk mail and bills to find a handwritten letter addressed to you often encased in a fun colourful envelope.

Letters meet my love of reading and my desire to write quite nicely.

So, homework done; post written and now needing to be actually posted on to my page.

Next task, work out how to change my blog title....

Nameste

Breezi

Potato Peel Pie

I’ve just finished The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society, now a major motion picture.

I’d seen the shorts of this movie while at the theatre and I knew I’d love the book.

Which I did. It’s a delightful read and I felt such a connection to it that I read it at every available opportunity until within a short space of time I had finished it.

And now I’m in mourning. Grieving for those that I left behind when I closed the pages of that book for the last time. I’m going to miss all those characters and I feel a certain sense of emptiness – did the lawyer agree to let Juliet adopt Kit? How was the wedding of Juliet and Dawsey? Did everyone come? What did they think? So much left unanswered and I want more.

I am also left with the desire to start up letter writing, not just email which is great , but actual letter writing on paper with envelopes and stamps and trips to the post offic e. Then I want to expierence the indugent and anticipatory joy of checking the letterbox and the excitment of discovering a reply letter waiting for me. Then choosing just the right chair perhaps in the sun or in the evening by the fire to curl up in and read my letter soaking up the contents and the story contained within. Pen and paper at the ready should I feel motivated to reply.

Letter writing is such a thing of the past though I feel it is easily resurrected if there is a willingness to do so. Of course it requires at least 2 people.

Maybe I should jump onto the internet, google penpals who want to write actual letters and then email my interest to connect.

Inspired

Breezi’s spirit

The Adventure Junkie Gene

I don’t possess anywhere in my genetic makeup an adventure junkie gene. I use to think I did but it turned out I have a dominant wanna be adventure junkie gene masquerading very believably as a dominant AKG [adventure junkie gene].

The wanna be gene has got me into trouble many a time over the years thinking I really wanted to do something when turns out I so didn’t want to do it all. Sometimes facing my fear is a really stupid emotional stability destroying thing to do!

The latest adventure disaster was in fact only a couple of weeks ago when weekending in Queenstown I joined the group in doing the zip line. I looked at it; thought that looks like fun and indeed those who ventured before me were certainly having fun.

It wasn’t even a big zip line, just a flying fox type scenario where you get fired off at great rate of knots stopping only a short distance away where you stay suspended briefly before being about faced to enjoy a sedate return back to base.

Easy, right!

Yeah.........hell nah!!

From the moment I entered through the gate into space one to be harnessed up [I took the seated position harness] courage underwent an abrupt shake up and the wanna be gene stood up and stated that she wasn’t a real adventure gene then promptly vacated leaving me to face this on my own. All alone aside from the 2 adventurees also doing the ride along side of me; one of whom was my very bemused husband who was most definitely looking forward to his ride.

I was assured it was only a short ride, over way too quickly. So did not feel that way to me.

Upon being ushered through into the next area my breathing became rapid and my affirmations scarpered along with the wannabe gene and any semblance of courage.

Instructions were given on what to do and how to sit, feet up – I managed to get one leg up and watched as if from a distance when the other leg didn’t seem to want to go up...managed it eventually. My lovely instructor who by now was very aware of my borderline panic status was doing her very best to calm me down and was ultra cheerful but to be fair nothing at this point would help. I was near tears, about ready to scream get me out when someone pressed that bloody button and with a mighty scream torn from me off when went.

Witness testimony later revealed upon ejection from the platform my resulting scream drew the attention of everyone within immediate vicinity including those there for the nearby bungy jump [and is case you were wondering hell no].

When we stopped at the bottom waiting for to be turned for the return journey I let rip a stream of opinions relating to what just happened which were more a lot of ‘effs’ surrounded by occasional English.

Finally back on solid ground, through both sets of gates, harnessed gone I was safe and it was over. Well aside from the shaking, that took awhile to wind down. And the tears that had trickled a little and were still threatening took a wee while to disappear. Again witness testimony, but upon arrival back I was extremely pale and colour took it’s time to return to my face. I think it was a height thing, I don’t know what else to explain that level of terror.

You did it though I was told. You must be so proud of yourself they said. Well done on giving it ago they comforted. They also laughed, commented on what a good set of lungs I’ve got and so on. I took the humour in good stead and joined in on the laughter. To be honest though I would have loved a big hug, some sympathy and a good ole cuddle.

The thing is though, at the time I didn’t feel proud of myself and in fact I still don’t.

Yes I did it but I hated the whole experience, I would loved to have enjoyed it but my terror was very real and impacted on the rest of the afternoon – queue in Gondola [OMG going up] although loved the ride down. Forget the chair lift up to  the ride the luge down.

Yes I did it so maybe I should pat myself on the back but I don’t think I will anytime soon.

As I pointed out to someone, I know my limitations and I can work within them and I’m okay with that.

As for my wanna be gene, well she turned up awhile later and was all excited about doing the hydro attack ride.............................................................I was ahead of her there though as I was totally into that.......speedy ride on the lake and under it..............yep I was scared but in a thrilling way and I loved the ride.

It was only for 15 minutes but that was enough.

Wanna be adventure junkie gene – check. But I’m learning to work with that and still find ways to challenge myself that tickle my fear up a little without scaring the shite out of me.

Nameste

Breezi’s Spirit

Oh Woe is Me and the Chickens

There is a mighty mite infestation in the chook house. One chook has already died. I’m battling on all fronts to bring it under control with an end focus of total eradication. I’ve made headway in some areas but the little buggers just keep on coming. To top it all off I think [okay I know but I’m clinging to the security of denial] there are fleas in residence in the chook house also.  A quick check revealed both dogs are flea free, a small but gratefully received gift. This current wave of stinking hot weather followed by heavy rain followed by stinking hot weather is a major contributing factor.

That and our seemingly inability to keep the sparrows – mite carriers – out of my chook house.

A huge focused effort was put into, yet again, sparrow proofing.

Today in a complete mystery 3 of my 4 fake eggs have disappeared. Gone. Vanished. Aside from the 4^th egg being found out in the run the whereabouts of the others remains unknown. I have my suspicions on who the fake egg stealing thief might be.........a four legged gate jumping wheat stealing 1 year old puppy. Last seen looking guilty and avoiding eye contact on the right side of the gate near said chook house.

To make matters worse in regular maintenance and cleaning in the chook house those tiny not quite microscopic mites disguised as particles of dust find it hugely amusing to jump on board...ME! OMG! While they present no actual physical harm feeling them crawling around just freaks me out. Long showers and on occasion more than one consecutively are an absolute must. Paranoia has kicked in and a gentle  breeze skimming across my skin has me rushing to rub, swish and scratch in the attempts to annihilate any unwelcome uninvited creepy crawly damn bug.

So let me sum up the joys of my life in this current moment [total sarcasm there];

1.       the chook house has a mite [and flea] infestation

2.       one chook has succumbed to the onslaught

3.       3 fake eggs have been taken in a previously unforeseen theft

4.       I have particles of dust crawling around on me [as in mites]

5.       As much as I hate to admit it I am still on the defensive in the attack on mites

6.        And bloody annoyingly I think the fake egg thief  may have lucked out and stolen [as in eaten] a real egg, as there is no evidence I cannot confirm this.

7.       Sparrows are still getting in and I’m damned if I can figure out how.

And now it’s time to don my go into the chook house and clean out nesting boxes and spray again suit – gumboots, daggy pants, long sleeved top, gloves and a hat.  Given it’s 30 odd degrees outside it’s not comfortable but I’ll forgo creepy crawlies for a bit of sweat. After all my reward is a cleansing shower and yet another hair wash.

Why do I have chickens you might ask??

Well, it’s obvious isn’t it??

They are so much fun!

Nameste

Breezi’s Spirit

Going In

When you’re an adult, when you’re’ all grown up...........

Where do you go, where do you go when you are lost?

Where do you go when the way ahead becomes blurry, when your direction becomes unclear and you are standing still and everything else around you feels like it’s going in circles.

Where do you go? What do you do?

Where is it written that by age 50 you should have it all together?  Because what if you don’t?  What if what you thought you knew about you is no longer true for you.

What if the next step to be taken seems so huge, so unreachable, so damn scary? What if it completely challenges your beliefs about yourself, no matter that you don’t want those beliefs to be true. Sometimes those old beliefs are like old friends, there is comfort to be had in the familiar.  What if you don’t know what that next step is? Or what if you do know but you don’t know you know?                                                                                                                                                                          I live in the most amazing place with mountain views, native birds and trees, land and animals. I really do love it here, I really am home here. When I first moved up here people thought I wouldn’t handle it. That I wouldn’t cope but I thrived. I burst forth with enthusiasm and infectious happiness. I’d come home. Not even I realised it was going to be that good, I knew I’d be okay but even I knew it was going to be that wonderful.

I spent the first couple of years growing and expanding on so many levels of myself. I challenged myself and found I was capable of more than I ever gave myself credit for. Joy oozed from my pores. I quit drinking [3.5yrs now] and though it was initially a hardship I did it and through doing that I met this amazing person...........ME. We became pretty good friends.

 

Wrapped in candy floss and surrounded by fluffy clouds I thought I‘d cracked it, that I was invincible. I’d sorted myself out, knew where I was headed and the old me was from a bygone era never to be seen again.

 

But there is only so much candy floss to be had at any given time, the clouds parted and the old me returned from the dead. Turns out she was not so much dead but merely waiting patiently for that moment to rise. And she did not like the new me, not at all.

 

After a fierce struggle I brought back into her theories and beliefs, not fully but enough that the erosion of this new me took place. I am now out of balance with myself, either up or down but never sitting comfortably in the middle.

 

I‘ve got a really sore foot which is progressively worsening. It’s beginning to inhibit me from doing things [like exercise] which causes an intense spike in fear beliefs [like putting on weight]. I looked sore feet up, specifically the left foot, and ‘The Secret Language of your Body’ [Inna Segal] says it’s about being disconnected from your needs, experiencing blockages, bringing pain from past hurts through. Okay, yep I can relate to that. It also says that issues with the feet stem from moving in the wrong directions, ignoring my intuition, feeling confused-lost or ungrounded, feeling stuck, indecisive and the big one....getting cold feet about a situation. Hello, hand up to all of the above.

It’s no wonder my feet are crying out in agony from having to support me day in and day out with such a heavy emotional load.

 

So, where do you go when you are lost? I should say here that actually age is irrelevant as we are constantly growing , changing and evolving but age is something my controversial voice likes to throw in to taunt me.

 

Where do you go????

Inwards of course. And forwards.

Inwards and forwards.

Any action, any reflection sets ripples into motion.  Ripples are good. They might be hard, painful, scary, tough but if they set in motion the wheels of change then it’s good.

 

If I am to listen to my body then I have to accept that my feet are sending me a clear message that things need to change. I need to stop with the procrastination games I frequently. I need to stop telling myself what I can’t do and start reminding myself of all the things I can do.

 

I need to stop doing afraid.

Or at least acknowledge the fear and do it anyway.

 

Where do you go? What do you do?

Look to yourself and then reach out for who or what you need to help.

 

I am still doing struggle with my body image, I am doing big fears around promoting my business [even saying ‘my business’ causes a sick feeling for who am I to even call it a business], ego has taken to floating pretty pictures of fun scenarios  in which I am drinking, and my feet hurt.

 

I still live in a wondrous place that supports me on a deeper level.

The me that arose upon first moving up here hasn’t gone anywhere, she’s waiting for me to take her by the hand and run with her again.

I’m not going anywhere.

But I am going inwards, I accept the challenge to once again rise. To say enough to this shit and to take in hand the person responsible for all my pain, for reinforcing my fears.

 

Me.

 

Nameste

Breezi's Spirit

 

 

Kicking it up with Though Love

Dear Readers,

 

I honestly thought by now I’d be waxing lyrically about how I’d successfully achieved a mental and emotional renovation and was now operating easily and confidently from a place of total self love and nurturing. So much so I’d be this amazing inspiration for you all.

I also honestly thought I’d be casually dropping it in how I’d lost this amount of kilos with an air of virtuousness.

 

My reality is totally different.

I’ve achieved pretty much none of the above.  Nada, nil, zilch.

It’s embarrassing and humiliating and I’m feeling useless, disgusted, regretful, hopeless and oh so much guilt.

None of which is constructive or helpful.

 

I said in an earlier post how I didn’t want this blog to be all about weight loss, body image etc but my truth is that this issue is huge for me. It takes up a lot of my mental time, it impacts me immensely both physically and emotionally. Basically it’s huge for me right now and so how can I not be honest about it here.

 

So, as I wandered around this morning picking up dog poop feeling rather sorry for myself the words tough love wandered into my line of thought. I heard them and I saw them.

 

Okay yep, it’s time for tough love. Feeling sorry for myself is achieving nothing but a whole lot more heartache. I still believe a positive mental attitude with huge doses of self love will be a huge help in changing my relationship with food and bringing about a more loving relationship with my body and with me.

But right now knowing that and doing it are at opposite ends of the spectrum. I’m talking it up saying all the right things but not really doing the actual doing part of it.

If I keep acting out the same beliefs and behaviours then I’m going to keep getting the same results.

 

So time for some tough love baby.

I do exercise daily but really I could actually do more with a more committed focus.

My relationship with food including what I am actually eating needs an overhaul.

My internal voice needs some new material.

And I need to STOP myself in my tracks, give myself that much needed kick up the arse and do something differently when I begin to heed the call of the pantry or the supermarket.

 

I’m not talking immediate huge monumental changes involving sacrifice and strictness. I’ve done that before and I know that doesn’t work for me for long and I go back to my same ways but with more emphasis.

 

No, I need to move with love always at the forefront and know exactly what it is I want to achieve.

Ultimately I want to lose weight. I don’t want it to be all about the scales and numbers but ultimately I want to see a lot less of me...physically anyway. I need to own that to.

 

I need take little steps ensuring each one is securely in place before introducing the next one.  Equally each step will come with sub steps. It’s not about stopping all the ‘bad’ foods - I don’t subscribe to bad foods as such but more an unhealthy belief/attitude about foods – but food is a big one.

 

So when I decide I’m going to eat another biscuit or have a bigger helping or whatever tough love will rise with a firmness and remind me that NO I actually don’t want to do that or I don’t want to do it right now.

Tough love will remind me I’ve got functions coming up and how I’m currently doing uncomfortable around what I’m going to wear and how I’m going to look [ and in that mix comes self hate and self disgust, not helpful].

Tough love will be my voice that says for fucks sake girl what the hell are you doing.? You got a choice here so make the right one.

Tough love will remind me I’m the only one who can make the changes I want and really if I don’t have that chocolate bar what am I really missing out on???

Tough love will be the personal trainer who tells me to stop whining and get on with it. Tough love will be tough, hard on me, no sympathy or hand patting but tough love will also be the voice that praises me, high fives me with each success while at the same time telling me to get back to it.

 

Tough love will be the me I want to be.

Not saying it’s going to be easy and I know right now even as I write these are just words carried with genuine intention but it’s the action part that will really make an impact.

So for the sake of accountability I commit to 3 changes [I’ve got plenty I could make but let’s make it achievable and manageable] right now right here.

1. More mindful snacking between meals
2. 5 minute mediation each morning
3. 10 minimum step up [additional to exercise programme]

 

Small but manageable.

To be reviewed in a week’s time and added to or altered.

 

Big goal is to be lighter leaner by the time I go on holiday to Australia May 2018 – be excited here right now with what clothes are in my wardrobe I will be able to wear then.

Bigger goal is to be at peace with me and my body.

 

Small steps make it easier to reach each goal.

 

Namaste

FreeBreezi

 

 

On The Rise

Dear Readers,

 

When I first began this post it was all about a tale of woe. I was fully immersed in a sludge filled puddle of no weight loss coupled with severe abdominal bloating blues.

This is the place where I felt like giving in and giving up as I beat up on my fat self. Giving in is the easiest course of action, go straight to my default coping mechanism of eating.

But I’ve done this so many times in my past and I only have to take a look in the mirror to know this just isn’t working for me anymore, if ever it did. Taking that path has resulted in this body I now own, a body I’m not happy inhabiting.

And not being happy in here is really doing my head in and I really hate the fact that I am fully responsible for the state of it.

I could toss out there the whole cycle peri menopause thing but I don’t know if that’s just an excuse or if it’s a fair and contributing reason. Think I’ll bypass that one for now.

So I began to write about my misery and frustration and pain and self hate as I totally got wrapped up in the poor me persona.

 

But then...

 

I listened to a podcast which was all about stepping out of judgement of my body. Very interesting podcast, I even made a few notes.

Ooh... something was happening here....flickers of hope...of motivation...

This was then followed by reading from Gabrielle Bernstein’s ‘The Universe has got your back” which caused a meditation session finishing up with blasting some favourite 80’s music while I boogied in the kitchen cooking dinner.

 

And wallah I’m back.

Not all cured and in love with my body back but back in a place where those thoughts and feelings were allowed. I felt alive again and ready to keep going, not start again but just to rise up and carry on.

 

The next morning in a fit of what was I thinking I hopped onto the scales and of course I didn’t get numbers that thrilled me. Seriously not my greatest idea. So I had a choice; choice A being I could go straight into poor me, fat me, stupid me which I admit isn’t my greatest coping tool or choice B which  was to simply accept that in that very moment that is what the scales said I weighed and move on not giving it anymore than a cursory whatever.

I choose B of course.

Not going to say its all candy floss and butterflies because it’s not but it allowed me to rise up and get on with my day with a sense of positivity and peace.

 

Choosing the default action which has come about from years of doing just that is easy and familiar and in some weird way welcoming but it’s also the hardest road to walk. It’s the cruellest road to walk to.

Choosing to rise above is harder, somewhat foreign but the rewards are incredible.

 

I need to change my internal story; I need to rewrite the script for that internal voice if I actually want to see change within and of me.

Clearly what I’ve been doing isn’t working so something has to change and while diet and exercise etc are important I recognise if I don’t change my thoughts and attitudes and beliefs then not much else will.

 

If I’m honest I want that magic wand waved over me and have it all as I want it to be. But years of hoping for just that have made it pretty clear that ain’t happening.

So I’ll take this awareness and use it to my advantage.

 

Nameste

Breezi’s Spirit

 

 

Enjoying A Day Off

Dear Readers,

 

I am having a day off today.

I’m enjoying it to.

I probably should give you a little of my history here; I live rurally on a life style block.  It might almost be called an Old MacDonald’s Farm [as in the children’s song] with the myriad of animals around here.

While I don’t work in paid employment with land and animals there is always something to do up . Plus I grandchildren sit once a week along with twice a week leading the local village circuit group and add to the mix any projects Mr Breezi has in mind at weekends when he is home from work.

 

I’ve had a super busy week shifting and re stacking wood for next winter into the shed from where it was drying in the sun. Along with having to hand fertilise paddocks not suitable to get the tractor round. Caring for the animals is a daily activity but with little feed post winter and weeks [and weeks and weeks and weeks.....] of rain there has been the daily letting out and returning of animals into other areas to feed. Namely the goats who don’t wander far but when out of their fenced areas tend to gravitate with committed fixation to the trees and gardens where their presence isn’t welcome thus requiring regular monitoring. I should GPS them so I’d know their location without tracking them down.

 

So today aside from the usual daily chores I’m cruising it.

Well this is after a drive down the valley with Mr Breezi to pick up his new Chevy truck. I was required to drive the car back home of course but to follow just in case. No issues there though. It’s a blessing really that he is enthusiastically immersed in checking out the new truck and tinkering around merrily.  Leaves me free to do.........whatever I feel so inclined to.

 

I’m not bothering with housework which, let’s face it, always needs doing. I am enjoying a quiet read. I have of course let the chooks out as per our agreement – they all lay an egg then they get to meander about. And I’ve lit the fire – we are off grid up here so we light a fire daily to heat the hot water and it’s also our oven.

When I say we live off grid I mean we have our own water, septic tank system and solar power. It’s pretty cool actually.

 

So, I’m having a day off. Well, more an afternoon off.

Although I might just head down and let the goats through into the big paddock, great scrub cleaners that they are. I also should fill up the wood basket, pick up the gutted teddy stuffing left by the enthusiastic puppy and it’d be good to get that washing folded up and put away.

Time now to head down and ensure the fire has wood on it.

 

And time to, to get back to my afternoon off.

 

Namaste

Breezi’s spirit

 

New Beginnings

Dear Reader,

 

Perhaps a pre-emptive beginning to this post – beginning with Dear Reader. After all this is my first post on my new blog thus I have no readers. But I know you exist and I hope you will find me.

 

While this is my space to write about anything and everything it feels fitting to write about what first prompted me  to start this blog, what my original motivation was.

I was originally going to write about my weight loss journey, the highs and lows, the challenges and the successes. Of course it’s been done before and is being done now but those aren’t my story and my story is very relevant to me.

My relationship with my body as it currently stands isn’t healthy or nurturing or loving.  To be honest I can be very nasty to myself over this and if I am truly going to let myself love me then that has to change.

 

This blog isn’t going to be all about me losing weight, I am more than my weight but it is where I’m going to start from.

 

I do need to lose weight.

But it’s so much more than that. I need to be a better friend to myself.

And it’s a choice.

It’s always a choice.

I choose to lose weight in order to gain a healthier body and a healthier body image.

I choose to eat with wisdom and pleasure.

I choose to communicate with my body.

 

Easy.

Yeah...nah.

There are habits, beliefs, stories and attitudes that need to be acknowledged and re written.

It’s doable.

 

All great words and intentions.

But for that to work, for changes to occur then I have to earn my chops as in I have to take action. I actually have to do something. I have to work at it.

 

Sucks really that there is no easy wave the magic wand solution but then where the fun would be in that.

 

So Dear Readers, I have put my name down to participate in a 3 week pre Christmas boot camp; 1 hour a week for 3 weeks. I’m super excited and super terrified. 

Boot camp doesn’t start until December but that doesn’t mean I get to rest on my laurels until then, after all good intentions are nothing without action.

And the time to start is now, right now, right this minute, right at this moment. Now.

I ‘m already exercising, I was given a fitbit which is a lot of fun and motivating. I also run a local circuit class which I’ve upped the ante in. I’m eating better – don’t expect to see healthy vs unhealthy options here as I fully intend to eat chocolate along with my carrot sticks. It’s more about balance.

 

I believe in the healing power of journaling and here I’m journaling out loud.

So watch this space. I’ll share updates, I’ll excitedly reveal any and all successes and I’ll be honest about the slide backs and challenges.

 

And I promise to myself not to be a regular visitor  to the bathroom scales.....that said I did have a sneak peak this morning and just quietly I’ve relocated 1.1kg’s. No more peaking now until beginning of next week. A once a week weigh in is more than enough. Less is better.

 

Namaste

Breezi’s Spirit