Do You Remember Me? (a rambling post)

Yes, it’s me. I’m back. Well, for now anyway.

I have been stuck in a miserable, depressed state for so long that I can’t even put a time frame on it, and one of the side effects of that is that I haven’t been writing.

I used to have constant ideas for blog posts or stories running through my head but these days I have nothing. My imagination has dried up. My brain is empty.

I hate the effect this has on the OH. I know he hates to see me this way but feels powerless to help me. (No-one can help me. I am the only one who can help me.) I know it causes him pain to see me in this state. It feels selfish of me to continue to feel this way. Selfish and self indulgent.

I wish I could shake this off. I know I have managed to do it before, but I feel so very tired and unable to do it again.

I feel stuck. Completely and utterly stuck.

And when I feel this way, the horrible voices return.

They tell me I am useless, lazy, pointless, pathetic.

I have created my own misery by making dreadful choices, which have lead to a ridiculous amount of weight gain. Looking in the mirror, or feeling out of breath and sweaty at the slightest physical exertion, only add to my self-loathing. What a stupid woman I have been to have sabotaged myself so.

As I sit here now, I feel that I do not have the energy or drive to make the changes necessary. I simply do not know where to begin. I hate going out because I look and feel fat and lumpy. Walking makes me hot, sweaty and breathless. I could exercise at home as I used to before but I can’t even be bothered to do that.

I don’t know what to do or how to begin.

Yesterday I cried, cursing the fact that I have people who rely on me and want me to stick around. Simply ‘opting out’ felt like such an easier choice than facing another day feeling this way. But I do have people, (well, the OH and the dogs), who would miss me and I love them way too much to cause them any further hurt.

So here I am; staying here, facing another day of feeling like the world’s biggest loser.

If I was a believer I would pray for strength or inspiration to turn my life around, but hey, god is a fiction and there is no magic spell to fix me.

As I said before, only I can fix me.

Now if only I knew how to…



Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.


Saying Goodbye…

Today, I did a thing.

I finally, at long last, took a step towards accepting my new reality.

I filled a charity bag with all the clothes I will never fit into again.

It was a difficult and challenging thing to do – it felt as if I was saying that, even if I do lose weight, I will not ever be buying my clothes in the kids section again.

I truly marvelled at how tiny some of the pieces were… was I ever that slight?! Really?

So, there are some 11 year old girls in Chernobyl that will be getting a stash of jeans and tops soon…

…and I must accept that my days of being a waif are over.



Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.



Word For Wednesday (W4W) #65


Play along here!

This week’s word is:


I embrace imperfection in all things… except me.

I do not so much have a fear of never being good enough. It would be far more accurate to say I have a deep seated belief that I am never good enough.

I remember being a little girl and my mother was testing me on my times tables I had to learn for homework. I got them all right and she was very pleased with me. I, however, was very unhappy. I said I was bad because I had cheated. She enquired how I had cheated. I replied, “But, I just remembered the answers!”, and burst out crying. I simply, even at that young age of about 5, could not accept that I had done well. I could not feel good about my achievement.

I went into town yesterday to buy some groceries and supplies. I made the mistake of trying on some new bras. (Any woman will tell you this is usually not the most pleasant of experiences.) Yesterday, I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. Really, really hated it.

As I walked home I struggled to contain the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks.

I know… Hey Kat! It’s not rocket science – eat less, move more, lose weight, right?

Been there, done that.

I got down to a size where I wore age 11 clothes and I saw a fat, ugly person.

Following medical advice, I allowed myself to put on enough weight to fit into a tiny size 6 and I saw a fat, ugly person.

I never, ever thought I had achieved the look or the body I wanted. I never felt happy with it. It was never good enough.

So, I could starve myself again and get tiny again, but here is the rub… I will still hate who I see in the mirror.

I sit here and type this post and my fear is not of imperfection, but that I will never feel at peace with “me”. That I will never be happy. Despite having so much in my life that I am truly grateful for – a loving relationship, friendships, family, enough money/food/things, my dogs, my health – I remain a shallow, vain and vacuous shell.

And worse… I am so bored with myself and this constant discontent. I am certain I have bored you, my readers, with my incessant whinging.

And one thing I never wanted to be is boring.




I do not equate fat with ugly, nor do I equate thin with beauty. It is much more complex than that.

In an uncharacteristic display of self kindness, I will say that I think I did myself a disservice when I called myself a vacuous, vain shell – there are reasons for my body issues and they are real.

Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

It’s All About Me…

I posted this tweet this morning:image

I do realise that I spend a fair bit of time complaining about how I look.

Something struck me today as I was out on my enforced trip to town.

I saw other women of all shapes and sizes, smaller and thinner than me and larger and heavier than me.

I saw several larger ladies and thought, “wow! She looks amazing/her curves are fab/she looks so confident”, and then thought, “why can’t I be happy with my body like they are?”

Yes, yes, I know there is every chance they go home and cry when they look in the mirror, just as I do, but the point is that I thought they looked fantastic and confident in themselves.

I also realised that I have several friends on twitter and WP that are also larger than me, who I think are totally gorgeous. I can think of so many women who post nude or semi nude photos that I admire on Sinful Sunday or on their TLs and I thought, “Fuck! They must read me and think that I am a total bitch!”

So I must make one thing clear… when I rant about not being the size or shape I want to be, I am in no way suggesting that being larger, heavier, (or thinner for that matter), is not desirable or is in any way “less than”. When I write these things it really is all about me!

My bestie lost it with me last week when I made a disparaging remark about how I look, (I said I wasn’t going to an event I had wanted to attend because I am too fat now).

She is gorgeous, sexy and beautiful and yes, she is bigger than me. She totally hit me with both barrels about how pointless it is for me to constantly run my self down and to deny myself things because of how I perceive myself to look. Her anger and disappointment leaped off the screen and I withdrew for the day, unable to face her. (We are perfectly ok now btw… she was really just trying to make me see things differently but I couldn’t hear it.)

When I think that any of my friends on twitter or in the blogosphere might feel the same disappointment and annoyance at me for what I write, or that they might think I am in some way running them down alongside running myself down, it makes me feel dreadful! Truly shitty.

I felt the need to write this today to say that the stupid standards I set for myself are not in any way a reflection of how I see other women.

I realise 100% how incredibly fucked up my attitude is and how warped my thinking is. I envy any woman who feels comfortable in her own skin. If there were a pill I could take to achieve the same feeling, I would take it in a heartbeat. Hell, I’d overdose!

The truth is I have never been happy with how I look. When I was wearing age 10-11 jeans, (yes age, not size), and was so underweight my periods stopped I still thought I looked awful and even ‘saw’ a belly where there was actually a concave dip.

For the record, I have a problem with me, not with anyone else. If anyone reading my rants about my body shape and size ever thinks I am attacking or insulting anyone other than myself, please know that I am not.

It really is all about me…


Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

Striving for Balance…


Here we go again…

An hour ago, just as I think I am beginning to accept my body, I fall prey to a wobbly moment and, in a self destructive moment of madness, decide to try on a pair of combat trousers that, this time last year, were hanging loosely around my then-slim hips.

This morning, for some unfathomable, self-loathing reason, I decided to see how they fit.

As you can probably tell from my melancholy tone, the button and the buttonhole simply refused to meet. After much huffing and puffing, as I eventually forced them together, I was appalled to look in the mirror at the surplus of flesh that spilled over the waistband… Muffin Top? Forget it… This was Pound Cake top.

I have been aware, over the past year or thereabouts, that my health habits, diet and exercise regimes have slipped from being uber-disciplined and rigorous to being, well, basically slovenly and hedonistic.

I am one of those women that probably inspires resentment in other women. I am still a healthy weight and size by all accounts. The jeans I wear are an Irish size 6, I wear dress size 6-8, and generally opt for size small in most clothes.

The combats and jeans that I can no longer fit into were all from the kids department, age 11-12 years.

Standing at 153cm tall, although I am child-size in height, I am very aware that I am a fully-grown woman, and I shouldn’t be overly concerned about having hips, a gently rounded belly and a full bosom.

However I struggle with it almost daily.

The fact that I once was tiny enough to fit into a prepubescent’s clothes makes me feel that I should still be able to do so.

The swell of overflowing boob that spills from my bra cup makes me feel, not sexy or womanly, just fat and flabby. If I would go and buy a new, bigger bra the problem would be solved… But that would be admitting defeat.

I am torn between accepting I am a well-proportioned, relatively healthy and fit woman, not a prepubescent child.

I remember being so very tiny that I had to sleep with a pillow between my knees because of the discomfort of the bones rubbing against each other.

I remember finding it painful to lie on my back at times because of my spine. I frequently knocked my protruding hipbones against the worktop and kitchen cabinets, bearing bruises most days.

When a friend who hadn’t seen me in a while told me I looked like Skeletor I was unfazed, perhaps even slightly pleased. I revelled in my thigh gap, my sharp clavicles and my razor-like cheekbones.

I wonder why I found such self-punishment so rewarding?

Now, on one level, I understand that, despite sporting some extra, untoned flab, I am most likely healthier now than I was then.

However, if I am honest, I miss the days of wearing my clothes and never having to suck in my tummy. The days of light, small boobs that didn’t need a bra. The days of trousers slipping down to rest on my hipbones rather than clinging to my waist as they do now.

I wish I could accept my body as it is.

I worry that if I cannot, I will either return to a weight that was pretty unhealthy and unrealistic. A weight that only came as a result of incredible discipline, self-denial and exercise.

I have been indulging too much and exercising too little because my life has morphed into one I am not happy with. I have not employed good coping mechanisms and am now seeing the outcomes from bad decision-making.

I can start to see now a pattern – the self-punishment I inflicted on myself via denial is being reflected and repeated in my lack of self-love and self-care that has resulted in me making bad diet and lifestyle choices.

My challenge will be to return to some of my old healthy habits but not to go to the extremes I did in the past. I must cease with the extremes I am practising now and regain some balance in my life.

This will be a massive challenge for me.

I am a creature of extremes.

With me, it is black or it is white.

I do not do grey.

Will I succeed?

To be honest, I really do not know.

This time next year, will I be in an even worse position because the challenge will be too much for me? Will I have returned to being a woman in a child’s body? Will I be bigger and even more unhappy? Should I simply throw out all the clothes bearing a tag with 11-12years on them?

Or will I, as I dearly hope, be happy, healthy and at peace with myself?

Stay tuned… I’ll keep y’all posted.

Wish me luck!



Facing the truth… Part II

To rehash an old line, today is the first day of the rest of my life! (well, technically, yesterday was…)

Recent grumblings about my weight and lack of fitness has spurned me into action. The OH has agreed to join me in my mission to get healthy again.

To maximize our chances of success, the OH and I resolutely polished off all the alcohol in the house on Sunday night and have vowed to not purchase any more. (Tough work but it had to be done…)

I have been to the health shop and stocked up on Milk Thistle, Artichoke capsules and various other potions designed to detox the body.

My fridge is stocked with nectarines, melon and veggies, and four large grapefruit sit in my fruit bowl.

Since the weekend I have single-handedly downed gallons of water. I might consider simply setting up house in the downstairs loo during the day, due to the increased bladder activity related to my water consumption.

The dogs have been walked more frequently and for longer than ever before, which results in a peaceful house for me, as they lie snoozing most of the day now.

I have been religiously massaging body oil into my skin post shower and already my thighs are feeling smoother and tighter.

I am waiting for my damned foot injury to completely heal and then I plan a seriously sweaty date with the clothes horse/cross trainer that is gathering dust in my spare room.

It is with sincere hopefulness that I write and record these changes today. My goal is that by sharing my mission with you guys and gals, I have committed to clean living and will feel the need to account for myself if I trip up.

My plan is to not deny myself any food I want, in order to compensate for my abstinence and my increased exercise.

Life has to have some rewards! I savoured a delicious mint choc chip ice cream in a buttery waffle cone at the weekend, basking in the sunshine and it was bliss. Foregoing my evening glass of vino will not be as arduous if I can look forward to little treats like that from time to time.

I apologise in advance for any angry/sad/demented ranting that may occur over the next week or so as I adjust to my new regime.

I will try to keep any outbursts under control.

So, wish me luck friends!



Facing the truth…

Ageing sucks.

I have noticed recently that I am starting to truly feel the ageing process kick in.

The mirror is not my friend.

I see more lines than before, more grey hairs, more flesh around my middle.

I have the hands of a sixty year old, because I have never bothered to use hand cream.

I feel aches and pains more often. My joints are stiff and sore.

I struggle to remember the last time I did not feel tension and burning in my shoulders and lower back.

More and more often I find myself in a room with no idea why I went into it.

I struggle to remember things or recall words I need.


To be fair, a lot of my woes could be a result of letting my once uber healthy lifestyle slip.

Once upon a time, I was a die-hard exerciser, healthy eater, moderate drinker and non-smoker.

I have at least stayed off the cigarettes, but that is about all I have in common with my former self.

Last summer I weighed a stone less than I do now.

I proudly sported an enviable set of abs and defined biceps.

My legs were slim and I had the much sought-after thigh gap.

I had cheekbones and clavicles on show for god’s sake!

Today I sit at my kitchen table feeling my jeans dig in around my thighs and stomach.  My bra feels restrictive and the cups are overflowing.

My face, reflected on the Mac Book screen, no longer flaunts bone structure, but instead taunts me with a slack jawline and sagging skin.

When I weighed less I had more energy.

I did not suffer in the heat due to any extra insulation. I felt lighter and springier and, I’ll admit it, happier in myself.

I need to make changes.

My diet needs to return to my once healthy regime of salads, fruit and lots of water.

I need to cut back on how much I drink. The truth is, the sadness brought about by my physical changes and increasing aches and pains has resulted in me often seeking solace in a glass, or several, of wine. This must stop.

I also need to reacquaint myself with daily exercise. The funny thing is that I know that exercise actually increases energy over time, but I find myself stuck in a lazy and apathetic frame of mind when it comes to actually getting that sports bra on and getting active.

Using ageing as an excuse is simply not acceptable to me anymore.

I have a body that works and I should put it to use.

I should fuel it properly with wholesome foods and push it to become stronger by moving it more often.

I am sure that not only will my physical appearance improve, but also my mood will be lifted and my thoughts will be clearer.

Stretching and using my body will most likely help relieve some my aches and pains, rather than add to them.

So what is stopping me?

That is the question…