Okay, okay – I know this one sounds kinda weird, but trust me on this: it’s delicious. I mean, look at it: I mean… Dayum. The thing is, I have a bit of a sweet tooth, and I think quite often with steak you need […]
This, right here, is my first two-parter. I received this email from the amazing Chiara – a friend and (amazingly) a reader, a couple of weeks ago. I’d toyed with taking a couple of parts out so I’d have the room to respond in the same post, but it’s such an amazing point that I can’t bring myself to remove a word.
So: here’s the letter. Next post: me, writing to me.
Hope you’re good and still enjoying living in London.
I wanted to get in touch with you because, as you know, I am a follower and big fan of your blogs. I really respect and admire the message that you preach. Having struggled with a distorted body image for the majority of my teens/young adult life, your dose of realism and positivity is exactly what I need when I find myself slipping into my old unhealthy ways.
My friend and I were having dinner the other night and our conversation turned inevitably onto weight and body image (she is a recovering anorexic, although – after years of therapy – has finally made peace with her body and has an incredibly healthy attitude towards food).
She said she had seen this thing on Loose Women (in her uni days when she could watch daytime television) where viewers wrote in ‘letters to their body’. She turned around and asked me flat out (with little explanation of the concept)…
‘If you could write a letter to your body what would you say?’
After about 30 seconds of deliberation I replied:
“I would say thank you… Thank you for not giving up on me when I pumped copious amounts of drugs and alcohol into you in my late teens. Thank you for carrying on when I denied you the rest that you needed. Thank you for pulling through the days that I would starve you of the nutrients and deny you the fuel you needed to function (surviving for weeks on black coffee and Ryvita).
Thank you for sticking with me even when I felt uncontrollable hatred towards you and disconnected from you, believing that your sole purpose was to humiliate me. Thank you for bouncing back from all the times I tried to defeat you. Thank you for enabling me to wake up every morning, walk down the road, jog on the Hammersmith bridge. Thank you for allowing me to speak, to listen, to hear, to see … to breathe in and out. Thank you for being a kick ass host for the past 25 years.”
My friend said her letter would be a simple apology. “I’m sorry I put you through what I did. I’m sorry I doubted your sole purpose… To keep me alive. I’m sorry I fought against you for so long.”
We spoke about this for a while and decided to ask some of our friends to see what their responses would be. I was shocked at the response. I asked the girls at work (all in their mid-late 20s) and they came back with messages full of hatred and anger. Responses included:
“Why did you give me these fat thighs?”
“Why am I 5’2 with stumpy fat legs?”
“Why don’t you look like Kate Moss?”
“Screw you and your slow metabolism”
“Why no matter how much I work out you still make me fat?”
The list goes on and on (as you can imagine.)
I was so taken aback by this – my friend said she heard similar things – and it made me really upset to see not only the destructive feelings women have towards their bodies, but also how disconnected they are from them.
Needless to say I used to feel the same way, I showed my body no respect while I was growing up I smoked, I drank, I took drugs, I starved myself – I am no one to preach. I just thought that as we get older we become more at peace with ourselves, more accepting. This does not seem to be the case at all.
It’s terribly upsetting that all these beautiful, intelligent wonderful girls go through their life harboring such hatred and anger toward themselves.
It really made me think.
I know you write about this issue a lot – so this is probably not news to you.
I wanted to write and tell you about this because primarily I thought you would find it interesting and secondly I was hoping that maybe you could pose the question out to your followers and see the response.
If anything I am hoping that people who follow you and are practicing good health and well being may have more inspiring answers to the ones that I received.
* * *
So, team: where do you stand? If you were writing to your body… What would you say?
Boom! Preachy headline. But y’know what? I stand by that. Because this morning, I posted the above statistic online: that one in four seven-year-old girls have tried to lose weight. I thought that in itself was pretty depressing – but then my very good friend […]
I love this time of year. Love it. I’m a huge fan of Christmas – cheesy movies, ridiculous music, amazing food and more than a few cups of mulled wine – plus, the whole ‘good will to all men’ thing? That works for me. So […]
What are you doing?
Are people trying to make me mad these days? Because I swear to god, I’m trying to recover from a cold, and yet I seem to be hearing more and more phrases like ‘I just can’t seem to get below 150lbs,’ ”I need to be a size 8 by Christmas,’ and ‘I really, really hate my thighs.’
These are actual quotes from real people I’ve encountered in the last week, and holy hell I just don’t know what they’re trying to do to me. I’m sick guys. Sick. I don’t think blind fury is going to help my immune system out right now.
But what on earth?
I thought I’d made my feelings pretty damn clear with this photo:
This is getting ridiculous. So I’d like to take a moment of your time to shout blindly at you, personally, just in case either you, or someone you know, isn’t aware of a few things.
Firstly: body image lies at the heart of a whole world of issues that are, quite frankly, making our lives worse. Every time you think you’re fat, or you hate your thighs, or you obsess over the scales, you are wasting valuable moments that would be better spent doing a whole bunch of fun things, like lip-syncing to Etta James, or breathing in the fresh Autumn air, or whatever tickles your pickle. To put it bluntly, you are wasting valuable, precious time you’re never going to get back worrying about this kind of thing – when you could be living instead.
Now, I’m not talking the odd minute, here or there. According to a study in 2006 – and let’s bear in mind that to me, at least, it seems there’s been a sharp increase in body issues over the last few years – girls’ self-esteem peaks at nine years old.
Nine years old.
In addition to that, seven in ten girls believe they don’t measure up in some way, either in terms of looks, school performance and relationships. Eighty per cent of ten-year-old girls have dieted. Ninety percent of high school and college girls diet regularly. And young girls are more afraid of getting fat than of nuclear war, cancer, or losing their parents [Dove Campaign for Real Beauty].
I’d like to think that as grown-ups, we get a sense of perspective on all this and get over it – but I’m just not sure, deep down, that that’s entirely true. Because it seems to me that the more people I speak to – and you’ll notice I’m saying people, not just women – the more it seems to me that poor body image is, quite frankly, messing us up.
Eating disorders are on the rise. Obesity is on the rise. And both of these things relate back to the way we see, and treat, our bodies. Frankly, this needs saying, loudly and by everyone.
Your body is better than the ones you see in magazines, because it’s real, and it is beautiful. It feels great, and it looks amazing – and chances are, the only person that doesn’t see it to be as perfect as it is is you.
Your weight is irrelevant to your worth as a person. You don’t have to feel guilty about food, because good food is one of the great pleasures of life, and you deserve to enjoy it. And you are awesome at being you. Nobody’s better than you are at that.
Now, it might be that I’ve been watching too much of The West Wing while I’ve been laid up recovering, but dammit if I don’t think there’s a revolution to be had here. But it’s one that absolutely has to start at home.
Not just at home, in fact, but between the walls of your skull.
I can’t even begin to stress the difference that choosing makes in improving your own body image. For instance, during that time of the month, I wake up in a bad mood, and I choose to see myself as fat, and saggy, and tired, and it ruins my day – because choosing to hate everything for some reason makes me feel better.
I don’t know why. Sue me.
But you don’t have to look at the world that way, and if you’re looking at yourself that way then frankly – you’re doing it wrong. You should never, ever look in the mirror and criticise. At worst, accept and make positive choices to change for the healthier – at best, look at yourself with a big ol’ ‘HELLO, GORGEOUS’ and start shoveling the ol’ self-love in your direction.
Either way, it’s a conscious mental decision to do right by yourself – because that’s where change begins.
You have the power – as a friend, as a mother, as a sister, as whatever you want to be – to make a difference to the lives of those around you by choosing not to engage in that whole size-and-scale self-worth debate. You don’t need it. And you absolutely should not be perpetuating it.
Because – to put it bluntly – when you’re buying into media ideals and diet packages, you’re perpetuating the anti-feminist, anti-people bullshit that got us to this point in the first place.
I don’t know how to start a revolution, really. If I did, then I’d be quitting my job, selling my worldly possessions, buying a cape and guillotine and cracking on with it. But I do know that we’re at a point where we really bloody need one – because I can’t take a week off and have three different people actively loathe themselves within earshot. I campaign for this shit, and I’m still hearing it – so elsewhere, it’s gotta be non-stop.
But all I can say is this: you can take control of this. You can tell other people they’re amazing, and beautiful, and that no amount of advertising and sales baloney cancels out their worth or awesomeness. You can be honest with them, and accept your flaws, and be honest about what you thought they were – because by living the positive-body mindset, you can show that it’s possible to escape the bullshit circus.
And if you’re not quite there yet, then hear this, without cynicism or that awkward British fear of honest love:
You (yes, you) are bloody amazing. And this revolution starts now.
I’m hugely flattered to have been quoted on this lovely infographic by the wonderful Elena Maghinetti – who’s been sharing her journey with me over the last few months, and has done an incredible job of taking control of her health and wellbeing (’cause she’s […]
This morning, I posted a link to a brilliant Buzzfeed piece on “Corrected Fitspiration Photos” on my Twitter feed, because frankly, it elicited a big cheer and a “hell yeah” from yours truly. Now, I’ll be honest: I do find myself having mixed feelings about […]
I’m really sorry guys – I haven’t fallen off the edge of the world, I swear. I’ve just been ridiculously busy, with a combination of work and non-work stuff. Plus, the dark mornings and nights are making me want to get up as late as possible, and hit the sack the second I get home from the office – which means this post probably runs through a few things you’re all sorta sick of hearing about, but which I’ve been ruminating on in my spare minutes for a good couple o’weeks.
You’ll also have to excuse me if this is a tad rambling, but I am in bed, listening to Britney Spears, with a horrendous cold and a distinct lack of Ryan Gosling lookalikes delivering hot coffee to my door. Still, let’s continue.
So: Miley Cyrus.
I’ll be honest. I know very, very little about Miley, other than that she was on the Disney Channel not long after I declared myself too old for it. She kinda falls into that group of Disney-stars-that-aren’t-and-never-will-be-as-good-as-Britney-circa-’99, if you know what I mean. However, it was impossible not to miss VMA-gate, what for the echo-chamber-snark-ripples generated by that performance.
Now, let’s be clear: I watched it, and I’ll be honest. It’s not to my taste. I don’t get it, and I didn’t love it. And I do, generally, think that we could do with toning down the whole sex-culture-marketed-at-children thing. But I also think that had the internet been quite as big, open, and scary as it is now, back in 2001, when Britters did her VMA performance, I suspect the response would have been very similar.
Heck, it probably was – but I was 14. I was too busy trying to reconcile Nu Metal stylings with the fact that I still secretly loved Britney. That was tricky.
Anywho, my problem in the case of ol’ MC isn’t with her performance itself. My problem is with the reaction to Miley as a person – as a woman, in fact – which has been utterly off the scale in generating a tidal wave of snark. You know how I hate that. And it’s resulted in the creation of a whole different set of caricatured versions of Miley Cyrus. There’s Miley the child, who doesn’t know what she’s doing; Miley the slut, who’s exactly the opposite; Miley the doll, who’s been manipulated by men everywhere into being a sex toy… And so on.
Very, very few of these offer her up as anything even approaching an actual person.
Because people are contradictory, and weird, and they say and do things that don’t necessarily fit into one, stiff, bland and boring ‘type.’ Hell, I’ve contradicted myself several times today already; I make inappropriate jokes and lie awake at night cringing myself to sleep; I’m a health writer who had chocolate for breakfast in an abortive attempt to treat a cold; I’m a blogger who hasn’t written a word in weeks; from one day to another, I’m a fat girl, or I’m not.
In other words, I’m a normal person, who is a little bit different every single day.
But with Miley Cyrus – and I’m using her as just one example – it’s a different kettle of fish. It seems to me that trying to understand why celebrities do certain things is like trying to spy on your neighbours with your binoculars on back to front. Much as I’ve bemoaned with the whole “Celebrity Weights Revealed” malarkey, there are so many layers of PR and marketing between what a celeb says or does, and what we see, it’s inevitable they become exaggerated or simplified in one funhouse mirror way or another.
In short, they stop being real. They’re puppets set up for us to react to – and in the case of Miley Cyrus, it seems to me we’re not doing ourselves any favours by declaring her a ‘slut.’ It’s as closed-minded as the complete and utter f*ckwits who declared last week “Fat Shaming Week,” on Twitter (where I picked up my very first proper Twitter troll); the asshats who tried to shame my girl crush Jennifer Lawrence into losing weight; and all the other instances of body/slut/fat/whatever-shaming that keep on popping up like a never-ending game of media-bullshit whack-a-mole.
Celebrity culture perpetuates this – and it’s horribly easy to forget that it’s just a form of entertainment – a live soap opera and counterpart to reality TV. And it’s even easier to bring ourselves down a level when we’re not thinking about our reactions to it. I’m not saying we should feel sorry for celebrities, or that Miley Cyrus’s performance was in any way good, or that I think her reactions to the criticism have been exactly well thought out – but in my opinion, the way we engage with this kinda thing has a more or less direct impact on our day-to-day lives, our interactions with each other, and our own personal wellbeing.
Because I know for a fact that when I think of women – not just women, in fact, but people – as more complex than I can possibly realise, especially through a distorted media lens, I’m able to take one more step back from the bullshit circus and generate more empathy for people in general than if I decide to cram them into a gendered, role-playing box.
If, instead of calling Miley Cyrus a slut, or making some kind of snarky side-eye comment, we consider the fact that she’s a person who may or may not be doing these things on advisement, who may or may not be playing with her sense of identity (because let’s face it – when I was 20, I was playing a very different person to the one I am now), and who probably came to this current identity as a result of thousands of composite experiences unique to her – just like our friends, our family, and us – we’re creating empathy, instead of shame. We’re giving each other room to be vulnerable, and to be real, by giving ourselves the ability to be open to it.
In short, step back from shame culture – and be critical of your own reactions to celebrities, the media, and the world around you – and you’ll be happier. Your world will be bigger, and more awesome, and quite frankly, a nicer place, than if you’re engaging with the whole girl-in-a-box mentality that modern-day feminism needs us to move away from.
And by doing that, you’re taking one more step towards changing the world.
You might remember a little while ago I went to visit a functional medicine expert and nutritionist in London, the very lovely Steve Grant – because I’d been feeling bloated, lethargic and generally a bit rubbish for a patch, and I couldn’t quite get to […]
Holy crapsticks. I don’t know about where you are, but here in London it has suddenly turned to autumn like somebody’s just turned out the lights. It is hella cold, and I am woefully unprepared, having realised that I no longer own any tights or suitable shoes.
As a result, I’m wearing trainers and a trench coat everywhere I go. This is not a good look, but I’m styling it out. Promise.
Anyway, fashion disasters aside, I’m consistently thrown at this time of year. I have a real love/hate relationship with autumn. It’s beautiful, and I don’t think there’s anything more holy-hell-I-love-my-life-refreshing than a strong breeze on a sunny day. That stuff is what life’s about, for me.
But it also makes me kinda inclined to look back. The thing about having those life-affirming moments when the weather’s a certain way means you’re reminded of them every single time that kind of weather reappears. And for me, personally, there are a few big ol’ memories that pop up on these gorgeous autumn days.
One of them is four years ago, when I’d just finished my degree and was at the start of my masters’. I was attached, sharing a lil’ student house with a group of great guys, my then-boyfriend, and apparently around 60% of Birmingham’s slug population. Gotta love student housing. I’d been on crutches for two and a half years at that point, and I’d gained a lot of weight, not helped by the fact that we’d chow down on a Pizza Hut (here’s to 50% off coupons) a couple of times a week.
But for all that, I was doing OK. I was giving my MPhil my best shot, sticking my immobiliser braces on both knees each day, necking enough painkillers to knock out a Shetland pony, and hobbling down to the library. It was a ten minute walk away, but on crutches, it’d take around thirty – and if I had any books to carry, I’d get the bus. But I was “doing OK.”
At the end of the month, I needed to top up my prescription, so I headed on over to my GP’s office, and mentioned a pain I’d been having in my foot while I was there. Being new and (rightly) overzealous, she wouldn’t prescribe me as many pills as the previous doc without a referral – so I had to go back to my surgeon to get another scan.
The scan showed I’d managed to break my heel bone without realising. The weight I was carrying, combined with the way I was walking, had caused a series of stress fractures so sharp, I’d have to stay indoors for the next six weeks. I remember my doc telling me this, and trying to give me a wake-up call that I needed to do something about it – but I wasn’t really listening, because I was so relieved that I’d definitely get another prescription.
Yuh-huh. I didn’t get it.
So I stayed home, rested, and gave myself a codeine-headache and have to be sick every morning – because when you’re overusing painkillers, that happens. It ain’t good. And as my relationship started to fall apart, slowly and painfully, I had probably the most depressing autumn of my life.
That’s one of the memories that pops up on breezy autumn days.
Head forward a year, and I’d been clean for three and a half months. I’d been at the gym for about three weeks, and I’d started to notice something resembling a change.
Two years, and I’d moved in with one of the most amazing friends I’ve ever had, in a little house with no central heating but plenty of tea, red wine and knitwear to keep us warm. We’d get up in the morning, and sing along to cheesy music in her Figaro on the way to work, and it was amazing.
Three years, and I’d started this blog. I’d lost a hundred pounds, and I’d just appeared in the Huffington Post. I’d get up in the morning, do yoga, go to work, get home, hit the gym, write, and go to bed – and I was blissfully, embarrassingly happy. This time last year was one of the high points of being me.
And now, it’s autumn again. But the thing is, every year I have to remind myself that things can be good – because my tendency to get all reflective at this time of year can lead me down the path to cake and Radiohead. Both good things, but not all that conducive to my emotional wellbeing when I’m feeling a little chilly and getting rained on in my inappropriate-and-now-slightly-see-through floral dress.
Because that’s the thing about this time of year. It’s a time of transitions, of big ol’ changes – which can be difficult to deal with if you’re not in the right headspace for it. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that autumn is an amazing time of year to make changes happen.
Those cool breezes are a chance to blow away the cobwebs, and live wholeheartedly in the moment. They’re also a great reason to treat yourself to a nice pair of gloves and a hot cup of coffee, which to my mind is an excellent reason to celebrate.
But it’s a matter of changing your thinking. I spied this, by the amazing Tom Dyer, on Facebook the other day, and I think it really rings true at this time of year:
“If you think you can or think you can’t you’re right either way.” Think about your thoughts and beliefs. Do they match your goals and direction in life that you want to take?
You won’t get what you want or need, you’ll get what you spend the majority of your time thinking about.
Thinking you’re always going to be overweight, then guess what… You’re going to find shifting that weight so much harder.
Thinking that you are going to get stronger, faster, leaner, happier then you’ve set yourself up for success.
Thinking about not being good enough for that work project, then you’ll undersell yourself.
Think you can make a difference in the lives of many and be happy as a result? If that’s what you spend the majority of your time thinking then see what happens.
Once again “If you THINK you CAN or think you can’t you are right either way!”
I’ve said before that you can, and you will, do anything you set out to do. And the whole 30 Days of Good Stuff project was an exercise in just that – proving that you’re probably capable of adjusting your thought process towards happiness, if that’s what you want to do. And that’s what I love about autumn now.
When I look back over the last four years, I’m amazed at what’s changed, and how different every year has been. I do find myself getting a little sad, a little inclined to think back to the old days when I thought I was doing OK, and frankly, a little miserable that it’s no longer picnic season – but it’s a reassuring thought that just because this time of year has been hard before, doesn’t mean it always has to be that way.
It’s a time to change, and a time to appreciate how amazing life can be when you’re really living it.
And with that… I’m off to put the kettle on and enjoy myself a hot cup of tea.
I’m super-sad to see the end of the amazing BBC2 series The Men Who Made Us Thin, in short because it’s been a programme basically aimed squarely at people like yours truly. The first episode was about why the diet industry is selling you lies (which […]
Like I said last week, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. This whole ‘six months in London’ thing has given me plenty of food for thought, because if I’m totally honest, I found that transition considerably more difficult than I expected to. I […]
I’ve been doing quite a bit of thinking this week. It’s a bit self-absorbed, but hell – that’s why I blog. I’ve made it through six months in London – which, when I wrote this post, seemed like years away – and it’s rapidly approaching three years since I joined the gym and started getting… Well, better.
But as usual, it’s not just about the weight I’ve lost in that time. Back when that first photo was taken, I was pre-diabetic. I had high cholesterol, sleep apnea, heart palpitations and a fairly crippling addiction to prescription painkillers – because (as you can see from the top of the knee brace) I couldn’t walk. Doctors didn’t expect me to walk without crutches – at the very least – for the rest of my life. Not exactly a great place to be when you’re 22.
On the night that second photo was taken, I tripped over a rug in four-inch stilettos. I may have gained the ability to walk, in heels, but I’m yet to quite figure out the whole ‘cool’ thing. Working on it.
Anyway, part of the reason the illness side of things has been on my mind lately is because I’ve not been too well generally. I’m a coeliac, so I can’t digest gluten properly – but for some reason, I’ve been getting the kind of symptoms I see when I do have gluten, even when I don’t… For the best part of three months.
I mean, look at these photos taken 45 mins apart, either side of a salad, for Pete’s sake:
I’m really not kidding when I say ‘bloated.’
I also have some kinda strange hormonal things going on, related to a bit of a dodgy reaction to a contraceptive injection way back in 2008 – which, long story short, means I haven’t had a regular monthly cycle in five years. Once every couple o’months I’ll become a hormonal mega demon horsebeast – much like last Saturday, when I spent the evening lying in my knickers watching The Notebook whilst crying into a slice of gluten free carrot cake as big as my head – but that’s kinda it. I’ve seen doctors for both these things, and I’ve been met with a shrugs all round. Everything looks normal. Give it another six months.
If I’ve learned anything – through being told I wouldn’t walk again, to deadlifting 150lbs; through being told all those symptoms but offered no real way out; through realising the reason they wouldn’t offer me a gastric band was because my BMI was too high – it’s that sometimes, you’ve gotta take matters into your own hands. Kind of.
Now, being a super-connected and very kind gent, the lovely Tom Dyer introduced me to Steve Grant, a nutritionist and functional medicine practitioner here in London, to see if he had any ideas. (If you like free stuff, I recommend signing up for his newsletter here – because there’s a very interesting free eBook in it for you. Bargain.)
I went in this week for a consultation, and was amazed at the detail he went into, which I guess I should’ve seen coming, given that he counts athletes and movie stars among his clients. Then you’ve got me: blogger, professional food-journal avoider and biscuit enthusiast. Hmm.
Anyway, after almost two hours, he’d pretty much assessed my entire life, inside and out. He also measured my body fat all over using something called biosignature modulation – with an overall measurement of 24.7%. That, for me, is pretty astounding, because technically that falls right on the margin between ‘fitness’ and ‘average.’ I have never considered myself either of these things – and if you’d said to me three years ago that I’d be there, I’d have laughed you under a pizza delivery bike.
So, I’ve got to make some changes: I’ve been told off about my sleep routine, which seems pretty fair given this blog post has been cobbled together from things I wrote at 9am and 2:30am respectively. And I’m down to a fairly narrow (although, given I’m inclined to be creative in the kitchen, still delicious) food list in order to stop this crazy business until I can figure out exactly what it is. I’m ditching alcohol for a bit, cutting down my caffeine intake (sob) and making sure to eat plenty of good fats. Yum.
In short, it’s basically what I usually do, taken to its logical conclusion. It’s good stuff, but… Better. And I think Steve and I are going to get along, mostly because he said two things: firstly, it’s not about the numbers. It’s not about that body fat percentage (even though it’s nice) or the number on the scales. This, I can get down with. And secondly, he’s a big fan of science. Yeah, science.
So with that in mind, this’ll be a really interesting experiment for me, and a challenge I think I’ll actually kinda relish – especially if it sorts out the fact that I’ve been feeling under the weather for such a long time now. It might not fix everything right away, but to my mind, positive steps are better than no steps at all. That’s the mindset that got me on the treadmill, almost three years ago – and it’s one I strongly believe to be true.
Your capacity to do things like this – be they just getting going and starting to shift the pounds, to making the last tweaks to your lifestyle when you’re pretty much done – is entirely based on positive thinking. For me, personally, having experienced good health, I know it’s one of the most valuable things in the world – and that’s why I’m keen to iron out these last lil’ things so I can bask in feeling healthy, happy, and… Well, just great.
So – I’ll report back in the near future, and in the meantime, I’ve signed up for Instagram, where I’ll be posting some of the tasty creations I’ll be coming up with on my super-clean, super-healthy new routine – so if that’s your bag, you can follow me by clicking here!
You may have caught the show “The Men Who Made Us Thin” on BBC2 on Thursday night. If you didn’t, but you’re in the UK, you can watch it on iPlayer here. It was, frankly, excellent, if you’re really into shouting at your TV. Or, […]
As you might know, once a year I go a’ravin’ with my little sister, to Global Gathering – a huge UK dance festival. The other 362 days of the year, I’m a real grown-up with a very civilized lifestyle – but for those three days, I go have myself a good old fashioned rave.
This year, that ended up looking like this:
Britain, your weather will never cease to entertain me. It rained, and it rained, and it rained. And then it rained some more. Unfortunately, this meant Bex and I were knocking back the booze and food in order to stay warm, especially as our tent ended up flooded, leaving us with no option but to dance all god damn night.
Which was exhausting.
Anyway, that means I’m now back, and ready to roll – but I won’t lie to you guys. This last couple of weeks have been… Well, not so healthy.
Fortunately, I’ve been working for a little while now on a project which I hope you’ll join me on. It’s called 30 Days of Good Stuff. It’s not a diet plan, or an exercise programme, or anything like that – just an email, once a day, with something for you to focus on and think about to make your life a bit more awesome.
I’ve set this up because I sent out an email to my lovely email subscribers a little while ago asking them for their advice on what I could be doing better, or what would really help, and the general consensus was that something along these lines would be a great tool for people to use to get (and stay) motivated. As it goes, timing-wise it’s something I think would help me too – so thanks for the input guys!
You can subscribe to the 30 Days at any time – but I’d strongly recommend not doing so until you’re ready to spend 30 days living well, and focusing on being healthy and happy.
You’re welcome to reply to each daily email with what you’re going to do about it, or how you’re getting on, in order to stay accountable and on track – or, you can just read ’em and carry on as normal. It’s entirely up to you. You can also get involved over on Facebook, or on Twitter using the hashtag #30daysofgoodstuff – where I’ll be keeping an eye out and doing my best to keep the motivation going, not just for you guys but for myself too!
So – want to get involved?
Sign up here – and let’s get on with the good stuff!
Now, I’m going to go ahead and hope – just hope – that this is a fake. Because, you know, that would be a ridiculous thing to put on a magazine cover less than 24 hours after someone has given birth, and no editor – no matter […]