An Open Letter

I remember the day I decided to join the gym after I had my Son. I had been cleared by my doctor to work out and I knew it was time to do something more than just going for walks. I remember walking through the doors of this shiny new establishment, filled with hard bodies and beautiful people. I was absolutely terrified! I was a frumpy, young new mum who didn’t quite bounce back the way others my age did. I was a lumpy hot mess with absolutely no self confidence. I have honestly never felt as intimidated than I did that day. It was horrifying. I took a deep breath and soldiered on. I made myself a promise that I was going to join this Gym and I was going to love it… Or tolerate it, whichever came first.

When I walked through the door, I was met by this muscle bound young man and to be completely honest, I was so grateful it was a man who was signing me up. I would have probably run out the doors if I had of been greeted by a phenomenally fit girl. The guy who signed me up was the “typical” gym employee. Tanned and toned. The exact person you would expect to see when you walk into a gym. We went through the usual Q&A. Why I was joining (it took all my might not to respond with, ‘dude, I’m fat), what I wanted to achieve and what were my goals and expectations. I didn’t know the answers, I felt on the spot like I was being interrogated for my reasons for not wanting to be a chunky monkey anymore. I just said to him, I’m a new mum, I want to get fit again and lose the baby weight. Standard answers for such questions. He signed me up and I was gifted 3 free Personal Training sessions for my troubles! 

I left that day feeling hopeful. Like things were going to change. Like I was going to get a piece of myself back. I had grand plans of gym attendance. I would go to the gym 3 days a week and walk on the other days. Unfortunately, with a baby and the general fear of creches when they are so little, I didn’t have a great deal of spare time under my belt. I was lucky enough to have 2 wonderful women in my life who would come and watch the small one so I could go and work out. I was also going to take full advantage of the free PT sessions. I didn’t want to sign up as a permanent thing, I just wanted someone to teach me the ropes and send me on my way. I work best in that sort of environment, at least I used to. I got my text to book in my session and organised it for a Tuesday night at 6pm. I was extremely excited. I was ready. I wanted to see change. My session also happened to be with the guy who signed me up which put me at ease as it was a friendly face.

The night of my session was a clusterfuck to say the least. I walked in to a gym filled with fit, beautiful people and I wanted to vomit a little. I was ready to turn around and walk out because I felt so defeated and I hadn’t even started. I persevered and headed to the waiting area for my PT to turn up. I was a little early, as you generally are when its something like this. You want to show you’re ready and you are dedicated. So I waited. and I waited. and I waited. for 20 minutes past my PT time, I waited. I thought, did I get my time wrong? I checked my text, nope I’m here at the right time. Did he forget? I went to the reception to get the stunning girl behind the desk to see if he was here, she paged him and said he’s not far off. By this point, I thought, he must be held up with another client, he will only be a couple of minutes away. A further 10 minutes passed and he finally sashayed over to me. He seemed very inconvenienced by my presence, but I put on my happy face even though my soul was slowly dying. My whole half hour session, I could feel how badly he didn’t want to be there. He was distracted by the TV’s, by the hot chicks working out and clearly wanted to be elsewhere. I left that session fighting back tears and feeling absolutely destroyed and completely embarrassed.

Over this last week, while scrolling through Facebook, a familiar face popped up in a community group I’m in. I had asked a question about local walking tracks and a guy gave me a few tips. I thanked him and thought, you look familiar, but kept going about my business. It was frustrating me so I put on my Facebook detective/stalker hat. I dug a little deeper and I realised who he was. He was the PT!! He had other posts in the community group about Bootcamps and how he is looking for new mums to help them along in their fitness journey! To say I was triggered is an understatement, hence this blog! Sure, when I met him, he was young and quite possibly a bit inexperienced, but my story is no different to the women he is now chasing for business! Is it because he has a wife now? A wife who is the mother to their young child? is it because has now seen first hand what happens when the woman you love gives up a part of their soul and their bod to bring life into this world? Is it because he has seen how broken a woman feels when they have been left with a body they never expected they would have? If thats the case my friend, I applaud you for seeing the light. For growing and seeing the difference you can make on someones whole day by being in there corner and supporting them through their difficult journey. 

But please, I beg you. Do not try and make a quick buck off a woman’s desperation and pain/ Be compassionate, be kind and be understanding. We as mothers are trying to rebuild a sense of self. Trying to regain that lost confidence, that lost little bit of soul that got left behind. We are coming to you for your expertise and your help! We are vulnerable, we are tired, we are trying to balance a very thin line between awake and delusional. Sometimes, that trip to the gym is an hour of peace and quiet. An hour that we don’t have to be mum. So, to have someone understand that we are there because we want to be is important! 

My journey thus far has been a long and tiresome one. I have been through different gyms, different at home programs, different park workouts, different PT’s and for the most part, I have been left feeling regected and like I was just another number. It can take a long time to find the perfect match, and I am so lucky that I have found that now. By having the right people in my corner has seen me come so far in the short space of a year, I have had more progress in the last 12 months than I had in the last 7 years, simply because I found a crew who are in my corner and want to see me change and grow into a strong woman, in body and in mind.

Pleaser

I have never really been a people pleaser. In fact, I pride myself on my well practiced ability to go against the grain in almost every single situation possible. I don’t want to follow trend, or do something solely because I know it will impress or please someone else. I march to the beat of my own drum, and for the most part, this sees me floating around in my own little blissful bitch bubble of safety and solitude.

When I was growing up, my Grandmother was not my biggest fan. This came down to the fact that I was strong willed and determined. I wasn’t a pushover and are certainly was not scared of her. I was also every single bit like my Mother. Every afternoon, after school, myself and my 2 siblings would have to ride to her place and stay until my Mum could pick us up. I absolutely hated this ritual. I always felt like I was alone when I was there, even though my Brother and Sister were with me. She was the type of woman who never really had a great deal of good things to say to me. This is the woman, who in my previous blog told me I looked like a Model, but I was fat….. So yeah, you could say my relationship with her was extremely strained. 

Most afternoons, from what I remember, I would argue with her and my siblings, I would essentially be a little shit simply because I thought it was my right. I mean, she showed me no respect, so I sure as hell wasn’t going to give her respect in return! I was a little asshole when I wanted to be. I remember, quite vividly, not being allowed to have a snack one afternoon. I remember standing in the kitchen with my siblings and I wasn’t allowed to have a snack but they were. SO one could forgive me for not being an angel when I was in her care….

Some days I would cave, I would desperately seek her approval, her praise. My brother is quite crafty and so is my sister. They made amazing things. My sister used to make these plasticine models of houses. They would include all sorts of furniture, fruit bowls and fridges with doors that actually opened. My brother made things in art and wood works class. They were both also really good at their chosen sports. My brother played soccer and my sister was an awesome dancer. I on the other hand, was this free spirited writer who sung in her spare time. My only real form of creativity that held any merit was my writing. I would write story after story. I would be nose deep in books almost every hour of the day, looking for inspiration for my next story. My work was not of any real interest to her, yet I wanted her to approve of something I did, with real interest, not feigned interest that you could see right through.

My mum told me a story of how when I was in Grade 3 or 4, I was having to keep a journal of what I did in the afternoon, after school as my homework. Now, as the story goes, me in my youthful wisdom, or my extreme lack of filter, wrote about how I had to go to my Grandmothers house and I didn’t like to go there. I was essentially throwing major shade at my Nan with no regard for the consequences! My homework was specific, I had to write about what I did in the afternoons, you can’t lie to your Journal, that is just blasphemy! My Grandmother read this particular journal entry and blasted my Mum for allowing me to write such things. I mean damn, I was an 8 year old with a grudge the size of Texas toward a woman who showed me absolutely no care or love, the kind you would expect from your Nan. No wonder I decided to throw her under the bus!

My mum never made me tear up that Journal entry, because my mum knows me far too well. She knew that they were my thoughts and she was not going to censor my thoughts. I’m pretty grateful for that. It would have been quite the creative roadblock. Mum and Dad encouraged my only real creative outlet, because if I couldn’t be found, they would know I was either reading a book, or writing a story. Mum knew how I felt about these afternoon trips to Nans house, but unfortunately, when my dad worked nights and mum worked days for the most part, we had no real option. I just put on the brave face and continued to be a menace because it was the only way I knew how to deal.

In the time that I had to spend at my Nan’s place, I wasn’t aware of the life lessons I was being taught inadvertently. But now, as a semi functioning 31 year old Mother, I have come to accept the lessons she taught me. She taught me to remain resilient, to not let one person make or break you. There are so many times, even through my teenage years that she could have completely crushed my soul, but I was so pig headed about letting her beat me, that  flat out refused to let her. She taught me to stay true to myself and my beliefs. I was who I was, and there was no way she could change the fact that I am my mothers daughter.

She also taught me, what ever you choose to do in your life, which ever direction you choose to take, do it for yourself. Don’t do things because you are searching for the respect and admiration of others. Don’t set goals that don’t have you as the main priority. Don’t sell yourself short because you don’t want to do better than someone, simply to spare their feelings. Don’t be that guy, the one who is so desperate for acceptance, that you lose sight of the person you are. Just think for a moment, the person you’re trying to impress, would they give up what they have for you? Would they sit there on the sidelines cheering you on, if it meant they have to sit out of their achievements? I’m not saying, fuck the world and be selfish, but what I am saying is, you do not need the worlds approval to be amazing. You don’t need to have the tick of approval from society to say you’re doing a good job. You are doing a good job, regardless of what anyone else has to say. In fact, you’re doing a fucking bang up job, you just need to stop prioritising everyone else and their feelings above your own and start achieving for you.

We can be so determined to be liked, accepted and appreciated. I don’t think this is a bad thing necessarily, I just think to myself, if I’m not willing to put this much dedication and appreciation into myself, why the hell am I throwing all of me to people who won’t appreciate my worth. Though this sounds like a bitter bitch session, I can assure you its not. It’s a different perspective, a different take on what we as a society believe we should be giving of ourselves to other people. I love the idea of people being accepting of who you are, without any questions about your decisions, but unfortunately, thats not how the world works. You need to protect your heart, and protect your sanity from people who are so openly willing to tear you down. 

Making Shapes

For the vast majority of my life, I have lived on the chubbier side. Now when I say chubby, I mean I have always held weight. I was never a skinny person. Even in my “Skinnier” Days, I always had puppy fat chilling in my mid section and thighs. There is a photo of myself and my sister when we were little bubbies, and I was this Michelin Baby. I had rolls on rolls on rolls and I must say, I was flipping adorable for it! I have always been conscious of my squishy bits. They are always there when I don’t need company. Reminding me that I’m not alone, I will always have something to keep me warm.

My body has always had shape. Its in my genetics. When I was younger, I absolutely hated my body shape. I wanted to be like my friends, who were all skinny and straight up and down. I felt like I was always the odd one out, I couldn’t really share my friends clothes because nothing quite sat right and I was embarrassed by the little puppy fat pouch that I had at the bottom of my stomach. A pouch I still have to this day, which is a bit more pronounced thanks to carrying my son. 

When I looked in the mirror when I was younger, I consistently compared myself to others. I wanted what they had. I hated that I wasn't blessed with a long lined, model like body. My grandmother once said to me, you look like Twiggy the Model, but you’re fat and Twiggy isn’t…. That one comment stuck to me like glue. As a young girl, around 10-11 years old, that is not the sort of thing you want to hear. You look like a model, but you’re fat. Way to kill any hopes of becoming a model!! (I’m kidding, I’m wayyyyyy to short and I like food too much). But in all seriousness, when we are younger, what people say to us has the potential to make or break us. All the little remarks stick to our sub-conscious like glue. Then as we get older, those little remarks start coming out of the woodworks and we wonder how the hell we didn’t flip out. If someone said that to me now, I would politely tell them to get fucked and punch them in the throat.

I came into my own in my early 20s, I slimmed down and thought that was the key to my happiness. I thought I could conquer the world because i wasn’t the chubby girl anymore. I rid myself of a toxic person and gained a little bit of self respect. I had always been the ‘friend’, never the girl anyone wanted to get to know more, but suddenly, because I was skinny, I was getting attention. You would think that would make me feel amazing, but I can tell you now, it didn’t. I have always been excessively level headed and aware of myself. I thought to myself, wait, what is the difference between me then and me now? How come before when I was bigger, I wasn’t worth your time?? How come now, when I’m skinny, I’m suddenly worth your time?? Fuck that noise. I’m not about that life and I sure as shit was not willing to sell myself short for a bit of male attention.

As I have gotten older, I have fought the good fight when it comes to my body image. It’s been a battle. I go through periods of feeling phenomenal, then days when I would quite happily to never leave my bed through fear of people seeing me. Since taking the leap into a healthier lifestyle, my body has changed again. I beat myself up some days because my pants size doesn’t seem to want to budge too much, but hell, you can’t really do much about bone structure, can you? I can’t physically make my hip bones shrink, thats just bloody ridiculous! 

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning. Crop top and boy shorts on. My waist continues to shrink and my hips are looking even bigger for it, but I didn’t think, oh god, my hips are giant. I thought, holy fuck, look at my shape! I’m a fucking goddess, look at them curves!!!!! I looked at my stomach, which has been the bane of my existence, and I thought, shit, you’re getting flatter and flatter, you go Glen Coco! I didn’t see my stomach to vag line stretch marks for a brief moment, I saw the hard work and dedication I have consistently put in to create a body I can, for once, be incredibly proud of. For all of these moments of clarity and strength, I gave thanks.

I gave thanks to myself for working so hard to achieve one of the most difficult things I have ever had to achieve. For a brief moment, I have achieved body appreciation and confidence. I couldn’t be more proud of that. I gave thanks to my body for  not giving up on me, for appreciating what I am trying to do to improve for the benefit of me and the benefit of my body. I gave thanks to my heart, because despite it being a broken mess sometimes, my heart has never decided to give up completely, my heart as pushed through the hardest of times and it is so much stronger for doing so.

I gave thanks to my Son, for blessing me with my stretch marks. Something I have never thanked him for. Those stretch marks should serve as a reminder that I carried one of my most glorious gifts safely into this world.  My son is completely obsessed with my stretchmarks, whenever I have my stomach exposed around the house, he always has to touch them. He knows he made them happen, but I haven’t ever told him that they are a gift from him that I will always get to carry with me, a gift that will always be so special and close to my heart.

Anything you can do, I will make damn sure I do it better

Have you ever found yourself a star player in a prize-less competition? Where suddenly with every step you take toward a better you, there is someone actively trying to take an even bigger step to beat you to an imaginary finish line? What exactly is the prize in said competition? Do I get a shiny trophy for coming in second best? I really would love to know, because I think I have missed the ceremony! Look, lets be real. We are naturally competitive as a species and a little competition is healthy I think! For example, at my nightly class with The Empire Bodyshop where I train, there is always HEALTHY, non ego related competition. Its an entertaining watch and it gives everyone a bit of a push to work just that little bit harder. There is no malice behind the competition.

Competition becomes excessively unhealthy when you are suddenly finding yourself having to out do someone at Every. Single. Turn. Unhealthy competition and comparison creates a toxic relationship with the person you have decided to use as a martyr. You will find yourself comparing your successes to theirs in every facet of your life. Did you lose more weight than they did? Check! Did you workout more times in a week than they did? Check! Did you eat less than they did when you went to dinner? Check! Did you get more likes on an Instagram post than they did? Check! You have officially won an invisible race to the land of Douche Bags! Congratulations!

 So, now that you’ve managed to do everything 10 times better than the poor person you decided to “compete” with, are you satisfied?? Nope. You’re not. You never, ever will be!! You will forever find yourself finding ways to compete with them. Things like going on a holiday you know they want to go on but can’t afford, just so you can say you did it first. Buying a guitar that they desperately want but can’t afford, just so you can say you owned it first. That sort of behaviour is pure insanity to me! WHY would you want to actively make someone feel inferior to make yourself feel better? I will tell you why, INSECURITY!!! You are so god damn insecure in yourself that you have to drag others down in order to build yourself up. This is the way you seek validation. Am I prettier than her? Am I skinnier than her? Are my boobs perkier than hers? These constant insecurities that swirl around in your brain make you toxic and you spew your toxicity out everywhere you go.

 Take a moment to think about what it is you are doing when you create these one sided competitions. You are setting yourself up for failure, massively. Although you may continue to excel and ‘win’ this competition, you will end up living a bitter, meaningless life because all of your endeavours won’t be for you, they will be based on you being ‘better’ than everyone else and thats really not a life worth living. Now, I am by no means innocent when it comes to this sort of thing. I have dabbled in my fair share of unhealthy competition, but something I learned along the way was, it did not increase my happiness. I didn’t feel any better when I decided to use someone else as my scapegoat. So once I learned to let go of wanting to be better than other people, I actively work on being a better me.

 If you’re reading this, and you have been blatantly using another persons life and goals in a negative way, please, I beg you. STOP. This one-sided competition shit is what forms a great deal of what is wrong in society, in the health and fitness industry and even in your personal life. The stress and anxiety you cause for people who are fully aware of your behaviour is tiresome and unfair. It might be worth looking into why you feel the need to use this person as your scapegoat. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but if you are inspired by them, use their achievements in a positive light to help set some healthy goals for yourself! The satisfaction of reaching your goals for your own personal wellbeing is far more rewarding than the satisfaction of reaching goals out of spite and malice. Would it not be a more rewarding scenario for you both if you celebrated your achievements together? To create a more positive and healthy relationship between yourself and others, now what a crazy idea that is! I promise you, its a notion that shouldn’t be scoffed at.

Now, for all of you on the receiving end of this sort of behaviour. Please, do not let it bring you down. DO not let it dull your shine or make it look like your achievements have less meaning and purpose. That sort of behaviour says a lot more about the other party than it does about you. One thing I have done when presented with these sorts of scenarios, is offer positivity and congratulations to the other party. I have celebrated their successes so that they feel better within themselves, because in all honesty, insecurities are a killer and while you’re feeling shit about the actions of others, the others are feeling shit about their own situation that they need to bring down others in order to feel better. It’s all VERY exhausting, but helping others through a time when they are lashing out and wanting to rise above others who are succeeding with give you a sense of accomplishment as well as extending the olive branch to bring peace to a negative situation.

 As far as I am concerned, the only competition you have is yourself. You should be actively working on becoming a better you. Whether the direction be health related, fitness related or just simply not being such an Asshole, do it for yourself. You will get so much more satisfaction out of your life if you live it for yourself, and not for the acceptance of others!