On New Years Dieting...

Source: championdontstop.com via Hannah Seeds and Stitches on Pinterest  

*

I've seen it splashed across most of January's magazines, talk shows and websites, I've overheard it on the train, between colleagues at work, and amongst friends. To make a real effort to get slim, to ditch the flab, drop the pounds, get a body like so and so, to 'sort it out' so to speak. I hate the term 'diet' because it so often comes with self- hatred, and at its core its about conforming to unrealistic celebrity beauty standards set by the diet and cosmetics industry. In fact, most women hanker after a body shape that is clinically underweight. My take on it? Aim to eat healthily, to eat intuitively and have more energy, by all means, but lets give the self hatred a rest.

I recently discovered the blog of Lisa Lynch, who has Cancer for the second time, this time incurable. A recent post of hers had me ranting to my friends and mister in agreement. She begins by saying that despite her prognosis, she has no regrets so far, apart from one;

"There is something, however, that I have, very recently, felt shamefacedly defeated into having to class as a regret; something that, to anyone not staring down the barrel of the most bullshitty of Bullshit prognoses, might seem pretty insignificant. Petty, even. But – having not just admitted to it ... but found myself noisily sobbing at the confession – let me assure you that it’s far from trivial. In fact, even as I write about this, I’m getting progressively more angry with myself. Furious, in fact, at all the time – all the precious, precious time – that I’ve squandered worrying myself into a frenzy about what I look like. Because now – in a place where, coof, am I fast realising what’s important – nothing seems like more of a criminal misuse of a life than the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months (dare I say even years?) spent fretting about my weight, my skin, the size of my arse, the circumference of my thighs, the thickness of my ankles, the shape of my belly button, the shovel-like span of my hands, the inward slant of my left knee, the… well, you get the picture. Doubtless because, in your own way, you’ve probably done it too...What a fucking drag. It’s shameful, really: if you add it all up, I’d be willing to bet my flat that I’ve spent more minutes worrying about what the outside of my body looks like than worrying about the preposterously vile things that have been happening within it. And what a stupendously idiotic waste of time."

Whoa. I know that at times I've been guilty of fretting about my body like this (although much less as I get older) and I know that most of my female friends and family members are guilty of it too. She goes on to talk about how important it is to not make food the enemy but to find joy in it, to revel in it, and appreciate the small things in life. Inspired. Read the full post here.

P.s I have one or two more Christmas posts coming up, including my home made presents, but I need to finish giving them out first!

*And the picture?! Apart from the fact that its brilliant, I'm not entirely sure why. Be proud of your body? or something?!