Middle-Aged Spread

I have decided that I have reached an age where all the clichés heard as a youngster are starting to come true. The phrases that we have all heard but dismiss as meaningless, actually start to matter when they are applied to you directly. The ones about contentment levelled at people as an obvious spare tyre appears around their middle, for example. I don’t know whether a bulging midlife tummy is more acceptable for a man than a woman, more likely to receive a smile and a knowing nod of “oh he likes his food” almost as a badge of middle-aged honour. For my part, a similar middle-aged spread signals a heap of negatives.

Outfits that I was feeling good about wearing now begin to feel ‘a bit snug’ in places so I find myself moving them along the rail in my wardrobe and reaching for more comfortable and less conspicuous choices. That wish to fade into the background starting to creep in again, the one that I had pushed away with my red shoes and splashes of colour and the mantra of being fabulous at fifty, showing my true colours in my ‘Autumn years,’ all of that swept aside along with the offending outfit. Weight gain is often linked to negative mood, it seems that way for me anyway. It is so easy to slide down that spiralling helter-skelter of grabbing comfort food at a low moment and then feeling low because you have had that ‘naughty treat’ and then feeling the need to grab another, and on and on until somehow you can jump off that ride.

Lately, the phrase ‘you can’t have your cake and eat it’ feels ironic. It seems that I only have to glance sideways at a Victoria sponge and the calories are being absorbed by osmosis and joining hands to dance around my middle whilst sticking out their tongues in a joint act of defiance to say we’re not going anywhere. Motivational messages might extoll the virtues of feeling positive and guilt-free about having that slice of cake but then scales don’t exactly play a fanfare when I step on them in the morning and watch the numbers steadily rise. I may be giving the impression that I am addicted to cake but it serves as a mere example to the many items that I should eat less of.

Recently I have tried to do just that and to up the exercise, all the measures recommended by all the experts. I do seem stuck right now though and that is when the motivation factor is crucial. Some days I feel that I have two doors that I can choose to go through. One door allows me to continue on a path of willpower, with fruit and vegetables scattered amongst the righteous flowers on either side. The pathway is strewn with options of low fat, low sugar - dare I say low interest! The other door looks more attractive from the outside, with a sparkly sign on it saying temptation. Behind that door I can imagine a feast laid out like a banquet, cake stands piled high, chocolate fountains, warming pastry goods, roast potatoes, breads and cheeses. I could go on but I think you get the picture and you might be drooling like me at the thought of it all. Tempting though all that might be, as plates are cleared from this metaphorical feast, labels are revealed - guilt, self-loathing, no control, fat, worthless. That’s the trade-off I guess. The decision I have to make each day, of which door to open.

As middle age engulfs me, it has certainly felt harder to shift weight, to make an impact upon my body shape. Alongside this, emotions can often overwhelm me. So to move forward requires a two pronged attack. I need to deal with both the physical and mental well-being. Sometimes that needs support. The mere act of writing this feels a little like waving a white flag to ask for that support. I have a goal to achieve within the next four weeks. I have a costume waiting to be worn, my evil fairy outfit for my part in a local drama group’s production of Sleeping Beauty. I have to keep visualising that as I stand each day before those doors. I would love to look good in that costume. I would love to own the stage in it, full of sass, not cake. Maybe I should print off a picture of an evil fairy and stick it to my fridge. I will have to give it a good go anyway.

So I am trying to make an impact within those next four weeks. I am trying to keep motivated and not give in to the temptations presented at family birthdays, coffee stops with friends, convenience when rushing to be somewhere. There’s one more cliché coming into focus here: ‘mind over matter.’ I have to work hard on that and also on telling myself not to mind when comments may be made by those who shouldn’t matter to me. I’m working hard to ditch the comfort food and take comfort from the results that I hope come from that effort. I’ll just have to keep you posted on that one.

Fairy Dust and Wishes.

We have just started rehearsals at our drama group and this year I am playing the part of the evil fairy in our version of Sleeping Beauty. I am beginning to embrace the opportunity and the challenge of this, after initially being more than a little hesitant to accept the part. Deep down I knew that it was a part that I would love to do but my midlife head was telling me all the reasons why it would be better played by a younger member of the cast. One who might sing better, look better in a fairy costume and remember the lines better - there are a lot to learn and forgetfulness seems to be creeping into my everyday recently. I don’t think a quick wave of my fairy wand will solve that or have the power to slim me down into an acceptable fairy size, so I will just have to resort to taking on the hard work to achieve it all without magic.

My daughter soon turns eighteen which will mean that both of my children are adults. Old enough to face the scary world out there, and at the moment it seems scarier day by day. My job of protecting them from all of that feels now redundant and the fairy dust that I used to sprinkle liberally around the house on birthdays is gone (as truth be told, I was the birthday fairy all along.)

Yet don’t we spend our whole lives as parents wanting to wave a magic wand to keep on protecting our children, and I’m guessing in time, our grandchildren? We have very little power to do so, especially as they have grown up, and we can really only be around for as long as we’re given the privilege of doing so, to advise if they’ll listen but to allow them to make their own way in the world. Be that good or bad, we can but watch sometimes and offer a support when they need it. Letting them go can feel like watching a fledgling trying to take flight, with all the dips and swoops before soaring off into the distance. I can but hope that both of my children will soar, even if the process may take some time to achieve.

Returning to the question of whether I can measure up to the part I have been given, I have repeatedly told myself that I need to tie up all my doubts and leave them at home in a corner, when I go off to rehearse each week and definitely not let them loose during show week. So what of the challenges that I mentioned? Well both seem significant and so I have decided to use that well-spun strategy of breaking down what appears to be a huge task into smaller, hopefully more manageable chunks. I think it is actually good for me to have a personal challenge, both physically and mentally, to keep me moving forward positively.

The ‘fairy size’ question - well, how big is a fairy? Have you ever actually seen one? In reality, I need to fit into a costume. There’s my challenge - I lay down the gauntlet, to feel comfortable in my costume. I am actively looking to up my steps and level of physical activity each day so that I might achieve this in time for show week. Eat less crap, walk faster, start a fitness workout at home (safe from cynical gym eyes) and possibly, if confident enough, go for a swim a few times too.

The mental challenge does worry me, if I’m being totally honest. There are a lot of lines and also song lyrics to learn and some days I can’t even remember why it was that I walked into a room! Anyway, split it into chunks. Sometimes if we have a whole mountain in front of us and we look up at the vastness of it all, it is too difficult to move, too overwhelming. But every journey starts with one step. I have already started learning the lyrics and I will try to practice what I preached during my teaching career - don’t leave it all to the last minute to complete your homework. I shall attempt to spread it out in the hope that a drip-feed approach works.

I could have refused the part and taken a step back but then I know I would have been wondering what if and regretting having done so. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we only really regret the things in life that we didn’t do. Even though challenges may feel difficult at the time, perseverance gives us a will to achieve them, plus a lot of support from those around us. I heard a phrase the other day that has stuck with me:

 “Without effort there is never any real reward.”

This may take some effort but my reward will be when my lines are drowned out by booing, excitable kids who I can shake my fairy wand at. Perhaps there is still a use or two for my fairy dust.

Lotions, Potions and Defying Gravity

This blog title came to me as I reached for my jar of face cream and contemplated just how many creams and lotions I have started to apply in recent years. As I have slid into my fifth decade - let’s label it “my 50s: the polyfilla years!” - I have become more aware of the work that needs doing to maintain some sort of worthwhile body image.

Rarely one to wear makeup, always one to choose the throw on an outfit and quickly run a brush through your hair route, I now find that I am having to work much harder to maintain my appearance and striving to develop the necessary skills to achieve this. Being currently between viable hairstyles, I can no longer sport the bouncy curls of last year’s perm, yet there’s still enough of a persistent kink in many strands of hair to necessitate a whole hair care regime that I am not used to. A sharp learning curve accompanying the routine of washing, conditioning, applying product, drying and straightening every single time before leaving the house, has left me feeling reliant upon my daughter’s patient support and uncanny knack with the straighteners. Whilst bemoaning my lack of skills to a friend recently I exclaimed in an exasperated fashion that “I’m just no good at being a girl!”

It is certainly true that so-called ‘girly things’ often leave me feeling out of my comfort zone, an aspect that I touched on in my previous blog ‘Sunshine and Spa Days.’ I’m not sure why that is exactly but I guess it is subconsciously linked to confidence and my body image issues. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always made an attempt at looking my best for a night out. With my body that’s taken some effort at times. Too short for many wardrobe choices and with breasts that started migrating south years ago, there’s some serious scaffolding required to defy gravity and many a time that the eye is tricked by relying on a splash of colour or a scattering of sparkle. After all I grew up with the stage message of “Razzle Dazzle ‘em” ingrained in my psyche from my years of dance classes.

Perhaps I have just woken up to the need to make more of an effort to make the best of what I have, as my perception of my body image has shifted over the past year or so? I’m still struggling to keep the weight off and to gather some momentum in keeping the numbers on the scale moving in a decreasing direction. Yet it has to be said that I have dropped dress sizes and changed my wardrobe choices along with that. Maybe it is more linked to my mental state - the confidence I have been working to build back up? As I have explored recently in my writing, a little effort in a clothing choice, a well-matched accessory or an effort to apply a sweep of eye shadow and a bit of lippy can have a positive impact upon my day.

I have never felt skilled in applying makeup, knowing any kind of beauty regime to follow, being adept at styling my hair. Being the short, fat girl I mostly felt that it didn’t matter, and being somewhat nondescript in those areas helped if I wanted to blend into the background. I made fashion choices that presented myself adequately and never more than that. Now within the limits of the clothing and makeup that I possess and the minimal skills base that I have, I am actively trying to present myself more positively. On a good day, makeup, shoes and accessories match. I have been moisturised and polished, straightened, plucked and clipped. Between the creams and lotions, the exotic fruit and plant extract fragrances could make a passer-by think that they’ve strayed into a branch of Lush! But isn’t it good to take care of yourself? On reflection I think this development is maybe just an extension of my self-imposed well-being programme. Taking care of my body and mind with my quest to exercise, keep positive, all with the overarching aim of trying to lower the stress that can seep into daily life at times. If it helps, then it has to be a worthwhile venture to continue, even if it takes a bit of time and effort to do so. Pass me my potions, Harry Potter has nothing on me!

Confined by my Cage of Confidence

This year started with less of a bang, more of a half-hearted fizz and a pop really. Never ones for big New Year’s parties we had plans in place for the usual few relatives and friends to come round for a take away and to play some board games. Not exactly the most exciting plans for new year's eve, but a way to mark the passage of time and to wish everyone success for the next chapter ahead.  Such is the ritual that we all have adopted, singling out this date as one for celebration and reflection. Well, best laid plans were not to be this year as the day before our electrics failed and, despite the best efforts of a guy prepared to come out and work over the holiday weekend, we cancelled our plans and functioned with candles and jumpers.

So it was against this background that I had time to reflect upon life choices as part of that annual, usually farcical process of making New Year resolutions.  This New Year, I thought, I'm going to be 50. I decided then that it was going to be my year for myself, for my goals. I was going to be slimmer and try to find some 'me time' amongst the busy work and family schedule. No weight goal in mind, just a vague idea about dropping a dress size maybe. I was a size 22 at the time and no matter how much make-up and glittery accessories I might add, there was no escaping the fact that I was short and fat. Short – I’ve come to terms with, but it was about time that I faced the fat issue.  So I actively cut down on all the things that we all know are bad for us and tried to do more exercise. I’ve always known what to do to lose weight, but I had to be in the right place mentally to start the journey.

However, the next few months brought unforeseen developments.  It seemed that as soon as I had decided to modify my eating habits something switched on in my brain and I had episodes of a loss of appetite along with a rough patch of dizzy spells. Though pleased that I was losing weight, the growing nagging feeling was there, wondering why I felt dizzy and off my food.  When I eventually had the courage to talk it all over with a doctor, it transpired that I was anaemic, my blood pressure was high and I was peri-menopausal.  A trio of trouble.

I've since discovered just how much this trio has chipped away at my physical health and mental well-being. A bit of internet research gave me some information and reassurance - though I should say, this is a dangerous path to take as it sets off all sorts of unnecessary alarm bells about symptoms real and imagined. However, armed with a little knowledge and the support of some friends encouraging me to actually keep seeking medical advice, I began to tackle some of the symptoms and start feeling better.

Tiredness had seeped into all aspects of my life, acting like a domino effect on mood, rational thought, patience and ability to function day-to-day. Now, I see that the steps I took to get a better night’s sleep had far reaching effects. Whilst in the midst of fitful sleep the early hours became familiar beasts to be slain: the midnight attempt to switch off, the 2 a.m worries for the next day ahead, the 4 a.m mental checklist to tick off, the 5 a.m visit to the bathroom, the 6 a.m acceptance that its almost time to get up anyway! With all that going on, it didn’t occur to me that this tiredness was causing my low mood and crumbling of self-confidence.

I’ve always thought of myself as an organised person, in control, able to do many things and certainly more than capable of juggling work and home life and family commitments. Not for the first part of this year though. All that came tumbling down, like the shifting walls of a sandcastle as the waves of daily demands washed over me. What was happening to me? With my former persona of being a strong woman came the unwritten rule that I didn’t stop to tell anyone how I really felt anyway. I was too busy – there was always a job to be completed, something that I needed to do to help the kids or to support other relatives, a meeting or admin job to complete for the local community group that I belong to. Well, when the tiredness and dizzy spells were at their worst, I think I broke. I felt like a cage was constructing itself around me, putting up barriers to hinder me from functioning as before. To put it succinctly, somewhere along the way I lost my confidence.

Now the concept of confidence is a curious thing – it can disappear in the blink of an eye but takes so long to claw it back again to its former glory. I found myself doubting my abilities and questioning decisions that I had to make. On one occasion, when a lot was happening in the same week, I told friends that I was spiralling out of control. Overwhelmed by circumstance without my previous rock of mental stability to stand upon, ‘spiralling’ was a good description. But asking for their help was a good move, as instead of being dismissed as irrational or silly, I was given space, time and support.

Reflecting upon this time, throws up a contradiction. In the last six months I have lost weight to the point that I am now starting to fit into some size 16 clothes – quite an achievement, from 3 sizes bigger at Christmas. With that achievement, I have received an increasing number of compliments from friends and work colleagues, enough that I began to believe what was being said and to start constructing a more positive self-image. The contradiction, however, is that I simultaneously lost confidence with the aspects that are not on display – daily decisions that I made beneath the façade of that capable, middle-aged Mum. Questions would swim in and out of my head frequently: “Should I continue with my job? Does this outfit really look okay on me or will people think that I am trying to dress like a woman half my age?”

That resolution at the start of the year was to make time for me and in making that pledge, I think it gave me cause to look at myself, question my abilities, my accomplishments and more importantly, look at where I am heading and evaluate if I should continue in this way.  I haven’t found the answers to these questions and at times, I think I have regretted asking them. I am still struggling to break out of my confidence cage but I feel that I have located the key. I have come to appreciate advice given by those who care and notice when I’ve been having a bad day. I’ve recognised that there is a way to go on my self-confidence but that I actively need to keep asking for help and finding the courage to take the more difficult steps, as the ones that appear easy and cause the least ripples at the time, are often only temporary fixes and end up leading down a pathway to a larger storm.