I find it quite funny that I've just blown cake crumbs away from my keyboard as I go to type this. 

So today's #BEDN topic is: food glorious food. And oh my, is it glorious. I adore food. ADORE it. I eat when I'm happy, when I'm sad, celebrating or commiserating, and usually with my eyes rather than the actual size of my stomach. I'm not one of those people that doesn't eat when she's miserable, or loses a stone when unwell. Nope. Starve a fever, feed a cold? Never. Feed a fever and take a cold to a buffet.

Food is the source of my biggest joy. I love to cook and try new foods. ALL socialising revolves around food. And when you come from a Caribbean household? There is NEVER a shortage of of the stuff. Being able to provide vast amounts of good, home-cooked food for your family is the kind of thing a Caribbean woman would legit like to put on a Linked In profile. Making insurmountable levels of fodder, is award-worthy. 

Ah, me and food, we go way back. My nan used to call me a flour baby, because I LOVED dumplings. Nothing has changed. It just now extends to all carbs. Life without potatoes, flour or pasta is just not worth thinking about.

But, as well as being a pinnacle of joy, it can also bring crippling lows. 

I sway between the two on a daily basis. Sometimes hourly. In the main, I feel good about myself, and have written in praise of my body on this blog before. I realise that I am more than what I weigh. And I can usually accept that for the amount of effort I'm willing to put in, this is the body I get for it. And that these belly rolls are here to stay, given the many, many times that I allow my emotions to drive what I shove in my gob. 

I mean, I find it amazing, how I can weigh the same on any two given days but depending on hormones, outfit and circumstance I can go from feeling like I could give Cara, Naomi and Kate a run for their money on a catwalk, to wanting to hibernate with my bloated belly, back fat and bad food decisions.

I weigh 12 stone 8lbs. 

It doesn't really mean much to me to put the number out there. It's just a number. And you can only take away the negative feelings of any supposed failure or shame when you are honest about things. 

But something I can be honest about, is that I don't feel comfortable as I am. And being very, very honest? Even though kids are still a few years away, the thought of a post-baby body terrifies me given I struggle with self image now. 

But so much more than the number on the scale, or the size in my skirt waistband being the issue - it's the daily mental battle to accept myself that's fucking exhausting.  

"You've lost weight before, why can't you do it now? WHY?" 
"YOLO" *Eats doughnut*
"Where the heck is your willpower?"
"Mmmm. Cake."
Why don't you want it enough?"
"What's the point? Just give me all the food"

I think the only conclusions I can draw here are these. I must either grow to accept myself as I am or change. Sound so simple, doesn't it? I've got to get off my ass and #BeBothered, like I'm always harping on about. And for longer than the ridiculous time frame that my impatient nature will allow. 

The issue of weight, self-image and acceptance is a mental myriad. And that's before you consider hormones and emotions. 

Food, you are glorious, and I wouldn't change you for the world. But man! I wish I could just find my happy place at this table.



I find it quite funny that I've just blown cake crumbs away from my keyboard as I go to type this. 

So today's #BEDN topic is: food glorious food. And oh my, is it glorious. I adore food. ADORE it. I eat when I'm happy, when I'm sad, celebrating or commiserating, and usually with my eyes rather than the actual size of my stomach. I'm not one of those people that doesn't eat when she's miserable, or loses a stone when unwell. Nope. Starve a fever, feed a cold? Never. Feed a fever and take a cold to a buffet.

Food is the source of my biggest joy. I love to cook and try new foods. ALL socialising revolves around food. And when you come from a Caribbean household? There is NEVER a shortage of of the stuff. Being able to provide vast amounts of good, home-cooked food for your family is the kind of thing a Caribbean woman would legit like to put on a Linked In profile. Making insurmountable levels of fodder, is award-worthy. 

Ah, me and food, we go way back. My nan used to call me a flour baby, because I LOVED dumplings. Nothing has changed. It just now extends to all carbs. Life without potatoes, flour or pasta is just not worth thinking about.

But, as well as being a pinnacle of joy, it can also bring crippling lows. 

I sway between the two on a daily basis. Sometimes hourly. In the main, I feel good about myself, and have written in praise of my body on this blog before. I realise that I am more than what I weigh. And I can usually accept that for the amount of effort I'm willing to put in, this is the body I get for it. And that these belly rolls are here to stay, given the many, many times that I allow my emotions to drive what I shove in my gob. 

I mean, I find it amazing, how I can weigh the same on any two given days but depending on hormones, outfit and circumstance I can go from feeling like I could give Cara, Naomi and Kate a run for their money on a catwalk, to wanting to hibernate with my bloated belly, back fat and bad food decisions.

I weigh 12 stone 8lbs. 

It doesn't really mean much to me to put the number out there. It's just a number. And you can only take away the negative feelings of any supposed failure or shame when you are honest about things. 

But something I can be honest about, is that I don't feel comfortable as I am. And being very, very honest? Even though kids are still a few years away, the thought of a post-baby body terrifies me given I struggle with self image now. 

But so much more than the number on the scale, or the size in my skirt waistband being the issue - it's the daily mental battle to accept myself that's fucking exhausting.  

"You've lost weight before, why can't you do it now? WHY?" 
"YOLO" *Eats doughnut*
"Where the heck is your willpower?"
"Mmmm. Cake."
Why don't you want it enough?"
"What's the point? Just give me all the food"

I think the only conclusions I can draw here are these. I must either grow to accept myself as I am or change. Sound so simple, doesn't it? I've got to get off my ass and #BeBothered, like I'm always harping on about. And for longer than the ridiculous time frame that my impatient nature will allow. 

The issue of weight, self-image and acceptance is a mental myriad. And that's before you consider hormones and emotions. 

Food, you are glorious, and I wouldn't change you for the world. But man! I wish I could just find my happy place at this table.


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