Smidge

We all know beauty is more than just skin deep, more than fashion images show us what beauty is, more than make up, clothes and special underwear; but if we are honest (and realistic!) not a single one of us actually feels beautiful in the morning, although most of us do last thing at night after a few beverages.

How we dress is intrinsically what makes us, us. It’s how we show the world who we are, what we stand for, who we associate with. But the world asks for different faces, different personas, different attitudes. In the day, whilst i am trying to be an adult, to be taken seriously, i’m boring, bland, black and blue. I know that i should dress to be noticed, that style in the workplace can often mean substance, but i feel focusing on fashion takes the focus away from what i do best – work.

Fashion is for the times when i am not being defined by my job. Fashion is for when i wish to define who i really am. But with revealing the real me comes a fear. I want my clothes to show confidence, but i am not confident, i want my clothes to show i am stylish, but i am not stylish. I want my clothes to show that i care about myself, but i am lazy – i am not even basic maintenance, let alone high maintenance.

I have a wardrobe of clothes that i feel could define me. Clothes that project a silhouette of a sexy, confident woman who knows herself. I have a wardrobe of high heals, skinny jeans, figure hugging tops, sexy shapes, body hugging, body fitting, stylish clothes.

Which i never wear.

Outside of the house anyway.

So, time to take a step forward. I have 2 major fashion events coming up and im going to give the real me a try. I might never live up to the fashion magazine idea of beauty, but i can be beautiful me.

Kx

P.s… How do you feel about fashion? Are you fashionable at work? Do you feel being fashionable is for work or for those times when you can really be yourself. Do you really dress for yourself? Do you even care about fashion or put as much emphasis on it as i do?

P.p.s this is just as relevant for guys too, style + fashion (not high heals and body hugging clothes…)

A long time a go I told my mother that I had never been happy; when I call my mother having had a bad day, I can hear that she remembers it, down the line, in her voice. I can know she worries about me, that I never seem to grab life with both hands and throw myself at it.

But, something stops me. I always worry about how other people see me, not how i see myself and how I face the world. I understand now that whilst being happy relies much on other people’s actions for the good times in your life, those good times won’t happen unless you are happy. Catch 22.

I guess as I have got older that I have accepted my lot. I’m never going to be the life and soul of the party – I’m too controlled. I’m never going to be popular – I’m too self absorbed. I’m never going to be flamboyant, I’m never going to be exuberant, I’m never going to be happy happy HAPPY.

But I can enjoy the small things, but I can be the best friend you have ever had, I can be there for you when you need me, at any time, I can big you up, I can give advice, I can make a mean cosmopolitan for the days you just want to forget. And I can remember that doing all these things these days make me happy. And that’s’ all I need to be happy.

One day i might even reach out and grab the other things I deserve.

Kx

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P.s In amongst the mundane, this week has provided me with a number of bright sparks, ending with the homemade cosmopolitans my friend I and I consumed on Saturday night whilst discussing (read: gossiping) multiple topics, not least my last couple of blog posts. The chat helped clear my head, indeed, I feel happier with the current situation than I have in a long time – I guess a good start was me accepting that I was passing the blame of my funk on to someone else. So thanks to all of you who commented, listened, emailed and helped me out. Thank you x

P.p.s Im rather excited as i might have a new writing job(?) coming soon… watch this space.

P.p.p.s Girls – head over to Secret Lady Garden where we have a new post from Ria liani so go check it out, i’ll be back soon with a new post myself…

We are all superficial creatures; humans (and animals) are visual in nature, particularly when it’s to do with the rules of attraction.

(Of course attraction is made up of a lot of elements – but how someone looks is always the first on the list – which is why I kinda like Dating in the Dark – it just proves the theory that looks will always trump personality)

Us women with our need to be emotionally understood just don’t get that men see things a lot more simply – or to put it more controversially – more superficially. Looks for men are important – looks with regards to sexual feelings are even more so.

(Men watch porn, we women read porn. Ok, this doesn’t fit into the square box i’m describing all that well – women in porn aren’t usually great looking, but they do have a certain ‘sexy look’)

We women always seem to demand that our men love us ‘however we look’; that unwashed hair, greying pants and baggy trackies is a good look. It isn’t.

How come women see nothing strange about with dressing up to go out with our friends on a night out – fake tan, fake hair, fake nails, fake eyelashes, fake height, fake tummies, fake boobs? Is it because women demand these things? Actually, no, we women insist that we should be loved the same however we look. To us, dressing up is just a superficial sheen; it’s not us, it’s a just a bit of fun.

The dressing up, whilst it does make you feel good I must admit, is always for men. Subconsciously we know men are superficially creatures and in fact love this superficial side of us.

Not that men see our dressing up as superficial – they see the hot sexy chick they met in a club as ‘us’. That’s the one with the post break up weight loss, designer pulling gear and all the fakery that imbeds our sexy asses into their minds after just one drink. That’s the one he met, fancied, and then fell in love with. However much love depends on emotions and connections and a love of match of the day on Saturday nights – that sexy look is how he sees you. And will always see you.

And why we complain about this – ill never know….

Kx

P.s – girls and guys – any views?

I’ve always thought that lust was some kind of spell; a spell that can be easily broken, or if you are really really lucky, a spell that just fades away over time. When you first meet someone the way the look, act, smell, or even dance, conjures up feelings of attraction that if powerful enough develops into infatuation and therefore lust. But like any spell, lust is rose-tinted, a sheen of shiny newness, of goodness, of possibility, of hope. Lust is fur coat nae knickers, it hides flaws, hides those imperfections that will become niggles, deal breakers.

Once the spell is broken, it can’t be just magic’d back.

I’m addicted to the spell; i’m easily bewitched by something new, something shiny, something full of possibilities. You could call this spell temptation, you could call it very wrong; but if you have ever been touched by it, then you know at the time it feels oh so right. But, the fire burst, the magic is never to last. The spell for me is often broken so quickly, often so sharply that I am left empty, like my favourite toy has been taken away, like my raison d’etra is to be Tinkerbell, eternally adored, eternally alone in a bubble of sparkles which whilst pretty, is oh so empty.

I have yet to learn to live with the niggles, I have yet to learn that fading magic is better than moments of pure pure pleasure.

But I take it day by day.

Kx

P.s apologies, but there is something up with my blog right now.. almost of my sidebar has gone away, i am working to get this back!

To me family, has never been blood related, but love related, nurture rather than nature, care over something that whilst was not theirs originally is theirs now. It’s a real family, one that I have been lucky to be given, one I am truly thankful for. But, although nurture has always nurtured me well, I have no shame in admitting that having a real family is something I have always desired, dreamed of; to have someone one day looking back at me and saying, mum you’re mine. But to one day have that family taken away from me is inconceivable.

Let me state this for the record – both mothers and fathers have rights to their children. In making a child you sign up for joint responsibility for life. One of you can’t be bought out of the hire-purchase agreement or sell your share. One of you can’t buy the other out from underneath. One of you can’t sit pretty, holding all the papers, forcing the other to bend to your will

But even though religion and the lack of a husband can no longer force women to let go of their children (as was with my mother); it seems that our rights to our children as mothers can be bought or still taken away from us through lying, deceit and down right dirty tricks. It seems that the some men feel they have the right to marry, to have a child, and then for that child to not be used as a pawn and out-dated anarchic law the game.

In an age of equal opportunity, where gay rights, black rights, animal rights (and anti-everythingism) you would think that after we finally won the right for women to have rights, well, we would have rights. But I guess the EU and particularly the Irish Government doesn’t recognise that along with the rest of us.

This post is part of the Save One Mammy campaign. Mammy is fighting for the permission to leave Ireland together with her English-born daughter and return home to England; something her estranged husband is trying to prevent by all means and for seemingly egotistical reasons only. Parental alienation, unfair hearings and a clear and blatant violation of every EU citizen’s right to free movement are just a few of the hurdles she has to overcome. Please help us to raise awareness and visit her blog to support her in her campaign.

Visit the Save one Mammy campaign!

Kx

Life isn’t meant to feel like one long fin de siècle. But if you can’t quite expect joie de vivre, then there should be at least some moments of joy, light, relief, happiness. Months have gone by with the most energetic thing I did all day being getting out of bed, and sometimes I didn’t even do that. I’d been barely peeling open my eyes, hardly stretching and walking through life hunch backed.

It obviously couldn’t go on; but grey settles, grey is hard to shift. When life is grey, then everything is grey, food is for fuel, alcohol to forget and sex is a means to an end. Grey isn’t a new pair of shoes or a night out or a quick email with a friend. Grey means deep cleaning, scratching raw, picking scabs to find out if there is anything still fresh underneath.

Grey can’t be beaten with half baked promises to challenge yourself. Grey needs confidence, grey needs you to face the fears, break the routines that keep you in the dark and cold, even when the sun is shining.

Going on holiday, seeing real romance, having real fun, looking at things with fresh eyes, getting happy, putting a smile on my face, making more time for friends, making more time for me, cuddling my poor broken cat, moving back to my old house, starting my Msc degree at university; all of these things have been helping lift the gloom, restoring the light. The grey is still lurking but for now I am distracted by shiny new things.

You can see the flames of your wasted life
You should be ashamed
You don’t want to waste your life
I walk along these hillsides in the summer neath the sunshine
I am feathered by the moonlight falling down on me
Change, change, change

Change is good

Kx

(Counting Crows – A Murder of One)

In life there is little time for time alone but tomorrow, all action, all time, will stop just for one day to make peace and reflection the focus.

For whilst tomorrow will bring back the pain of loss for so many, tomorrow for me will be about just one small family and their small loss. In this big wide world, with a backdrop of the date, we are nothing, but to them, he was everything. I ask you to think of us tomorrow as we deserve your thoughts as well.

I did not die

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle Autumn’s rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush.
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there;
I did not die.

This loss may not be my loss, but this pain is my own; for all you who have lost, the people around you lose too – to see pain in someone’s eyes is also pain for you.

Kxx

Weddings always bring out the romance in me. But most weddings are corporate do’s where as much money as possible is thrown at the venue, at the dress, at the food, at the guests to make the day seem impossibly romantic; to hide the fact that the wedding isn’t really about the love of it all, but the show. Weddings are for the bride to show off, to be the centre of attention and vulgar; on the one day they are allowed to.

But some weddings you just know would be at the top of the 4 wedding’s lead table; outshining all those around them. They are few and far between and are not always the £500 shoestring just because we love each other; we did it at the last minute so lets party weddings. Some weddings just make you want to scream with the injustice of it all. Some weddings make you grit your back teeth that the day wasn’t yours; that your wedding wasn’t like that, or could be exactly that.

Even if you had never ever considered being a bride ever again….

Kx

P.s the wedding venue was spectacular - The website is well worth checking out –  Hotel El Far de Sant Sebastia, Llafranc, Costa Brava Spain.

The Hotel from above…

The balcony and view

The chapel

and finally… my shoes!

Well im still in Spain (and let me tell you it’s hot) so its time for guest post no.2. Here is the fantabulous Helen… Over to you honey.

When Miss Smidge asked for guest posters for while she’s off sunning herself in Spain (I’m not jealous, much), I thought ‘why not?’. I do love to talk about myself, after all. And when I found out that she wanted people to talk about their “hopes, dreams, fears and issues” I was even more keen. Because all of those are things that I’ve been thinking about in great detail recently.

I’m Helen and I can usually be found posting at Clear Your Heart or tweeting as @ohthedecadence. If any of you read my blog then you’ll know (how could you not, I have rammed it down people’s throats) that I’ve not been having a fantastic year, thus far. I’ve been through a break up, battled with low self esteem and, most recently, my Dad’s been diagnosed with prostate cancer. From mid June onwards I spent most of my evenings in floods of tears, confused, hurt and extremely sad. It wasn’t a great couple of months.

But, just recently, I feel I’ve turned the corner. The last couple of weeks have brought more smiles than tears. More happy days than sad ones. More real, from the heart, laughter than weak, forced, ‘I’m ok’ smiles.

I can’t really put my finger on why. But, if I was to hazard a guess, I think it’s because I’ve stopped waiting. I’ve stopped waiting for my life to happen and begun to live it. I’ve begun to make it happen. For myself. I’ve always been guilty of trying to please people. Always putting others first, sacrificing things that I wanted to do and bending to other people’s whims and dreams. But I have my own dreams now. Dreams of a future that I will make my own. I may not always succced, but I’ll pick myself up from failure, dust myself off and carry on.

Becase all anyone can really do is carry on, regardless.

I’ve been on a journey of self discovery (hi, i sound like a tosser) for a good long while now, almost a year in fact. I still have some way to go but who doesn’t. We’re all works in progress and it’s the little imperfections that make us who we are. It’s learning to love yourself, despite these flaws, that’s important. And that eluded me for a long time. It still does sometimes, when I’m having a fat day, or a rubbish hair day, or a day of feeling small and vulnerable. But I’m doing ok. For the first time in a long while I can say that I’m comfortable in my own skin and that I really don’t need anyone to make me happy. I’m doing it for myself.

I can’t say that I don’t feel a pang of regret when I look back at the photos from the last couple of years. That I don’t wonder about the life we could have had, the dreams we could have shared. But, for the most part, I smile when a song triggers a particular memory, when a ridiculous injoke we shared comes to mind, when I see our smiling faces looking back at me from one of the many moments captured on film (memory card doesn’t sound as poetic). It’s always hard to put a piece of your life into a box and pack it away. But I guess it’s all part of growing up and moving on.

I feel like I’ve finally pressed play and freed myself from a life spent on pause.

Helen x