Taking Control

No, this is not a review of Christian Grey’s twitchy palm.  Although if you really want a review of that I’ll happily supply it.  I have only read the first two - I’m making progress on the third and have enjoyed them quite a lot! :o)  I’m really surprised not to have seen more chatter on the books in the t-forums of the world.  Maybe we prefer our chick lit more romantic and refined and less mummy porn?  Or perhaps I’m just looking in the wrong places?

As for the actual topic of conversation, I have been thinking a lot recently about why I seem to have no ability to take control of my life.  I consider myself to be relatively bright, I’m certainly driven and like getting good results from my activities.  But when it comes to me personally, I always lower the priority and absolutely NEVER push myself to do the things I should.

Take weight for example.  I’ve been trying to lose weight for several months now.  As a yo-yo dieter, I’ve lost stones and stones of the stuff in the past, but at the moment?  Just impossible.  More than that, how about exercise?  Oh, the gyms I have known.  And at times, I’ve even been fit.   But try to get off my unusually large, but tastefully formed bottom to join up has proved to be an act of goliathic (is that a word?) proportions.  Nearly as big a problem as my bottom come to think of it.  And consequently I’ve failed.  I even signed up to a sponsored thing to force me to do it.  Except now I’m staring down the barrel of a sponsored thing when I’m still fat and unfit.

I know that I have a weensy teensy tendency towards procrastination, but girls, this is ridiculous.  Don’t get me wrong, its not in every area of my life.  I hold down two busy jobs for goodness sakes.  I could do both of them better, don’t get me wrong, but I get a lot achieved in my life.  But when its me and its my personal stuff, I just don’t do it.  Even when I know I should and that I’m unhealthy.  I just can’t work out what is stopping me.  Even the thought of smaller dresses doesn't motivate me - after all, there are loads of camping shops around for me to buy new tents.  I can stay fat and just go to a camping shops instead of my usual FatgirlsRus shop.

So I guess what I’m asking for, nay, crying out for, is your insights into what you do to take control?  Telling me to woman up, get a grip and don’t be a fat lazy cow might be what you feel like say, but if you could be more constructive, please do so.  I wouldn’t want the fact that I’ve run to the toilet crying with a bottle of wine and a carrier bag of chocolate to rest on your conscience.  Plus that would mean your advice defeated its own purpose.  And that would be wrong.

Please help,

Fat of England x

Shopping - a bittersweet experience

Shopping has never ever really been my friend.  In boy mode, buying boy clothes, apart from one very memorable experience with my friend Sarah, I have never really enjoyed it.  Mainly this is because I feel I’m wasting money buying an ugly and frankly dull disguise.   Even buying girl clothes has only ever been done in boy mode or on the Internet.  I doth my millenary to Lynn Jones of YATGB fame for her posting this week on shopping en femme.  She looks amazing and her quick wit is just the coolest thing ever.

But back to the plot.  In the last week I have had two contrasting experiences of shopping.  Both unpleasant in their own special ways.  Both reinforcing why its such a tough thing.

Experience #1 
I don’t know about you, but buying girl clothes dressed as a boy can sometimes be slightly traumatic.  Over the last few years, I’ve done it lots and have grown accustomed to the stares and weird looks.  I know that I should have graduated to shopping in girl mode, but I haven’t yet.  Plus, I’m not convinced that the stares would be less if I did.  But needs must. I’ve got a photo shoot coming up in a few weeks.  I have only have one outfit sorted.  2-3 more are needed, I had some free time so I thought I’d make a start.  

In a strange twist, Cheltenham was the convenient location for this trip.  I live in a very weird travelling world.  Battle had commenced and I was in my second shop of the day.  Suddenly, from nowhere a big confidence zapping (and indeed sapping) machine came from the sky, cartoon style, hovered above my head and sucked every ounce from me.  I instantly went from confident would-be girl to rabbit snared by headlights.  I just had to escape as quickly as possible.  I got immediately into the lift to my car and I was glad that I was alone because I’m not embarrassed to tell you, I cried.

Does this strike you as odd behaviour?  Even now, when I reflect on it, I don’t really know what happened.  Despite promising myself that I would lose weight, I haven’t yet.  Its rubbish I know, but that’s life.  I wonder if it was just one too many shopping trips as a fat man that got on top of me.  Either way, the horse is there, I need to get back on it asap.

Experience #2
In a few weeks time, I have the transgendered person’s possibly worst nightmare evening coming up.  The black tie dinner.  Even as I’m typing, I have a sinking feeling at the thought.  It is an event where the men will have to look dashing and the women (most of whom are under 30 and impossibly slim) will look fabulous in their lovely dresses, heels, make up etc.  I’m sure you are starting to see the problem.

Yesterday I went to purchase my outfit for the night.  Given that it is a thing attended by lots of my work clients, the girl clothes possibility is at less than zero.  So instead, went to arrange for the hire of my tux.  Now that’s trauma.  Suit hire places, as I found yesterday, really do play to the law of averages.  My body refuses to abide by such boring social conventions.  I tried on the trousers - to get ones that fit my waist, they swamp my legs.  I tried on the jacket - to fit my chest size, the jacket has to be huge in shoulders - unlike me!  And I get to pay a load of money for the privilege of looking disproportionate.

Don’t get me wrong, every time I’ve gone to one of those events, I eventually enjoy it - I think that it may be the oncoming, stupefying effect of alcohol.  But its getting harder to watch half the crowd getting to look amazing while I am in a very boring, ill-fitting uniform.  And to watch the other half of them carry off dashing remarkably well.

I really don’t fit with either camp.  And the sad thing is that I'm not sure I ever will.

Doing it doggy (oo-er Mrs) :o)

Finally, it got bought.  The bag.  Front and centre.  And its a Radley.  

Despite the schedule from hell, quite frankly, and having had no time at all to shop, I finally managed to get to a bag store and now I'm happy.  I needed it to go with pink top, red cardigan and nude heels.  This, I think, will be ok.  The cute beads won me over.

Still have my eye out for another, but am waiting for the capable shopping assistance of the lovely Sarah for that one.  There are only a certain number of times a girl can fly solo on these things.

So probably doesn't suit me and cost way too much, but surely there is room for some frivolity in life?  Just occasionally?

Some days its Shrek, others its Fiona

Why is it that some mornings I wake up thinking I look like Princess Fiona and other days its Shrek looking back at me?

When its Fiona, its not the slim, long red haired princess version of Fiona.  Clearly.  Its an ogre either way, but sometimes I look at my body and think that although the build and shape all feels wrong, its wrong in a Fiona ogre kind of way.  I don’t about you, but I think the animators did a great job with her.  They really made someone, putting it kindly, who has the shape that is a cross between an apple and a rugby player look gloriously feminine and beautiful.  So what if I have odd taste.

When you look at a picture of her, you realise that they have used all the right tricks: proportion to other characters, hair, eyebrows, boobs are all well drawn.  But beyond that, she has the complete ogre look.  In the world of us having women we aspire to look like - and seriously, I’m not going for the sympathy vote, if I could achieve that I’d be really pleased.   A woman who looks great and feminine with a similar body shape to me has to be a little bit of a heroine!

Clearly I’d much rather look like the original slim Princess Fiona, but surely there has to be some realism into the mix?  Especially when there are some days when I look in mirror and all I can see is Shrek staring back to me.  Today is one of those days.  

I’d been building myself up to start going out a little bit and to testing out whether I would just be a stare-fest or whether I might at least get ignored by most people.  I have such high goals don’t I?  But I’ve decided that staying under the duvet is probably a better thing to do.  Let’s not inflict another Shrek wearing Fiona’s clothes into the world eh?

Oh and Diet?  Schmiet.  This month, I’m not going there.  But Monday sees the start of a serious and aggressive diet that I expect to shift large amounts of weight and quickly.  *fingers crossed*

It ebbs and it flows

I should be working right now.  I know that its 6am UK time, but at the moment, I really can’t stop to blog.  Yet, I want to get things down.  You know how it is: things bottle up don’t they?  Then a dam needs to burst out somewhere.

Life is somewhat confusing and frustrating at the moment.   I’m working harder than I’ve ever worked - keeping down (or trying to) two jobs that are both very demanding.  I was supposed to have stopped doing that some time ago, but it never happened.  The balance is about to change with me going part time in one to allow time for the other.  That was a blessed relief until this week.  This week was feedback week in the form of my annual review.  The backdrop is that I have worked harder this year than any other year, but also that I’m actually a relatively disorganised person, last minute person.  I’ve done loads to address this and made some progress, but from this week’s meeting, clearly not enough.  I’m redoubling my efforts because its what I do, but it was quite disheartening, even though it was deserved and I expected it.   Maybe the problem is that to hold two jobs, you need to be the most organised person in the world.  Maybe I’m really not playing to my strengths.

But all of that is bearable if I’m getting Rhiannon time.  But that is what has been ebbing and flowing.  Thinking about and being sad that I was born with a boy’s body hasn’t lessened.  I don’t know about you, but it very rarely escapes my mind.  At least every 5-10 minutes my mind wanders in that direction and I feel slightly choked at what I’ve missed out on.  But being busy has meant that I’ve just not been in a position to do anything about it.  This week I’ve been away from home: I left on Sunday and am going home today.  5 nights.  5 different hotels.  6 long days and have been out every evening.  All of the nights out have been really fun, mostly with people I care about.  But it does frustrate me that none of those evenings were able to be pretty.  Although in one case that will change in the future I think. Over the last couple of weeks I had two girl nights out planned, but both of them had to give way to work commitments.  Having gone through a period where I have been presenting as Rhiannon more, even if it was just to myself, it made things easier.

What’s also been weird at work that I just don’t get, is that transgender and dressing as the opposite sex jokes have recently become de rigueur in my presence.   Mainly by people who don’t know about me, so I don't think its targeted towards me, but its strange.  At a recent all day meeting there were at least 10 jokes about it.  On the face of it, you would think that I was wrong and that people just know and aren’t letting on.  But when the jokes are made, there is no embarrassment in the room or sideways looks at me - it is always genuinely good natured, albeit wildly offensive to me!   Then clearly I precipitated some more a couple of days ago by borrowing some hand cream for my very dry hands.  Not doing that again.  The comments from people who don’t know about me being a girl just for doing that were ridiculous.  Happy to be called a girl (I am one after all), but not through some attempt to embarrass me.

Its just a really frustrating and nondescript time where progress is slow and where, despite putting in loads of effort, I’m going backwards.

Plus - and this is the clincher.  I’ve been trying to get to buy a new handbag for at least 4 weeks and have not had a moment to do it.  I need shoes and a bag.  Retail therapy surely has to be the answer to my current out of sorts feeling? :o)

Still very fat :o(

I have to face up to it.  The diet has not made a very impressive start this month.  In fact, I have demonstrated a consummate ability to avoid starting it properly.  That has been good from a self-discovery perspective: I realise even more that I am excellent at planning to start to do things tomorrow.  

I have made a start though - 4 lbs came off (several times) and there were 4-5 days where no alcohol passed my lips.  But I didn’t set the dieting world alight and I didn’t drop any dress sizes.  That might sound rubbish, but some progress is better than no progress.  AND the more exciting thing is that I haven’t wasted the month completely: there are weight loss plans are afoot.  I know, I know... planning tomorrow etc etc.

I don’t know about you, but I find it very hard to motivate myself to do anything by half measures.  If I am working towards something and I know that it is just going to be ok, I won’t bother.  Whereas if I think it is going to be spectacular then I’ll work my (very pretty) socks off to accomplish it.  I need big goals and to really to drive towards.  Its the way I’m made I guess.  

Based on that build up, hopefully this doesn’t sound lame, but I’ve put myself forward for a 10k walk over big hills.  That's a huge deal for me - I've never achieved anything like that before.  3 months I have to prepare, which means I have to ring the gym up and get myself membership even despite the exorbitant cost.  I have also got a start date for a diet club.  April is really busy for me with meals out.  I have been saving them up for a while, so the diet club starts first week in May, but I am determined that I’m starting to lose some weight in April.

As an aside, as you will recall from my previous posts, I have my toenails painted most of the time.  What do you girls do when you go to the gym - do you just take it off or is there a way around it?  Especially when you have to go for a shower.  Tart-red nails are presumably quite noticeable?  (Actually it's grape sorbet at the moment, but I'm planning for a change this week! :o) )

The thing is that a lot of the over-eating and over-drinking is stress related for me.  I know other people handle it differently, but I respond to a really tense work situation, this whole weird gender thing and a tough familial challenge with food and wine.  The trick I’ve never managed to find is a healthy alternative stress relief.  (Did you notice I didn't even consider reducing the actual stress level?!)  Exercise has never really appealed or excited me and I’m not a hobby type of person.  A bit lazy out of work really.  Oh well, I'm going to try exercise again as a way to avoid it.  We’ll see.  Got to do something, I am getting quite sad about the current state of my weight and am worrying about the long term implications for my health.   Added to which, I keep being sent emails from all of the main clothes shops about the lovely clothes they have that I can’t fit into.  Now that’s annoying.  Hopefully worry (or frustration) at the very least will drive me to actually start.

Postscript: told another person yesterday about my secret.  An old schoolfriend.  She couldn’t have been lovelier.  Made me smile.  She was concerned for me, but so accepting.  Although we were chatting on-line, I felt so hugged.

The cage

As usual having an email exchange with my good friend Becca of Mutterings fame, she, as she invariably does, set my thinking going again about my situation.  And this time with an analogy.  Of a cage.  Becca noted that, “I think that you have so much of you locked away that Rhiannon will always find a way to get out of the cage.”

I thought about it long and hard and with one exception this life does feel like being held in a cage.  I feel like I live in a carefully defined small space designed to trap me in and to hide away what I really am.  The cage has a big lock that can’t easily be opened.  The weight of expectations keeps it firmly shut.  Mrs A.  Family.  Work.  Friends who want the best for me.  Society.

There is one really important thing that a cage is designed to do.  It is to trap and confine the inhabitant, restricting their freedom.  But I said that there was one exception with this particular cage.  The exception is that unfortunately, I made the cage and its locked from the inside.  I let the scary monsters back me into it.  And so afraid of them I was, that brick by brick I built it around myself.  Shielding them from seeing what I really am.  Then, when I’d built it, I added the biggest lock to it that I could find, so that they couldn’t see me and they couldn’t know what I was doing inside.

When they stop patrolling outside the cage, aren’t looking or are asleep, I unlock it carefully and sneak out.  I run free.  Happy.  Hopeful.  Squealing with pleasure.  And just as they are about to spot that I’ve escaped, I quickly creep back, in the hope that I never get seen missing.  Sometimes I think they’ve noticed, but fortunately, for a long while, they haven’t.  They think that I have stopped unlocking the door and escaping.  They believe that I’m sitting in my cage being happy, content that I’m enjoying my life.  They surmise that I now take pleasure in my new cage-life.  But I don’t.  I really don’t.  I hit my head against it everyday.  I cry that I am trapped.  I wish I could knock the walls down.  But I built it really well.  Really well.  And I’m not sure that I’m strong enough to demolish it.  Or that if I did destroy it, whether the monsters would devour me anyway once I got out.

There is no prince or princess coming to rescue me.  Its just me.  I need to change the story.  I need some strength and some bravery to face the expectations and the monsters.  I need to bust free of these confines.  I need to take hold of what Becca says and find my way out.