In my skin

I have been on a diet most of my life.

When I was a kid, because I was a bit chubby and my mom was trying to keep me healthy by keeping all sorts of snacks (the more unhealthy the more I loved them. Of course) out of the house to avoid I would reach for the Nutella jar while doing my homeworks.

When I was a teenager, because I was desperately trying to look like all my skinny, pimple-free friends.

When I moved to Belgium from Italy at 25, because being alone for the first time out of Mamma's home in a completely new environment led me to emotional eating and I gained a whopping 20 kg in just a few months.

If I look at it closely, what I have been doing most of my life wasn't only dieting: I was hating my body. 

I would never accept my boobs. My friends were jealous because they were as flat as a surfing board and they would kill for my bra size? Al doesn't care, Al wants to be flat too because that T-shirts looks soooo much better on them...

I couldn't stand the size of my butt. Did I ever notice that I actually had a very beautiful waist and soft, round hips that I could accentuate with a body-conscious dress? Of course not, Al was wearing sack-of-potato sweaters to hide everything as much as possible. 

So that nobody could see. So that I couldn't see.

I have been "working" so much on hating my body that now I need the help of a psychologist (literally) to help me recover my confidence and the wonder that every woman should feel every single time she looks in the mirror.

I am thinking about this now because I am at the end of two wonderful weeks in Italy and Belgium, spent with family and friends, and I am noticing the price of all the Christmas parties, drinks and aperitivo on my waist. 

I should be thinking about all the wonderful memories I collected in these days but no, the only thing I can think about is how many kilos I gained because of too many slices of pandoro and the abnormal (and joyful) amount of Duvel beers.

I looked at the scale with terror last night for a good 10 minutes while getting ready after my shower (nope, didn't find the courage to actually jump on it. Yet). 

I know that when I'm back to Singapore in two days I'll get back on my 5:2 diet (which totally changed my life, I'll have to write a post on this one) and my usual eating habits that will make me lose the extra kilo(s) quite quickly.

So why am I so scared? Why I am avoiding the mirror so much ?
(Believe me, getting your make-up ready can be quite a challenge when you don't want to look at the reflection in front of you).

Because everything is about my weight. Everything is about our weight. 

If I lose weight, everyone is telling me "Wow you look great! What have you been eating? You should give me your diet!".

If I gain weight, there is always an annoying aunt remarking I'm getting "a little chubby".

Magazines are featuring curvy women because let's be proud of our bodies.

Feminist websites are telling you every other post to stop dieting because you're beautiful as you are (and, on a side note, they make me feel freaking guilty because my brain then goes in stupid loops like "wait I'm a feminist. So I shouldn't care about my weight. But I do care about my weight... So am I not feminist enough??? WHAT AM I").

Brands tell you that you should indeed lose those extra 5 kg because their sizes are getting smaller and smaller.

And so on and so on... Our days are full of crap that reminds us that our weight and shape is a very important matter. Even if the message aims to be a positive one ("let's love our bodies the way they are") in the end, the emphasis on body weight is always the same. And it's always there to hunt me.

I wish one day I will be able to diet to look good for myself and for my boyfriend and some feminist article I stumbled upon on Facebook won't make me feel guilty for it.

I wish one day featuring curvy models or superskinny models won't be a topic of debate anymore (or pride "hey look I'm VOGUE but I'm still publishing an editorial with curvy models now give me an applause") because nobody would care if they are size 0 or size 14.

I wish nobody is going to point out if I lost weight or if I gained it.

Like, for a change, why not asking me who's my hairdresser 'cause my haircut looks great?
(that is why I love the Korean lady at my usual food centre in Singapore, she always gives me the cutest remarks on my style. And her kimchi jigae is great BTW).

Just feel good in my skin for once, and looking in the mirror will be the most normal thing in the world.

And do my 5:2 diet because it makes me feel good and not because I want to look like someone else thinks I should look like.

And go on the scale and losing 500 g won't be a reason for tears of joy. 

And gaining a few pounds would be "pffff what the hell, who cares, I had a good party time. I'll just lose them when I get back to my regular life".

And browse a fashion magazine and finally focus on the clothes and the photos, not if curvy models are featured or not.

I know this is utopia, but I still hope one day I'll be the girl who looks in the mirror and won't think she has to lose a couple of kilos to be perfect. And I wish I won't be the girl who has to repeat to herself "I am beautiful as I am" to be really convinced she is.

I hope I'll be the girl who looks in the mirror and just doesn't care, because in the end it's not that important.

xxx Al

(By the way, happy New Year ;) )

(The illustration is my second digital experiment! Tell me tell me, do you like it?)

Lesson learned (or "of Google and break-ups")

There is a lesson I learned the hard way, after my (in)famous break-up.
And, after a conversation with my sister about this topic, I promised myself as a New Year resolution: never forget this lesson.

But to tell you what this lesson is I'll have to start from the beginning.

So what is the main thing you do in the months days after a break-up? I'll tell you: Google.
It initially happens because you realize that your friends and family will shun you and never talk to you ever again if you dare to ask the same question for the 346676564th time.
So you turn to Google.
"Because Google will know what I have to do, Google will KNOW what is gonna happen."
And then it becomes an addiction.

So this is more or less the history of google searches in the first month after a break-up (or a divorce).

Chronologically:

"how to overcome break-up"

"will he change his mind after break-up"

"should I text my ex"

"what to eat when you don't want to eat"

"methods of suicide"

"suicide helpline"

" how to make him regret break-up"

"how to find new boyfriend"

"too much alcohol after break-up normal?"

"how long break-up pain lasts"

"single after 30 will I ever get married"

"break-up desperate help"

"WILL I DIE ALONE???"

The outcome of all this is to basically prove you that every self-help website is telling you the same obvious stuff (find a hobby, see your friends, go out to find someone else. Wow, genius!) and the only effect of visiting Oprah's website compulsively is just to make you feel like everyone else is so good at handling their traumas and getting their shit together except you.

Long story short the leaves are falling, the snow is coming, the birds are singing: a year has passed and you find yourself still googling stuff like:

"do I need therapist after break-up"

There must be something wrong here. There must be something very wrong when after a year you're still treating damn google like an oracle and source of all wisdom.
After three years a while I realized what was going wrong. I realized why I couldn't find peace and I needed to ask compulsively my friends, my sister, my mother, my aunts, my grandma, my dad, the bottom of my empty glass of wine AND google the same questions over and over again.

And the reason was: I needed a solution. But there simply was no solution.

I needed a solution to feel good fast, because I was surrounded by people and situations that were constantly telling me how I should feel better already, how I shouldn't be selfish and think only about my pain, how I should always put a smile on when I'm at a social event even if I the only thing I want is to burst into tears and scream that it's not fair, how I should behave at work like nothing happened because otherwise it's not professional.

So I needed a quick and easy fix to make myself acceptable from society again and to find a way to make the pain slightly more bearable.
And google is so good at quick and easy fixes.

But no. It doesn't work like that.
There is one thing that no google link will tell you, and it took me three years of therapy and painful conversations with my inner self to realize it.

That is the lesson, probably the biggest I've learned, and somehow I hope that you, unknown girl who is googling "how to overcome break-up" will stumble upon this page and will read this.
Dear unknown girl, I hope that this will help you to save the 40 euros a week I spent in shrinks and spend them in shoes the real important things instead.

The lesson is: you have to allow yourself to feel like shit. Simple as that.
You don't have to google how to feel better because there is simply no way to feel better so soon. And you don't have to. You have the right to feel as bad as you want in the ways that you feel more suitable for you and as long as you need. 

We live in a society that makes you feel like you have to be perfect all the time. A society that makes you feel like you have to please everyone around you with your amazing abilities and extremely well developed savoire faire: your parents, your boss, your friends, the friends of your friends, the attendees of a work meeting, your colleagues... A society that at the first sign of stress or sadness pushes you to look for a psychologist, a yoga course, a cat cafe' for pet therapy and three new hobbies to keep yourself busy. This is a society that doesn't even contemplate the concept of "recovery time". It's a society that, basically, doesn't allow you to feel like shit.
And the worst part is, we are so used to this mentality that if we do actually feel like shit (which is actually very human and natural and healthy) we feel guilty .

The key is to remember one very simple thing: something bad happened to you, you are ENTITLED to feel bad about it.

That's it, this is the lesson I learned, and I feel like it will help me a lot in many other parts of my life and in my next break-ups (yep, I'm totally Queen Optimism).

Less Google, more acceptance of my weaknesses. And a little patience.

And happy New Year everyone :)

xx Al

Miss insecurity

Lately I feel so ugly that every time someone is coming in my office to ask me a question I feel the urge to hide under my desk.

My head lives in a constant bad-hair-day, I have horrible circles under my eyes and it looks like every pore on my face has decided to explode in a horrible pimple. And of course I've got nothing to wear.

But my boyfriend still tells me that I'm beautiful, my friends still make compliments on my style and a colleague of mine told me I had a nice make-up a few days ago.

I might not be at my best, but apparently I am not so horrible. So why do I keep seeing a monster in the mirror?

I know why.
It's because I'm affected by the same illness that (almost) every girl I know has: it's called chronic insecurity.