Self discovery

All posts in the Self discovery category

Beauty and jealousy.

Published June 23, 2015 by Crystal

I’ve never seen myself as beautiful.  I love dressing up.  I love wearing make up.  But I don’t see myself as beautiful.  I have a prominent nose.  And I look a lot like my dad with less feminine features than the classic beauty.  It is something that I have grown up with and not something that has ever really bothered me.  Yes, as a child there we many things I wanted to change about myself, but as I got older the pursuit of classic beauty wasn’t something I chased.  For me, beauty is more than simply looks.  It is in laughter.  It is in joy.  It is in noticing the crooked lines of a tree.  It is in appreciating a beautiful piece of art.  It is in the connection with another human being.  And in so much more.
So I was highly amused and then deeply hurt that someone I considered a friend had once said of me that I was jealous of them because they were beautiful.  It has called into question the depth of that relationship.
Firstly, the whole “they are jealous of me because of x, y and z” is a phrase and argument that Pisses me off.  It saves the accuser from having to look at their own life, their own behaviour.  But it also shakes the foundations of the accused. I have never been jealous of another for their looks.  I have never been jealous in any seriousness at material goods either.  Why should I?  I am blessed in my life with a wonderful family, fantastic pets, a lovely home, and a camper van!  My lack of beauty hasn’t stopped me receiving those things.
But it calls into question the relationship because if that is what someone who claims to be a friend genuinely thinks then what are their motives for having me as a friend?  To make them look better? To be a foil against which they shine?  Their plain friend against which they sparkle?  But also, if that is what they feel, that I am capable of such a material shallowness, do they really know me at all? 
The Shero journey has encouraged me to step into my life.  To own every bit.  To not settle for people who do not support me and me them.  And it is times like this when I am reminded of the Reason Season Lifetime poem.  While it saddens me that someone would think this way of me it also encourages me to stand tall and be myself without fear of criticism and judgement.  Over time I think we learn who the friends are that will be with us through it all.  And who will speak honestly and openly but also know us enough not to make such a hurtful and shallow judgement.  Beauty is more than skin deep, and jealousy is an exhausting emotion. And I am moving towards a life with friends who are deeper and truer than that.


Dry #Juneathon? Who am I kidding? (Day 3)

Published June 3, 2015 by Crystal

Today’s exercise is complete.  It wasn’t running in the end.  For several reasons.  One. I felt particularly self conscious on putting my running gear on today.  My tummy, while no difference in size to 6 weeks ago, felt big.  My tights felt revealing, and I felt conspicuous to every passer by.  So naturally, I donned my bright yellow rain coat, which covers my bum.  It also has helpful pockets for things like wallet and phone, which I needed as my exercise involved walking to Tesco 2.5 miles away to get my prescription (apparently Duloxetine is something they need to order in, albeit super fast, they just don’t stock it.  Now I know for next time).  Anyway, I started out, and I felt a bit meh about it anyway, but also particularly self conscious, so I tried a little running, but decided that walking would be fine.

2 miles in and the blister started.  3 miles in and there was the feeling when the blister has popped.  Home and I have a lovely large empty blister.  I was miffed as yet again my twin skin socks had let me down.  Whilst the likes of lidl trainer socks never have.  I won’t bore you with the photo.  I already did that on twitter.  At least now I have my Duloxetine, and I have 5 miles under my belt.

3 days of exercise, it’s a roll!

Food wise I am loosely following Joel Fuhrman’s GBOMBS plan.  I like the idea of all the nutrient dense foods, and am feeling pretty good.  The smell of the KFC I passed did absolutely nothing for me, and my craving for lunch was avocado on rye bread (which I have just had).

What I am really fancying though, is a nice glass (bottle) of wine.  So I had a think to myself What would Geneen ask me re the wine?  How am I feeling?  Am I anxious or agitated?  Is there something I am trying to avoid?  And I’m thinking Well I am starting a new supply job on Friday, and it’s my first shift, but it’s cleaning, and it’s only 2 hours.  Logically there isn’t really any reason to be anxious.  And when it comes down to it, I think the reason I want wine is because I told myself I can’t have it!

What is it about us humans that want the one thing we’ve told ourselves we shouldn’t?  There’s a rebellious streak in me that really does not want to grow up.  I want to smoke, drink, and spend long lazy days at the pub as I did in my teens, which is nearly 20 bloody years ago!  So it’s that, that feeling of sensibility and responsibility that I seem to be fighting against today and I want wine to prove that I’m not yet a fully responsible 30 something, and that I can still play and have fun.  I don’t know where I am going with this awareness, but I guess awareness is the first step towards something positive!

The great weight debate, and my inner critic and @womenfoodgod

Published May 26, 2015 by Crystal


I was content to keep weighing myself.  Despite the fact that the scales have not moved much in a year.  I was content to believe that I needed that external monitoring, because I can’t be trusted to rely on myself.  I mean, look at me, overweight, unsuccessful dieter.  Letting go of that external monitor to tell me that at least I’m not gaining weight, it would be a mad idea for this untrustworthy woman.

But then Geneen Roth, in her kindness and her wisdom, called me into my body, and pointed out who I was listening to when I believed that I can’t be trusted.  She calls it The Voice.  That authoritarian voice that points out all the flaws it perceives, that reminds me of all the things that are wrong with me, that reminds me moment after moment how I am incapable of change and progress and success.

And she showed me how The Voice is not me.  It is a lying critic, born out of childhood memories of chastisement and hurt.

Calling me into my body, with the belly meditation was a first step to calling me home.  I think, in general, we are used to going through our day on auto pilot.  To become aware of internal sensations in silence and for a dedicated time is a powerful thing.  Or it was for me.  To feel my breath, my lungs expand, my tummy rise and fall.  To notice my fingers tingle as I breathed deeply.  To inhabited my body with awareness, after being separated for what feels like the longest time, is an altering thing.  And I admit, I was sceptical.  While I love it, I still scoff with embarrassment at naval gazing activities.  And a belly meditation was no different.  But already, in two days, it feels a valuable tool in coming back and finding myself and finding my calm.

Back to The Voice.  It’s an interesting thing to become aware of.  Because it does sound like me.  And I thought it was me.  And maybe it is easier to distinguish as something else, now that my depression seems to be blurring away.  I can hear that inner critic and know, that like depression, it is a liar.  Today, on going to weigh myself, and discovering that, oh, I’ve gained after a weekend of food and drink, that Voice said loudly to me “You need to keep weighing, because look, you gain so quickly.  You can’t honestly trust yourself to lose weight without it.  And you’ve attempted to lose weight without diets so many times before, why should this time be any different?  Keep weighing.  You know, just in case.”

And I could believe ever word.  Because it all sounds so reasonable.  But then I realised.  It is criticising me, and robbing me of my own strength.  Stealing any self belief.  “You can’t honestly trust yourself…”

I have decided to call bullshit.  And I have decided I am going to trust myself!  I am going to keep coming back to my body.  I am going to keep practising mindfulness, and I am going to keep going to those feelings, and sit with them, and let them happen.

It might not work.  I might be unsuccessful yet again.  But while I continue to listen to The Voice, I’ve lost before I’ve started.  And a year of weighing has made virtually no difference to my weight.  So The Voice is already wrong!

hot fudge sundae

I’ve been running away from myself and I didn’t even know, thank you @geneenroth

Published May 18, 2015 by Crystal

There are many ways to bolt.  Walking out the door.  Renting a helicopter.  Distracting yourself from your pain by doing a thousand things: thinking about something else, blaming your mother, blaming someone else, getting into a fight, comparing yourself to other people, dreaming about life in the future, recalling life in the past, never getting deeply involved.


Spending your life trying to lose weight or figure it all out.

Resigning yourself to the endless struggle with food so you never have to take the dive into the meaning of it all.  Or discover who you are, what your relationships can be without the drama of food.

Geneen Roth; Women Food and God

I’m tired.  And I feel like I have been struggling with my weight for the last year.  I didn’t realise I felt like this.  But I weigh now, what I weighed 10 months ago.  Something isn’t working.  Something isn’t right.  The diets aren’t working.  And I realise I am obsessed with food once more.

I didn’t realise all this until I opened up Geneen Roth’s Women Food and God, a book I read several years ago, but the message of which I have forgotten as time has gone on.

I didn’t realise how much I have been running away from myself over the last year.  I distract myself with a hundred things at a time.  Books go half read, films go half watched.  Life goes half lived while I obsess over what to eat next, or how to deal with having eaten outside of the diet plan for several days.  Weigh day has become a panic inducing, anxiety enhancing main event, a test which I fail again and again with my minuscule losses, or impressive gains.  The thoughts of slimfast, or herbalife, or lighter life rush through my head as I wonder what I can do to fix this never ending plateau.

In my head I know that the real trick is to accept myself.  I can talk the talk.  “Appreciate yourself, be thankful for all your body can do, accept yourself as you are.”  I know all the lingo.

But somewhere down the line I have stopped believing it.  I don’t think I like myself very much at the moment.  And I think I am running away from looking into why.  It’s easier to distract myself with the laptop and twitter and facebook and candy crush, and trips out with friends, and endless background noise.  It’s easier to avoid thinking too much, or question that feeling of dissatisfaction.

Diets aren’t working.  And the self loathing is increasing as that belief that I am a failure seeps into those little vulnerable spaces.

And Geneen suggests this obsession with food and diets is serving a purpose of avoidance, that it drowns out the madness of life. 

So I’ve decided to give Geneen’s way a chance.  To bring myself into the present, and to allow myself to feel what I am currently stopping myself feeling.  To address fears that are hidden away.

I think I want to end the drama, and to start living a whole life again.  To really enjoy the days, not to simply exist in them.  Depression has played its part, but I have colluded, and it’s time to find another way.

It’s scary.  But change is scary, isn’t it?

I am running the London Marathon this week! How did I get here?

Published April 21, 2015 by Crystal

(I always feel I need to mention that I am running and walking, so let’s get that out of the way!)

As the #droptheplus campaign rages on, the polarised views of the opposition get louder and more aggressive.  Actually, they are always loud and aggressive, but I am just noticing more.

But one thing that really stands out is the self righteousness of the “Reformed” or “Former” Fatty who speaks out against #fatacceptance.

The sneering comments such related to what the #fatacceptance army might eat.  The judgements on their clothing choices.  The outright anger that they appear to be totally disregarding their health in favour of food and watching movies.

And I pray constantly I will never forget where I came from.  That I will never forget the journey that brought me here.  I have blogged about fat acceptance several times, this is probably the most relevant.  Maybe it helps that I am not the super fast magazine transformation story.  My journey is taking years, and continues to teach me things about myself.  I have learnt, for example, that intuitive eating has taught me many things, but I personally still like the accountability of a food plan and a weight loss group.  I have learnt that I know what foods benefit me, but it still takes time for the message to be picked up.  I have learnt that that ALL or NOTHING need in me is strong, and if I am not perfect, then I will quickly go to the NOTHING bit because “what’s the point?”, and it is a work in progress to drop that need for perfection, and to not drop to NOTHING when I don’t hit perfection.

This last week is a prime example of not hitting ALL, and ending up with NOTHING.  I had the meeting with the psychologist on Tuesday, talking through all my experiences of my latest depressive episode, and to discuss treatment.  Of course, talking through things can be a trigger, and it was exhausting, and left me physically and emotionally drained.  There was mention of a new drug for me, mirtazapine, which sent me into a panic too.  I was also struggling with my training sessions, as if my body had finally given up after 6 months, and I was panicking about staying fuelled for the marathon.  So I made some bad food and drink choices over the week, and as a result have gained a couple of the pounds that I lost the week before.  My instant thoughts, in that ALL or NOTHING mentality are “This is pointless, I will never lose any more weight.  I may as well give up.”  After all, haven’t I dieted before, only to gain again?  Haven’t I tried before and before and before?

But this time I have maintained a big loss over all.  I am currently 6 pounds higher than I was in November, but I am still 2 stone lighter than I was 2 years ago.  And I feel good for it.  I feel good when I eat foods that support my fitness goals.  Physically, emotionally, and mentally.  I feel good when I make a choice that will bring more than instant gratification.  This time I am running.  More than I have ever run before.  More than I could run before October 2014.

It is #fatacceptance, or #sizeacceptance that has brought me to this place.  It is #fatacceptance that gave me the confidence to sign up for my first Moonwalk, and saw me finally cross that finish line, exhausted and tearful;


(I was THE TARDIS by the way, hence the blue).

I kind of worry about those campaigners against #fatacceptance, and #HAES.  I worry that they throw the baby out with the bath water, out of some sort of detestation of their former fat selves.  A fear that if they accept fat people, it somehow undoes all their hard work in the gym and the kitchen.  But the truth is they should be proud of themselves, for the changes they have put in place to make their lives the best it can be for them.  They have discovered a love and passion for exercise (which I get, I totally absolutely get).  And they really understand how foods can hinder or help them reach those personal goals.  Self discipline is a great thing.  Challenging ourselves is an empowering thing.  Putting the effort in and achieving something I never ever thought possible is a euphoric feeling I cannot top (so I’m onto challenge 3 in 3 years).

But let’s not assume that because we diet and exercise we are morally superior to those who don’t.  And let’s not forget human decency in all this, and by that, I mean how we treat other human beings.  We all have our struggles in life.  One of mine is depression.  And it is heavily, heavily integrated with my self acceptance and self esteem, but body positive language helped me, and continues to help me.  I truly believe it can help others.

I want to continue to lose weight and improve my fitness.  And I will be unashamed in that choice.  But I won’t place shame or judgement on someone who’s goals are different to mine.

So on Sunday I run (run walk) 26.2 miles. And it is without shame.  In spite of my bigger body, in spite of my louder breathing, in spite of the length of time it will take.  I do it without shame, and for a wonderful cause.

I am a runner. It has saved me from the #blackdog

Published April 10, 2015 by Crystal

In September 2014, depression hit me over the head, again.  I was weary and tearful, and quite admired the idea of spending every day curled up under my duvet.  I don’t think there was any particularly recognisable trigger the September’s hit.  It was towards the end of the month, so maybe it was the quietness of the kids being back at school, or a feeling that yet again another term of education was passing by and I had chosen to wait another year, before studying or training.

I do remember a discussion with my previous moonwalk buddies and school mums about what might be the next training goal.  What might I do to maintain some sort of fitness, would we all sign up for some great challenge.  I knew the date of the London Marathon ballot results was imminent, but I honestly wasn’t excited or expectant.  After all, how many people apply again and again and again and never ever EVER get in?  So it was a “I’ll wait and see” type thing, and I didn’t expect to be lucky.

My depression continued to press down as the end of September rolled in to the beginning of October.  There were days where I just felt like all I did was cry, or wipe blotchy eyes.  My family kept in contact, getting me out of the house, that sort of thing.  Sometimes it’s hard to describe what depression is when it is so personal.  For me, it is heavy.  And as if colour has been dulled.


And it’s lonely, because it is exhausting.  Because being sociable is exhausting, and thinking is exhausting, especially all the over thinking. And tiredness increases, and the colours get duller, and the air gets heavier.  And it goes on.  And on.  And on.


And this is how things were when the Marathon magazine fell into my mail basket.

you're in!

What?  Me?  Two years of applying?  Already?  What?

It was a shock, to say the least.  But it was also the saviour in what has been a rocky 6 months, and where those horrid black dogs have been at my heels a fair few times.  This magazine, and the accompanying letter were a call to try a new tactic, an incentive to fight depression with a new weapon, because really, what is the worse that could happen?

So it is October 6th, and I’m not a runner!  And I have 6 months to become one.

I have tried running before.  After my first Moonwalk in 2013 I decided I wanted to give it a go.  It seemed like a logical(?) progression from walking 26.2 miles to running 26.2 miles. (It’s times like this when I think I have had several hyper manic stages without realising at the time, grandiose ideas of what I am capable of, and then crushing reality as things happen and my dreams crumble, anyway, I digress).  I bought a Zombies, Run! couch to 5k app for my phone, figuring it would be more fun learning to run 5k with than a general couch to 5k app.  And I started out, in the local streets.  This lasted days, before I was in agony with Achilles tendonitis that really needed to heal before I could give it another go.  I guess 26.2 miles had started it, and the attempting to run was the kicker, so to speak.  Anyway, that attempt ended, and with it, my dreams of learning to run any time soon.

me, running, first attempt!

So that was the last time I had tried, and it hadn’t ended happily.  It had also resulted in a disastrous failure at the Cheltenham Half Marathon, because the tendonitis stopped me running, and even walking for any substantial distances.

Now, here I was, with a ticket to the prestigious London Marathon.  A race that hundreds of thousands apply to each year.  An experience not to be missed.  How could I let this opportunity pass me by?

So, I started to run.  I downloaded a host of apps.  I now had a windows phone, and no offence, Cortana, but the app choices were limited and poor.  But off I went with various 5k training apps, and a whole lot of trial and error.  It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t fast.  But on the plus side I was a couple of stone lighter, and I didn’t have tendonitis burning at my heels (though I did have severe anxiety at the thought of my post Moonwalk 2014 stress fracture resurfacing!).

In the first week of October I couldn’t run a minute without getting out of breath.  It was hard, and I wondered how the hell I was ever, ever going to be fit enough and ready enough to run the 2015 London Marathon.

But the key to progress is consistency, and I followed those audio instructors, and would repeat sessions I felt had gone badly.

Depression continued.  It didn’t go away.  But the load lightened and the colours lifted somewhat. October became November, and my breathing was better, my distances slightly longer, and I kept on.

From October 6th, to November 28th my running capabilities took me to being able to run for 28 consecutive minutes.

But those black dogs were getting more and more aggressive.  Maybe it was the thought of Christmas stress and anxiety, maybe it was the worry that January was approaching and months were rolling by.  A depressive episode struck violently and I took myself to the GP to help deal with it.  We decided to try Sertraline.  And what resulted was the worst December and January in some years.  A low dose did nothing, a higher dose sent me manic, and I actually ended up spraining my ankle, putting me out of action for several weeks.  I had an appointment with the mental health nurse in January, and discussed the possibility of my having Cyclothymia, and she referred me to the mental health team for a fuller appointment in the hope it would be within 6 weeks  (That appointment is actually next week, NHS cuts, anyone?).

So I left, grateful that there may be some explanation to my mood swings, and an explanation, to a degreee, of previous crazy behaviour, but concerned about continuing the sertraline.  By now I was alternating doses each day to try and stay balanced, but what was really going on was that I felt constantly anxious about the medication.  I ended up missing a dr’s appointment, and speaking to her on the phone, only to forget the possibility of cyclothymia, and to be prescribed amytriptyline.  In desperation I decided to go cold turkey and quit all the medication.

And that is where the running finally came into its own.

(Now I am not recommending ANYONE quit their medication)

By now my running sessions were getting longer and I was feeling very physical benefits from running.

 I say running in honesty there is a lot of walking during my sessions too.  I run, walk, run, walk. This became my training plan after my sprained ankle affected my New Year training. Sometimes I run for longer, sometimes less.  But I always cover distance that I commit to.  

With the longer distances came the satisfaction, and physical exhaustion.  I didn’t have to think.  I just had to plug in to my music (And Zombies, Run!  again when my windows phone smashed and was replaced with an android!)

I find that it is harder to ruminate when running.  A song will interrupt, or a piece in the storyline, or the achievement of a distance.  I cannot mull over things when I am physically exerting myself.  It brings a peace.  Sometimes it doesn’t.  Sometimes it brings a “why the hell is this hurting so much?  Why is this taking so long?  Why can’t I be home already in the dry?”  but no matter what, I keep going.  Because keeping going keeps me improving.

By February I was able to cover 10 miles to the next town.

By mid March I had covered 12.

Then illness struck.  A cold turned nasty and put me out of action for a fortnight.  I felt the inability to run keenly.  I felt agitated, anxious, and upset.  I couldn’t sleep.  Rumination ruled as I could do very little physically without kicking off a nasty coughing fit.  Panic set in, because depression has trained me to believe in the worst possible outcome, and I nearly convinced myself I would never be able to complete the marathon.  It set me back a couple of weeks, but in my head it was months.

I was overjoyed when I could get back to physical activities again, and was beyond ecstatic when I managed to complete my 18 miler training session 2 weeks ago!

My mood is more stable when I can and do run.  Putting off a run rarely benefits me, and I reap the great side effects of getting out into fresh air.  Even if it is just a mile or two.

With the mental health appointment on Tuesday, I almost feel like I don’t know what I will be able to say.  Because physical exertion does me far more good than anti depressants do. My mood diary points to ups and downs, but the downs don’t last like they have done in recent past.  They are more fleeting.

I have limited my wine consumption drastically, and that too has helped.  I did plan to eliminate it completely, but I actually appreciate being able to have a glass occasionally with family and friends in a sensible, controlled way, and not wake up with a hangover and embarrassment and regrets.

The Hangover (really just an excuse to get Bradley Cooper on my blog)

Health and fitness wise I know I am better off than 2 years ago, and it is something I intend to continue with.  No more marathons after this one (she says), but maybe a half here and there?

I got angry today reading an article in The Guardian by a woman scorning other women who say they are losing weight for health.  For me, it is absolutely true.  I want to run faster and more efficiently with less effort!  Losing extra mass will help that, without a doubt, it’s basic science!  But a knock on effect is that my mental health is improving as a result of getting better at running!

In 6 months I have gone from a few metres to over 18 miles.  In 2 weeks it will be over 26.2 miles.  OK, I’m not running them all.  But damn it I am running more than I ever did before 2014 and that is something to cheer and celebrate!


If you have a spare pound or two, I know SANE will be thankful, as will users of their services.  You can donate on my running page HERE

I don’t know what my “label” is. But I do know “psychobabble” has helped me #weightloss, #selfcare, #selfacceptance

Published April 7, 2015 by Crystal

Self confidence is, to me, a beautiful thing.  I admire people who ooze self confidence.  I would go so far as to say I envy a little, the sirens who pass through life like a shining beacon,  as in the KT Tunstall song.  There is a myth that thinness creates self confidence in some way.  But I have never really found that to be true myself.  When I was thin, I was still depressed at times, still nervous around people.  Looking back I think my weight loss was heavily linked to one of my high periods, but it still came with tension and anxiety, and paranoia.  I wasn’t fully myself then.  I was in a hyper state.


I wasn’t any more confident above, in 2007, at under 10 stone, than I am currently, below, at just under 14 stone. DSCF1298

I wouldn’t say that being bigger is my “normal” state.  My body changes with the emotions and moods, not metaphorically, I mean very physically.  But when in a very low period, I can eat more than I need, exercise less than I benefit from, and as a result, gain weight.

Self confidence does not come naturally to me at any size.  It is something I fake, in the hope that one day it will be real!

What weight loss does help with is feeling physically more comfortable.

Weight loss for self confidence isn’t something I can relate to.  For health, yes, for ease of movement, yes, to feel more comfortable and a little better in clothes and make up, yes, but looking better won’t make me feel far more confident.  Does that make sense?

Intuitive eating advocates taught me a valuable lesson over the years, and that is to live as much as I can at any size.  To not put off til tomorrow what I can enjoy today, and so I have, and I do.  It’s nothing to do with confidence.  It’s to do with making each day worth while, even with, especially with, depression.

If folks like Steve Miller had their way, I would be hiding my shocking body away until it looked more appealing to passers by.  His concern isn’t for people like me, it’s for people like him, who don’t want to have to see people like me!  Fortunately, it was those “psychobabblers” from the intuitive eating world who encouraged me to get out and get moving, to not be limited by my size at any time.  And so I have completed two Moonwalks;


The most recent above, in 2014 and the first, below, in 2013.  In 2013 I was over 16 stone, In 2014 I was just over 14 stone.


And I am now less than 3 weeks away from the Virgin London Marathon;

20150331_200820 20150331_200830

Yes, it is easier with less weight, but we all have to start somewhere.  When I didn’t seem to be able to get a handle on food, I chose to do something else to support my health and my body instead.  At a pace that my body and mind could cope with.  There’s absolutely no shame in taking the slow path to anywhere!  And while the weight loss has not been the stuff of legends, it is a loss I have maintained, and the fitness I have improved on.

I was encouraged the other day by an article in the latest Slimming World magazine, by a young lady who suffers with bipolar.  She was actually diagnosed during her weight loss journey, after an episode saw her hospitalised.  I felt for her.  But equally I felt inspired to give Slimming World another go because of it.

I am off the medication at the moment.  And I am feeling driven.  The voices at the back of my head are muttering about how I start things but never finish, and weight loss is one of those things.  It’s part of my make up, part of the depression.  I don’t know if my disordered eating came about because of depression, or vice versa.  It is all so long ago, and such a big chunk of my life, it just is there.  But even as the disordered eating lessens at times, the depression remains.

But the past doesn’t have to dictate the future.  And there is no reason I can’t keep trying if it helps me mentally.  What has also helped me is “psychobabble”.  The “psychobabble” that tells me I am not a failure, that I have succeeded at so many things.  The “psychobabble” that tells me my brain functions slightly differently to a normal brain, but that is ok.  The “psychobabble” that doesn’t focus on one facet of my being when I have so many other things going on in my life.  “Psychobabble” is supportive.  And in a world of critics that can only be a good thing.  But it also gives us the chance to change and renew ourselves.  Steve Miller criticises “psychobabble” because it tells us why we are fat.  What he fails to acknowledge is that it also gives us the tools to move forward.  But then, who would he be able to criticise if he acknowledged the truth of those things he scorns?

So it’s back to Slimming World, giving it another go.  Feeling driven, but knowing the drive might last a day or a week.  And somehow, this time, I shall try to fight through the down times, because it looks like they are here for the long haul, and while that isn’t the most ideal thing in the world, it’s better to know and work with that.