If you’re into Festivals and all they entail – this is in no way ‘mud slinging’ at your life choices and how you spend your spare time and hard earned cash. Call me ‘Fanny McFuck-Off Festivals’, but I bloody hate the things.
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Clad in cashmere, a fresh-face cleansed with La Prairie and a Mulberry Mitzy slung over my shoulder. I looked the epitome of ‘success’. But what lurked beneath the glossy exterior was insatiably eating away at my marriage, my career and my sanity.
Addiction wasn’t supposed to look this good!
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I was once described as “glamorous”; then I had kids didn’t have time for sport, ate all the tempura prawns and learnt that tights up to my tits makes for the perfect sidelines base layer. In other words, I went from caring what people thought of my appearance to making sure I was happy for me and with myself; tempura prawns, comfortable body temperature and my sprogs make me happy, so ‘up yours’ “glamorous”.
One thing I’ve never been described as is a “real woman”; why is this the reserve of my more voluptuous counterparts?
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Last week saw me put on my big girl pants and take the daunting leap of ‘going freelance’ for my day-job; running my mini PR, Digital Content and Marketing empire from my ergonomically challenged dining room table. After 5 years of working in-house, I decided it was time to work in my house to allow me the flexibility of being my children’s’ on-call taxi-driver/chef/sock-finder.
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Stuck in a rut + over thinking + comparison’s a twat-waffle = I need to put on my big girl knickers and remember why I’m here sometimes!
Motherhood isn’t about reinventing the bloody wheel. It’s about picking at the leftovers on taco Tuesday, signing 13 forms before breakfast, trying to find the other red football sock and shouting “because I said so!” 47 times a day.
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