Hey, look.

JUST SO PEOPLE KNOW.

I’ve been wanting to write something about this for a while; not because it eats me up inside every day, not because I’m self-conscious about it and certainly not so I can sit on the internet and be another one of those girls/women/ladies who preaches about loving oneself endlessly and who has gone through a rough experience and come out a better, stronger and more powerful woman the other side- I’ve not at any point been bullied, harassed or belittled by what I’m about to write about.

I’m writing this just so people know. 

I’ma start this thang with an extremely short exchange. It’s not contextually true, nor are the people real but it represents so many people and so many contexts that I’ve encountered before that I may as well bundle them all in to one experience. To make it more interesting, let’s bring some unicorns and dinosaurs in to the equation:

Me: Hello Mrs Dinosaur.

Mrs Dinosaur: Hello Olivia, how was your evening?

Me: It was great, ate far too much crap and drank far too much cheap wine though, so I’m eating this very healthy salad to make myself feel better.

Mrs Dinosaur: Don’t be stupid, you’re skinny already you don’t need to watch what you eat. OH HEY THERE MR UNICORN!

Mr Unicorn: OH HEY FRIENDS. Livvy, whatcha doing this evening, yo’, we’re gonna watch Lord of the Rings.

Me: Great! I’ll pop over after my bike ride, I’ve decided to go on a bit of a health kick.

*Judging glares from both mystical creatures*

Mr Unicorn: Exercise? You don’t need to lose any more weight, look at you.

I would like to point out now, before I say any more, that I am in no way insinuating that this insecurity is any worse than another. I am writing to make these points:

Some people can’t help being slim. 

Being slim comes with just as many insecurities as being overweight does.

I have always been, naturally, very skinny (cue disdainful and snide glares from all those trying to lose weight. I’m not bragging, this point will come to light in a second). Since the age of 16, the only exercise I’ve experienced is the walk to the fridge, my boobs haven’t grown past the size of a mosquito bite, I eat enough to feed a family of 5, my legs have gotten longer but still remain very slight and my wrists are so slim my hands look more like the grabbing claw in an arcade game box. 

I have never been one to be particularly body conscious; I’m aware that after 19 years of being this way, my boobs probably won’t look like Pamela Anderson’s and my bum will never look as pert as Beyoncé’s, and I am perfectly content with the way I look. 

What I don’t feel is fair is being made to feel ashamed for wanting to eat healthily or do exercise. 

Should I feel conscious for not wanting my arteries clogged with fat?

Should I feel conscious for not wanting to be out of breath from running up the stairs?

Most of all, should I be made to feel bad for something which I can’t control?

The answer to all of these is no. My mother tells me endlessly that people would love to have my figure, and for that I am truly grateful and appreciative. But what I am preaching is to be aware. Know that there are other girls in my position who are not as resilient; just as if you were to sit and tell a curvy, self conscious 19 year old that they are fat and overweight, telling a slim, self conscious 19 year old that they’re skinny and that there’s ‘nothing of them’ can have the same effect.

I don’t usually do serious. After writing this, I’ma go bake some cakes and watch the Rugrats on repeat. I’m not writing this with the intention of changing the world. I’m writing this so people are more aware. I’m writing this so people know that skinny doesn’t always equate to happy.

I’m writing this just so people know.

Makes you think.

A meteorology professor stood before his Meteorology 101 class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly he picked up a very large and empty glass mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a jar of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles, of course, rolled into the open spaces between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar and of course the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with an unanimous yes.

The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and then proceeded to pour the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the grains of sand. The students laughed.

“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things — your family, your partner, your health, your children, your friends, your favorite passions — things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

“The pebbles are the other things that matter, like your job, your house, your car. The sand is everything else — the small stuff.

“If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out dancing. Play another 18.

“There will always be time to go to work, clean the house, give a dinner party and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first — the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the beer represented. The professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of beers.” 

Mumford and Sons

On the 22nd November, Ben and I went to see Mumford and Sons live at the Portsmouth Guildhall.

There are no words to describe how awe inspiring it was, so here’s a bunch of letters which I hope effectively convey how bloody awesome they were:

GAAAAHEIFBEIWFGEFGWEKALFGJOEIFMUMFORDUBFOWIJFWIFJWSSONSEGHE GIEWFNEFIEF.

On another note, this was a send off to my broski who, this Sunday, headed off to La Plagne to start his season as a Ski Host. Supremely proud of him, amazingly enviously and I’ll look forward to seeing him on Tour in a few weeks time!