Bonjour! Ca va? Oui, ca va bien merci, et tu? Comment tu t’appelle? Je m’appelle Kerry. Tu es d’ou? Je suis Anglaise; J’habite a Coventry. Qu’est-ce que tu fais dans la vie? Je suis ecrivain.
Oops, sorry, did I just drop into French? It just comes so naturally to me these days, it’s like my mother tongue. OK so I have only been learning for around 10-15 minutes a day whilst I’m waiting for Grace to come out of school and this is pretty much all I know (and I can’t guarantee that it is correct) but I have to say that I’m pretty impressed with myself.
For one I have stuck with it for a couple of weeks now and for two, this is the first time I have felt like I could actually learn another language. Whilst I have tried many times in the past (both French and Spanish), it has always felt like a bit of an impossibility. It has also shown me just how much can be achieved in such a short period of time when you apply consistency. Just 15 minutes a day and I feel like I am really progressing. OK so when I go to Paris in April, I won’t be conversing with the natives about politics but I may be able to ask the way to the train station or, more importantly, for a glass of wine in a restaurant.
I’ve put the weighing scales in the loft. I think I may have done this before (I know I have done this before) and I have probably written about it before as well but this feels different; this time I feel like I really mean it. My reason for doing this is, I’m sure, pretty obvious. Like most people, I don’t like what the scales tell me and I want to be lighter (of course). Therefore, they’ve got to go.
It’s ridiculous, I can be eating and training well and feeling great but if I step onto the scales and don’t like what I see, it can ruin my day. I’m not oblivious to the fact that the number on the scales can be affected by any number of things and isn’t a true representation of how healthy I am and yet I place so much emphasis on those three little numbers. I can get so disheartened when I step onto them and they haven’t moved (or heaven forbid they have gone up) and then on the other side of the coin, it can make my day if they’ve gone down a pound or two. But what does it actually matter when the next week it’ll probably go back up again? I don’t even know myself.
I purposely entered into the new year without any intentions; without making any big decisions, fully aware that this way, I would not to set myself up for failure. I have been there and done that for perhaps the last 20 years. This year, I am trying to work with the notion that there is nothing that I really need to change; that I am already good enough, just as I am.
Which is why over the Christmas period, nothing really stopped; I still tried to eat well (with varying results), I still did my yoga and meditation, I walked as often as I could and I made it my aim to get as much rest as possible.
I did enter the new year a little heavier than I was before it and part of me did want to do my clean eating detox come January 1st (just to give my body a little break for all of the chocolate and cheese and wine and bread and…) but a couple of days in I stopped all of that. I just felt confused as to why I was doing it; why do I need to give up coffee and tea? What have coffee and tea ever done to me?
I find that as I progress and get to know myself better, if I go down a road which isn’t right for me, I am quickly shown the right path. I know that I don’t need to detox, I know what I DO need to do and that it eat and drink in a sensible manner that is sustainable and which suits me.
January is a difficult time for me because I am so easily swayed; I will jump on any band wagon. So all of these new food and exercise books and programmes that are being released to coincide with the whole world (or so it seems) trying to loose weight or get fit are like a drug to me. I am literally a kid in a candy store and I want to buy it all. But guess what? I haven’t bought anything. I know, go me…. I have looked and I’ve read the reviews and I’ve ooh’d and ah’d and I’ve even temporarily bought in to the promise of an easy fix, and then I have immediately seen sense and walked away. That, my friends, is progress; seriously.
When I was growing up, I thought that being a girl was a bad thing. Not a great way to think when you are a girl. How can you expect to grow up feeling good about yourself, when you don’t even like the most fundamental thing about you?
I don’t know where this though process came from or how it started? It’s not like my Dad hoped to have a boy and then out I popped. No my Dad always wanted girls and was thrilled at the birth of all three of his daughters (although I know my younger brother will always be his baby). My Mum was the same, neither of them had a preference towards boys.
My Dad was very physical when I came along and throughout my childhood. He was a martial arts instructor and from the age of 3 I joined his class, gaining my black belt at 11 (we were in the local paper don’t you know) and my second dan at the age of 15. It was a tough class, I’m talking all out bloody fights and giving in was not an option. He expected us to be tough, but was no differentiation between the girls and the boys and I liked that. Even before this though, I wasn’t comfortable being a girl. Being a girl, to me, meant weakness, the lesser sex; it meant obstacles. Even though my Dad always taught us that we could do anything we put our mind to, I still had this feeling that being a girl held me back.