Good Luck Kate.

Ever seen the film “Good Luck Chuck”? If not, let me just explain. Chuck becomes known as a good luck charm for girls who date him, as the next person they date after him will end up being ‘the one’ without fail.

Well, I introduce to you Good Luck Kate…, yes that’s me, hi how are ya? But, here’s the great thing for guys, you don’t even have to date me, just enter into the talking stage for around 3 weeks, make sure there is another girl you like on the scene, and then bam! I can guarantee you will at least get a date out of it with her. If I catch feelings, then heck, you’ll most likely get yourself a relationship with her too.

If only I could monetise being used or having my heart broken. I’d be so damn rich by now.

You know what else gets me. Every time this happens, it’s the “nice guys” that do it. I’m starting to believe “nice guys” are a myth. In a similar vain to everything else in society, behind every “nice guy”, there is a broken hearted “nice girl” who got played. I mean I know it’s a controversial statement to make, but this seems to be the world I’m living in. Giving people just enough self confidence, stroking their ego just enough, giving them just enough flirting practice to go and ask out the girl they really care about and leave me on read.

I worked hard on my self in the last 18 months. I mended my own broken heart, I brought balance back to my own brain, I even managed to gain a semblance of self love. I worked hard to feel ready to let love in, give things a go, and the only thing I have learnt is that dating is rough and boys suck. I can understand why people become bitter about love and disillusioned with the whole thing and just have loads of cats or something instead.

Oh well, I guess all I can do is chalk it up to experience and move forwards. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m not worth it. Maybe I’m an easy target. Maybe I’m too much, or not enough. As long as I’m enough for me, then I guess I’m going to be ok

Kate

xox

A Breakthrough of Female Empowerment.

Alright gang, in the vain of total transparency this was a post I drafted for Valentines day. A dreary read of how my heart had once again been broken with the opening line, “you know, I’m not sure how much more heart break my heart can take at the moment.”

Blah, blah, bloody blah. The long and short of it is: I got played, massively. Yeah, I got left on read. Yeah, I got ghosted. Yeah I caught feelings and for the first time in a long time, allowed myself to believe I was capable of being loved, of being found attractive, of being wanted in that way. I opened up and allowed someone in to that very guarded part of my inner sanctum only to be used.

So I let myself wallow a little bit, haunted by the hurt at first, then anger, then denial, then a bit more hurt, then a bit more anger, then some kind of faux “I’m fine-ness” because I am so very aware that lots and lots of people get their feelings hurt and their heart broken. That’s why the good guys turn bad and the good girls turn bitter (in a bold and general sweeping statement.) I’m not the only one who is hurting. Mate, I mean until today I was still hurting a little bit. I had come to the conclusion that maybe I was put on this earth to give love but not receive it. To bolster others and bring joy and comfort, but to not be bolstered or brought that light in the same way.

The whole situation left me like a kid who stuck their fingers in a pot of boiling water, the fear of pots of boiling water remains… so anyone else who tried their luck and slid into the DMs I either refused to believe they were human (looking at you @SugarDaddy8679, you cheeky, little bot you) or that they were not just looking to clear the lockdown blues. I also may have hurt a few feelings along the way. I know I’m not innocent when it comes to hurting people, but a lot of the time it’s because I don’t believe anyone would choose me. In fact, the times I have believed someone would choose me it has always been thrown back in my face. They ask me on a date then, when I accept, they drift away and end up with someone else. I mean, am I the female Good Luck Chuck? Never mind, not important.

What IS important is the reason I have turn this post on its head. This post is no longer for me to feel all self pitying and ‘woe is me, someone mend my broken heart. Where art thou, my knight in shining armour’ (I was a mess, trust.) I’ve thrown enough pity parties throughout the pandemic to last a good few years. NO! This post is to put out into the universe that, even through the heartache and possibly due to it, I have come to the realisation that… I am whole alone. I have always thought I was only half a person without love and companionship. I never really saw my self as strong enough, my heart full enough or my self love deep enough to exist without being in a partnership, even though that is essentially all I have done. In the words of Elton John, “I’m still standing.”

I am strong enough, I am smart enough and I’m so full of love and joy as I am, that I actually don’t need someone else to bring it into my life. Sure, it’s nice to feel special and all, but I have waded through all the crap trauma and garbage emotion that swam around in my head and figured out that yes, I am worth it. Whether I receive it or not is up to the fates, but I sure as hell can give it… and I can give all that love and affection to myself too. I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I don’t need a partner. Wanting and needing are different, but through all the blistering heartbreak I have experienced I have learnt that I, in fact, am a whole person, not just a shell and I can do anything alone. We all have to endure pain at some point.

So thank you to a boy who played me. I have learnt that actually, I don’t need anyone to complete me. I am complete by myself. I like myself. I don’t need validation from someone who doesn’t know what they want or how to handle another person’s heart. Validation from myself is enough. I’m still learning to love myself, but knowing I am enough and I am strong enough to take this world head on alone and be fine is a huge step in the right direction.

Newly founded bad bish out xoxo  

2021: The Year I Stop

2020, well that was a catastrophe. I’m glad it’s over tbh. Problem is, whilst I am all for “New Year, New Me”, fresh start, clean slate and all that, the world hasn’t stopped turning. Your problems don’t disappear because earth had a birthday.

The Pandemic keeps knocking on, back into a complete lockdown here in Blighty (although, if I’m honest I never really came out of it in the first place. Not properly.) Like I touched on in a few of my posts, I’ve been working hard on sorting my sh*t out, but one thing still remains and I can’t seem to budge on: I still hate myself, well the way I look at least.

Why was this tirade brought on you ask? My Father. His comments about my weight never cease. I know they come from a place of caring but when you’re working hard to accept your body and know you’ve piled on the pounds over the festive period, snide, daily remarks are not appropriate. Also, he doesn’t know how to read a room, bless him. If I have a sandwich at lunch, then realise I’m still hungry, I might have an apple or a cereal bar. If he sees me, he tuts and says, “cor, you stuffing again?”

You. Stuffing. Again. The words that have haunted my entire adolescence.

I’ve been trying so hard. I’ve always struggled with body confidence and image issues but I’ve been majorly battling my weight & emotional eating habits since my Grandma passed last March which snowballed into struggling with my mental health surrounding my image more than ever. Now, I know I need to drop the pounds… ok, ok drop the stones more like. At least now I want to do it for my own health and wellbeing rather than to try and look like the skinny girls in the magazines. It’s not about the size and shape of your body, it’s the way you carry it. I know that, I have had a mental glow up in that respect (Jesus Christ Kate, it’s about time!)

I’ve been positive. I’ve been telling myself that I have to stop letting my body wear me. I can go out in 8 inch platforms with holographic pink flames up the side of them and rock the crap out of them, but a simple skirt that clings to my tummy a touch, no. My tummy takes over. My thighs take over. Every inch of imperfection takes over. My body wears me. I am a slave to everything I hate. Won’t go places, won’t wear things, won’t eat in front of people, even if I’m hungry. Won’t go into certain shops. Won’t sit in certain chairs. Won’t talk to people. Won’t try things because of my body, size and insecurities. That’s where positive thinking fails me. I can only try so much before the demons reappear – now more than ever.

I have to stop. I have to stop thinking of myself as a failure and my body as a lost cause, giving me some kind of twisted justification to continue eating my feelings. I have already started to address my bad relationship with food. I need to stop listening to my Dad, who reminds me on the daily that I’ve put on weight and I’m far too heavy but then brings doughnuts and sausage rolls into the house because, unlike me, he can not eat sweets for a week and drop a shirt size. I need to stop just sitting and wallowing in unhappiness. I need to get up and move. Do something about it. Take things into my own hands. If people will not co-operate with healthier meal choices, then I need to choose not to eat with them. I mean, I do all the food shopping for my household anyway.

I need to stop worrying about things I can not change in this moment. I need to stop looking down and start looking forwards. I need to stop berating myself. I need to stop hating myself. I just need to stop.

Kate xox

Judging Books By Their Covers.

You know that old school phrase, “never judge a book by it’s cover?” Well, I’d like to think it isn’t an empty phrase in 2020, but alas I think I may be wrong.

If you had to describe yourself as a book, I think I could be described as a self deprecating rom com wrapped in a swollen but still somehow cracked horror novel cover. Like a Bridget Jones in a water damaged Frankenstein.

What frustrates me about this theory is that people often see my outside and instantly deem my personality not worth knowing, simply because they don’t value my cover on a material level.

I’ve been working a lot on my self worth. Lockdown 2.0 has given my a lot of time to sit with my thoughts. My mental health has improved but my love for my outside is still wavering somewhat. It’s a tough lesson in love that I still have to learn: loving myself. I guess all I can keep doing is loving and being open minded and hopefully that love and openness will be returned.

Kate xox

When Life Turns Weird.

So today has been weird. Life’s been a little upside-down to be honest.

It started off when I was rudely awakened by an obnoxious banging noise. It was my Mother. She had gotten herself stuck in the bathroom. So after some frantic DIY rescue action, I managed the pop the handle my side, ran the screwdriver to the window, fed it through so my Mum could pop it her side and then jam it in to the mechanism until the latch released.

When does a door become sentient enough to decide that, after 30 years, it’s going to finally close and then only open if twisted in the reverse? Yes, that’s right. The latch on the door decided that it didn’t want to be twisted right anymore to open, it wanted to be twisted left. How does that even happen? How does a door latch have more certainty in it’s change of direction than I do?

After cucumber sandwiches (I know, how quaint, but also a great way to use up the quickly fading half a cucumber that had been forgotten on top of the microwave) my mum & I went to my late Nan’s house to continue clearing through some of the stuff that had collected in the glorified loft that was the upstairs bedrooms. We ended up wrestling with a very well laid carpet and taking a chunk out of my hand and scraping the skin off of my wrist. We did get the little bugger up though, so success!

The most bizarre scenarios have been occurring in the house since my Nan passed. From mystery fire alarms connecting their own batteries and going off for no reason to an odd smell following us around the house from out of no where and my Nan’s ornaments travelling from a closed display cabinet in the lounge, to hanging vertically on a wall in the closed wardrobe in the upstairs bedroom, with nothing holding it on, just simply defying gravity. I’m not afraid, just bemused. There have often been spooky goings on in that house.

As winter draws in, the nights get darker, we’re in a second national lockdown and my sleep schedule is so far out of the window it is orbiting mars by this point, safe to say I’m struggling just a tad. I’ll be fine. I really will. It’s just another adjustment to make when my brain is still boggled by the rest of the year, but whose isn’t, eyy?

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk brain dump.

How is everyone else coping with things?

Kate xox

P.S Well done America. My faith is restored!

Deciding To Change My Life.

BOATSCKC2020.jpgOnce again it is coming up to my birthday and this year I honestly have nothing to celebrate. It’s really not been my year (I mean 2020 hasn’t been anyone’s year really but from inside my personal bubble… it’s been proper rubbish.) I haven’t achieved anything, I have not only taken steps backwards within certain aspects of my life but have rolled all the way back to the start.

I am not getting younger and so far, I have moved at a snails pace. I can’t carry on moving the way I am; so filled with dread and caution. I can’t carry on treating myself the way I do, hating myself the way I do. I honestly beat myself up so much about such insignificant things. I’m incredible at painting on a smile, feigning happiness and spurting the phrase “I’m fine.”

Every year I make birthday resolutions, things I am not happy with and would like to change or things I would like to keep working on to improve the next year of my life. My biggest ones this year are:

  • Carry on fighting any anxiety that presents itself and continue break down self built walls and accept the unknown. Stop allowing the fear to navigate my life and put limitations on me.
  • Stop living like the world is watching and judging. I am so worried about other’s judgement that I often hold myself back and that’s not ok! I need to start loving myself, despite others opinions, and the life I am living, not the life I wish I was living if I wasn’t so scared.
  • Take better care of myself and value my body instead of simply hating on it and treating myself like a lost cause.

So, this year, instead of physical milestones for me to progress towards, I have chosen simply to work on myself as an ongoing thing. Hopefully this time next year I can look back and see how far I have come as a person and how that has changed my life.

Peace out home slice✌️

Kate xo

Watch Out, It’s Titzilla.

117059886_291703145435463_428918555648563051_n_Fotor.jpgYou know what’s really easy for me? Making an absolute mug out of myself.

You know you have a problem when the term “Titzilla” is not only being used metaphorically but also literally. Honestly, my chest smashed across a table like Godzilla smashing its was through Tokyo. Any other big busted ladies (shout out to my people) will understand the absolute nightmare of trying to navigate a small space with a large boob-shelf. Things are going down, all you can do is yell timber.

So, I went to a friend’s house for a small, socially distanced, garden gathering, putting her beautiful new decking to use. Herein lies the rub; her garden is narrow and I’m a little chunky, so trying to navigate around the table in the middle to get anywhere was a squeeze (more of a comment on me than her beautiful garden though). I tried to manoeuvre myself gracefully but I got a garden chair to the back of the knees. With nowhere to move the chair to and effectively becoming wedged, I leant forwards toward the table to try and free the knees. It was in this moment that my chest took an uninhibited swing across the tabletop… and so began the game of “tital wipeout.”

First, I managed to take out a wine glass full of lemonade. On my way to catch it, or more so pick it up because that was gone and hitting the floor before I could comprehend the situation, I caught a glass of diet coke with the other bazoomer, taking it down with me. Now I am standing in a running river of carbonated fizzy drinks. My friend runs off to grab some kitchen roll so I can wipe down this BRAND NEW, LIGHT WOOD decking. She rips off a few pieces and hands them to me, pulling off a few more for herself to help sort out my mess. After my few pieces become quickly sodden (it was like trying to stop Niagara Falls by catching the water in a bucket.) I stood up, lent over the table to pick up the roll of paper towels and my alcoholic underboob latched on to the top of a bottle of red wine and well, the diet coke/lemonade river I was standing in turned into a spicy merlot spritzer. Red wine everywhere.

How, in the space of ten minutes can someone take out two glasses and a bottle with their boobs? I feel like it’s because, throughout lockdown, I have been living in rubbish, comfy bras, that actually don’t do a lot for the aesthetic. This, being my first outing in quite some time called for an over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder with panache, and by panache I mean underwiring, a well fitting back and working elastic on the shoulders. My boobs were not used to being hoisted up that high! My spatial awareness around my chest has become completely skewed. Another possibility is I’m living in some Eddie Murphy-meets-Adam Sandler-esque comedy. I’ve seen the Truman show. It could happen.

After smacking myself in the face and becoming very quickly aware of the circumference of my boobage, I was handed a bucket of soapy water. Can we all just remember this is BRAND NEW, LIGHT WOOD decking that is now smothered in half a bottle of red wine. So my clumsy arse starting sloshing down the decking, trying my hardest to clean up everything as best I could, including the garden furniture that had been sprayed with lashings of the falling liquids. Honestly, my heart just dropped into my stomach. I felt so awful that I had made such a mess, but also so embarrassed that I have managed to cause so much chaos with just my boobs. So for the rest of the evening I sat in a chair and refused to move (which was agreed by everyone as the safest option.)

Oh well, we live and we learn. It’s kinda funny now, but it really wasn’t at the time. I tried to make a joke out of it like the awkward human I am, using some light hearted, self deprecating humour as a defence mechanism, but I just felt so awful I couldn’t bring myself to laugh! If the ground could have swallowed me, I would happily have sunk.

Anyone else find them selves getting into a pickle like this? Boob related or not, please tell me I’m not alone!

Kate xox

I AM (a) HOPELESS (romantic).

I saw this clip doing the rounds online and I have never related to a dog so much. This dog is literally me with anyone I have ever had feelings for.

Honestly, I am fully pathetic when it comes to intentionally flirting. I get all awkward and never know what to do, then I put my foot in my mouth (not literally, obvs). It has been said that I am a natural flirt. I mean, maybe? I don’t know. I just like to be nice to people and have good banter (and the use of the word banter made me physically cringe.) I can’t help it if I’m naturally argumentative, so will always strive to have the last word, and enjoy a good battle of the wits and a proper giggle. Oh yes, I’m a laughy girl.  I am also completely oblivious to signs, signals and any flirting from third parties. I am hopeless.

It doesn’t help that I am kinda shy around people I don’t know, but it’s a trait I have been working on… y’know, being approachable and more friendly. I have terrible RBF too, but that’s neither here nor there in most scenarios. I also have a tendency to get caught up in inexplicable crushes on people who, in reality, are so far out of my league they may as well be on Mars. Just these beautiful people whose lives would never mesh with mine, our circles would never meet nor our paths cross. But, like the idiot I am, I get caught up in some fairytale idea that will never happen in a million years. I’ve got to stop reading these cheesy romance novels.

I guess I can’t help it, I’m a helpless romantic.

Kate xox

 

 

 

 

 

Video credit – Caters Clips/Debby Taylor

Sooo, How We All Doin’?

WROSECKC.jpg

Soooo, how is everyone? How’re you all coping? Where is everyone’s head at?

If I’m honest, I no longer have a concept of time. I never know what day it is, what week, I’m just about keeping track of the month at this point. Time of day? Forget about it. My sleep schedule? Non existent.

Emotionally, I’m all over the shop but it’s ok to be in your feels sometimes, you know? I’m still grieving for my Grandma, which has made the entire quarantine situation even more bizarre and difficult. I mean, in one way, the grief overshadowed everything and being furloughed from work due to the pandemic gave me time to grieve more efficiently in the beginning and be with my family. On the other hand, there was no escape and no distraction from it. Everything was doom and gloom and the idea of death just loomed over us. I’ll never be the same. It’s like if you made a heart out of plasticine, chopped it in half, then tried to smush it back together… it will never be the same.

I honestly feel psychotic at times. I go from hysterical laughter, like when my friends and I all decided to turn ourselves into feet during a zoom call, to unconsolable crying (like ugly, mouth open, snotty, cant breath, harrowing sobs) I stayed up until 5am because I just could not stop crying. I cried so hard I gave myself a stabbing headache, indigestion and pulled a muscle in my stomach. Yeah, I’m still a bit all over the place. These things take time though, eyy? So I’m just taking it one day at a time and trying to tackle one thing at a time, y’know?

Weirdly, my self confidence has gone up and down simultaneously. Being able to sit with myself and think without being compared to others, without being spoken down to or made to feel small, ugly or insignificant, has done wonders for my self esteem. I’ve managed to navigate social media and streamline it so I have had a lot of positivity that greets me (weirdly enough through Tik Tok in the main.) I’ve been practicing accepting the unknown and letting go of things out of my control (as I learnt during my little spate in therapy last year), rationalising my school of thought and being more honest and at peace with myself and, little by little, it’s been working.

On the flip side though, I have been putting my body through hell. Something I have been trying to face is my relationship with food. I am totally aware that I comfort eat, I have ZERO will power and use food as a crutch. This is been one of the most painful times of my life so far and I’m proud of how I have coped mentally… but physically I have been abysmal. I am trying to separate my self worth from the way I look, but with the weight I have put on, the effects of not wanting to leave the house and not exercising, not having the will to cook so living on take aways and the like, I can’t help but see myself as a failure. I’m trying very hard to find the positive and motivated mindset that will enable me to change the things I dislike, which of course can happen and is achievable… but I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and my heart sinks and those old thoughts come creeping back in: you’re ugly, you’re unlovable, you’re disgusting, you’re unworthy of happiness. I mean wow, toxic or what? And to think those are the genuine thoughts that spin around in my head.

I’m trying to challenge those thoughts and instead, remind myself that I may be overweight, but I am thoughtful and I try to be kind, always. I am empathetic and I care deeply about people. I’m loyal to a fault and when I feel embarrassed about my outer shell, I’m trying to remind myself about what’s inside and that it’s hella important.  When those harsh thoughts hit me, I try and tell myself that even in those moments when I see my outside as “bad” (which it’s not), that doesn’t mean my inside is bad too. Ngl, I think that’s such an important lesson and it can’t be learnt quick enough.

Is anyone else struggling with any of this during this time? Or just feeling alone with it all? I dunno. Maybe I’m just being a soppy apeth and super hormonal right now.

Phew, this is a long one today! Any who, I’m actually doing ok in the main and I hope you all are too!

Kate xo

So, You’re Telling Me I’M the Main Character?

PPANCKC2020.jpg

Ok, talk to me here people. I can’t be the only one guilty of this. Does anyone else just find themselves getting so wrapped up in their own thoughts they start living vicariously through them? Like just letting yourself run away with these crazy whirlwind ideas but really, your reality is so far away from them it’s not even funny.

Like, I get carried away with the fairies all the time. I am definitely a dolly-daydream and what with the abundance of time, lack of places to be or go and tonne of content on socials, I have found myself getting swept up in other people’s stories and sidelining my own.

I need to get my head out of my phone and back into the real world. I know there is a whole world out there to explore and people to meet, but I guess it also comes back to the whole idea of the ‘Main Character’ thing. You heard of it? Yeah, I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but in essence it reminds you that YOU are the main character in YOUR story, and if you live like you’re the side character then your story line will go no-where. Remember to live and remember you are the most important person in your life.

So, instead of getting carried away being the side character in other peoples stories or just imagining all the different things that could happen, I feel like I need to get my head down and start actually living the things that CAN happen. Half of the little dalliances I go on in my mind would never happen in A MILLION years, but what do I actually know? Whatever the powers that be have in store… well I’m not heading into the storm sailing out of the other side on this whirlwind adventure if my anchor is dropped half a mile from the shore.

I guess that is something this year has taught me so far. Go and live the adventure instead of just romanticising them in your head and BE the main character your own damn story… side note: can you tell I’ve been binge watching Below Deck on Netflix?

Does anyone else get this feeling? Like, the urge to suddenly start the engines and rev forward with life? Just to drop what you’re living and go searching for something more or to actively find your purpose?

Kate xox