I confess I am an over thinker only worsening with age. Though I perhaps try to worry less about things that are out of my control, though I care much less what anyone else thinks and though I’m content with how I’m going about life & have reached the blissful age of feeling no need or desire to justify my life to others, I still overanalyse the details and I still overthink situations to the point of regular frustration. I am physically incapable of not wanting to understand how a person sees things or what they meant by what they said, or even more personally, what I could have done differently and what I should have said (I for one am incredibly witty/convincing/charming AFTER a conversation).
Overthinking has its benefits. I am sometimes infuriatingly driven to understand people and love people and ‘get’ them in any way possible. Recently I found myself trying so hard to ‘get’ one particular person that the only person I really ‘got’ any better was myself. But for the most part, it lets me have the closest relationships and it lets me learn a great deal.
However. Undeniably, sometimes it’s a f**king pain in the ass to think so much. To not let a conversation or a situation just be. The majority of the girls I coach agree; perhaps that’s why coaching has its advantages; it allows you to overthink out loud. So I’m working on lessening the habit to a healthy point, where it’s good to think a little too much but not so much that your life becomes a pattern of Shoulda Woulda Coulda…because You Didn’t and going over it won’t achieve anything.
So how do we balance out our tendency to overthink? How do we, put bluntly, chill out a little bit?
SO. A month or so ago I shared a post on my experience with coming off of the Pill after a reeeally long consistent use of it. I was fascinated by how my body reacted; it was like being a different woman. I had so many conversations about the Pill following the post; other women’s experiences with being on it and coming off it. It’s still an annoyingly taboo topic so I was glad to be able to really chat to women of all different ages, and it turns out, unsurprisingly but irritatingly, that not many of us reeeeally know what’s happening in our bodies when we’re taking the Pill, or how it’s going to react when we stop taking it (a little like your reaction when you’re dumped by text, for want of a better example). (more…)
Last week, probably edging on two weeks ago now, I was thrilled because I could fit into a pair of jeans that I couldn’t get past my thighs a couple of months ago.
I’d been rummaging amongst my pile of trousers – must organise those – searching for a pair of denims without rips and holes, and found what I assumed were my black work jeans. Faded from too many washes and not designed for long people with wide hips; require pulling up belt or no belt all f**king day.
But they went straight up past my hips, right up to the waist. Button up. These weren’t the same jeans at all; these were the £20-ers that had been banished to the corner of the wardrobe because their not fitting obviously wasn’t my fault. And here they were just gliding up those thunder thighs like they hadn’t previously caused such a fuss. Hallelujah. (more…)
Hello hi there I’d like to talk about the Pill today. Approaching 25 I have only just learned what I’d consider to be vital information about the contraceptive pill, and ja darling I could have looked it all up a long time ago, but I’m kinda pissed off that when I joined the club at 17, the only fillers I was given was that I should still use condoms, I might gain weight and I must take the pill at the same time every day.
The cancer risk rumours, the oomph in anxiety theories and the by-the-way-you-might-not-actually-feel-like-having-sex-at-all-now-that-you’re-on-this-thing-that-was-supposed-to-make-your-sex-life-easier hush hush that nooooobody mentioned, was all just information that sporadically swam my way throughout my 7 years on the Pill.
In fact, over the 7 years I made perhaps only two repeat prescriptions that required me to check in with a nurse about how my Pill of choice was working for me. At 17 I’d actually started taking it cause I would get such horrendous cramps that I’d have to adopt the fetal position clasping a hot water bottle for two days every month.
I was very lucky. I gained no extra weight and I didn’t think I had any problems with the first Pill I was put on, so Cilest and I formed a long friendship. She also gave me really good skin. What a babe.
When I was younger and sitting in the doctor’s office awaiting my repeat prescription and the nurse asked how it was working for me, the idea of whether I felt anxious or tired or cranky or completely not horny at all didn’t enter my mind. I haven’t gotten pregnant yet, Debra, so I’d say it was working pretty well.
But how, actually, was it working for me? (more…)
January always seems to arrive with an element of forcefulness, no? Like if you f**k it up in January, pardon my French, then you may as well postpone positive attitudes for the next eleven months. It’s too late! Diet will have to start next year!
The first month of the year comes with an overwhelming amount of must-do, should-do, haven’t-done, if you let it. How many resolutions have you not stuck to yet? I have been a typical January slacker the last couple of weeks, having stuck primarily to the resolutions with an element of fun rather than actual hard work.
Trying plenty of new restaurants? Tick!
Planning my theatre trips for the entire year? Tick!
Working out on a more regular basis? Surprisingly, tick tick!
Studying two nights a week? Ahem…
Refraining from expanding lingerie collection? …
Not going anywhere near boys who are bad for me? That, if you are curious, is harder than writing a book, and given that book writing is my most prioritised resolution of the year, I am doing a much more thorough job of anything else than I am of putting pen to paper. (more…)