Let them have cake

April 22, 2016

My mum is an amazing baker.  My personal favourites are lemon cake and banana cake.  She made lemon cake on Monday.  I had three pieces.  She made banana cake yesterday.  I had three pieces.  You might think that I like lemons, you might think that I like bananas, I think that three is a good number when it comes to pieces of cake.

I’ve been trying this new thing lately, where I’m being “real” and “raw” and “honest”, because at times I inadvertently paint myself to be an obnoxious bitch that wears matching activewear and has an unnatural attachment to her cats.

It’s daunting to put yourself out there, to expose your flaws and weaknesses and to write about what is really going on, without being all “woe is me”.  People (generally women) are ruthless, and this one time, when I shared an opinion that proved to be unpopular, a “friend” made a comment on a Facebook page that I needed to “cheer the fuck up” and “get back on my catwalk”.  The sad irony being, I shared with this person that I struggle with depression and used to be body dysmorphic.

Anyway, back to the cake.  You don’t need to be a nutritionist to know that cake isn’t a particularly “good” choice when it comes to food.  Perhaps I should have blended up some frozen banana with coconut cream, cacao and cinnamon and savoured it by eating it with a teaspoon.  I’ve done that.  I do that.

But the cake was sitting there, it was fresh, it was moist (yes I said moist), and I chose the path of least effort.  I chose it not once, not twice, but three times.  The thing about getting older is that you recognise negative patterns of behaviour, and for years I would have hated myself for eating that cake, but now I just eat the cake and get on with life.

And then this happened, a person who specialises in making women feel good about themselves through diet and exercise, shared my cake pic:



I wasn’t sure if I should be offended, I’m hyper-sensitive at the best of times, but the other day I cried in the supermarket because I couldn’t decide what body wash to buy and thought ‘whyyyyyyy is life ssoooooo hard?!?!  Why don’t I have a PA who can buy me this stuff so I don’t have to choose?’  Then I remembered that I live with my parents and I should have just added it to the shopping list and mum would have got it for me!

I’m all for a balanced diet and a healthy lifestyle, but I’m sick of the inference that skinny is happy.  That if you set yourself a goal weight and you swear off sugar, when the scales flash that magic number you’ll feel fulfilled and accomplished and satisfied.  What if you don’t?  (I’ve talked about the magic number before, here.)

I’ve been fasting intermittently for nearly three years (you can read about when I first started fasting here), and I’ve completely changed my habits and attitude to food.  Some days I don’t eat until 2pm, and some days I’ve eaten my parents out of house and home before 7am.  Some days I eat zuchinni noodles and free range chicken, and some days it’s ‘sgetti on toast.

During my first couple of months of unemployment, I exercised a lot.  I trained at high intensity every second day at a minimum.  I felt good, I enjoyed it, it helped fill the day.  Right now I’m in an extended rest phase.  Yesterday I did six minutes of yoga and that was the first thing I’ve done in about three weeks.  I’m OK with it.

I don’t want to blog about food and training (even though lots of people ask what I eat), because I have zero qualifications, I have read limited material on the subject, and I’ve only lived in this body, so I only know what makes me feel energised.  Generally though, what makes ME feel good is not what THEY say you should do, maybe I’m the exception to the rule.

Having said that, if you want my advice, set yourself some goals, but pick them from all different areas of your life.  For too long my only goal involved a number on an electronic scale but my goals are different now.

My goal is to find a paid past time that I enjoy, that stimulates me, and makes an eight hour day feel more like five and less like twelve.  My goal is to find a gorgeous wholesaler for my throws, someone who will love and cherish them and display then beautifully so that people can see and touch them and say “I loooooooove this”.  My goal is to get at least eight hours of sleep every night while I try and get my anxiety and emotional wretchedness under control.  My goal is to reconnect with myself, and fill up my own cup with baby cuddles and glasses of bubbles with besties.  My goal is to write.

My goal is to call my Nana regularly and spend more quality time with my dad and laugh lots with my mum.  My goal is to paint my toe nails before this afternoon’s photoshoot and get through a 90 minute session in a floatation tank without losing my biscuits and screaming “make it stop” about the noise in my head.  My goal is to block every single ad for wedding photographers/bridesmaids dresses/wedding venues/bridal boutiques from my Facebook feed.

My goal is not to lose weight, my goal is not to trim down or tone up, my goal is definitely not to eat less cake.

Steve Maraboli

Hazel Signature

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1 comment

Tracey June 12, 2016 at 9:21 pm

What fascinates (not the correct term, more like annoys/mystifies) me is how sometimes women whip the rug out from their ‘sisters’. Sharing vulnerability and expressing your inner thoughts to then have your nose rubbed in it isn’t pleasant and disappointing.
* I LOVE the word moist to describe incredible cake – what other word does it justice? Your mum is the business!
* Like you stated – 3 pieces are a significant amount of cake. I applaud the fact you managed to stop at 3! Obviously in no way is this your ‘normal’ routine – duh!
* Keep doing what you’re doing – it’s outstanding.
* Broken hearts and dissolutions of relationships suck big time! Keep that chin up and wrapped in your delicious crafty creations!


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