Angela Dyson's Blog

Date: Valentine’s Day.
Time: 8.15pm.
Event: A Singles Night
Location: A pub somewhere on the outskirts of a market town.

There’s no reason to feel nervous, I tell myself as I push open the door to a private room on the first floor of a newly spruced up gastro-pub. I’ll chat to a few people, get the material I need for my twelve-hundred-word article and head home. Simple. For, after all it’s just an assignment like any other isn’t it? Except that it’s not. It should be. But it’s not. Because there’s something about Valentine’s Day when you’re single that feels loaded. Loaded like a trap, like a snare that can trip you up when you least expect it and leave you winded, a little breathless, unsure of your ground and of your next move.

The first thing I notice is that there are more women than men in the room. A lot more. Great. Just great. It just goes to prove a theory that my mind had been reluctantly forming for some time: Take out the married, the gay, the commitment phobic and the criminally insane and what’s left of available men makes pretty slim pickings. Is it that there are simply more single women than single men between the ages of 30 to 55 in the UK? I’d have to check the statistics but at this rate my article was going to be seriously depressing. And Miranda, Editor–in–Chief, wanted something upbeat. The word perky had been used. I look about me. I straighten my shoulders, flick back my hair, and give my attitude a re-fresh. If Miranda wants perky she’s damn well going to get perky. I head for the bar.

8.20pm to 9.35pm:

Of the eight women I speak to, here’s the breakdown:

Four of them are successful, assured, attractive women in their forties, each of them carrying one those oversized designer handbags that cost a ridiculous amount of money. All four of them have expertly highlighted hair and trim flexible bodies beaten in to submission by a daily work out at the gym or with a personal trainer. All four of them have a bright confident engaging manner. All four of them have a look of quiet desperation about the eyes. 

“I just can’t get a date” confides one of their number, Helen, a partner in a local firm of solicitors. “I go to as many events as I’m invited to, I join things, I volunteer, I even go to the occasional concert or gallery on my own… but nothing. Nothing ever seems to happen to me. Why is that do you think?” The look she turns on me is searching “What is it that I’m doing wrong? Why can’t I get a date?”

For a moment I toy with the idea of offering the usual platitudes “You’ll meet someone when you least expect it/there’s someone out there for everyone blah blah ” but as she continues to scan my face I find myself blurting out “Because maybe you try too hard?”

I can see the idea settle and take shape in her mind. She gives herself a little shake, offers me a brittle smile and turns back to her friends.

Two of the women are widows. One in her late thirties, the other in her mid-fifties. Their experiences of bereavement had been different in the details but exactly the same in the essentials. They have loved, and they have lost. Lost in the cruellest way. Lost their Loves to the ever-hungry, ever-predatory disease that kills, in this country, one in two of us. 

“And starting again?” I ask, “Do you think finding such a love again is possible?”

“Yes” they both agree simultaneously. Then after a beat, the older woman admits “No, unlikely”. The younger woman looks down at her left hand where her wedding ring glimmers darkly “I know it can’t ever be the same or even get anywhere close but there’s something in me that keeps hoping that I will be lucky enough to feel wrapped in that safe, warm cocoon of love again. Because you see… the worst thing my husband did by dying… was leaving me still alive.”

A lovely gentle faced woman in her late forties called Ann, with greying hair and a sturdy figure, had had, until recently, only one sexual partner. Her husband. And when, two years ago, he’d left her for a thirty-one-year-old florist, she’d crumpled, then rallied, then despaired again and was now thoroughly enjoying the resurgence of a long dormant libido.

“I’d forgotten how much I used to enjoy sex. But I must say that it’s been an absolute revelation. Being with other partners. They come in so many different shapes and sizes”
“Don’t they just” I agree and then because I’m genuinely curious, ask “And are you having a lot of sex?”
“As much as I can get” her smile is radiant “That’s why I’m here. Trawling for fresh meat”
I had to love that.

The final woman I speak to, Simone, a striking red-head in her forties with a laser–like stare and a slight overbite, has been single for nearly four years.
“Divorce ruins you” she states matter-of-factly “It shatters your illusions, rips out your heart and leaves you broke and depressed.”
“You don’t seem particularly depressed now” I remark
“You should have seen me six months ago” She retorts. “I was two stone overweight, living on my nerves and a bottle of chardonnay a day, without the confidence or will to even think about meeting someone new”
“What happened to get you back on your feet?”
I was on the scent of a story here. Maybe this was the perky I was looking for.
“It was when I decided that there was no way in hell that that bastard ex of mine was going to be happier than me. They say that the best revenge is living well and living well for me, means being secure” Simone’s eyes darken “Once you realise that it’s a bloody jungle out there and that if you want to land the big game then you’ve got get match-fit, it concentrates the mind. I’m not messing about here. I want what I want, and I aim to get it. Now let’s get serious. Do you know anyone over fifty, mortgage free, earning anything over seventy-five thousand a year? He has to be a non-smoker and preferably no kids and I don’t like…”

I sigh. Perky this definitely isn’t.

9.35pm to 10.10pm:

Of the five men I speak to, here are the salient points:

Two of them are divorced. The first, a tall slightly stooped man with close cropped hair, a nose too big for his face and an expression of aggrieved discontent starts to tell me of the financial settlement made in favour of his ex-wife but I soon stop listening. The other, in his forties, is an engineer by profession and, I quickly discover, a complete and utter bore by nature. He has a pronounced gap between his two front teeth through which bits of the dry–roasted peanuts he’s snaffling down, shoot out in my direction. I back away. Even in the interests of research, I do draw the line at being spat upon.

Geoff, I learn, is separated. A well-built man of about fifty, he has a good head of hair, blank lustreless eyes and a disconcerting habit of allowing a weighty silence to develop before speaking.

“Do you think you and your wife might get back together?” I ask. He looks thoughtful as if the question has never really occurred to him. I try again. “I mean… would you like to?” He continues to look thoughtful, but I don’t press for an answer. Time is money and all that.

Jim, in his forties and with the wiry physique of the habitual cyclist, has never been married. With attractive mobile features and lively green eyes, he’s a little overeager but no less pleasant for that. “Its not that I’ve avoided marriage” he says, “It’s just that I’ve never been lucky enough to meet the right person”
“What sort of woman are you looking for?” I ask. He looks directly at me and smiles “Well… Someone warm and intelligent and who likes the outdoors and is interested in keeping fit and…”
I cut him off “That counts me out then. I loathe any form of physical exercise. I’m practically allergic to it. But wait one moment, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to”

I make my way over to Helen, the solicitor with the designer handbag. “Come and meet Jim” I say “He seems nice. Genuine, I think. One of those outdoorsy types”
“Well, I do ski” says Helen squinting over my shoulder to get a better look at him “But I’m not sure he’s really my type”
“Why not?”
“His jacket” She shakes her head sadly “I don’t like his jacket”
Firmly I take her by the arm and lead her across the room towards Jim.
“Isn’t it a good idea to open up one’s mind and give a guy a chance?” I ask “And who knows? This might just be the night you get asked to go on a date”
As I walk back to the bar I’m stopped by Ann who’d been watching my match-making attempt with interest
“She could do worse” She says nodding in Jim’s direction. “His stamina’s good and he’s flatteringly enthusiastic but his testicles are oddly uneven in size. Probably from having them squashed up and in to his bike saddle for so many hours at a time. Can’t be good for the scrotum, now can it?”

Philip, a man in his fifties wearing glasses, a well-cut suit and an air of mild benevolence is the last of them.
“I’m looking for a serious relationship” he informs me right off the bat.
“Good for you” I reply, “And how’s that working out for you?”
“Actually not all that well” He admits, running a hand through thinning brown hair.
“I think I need to be more assertive. Women seem to like that”
“Not all of them” I reply then I’m struck by an idea “Perhaps what you need is a woman who’s assertive in her own right thereby taking the pressure off you to be? After all, why should you be anything other than yourself”
His look of benevolence intensifies “Why indeed?”
“Hold that thought” I say “I’ll be right back, there’s a woman called Simone that I think you should meet”

10.25pm:

I let myself in to the car. Switching on the engine, I realise that whilst I hadn’t met anyone myself to share future Valentine’s days with, perhaps, through my efforts, Helen and Simone had. And as for that loaded trap of self-doubt I’d feared to find myself ensnared by, I’d successfully managed to side-step it by focusing on other people’s concerns and not just my own. I might not have planned this evening to give Cupid a helping hand, but it looked like I’d done just that. And whether or not his arrows strike home or prove to be a complete misfire I would probably never know. But as I drive along the winding road towards home through the shimmering darkness of a bright cold February night, I can only hope that for both Helen and Jim and for Simone and Philip, his aim will be straight and true.

 

Enjoyed the post? Do take a look at part 1 here.

The post Cupid’s Arrow… A Misfire P2: Sally’s Valentines appeared first on Angela Dyson.

Around the middle of January I feel a prickling flutter of disquiet. I shake it off. But a week later the prickling develops in to a full-blown itch. A mental one (not the other kind… just so we’re clear). For, in February, there’s no avoiding them. They’re everywhere. In the supermarket, in the newsagents, there they are. The cards. I try averting my gaze but they’re so big and gaudy and… well… red… that it’s impossible for the eye not to be drawn to them. It’s all so commercialised I tell myself, loftily. Soppy cards, scarlet roses by the dozen or by the single stem, teddy bears wearing knitted jumpers demanding Love me in loopy stitches, what a cliché! Who needs any of that stuff? I do, a small voice inside my head replies. Well, ok then… not need exactly but…

Now I don’t know why it should be any tougher being single on Valentine’s Day than at any other time of the year, but I suspect that it’s going to be. And I need to arm myself against the pulse of melancholy and self-doubt that I sense crouching somewhere just outside my line of vision. And so, it’s Up-Shields and time for Fortress Sally to make an appearance. This bolder, braver persona is a useful stand-in for the Real Me. She’s breezily optimistic and makes rational well-thought out decisions. If only I can conjure her up because she’s not easily summoned. I concentrate hard. Ah… here she is. And, naturally, her very first suggestion is a reasonable one.

“Given what happened last year, perhaps no Valentine card and particularly no Valentine present would be an improvement?”

“Ah” The Real Me acknowledges “Maybe you have a point there”

Last year, before my big move from London to the country, I’d received from my then lover a Valentine’s gift that I admit now, I should have received with more grace. Or even with basic common courtesy. Stefan, a mature student at the Royal College of Art, whom I’d only been seeing for a couple of months, had presented with great ceremony a disturbing and frankly hideous giant frameless canvas depicting the entwined and thrashing limbs of a pair of plus-sized headless lovers.

“For you” He’d said. “You can hang it over your bed”

No way I’d thought. It would be enough to give me nightmares. Then I went on to ask him if the reason the cavorting couple were minus their heads was because he hadn’t yet progressed to the advanced level of life-class which covered the representation of faces.

“No Sally” He’d explained with studied patience “It’s symbolic. It’s because…” And here he’d stared meaningfully in to my eyes “In the throes of love-making we lose ourselves utterly in the ecstasy of the moment, thereby rendering our individual personal characteristics as meaningless”

“Right” I’d said and nodded gravely. But I couldn’t help recalling the somewhat pedestrian nature of his roll-on-roll-off sexual performance that morning, when not only had I remained in total command of my identity but, during his final thrusts, had even been planning my outfit for the forthcoming evening. Ecstasy? No. I’d had better. Much better. And perhaps, on reflection, I should have kept that thought to myself because Stefan and his painting had departed, highly affronted, some ten minutes later.

Fortress Sally looks knowing. And just a little smug. Then she has another suggestion.

“Instead of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, why don’t you find out what other single people will be doing on Valentine’s Day? You’re a writer… or at least you sometimes get paid as one… where’s your curiosity? Where’s your spirit of research?”

Fortress Sally may be irritating, may be a little too sensible and bracing at times, but I’m forced to admit that occasionally she does have a bloody good idea.

I hit speed-dial

“Niles?”

There’s a buzz of animated conversation in the background and what sounds like ice cubes chinking together in the foreground.

“Are you in a bar?” I ask

“Naturally” he replies, “Its after six. Where else would I be? So… how’s life in The Sticks?” I can practically feel him shuddering down the phone. As Features Editor for one of the magazines I free-lance for, he’s very London-centric. Anywhere outside Zone 1 is a foreign country to him. I explain my idea to him (alright, Fortress Sally’s idea)

“Get me 1200 words by Monday” he says “And keep it perky. Miranda’s very in to the whole Harry and Megan thing right now”

I’m surprised. Miranda, the magazine’s Editor-In-Chief is not known for her sunny outlook about love or, for that matter, anything at all.

“Got to go” says Niles and I hear him take a long swallow of his dirty martini “Places to go, more interesting people to talk to…” and he hangs up

Right, I’d better get on with some research. There must be something organised locally for single people to meet, compare notes and maybe hook-up? It can’t just be me that feels this way about Valentine’s Day, can it?

I’m about to discover that it isn’t.

And if you’d like to find out how I get on then read Cupid’s Arrow… A Misfire (Part Two).

The post Cupid’s Arrow… A Misfire – Sally Forth’s Feb Part 1 appeared first on Angela Dyson.

Like my heroine, Clarry Pennhaligan, I love food. Readers have written telling me that they enjoy visualising Clarry’s thrown-together meals and the Lock-In leftovers, shared by the restaurant staff at Abbe’s Brasserie where she works as a part-time waitress. I’ve confided that it’s always possible to guess when I’m on yet another diet and feeling hungry, from my lingering descriptions of food.

Now, in these difficult times, when relying on store cupboard goods and obliged not to waste a single scrap, we are all faced with the ultimate Rustle-Up challenge.

Real leftovers are a rarity for me. Not much that is edible escapes alive from my attention, my appetite or my fridge. And what there is, is nothing fancy. My leftovers don’t happen to include lobster, caviar or pate de foi gras. We’re talking a triangle of sweating cheddar, a handful of over ripe tomatoes ready to burst their skins and some wilting salad. What to do with them? That is the question.

Confronted by a lump of leftover cold mashed potato the other day, I was about to chuck it out when I thought better of it.

After a bit of hard thinking, here’s what I came up with:

 


Clarry’s Indian-style Potato Patties.

Fry finely sliced shallot/onion or spring onion.


Add plenty of garlic and/or chilli and fry for a minute.


Add a teaspoon or so of whatever Indian spices you have in the cupboard. 


Add the grated zest of a lemon and some salt.


Allow to cool.

Mix the potato with the onion mixture and form patties. 
Dust with flour and put on a lightly floured plate and place in the fridge for at least an hour.

Get a griddle pan really hot with a light coating of olive oil and then fry the patties until they are cooked through and nice and crispy on the outsides.

Serve with lemon wedges

 

I had this for supper with some salad and a large glass of wine and it was delicious!

Let me know your go-to leftover recipes.

Join me, The Love Detective Store cupboard Super Sleuth, and share your tips for creating tasty dishes from whatever’s lurking in the back of your fridge.

And, if you want to learn more about Clarry, follow her adventures in The Love Detective and The Love Detective: Next Level in paperback and ebook.

The post Store cupboard Super Sleuth… The Love Detective’s Leftovers. appeared first on Angela Dyson.

Miriam Margolyes is looking at why we in the UK are getting fatter.

We were left at the close of episode 1 of Miriam’s Big Fat Adventure with the question of whether it’s possible to be fat and happy.

Episode 2 is all about extremes. What some of us will do in pursuit of perfection.

A short cut:

We meet 28 years old Jess who a year ago had weighed 23 stone. After losing 7 stone herself, she was then eligible for bariatric surgery. It’s a life-changing decision. She would have a stomach the size of an egg. She is convinced that to become the person she feels she truly is; weight loss is essential.

There is criticism that such operations, which cost between £5000 – £8000, should not be done on the NHS. With 6 billion pounds a year in Britain spent on obesity-related illness, the question of fatness is not just personal, its financial. Are fat people taking too big a slice of our health budget?

For me, the idea of this kind of surgery is out of the question. I think it would be utterly miserable to spend the rest of my life eating only from very restricted food groups and in minute portions. Where’s the joy in that? Where’s the comfort? But joy and the temporary comfort in food has got me into the mess I’m in now! A woman who feels not only defined by her weight but burdened, worn down and defeated by it.

Short cut No 2:

Plastic surgery. Miriam has a consultation with a private plastic surgeon and has a 3D image taken of her as she is now and of how she could look with extensive liposuction. She finds the images very uncomfortable.


I, like many women, avoid looking at myself in the mirror. Going to the hairdressers is an experience I don’t enjoy. There I am, brightly lit and reflected in all my substantial lack-of glory. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. And don’t even get me started on shopping for clothes.

Miriam rejects the idea of plastic surgery. Too brutal. To literally carve up one’s body to fit an image of perfection. No. And I’m with her on this. I found it interesting, that the plastic surgeon himself, admitted that patients so often have unrealistic expectations and that there’s a limit to what can be achieved. Patients want to look like one of the Kardashians. And the truth is, not even the K sisters themselves looks like The Kardashians. There’s a lot of smoke and mirrors involved. Oh, and filtering.

Miriam attends a Body-Building Competition in Wales and there’s a lovely moment in the dressing room where a number of mahogany-painted hairless men in thongs are flexing and pumping themselves up before going out on stage to be judged. Miriam sits behind one of them as he bends over. The look on her face is priceless!

Asking some of these chaps about their extreme body sculpturing and whether it’s worth all the time and effort, in some cases to the point of obsession, their response is an emphatic Yes. It makes them feel good about themselves. And I suppose, there’s no arguing with that. But I do question if, long-term, they are chasing an unattainable dream.

We meet Jess again, months after her bariatric surgery and she’s lost in total half her body weight. There’s no denying that she looks great. And is she happy? Asks Miriam. Yes, Jess says but she now wants a tummy tuck and breast augmentation and… her mission to achieve her personal vision of perfection is clearly not over.

To transform your life is it necessary to transform your body? 
For some of us, that’s the only answer. But is it? I have yo-yoed dramatically in weight and I’m not sure that I ever really felt any different about myself. 6 stone lighter and looking pretty damn good, I was still the same person, riddled by the same insecurities, beset by the same demons. But I have to admit, buying a dress for wedding or a special occasion was a hell of a lot easier.

Miriam closes her adventure by reflecting that to feel confident and loved is the most important thing in life. She has a partner, friends and a remarkably successful career. She has a lot to feel confident about. And blessed.

Whether her attitude to her body has undergone a significant change through her experience of making this programme, I’m not sure. Maybe she’s found some form of acceptance. For her sake, I hope so. But I haven’t. I have a feeling that My Adventure in this, an investigation in to one of the most important areas of my life, has only just begun.

I’d love you to join me as I carry on with my own investigation in to why I’m food obsessed and why I feel such shame about it. To do so, subscribe to my blog here:

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The post Miriam’s Big Fat Adventure – My Take on Episode 2 appeared first on Angela Dyson.

I have always admired Miriam Margolyes as an actor, for her politics and for being outspoken. Now she’s taking on the issue of obesity. A third of people in the UK are officially obese. That’s a lot of us. But we don’t have a voice. We don’t speak up. In silence, we suffer ridicule, abuse and the distain of a society where fat is seen as failure.

The weigh-in.

Miriam, 78 years old and 4ft 11 weights 14 stone 10 lbs. She tells us that, on the whole, she’s happy with herself and her life but has always been disgusted by her body. She loathes it. She has been on endless diets and worries about her weight all the time. She calls it “a miserable fate”. I completely agree with her.

This self-loathing is something that I understand and share. For as long as I can remember I have hated my body.

As Miriam sets out to discover more about why as a nation we are getting fatter, she stays at a military-inspired health farm where the “campers” diet is strictly monitored, the exercise routine (over 5 hours per day) is challenging and daily therapy is compulsory.

It’s boot camp.

And it’s tough.

But for many, it’s providing them with a different view of themselves and of their future.

Take Georgia. She has stayed at the health farm for a year and works in the kitchen part-time to afford the fees. Georgia was 21 stone when she arrived and has now lost 7 stone. She was (and potentially still is) a binge eater. She would regularly, at 2am, go to a McDonalds Drive-thru and eat 8 burgers and chips in her car, alone, in the dark. Georgia now sees binging as a form of self-harm and that she uses food to avoid how she feels.

This is something I completely relate to. I have spent a lifetime building a cushion of fat to keep the harsh realities of the world at bay.

Why? Why do I feel that I can’t cope without food?

 

Like Georgia, when I binge, I can forget myself. Forget everything that hurts me or that I’m afraid of. And I do it consciously. I’m not in some carb-trance. I’m fully aware that every time I do it, I’m mortgaging my tomorrows for today. For that moment. For blessed forgetfulness.

As I watch, I wonder how many of us are conscious of this trade-off. How many of us know we are using food to self-harm? How many realise just how brief the respite is we achieve before it is replaced by all too familiar self-loathing?

What sort of a percentage do you think we are looking at? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below.

 

Georgia’s mother described, how with every extra mouthful Georgia crammed in, she was abusing her body, taking, in effect, a suicide tablet. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing, and I want to stop.

Miriam talks to Dr. Eric, a behavioural phycologist, carrying out research in to how being obese affects our mental health. For those of us that are fat, we are 45% more likely to be depressed.

Dr. Eric asserts that the stereotypical way society views us (lazy/greedy/lacking in self-discipline) means that over time, these negative judgements seep into our consciousness and we start to believe that we are indeed worthless, useless, a failure. And that turning in on ourselves impacts significantly on our wellbeing.

If from a relatively young age, you feel excluded, rejected, then it’s not really a surprise that you start to believe all the bad stuff that people think (and say) about you.

Again, this resonates with me. I feel I am beginning to get a fuller picture of the vicious cycle of obesity. This is how it’s starting to formulate in my mind.

 

 

Emotional Trauma >
Eating to Forget >
Weight Gain >
Facing Society Bias >

 

 

I wonder whether understanding this cycle will help me in the process of breaking it.

Whether being conscious of it will make a difference.

Or whether I can be aware of it, just as I am aware of the link between my binge eating and self-harm, yet still be trapped in it.

I feel like I will need more than simple awareness to change.

 

After all this soul searching, it was a joy to witness a group of overweight women, led by a lovely body-confidence activist, Treena, at their dance class. Here, it wasn’t about learning the moves and shedding the pounds, it was about changing the world’s attitudes, one big girl at a time. Unapologetic about their size, they strutted, they shimmied, each and every one of them super-sexy. Even Miriam joined in and twerked!

Miriam’s final refection at the close of episode 1 was about how cruel society can be to the overweight. How so often we are objects of ridicule and scorn.

“If you are mean about fat people” she says, “then I hate you.” Good on her.

 

I would love love love to hear your thoughts. Please share them in a comment at the bottom of this post.

The post Miriam’s Big Fat Adventure – My Take on Episode 1 appeared first on Angela Dyson.

I’ve been fat-shamed all my life. And each and every time it has wounded me. Hurt me. Made me want to run back to my lair and hide… and eat.

For me, most of the fat-shaming has come from men. I’ve heard everything from “you’d be really attractive if you lost some weight” said by some guy who thinks I should be grateful for a sniff of sexual interest from him, to “Whoa, are you sure about that outfit, love?” yelled out of the window by a White-Van man.

Then there’s been all those cruelly veiled jibes (sometimes thinly disguised as humour) from both male and female colleagues, casual acquaintances and perfect strangers that humiliated and belittled me, yet I felt compelled to laugh off.

Why did I laugh them off? Why did I feel the need to pretend that nothing they could say bothered me? What stopped me from addressing their appalling rudeness head-on?

The answer is: Shame.

A deep-rooted sense of shame and the fact that the nakedness of my pain would be visible to all. And I couldn’t bear that. Their contempt and their piteous looks. No. Much better to act like I didn’t care.

The problem is that I’ve built up a lot of rage. That’s my excess baggage. I’ve years of held-in responses, from taught-with- tension witty one-liners to screaming vengeful rants that would ricochet around the bar/office/shopping centre until someone called Security. And that’s not good for me. It adds to my self-loathing.

I need to rethink how I see myself and explore why I block out my emotions with food. And I will be sharing this journey with my readers.

This scares me. In this area (and many others), I’m not brave. It’s an issue I’ve avoided facing all my life.

Meantime, I will make it clear to anyone that making a comment about my size is unacceptable. That I do take fat-shaming personally and that I won’t put up with it. I’ll simply hold up the flat of my hand and say NO, keep your bullying, fascistic opinion to yourself. I don’t want to hear it.

I’d love you to join me as I embark on my own investigation in to why I’m food obsessed and why I feel such shame about it. To do so, subscribe to my blog here:

Leave this field empty if you're human:

The post Fat shaming… it’s personal. appeared first on Angela Dyson.

I eat.

I eat when I’m happy. I’m eat when I’m sad.

I eat when I’m afraid and when I’m lonely.

I eat when everything feels like it’s closing in on me and when I can’t cope with the world.

I eat because at times I find facing reality almost impossible.

I eat to block out a constant feeling of anxiety.

I eat to provide a barrier between me and my feelings.

I eat because I don’t know how else to give myself comfort.

I eat.

I eat. And I do it really really well. It’s my specialist subject. I could get a degree in it. I could be on Mastermind and answer all John Humphrys’ questions on it. 
But there’s one question I have never been able to answer: why can’t I stop?

The post I eat. appeared first on Angela Dyson.

I’m going to be honest with you. This post is uncomfortable for me for a number of reasons.

Firstly, the picture.

One side effect of being forever ashamed of my weight is an utter hatred of the vast majority of photos taken of me.

Yesterday, I talked about these issues (LIVE!!!) on BBC Radio Surrey on the Allison Fearns afternoon show.

I’d love you to listen in below and if you would like to come on this journey of self exploration with me, subscribe to my blog below:

Leave this field empty if you're human:






Angela Dyson tackles weight issues with Allison Fearns on BBC Radio Surrey p.1 t
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Angela Dyson tackles weight issues with Allison Fearns on BBC Radio Surrey p.3
Angela Dyson tackles weight issues with Allison Fearns on BBC Radio Surrey p.4
Angela Dyson tackles weight issues with Allison Fearns on BBC Radio Surrey p.5
Angela Dyson tackles weight issues with Allison Fearns on BBC Radio Surrey p.6
Angela Dyson tackles weight issues with Allison Fearns on BBC Radio Surrey p.7 t

 

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This week I’ve been inspired to tackle something very personal and important to me.

I have always struggled with my weight and, as a result, I have spent much of my life hating myself. Self-loathing has been a constant companion.

Now I ask myself the question: Why do I feel such shame about being fat? Why have I never felt comfortable in my own skin? Why have I allowed my attitude to my size to limit my life choices?

I know that it’s not just me that feels like this.

There are so many of us who hide ourselves away, make self-deprecating remarks about our extra pounds (before someone else does) and miss out on so much of what life has to offer because we believe that being fat makes us unworthy.

This week, I heard about Miriams Big Fat Adventure. A two-part BBC documentary airing next Monday and Tuesday that will follow 78-year-old actress Miriam Margolyes as she embarks on a journey to work out why the nation is getting ever fatter.

It has inspired me to challenge myself to make a change. I’m planning on doing some serious self-exploration, using the programme as an aid, and hoping it will lead to something big.

I’ve always found writing helps to explore my emotions so I’ll be using my blog as a way to make sense of it all. I would really love to hear from you if you struggle with this too and would like to invite you to explore these issues together with me.

Will you join me?

If this resonates with you, subscribe to my blog here and we’ll take the leap together in the next couple of days.

Leave this field empty if you're human:

Yesterday, I talked about these issues (LIVE!!!) on BBC Radio Surrey on the Allison Fearns afternoon show. If you’d like to listen, hop on over to this blog post.

The post As Miriam M embarks on her Big Fat Adventure, I will be too appeared first on Angela Dyson.

This week I’ve been inspired to tackle something very personal and important to me.

I have always struggled with my weight and, as a result, I have spent much of my life hating myself. Self-loathing has been a constant companion.

Now I ask myself the question: Why do I feel such shame about being fat? Why have I never felt comfortable in my own skin? Why have I allowed my attitude to my size to limit my life choices?

I know that it’s not just me that feels like this.

There are so many of us who hide ourselves away, make self-deprecating remarks about our extra pounds (before someone else does) and miss out on so much of what life has to offer because we believe that being fat makes us unworthy.

This week, I heard about Miriums Big Fat Adventure. A two-part BBC documentary airing next Monday and Tuesday that will follow 78-year-old actress Miriam Margolyes as she embarks on a journey to work out why the nation is getting ever fatter.

It has inspired me to challenge myself to make a change. I’m planning on doing some serious self-exploration, using the programme as an aid, and hoping it will lead to something big.

I’ve always found writing helps to explore my emotions so I’ll be using my blog as a way to make sense of it all. I would really love to hear from you if you struggle with this too and would like to invite you to explore these issues together with me.

Will you join me?

If this resonates with you, subscribe to my blog here and we’ll take the leap together in the next couple of days.

Leave this field empty if you're human:

Yesterday, I talked about these issues (LIVE!!!) on BBC Radio Surrey on the Allison Fearns afternoon show. If you’d like to listen, hop on over to this blog post.

The post Will you join in on my Big Fat Adventure? appeared first on Angela Dyson.