Lucy Lees' Joy Of Living

Today I was in full Instagram mum mode I had the kids. I had the time. I was ge tting out the craft box ! Getting out the craft box, I am shamed to admit, does NOT happen all that often. Despite what you might see on my Instagram. It's my craft box. It's filled with lovely papers, jewelled things, stamps I got for free by spending the best part of £50 on magazines......... To the kids it's a magical treasure chest. There are sharpies of every colour imaginable, even neon.... And just like pirates, their intentions towards my treasure trove are far from good. They want to pillage. They want to take that beautiful piece of Liberty Print tissue paper I was definitely going to decoupage onto something, at some point, that had been folded lightly so as not to crease it and kept for five years , and they want to destroy it. Not use it on a lovely piece of craft that I would treasure until throwing it away in a declutter frenzy. No. Instead they are going to ...

It was 2005 I was getting married in a size ten dress, as alluded to before I bought said size ten dress whilst still more than a few dress sizes above that..... The sales girl could barely disguise her horror as she held the dress in place. But I knew. I knew I'd get in that goddamn dress. I did. BOOM The pride I felt was unsurmountable. Being a size ten had become an obsession for me, it had, in my mind become the pinnacle of success once I was a size ten life would be perfect. After all I had spent pretty much all my conscious life being told size ten equals perfect. The Barbie's I played with, the t.v shows, films I watched, in magazines, newspapers etc etc the list goes on. The truth of my being a size ten? Being hungry. Feeling weak. Looking like a deflated balloon when naked. Yes I looked, even though I do say so myself, amazing on my wedding day in my size ten dress but instead of getting to that size slowly and naturally as Barbara had told us was the only w...

Today I am joyful. Its Sunday and I've nowt to do but to sit sit sit sit. I could be busy, I could be productive, I could go clean Lylas trainers, they've been sat outside the back door for a week now, caked in mud. I know I have to clean them. They know I have to clean them. But fortunately due to my belief in fairies I am convinced that one day if I leave shit  long enough they'll come and do it. Admittedly not happened yet. I crack too soon. So sit is what I do. I fend off pleas for the park like Batfink, my wings really are made of steel. The cries of I'm bored do nothing to dent my armour. I find myself echoing the voice of my mum. IF YOU'RE BORED I'LL FIND YOU SOMETHING TO DO The kids scatter. Still I sit. There's no music, no t.v no nothing. Just me. And how glorious it is. Can I come in here If you can sit silently yes. Without any perceptible breath. The kids scatter. Parenting win. Then in slinks the cat.........

Guilty eating. Secret eating. Stressed out eating. Happy eating. The first time I decided I was fat, my relationship with food was screwed. From that moment on food became my enemy, my secret mistress, my best friend, a source of misery and a source of joy.  As a child I was painfully thin, every meal time was a battle ground, mum desperate for me to eat, me not wanting to, inevitably ending with tears, recriminations and upset, not the most conducive of atmospheres for enjoying food . As I grew and hit puberty my body changed, at the age of 12 I was already developing breasts, my hips widened  and my belly began to round, all of which was slowly leading me into believing I was fat. I had certain foods I enjoyed, anything with cheese, chips, pizza, basically anything that wasn't remotely like the food I was given at home. Other than chips once a week  (the one time of the week i looked forward to eating)   our diet was a vegetarian, brown rice,...

My previous comments on diets not working, being the cause of increased weight etc may seem slightly skewed given my success at weight watchers. I did in the end lose 6st6lb, 40kg, 90lb, it took over a year, tears, tantrums and the buying of a wedding dress 4 sizes too small but I bloody did it. However, I can say with complete honesty and belief that had Barbara been a close friend giving me advice on my relationship with food the result would have been the same. So what were these magical words that Barbara uttered into my ear. What could she have said or done to change the terrible eating habits I had been steadily cultivating since the age of 14, the age at which my food intake ceased to be controlled by my mum? The first thing I took away from that very first meeting was honesty.  We were required to keep a journal of every single little morsel that passed our lips. At first I was outraged, as if I was going to allow this woman to scrutinise, criticise and evaluate everything...

So there I was, waiting for it, the moment when the whole world and by whole world I mean a slightly shabby rugby club function room, would know how disgustingly greedy I was and how I lacked any kind of will power. There she stood, Barbara Taylor, looking fabulously, well, normal. She wasn't skinny, she wasn't overweight, she was just lovely. Tall like me with curves that her well cut clothes showed off perfectly, a beaming smile of welcome and understanding lit up her face as she gestured me onto the scale. I froze, it was all very well weighing yourself in the safety of the bathroom, naked, breathing in, maybe on one foot..... But to be weighed here in this room in front of strangers, that took some guts and other than the gut I had straining at my waistband, I didn't have much. Its fine, she whispered, only me and you will know. So on I got, mentally running through acceptable and non acceptable numbers. I had some idea of what I might weigh but due my ancient s...

So there I was in the meeting, the queue was huge, I paid my money and headed to THE SCALES. Just the thought of standing on those scales made my mouth go dry and my stomach churn. I had a love hate relationship with scales, I'd got to a point where I was weighing myself every day, at least once, usually three of four times. I discovered that I weighed differently according to the time of day. Pre morning toilet visit, post morning toilet, the joy I experienced 'losing' half a pound after a thorough clear out held no bounds. Til I weighed myself again after lunch, the half pound loss turned into a 2 pound gain and on and on. Little wonder I was depressed, I let the scales dictate my day, what I would eat, what I would wear. You get the picture. Next post, getting on the scales. What are your thoughts on weighing yourself? Are you a serial scaler? Reason to be joyful number 3, throwing away the scales.

I spent a long time blaming the past for the present. I over ate, I was angry, sad, depressed and full of self pity. I blamed this on events from my childhood, convinced myself that if only my parents hadn't divorced I wouldn't be sad, if I hadn't had a difficult relationship with my stepdad I wouldn't over eat yadda yadda yadda. Then there was a lightbulb moment. I was, as per usual, bemoaning to my husband about how unattractive I felt, how awful I looked in my clothes, how I hated being fat. He looked me right in the eye. Lucy, he said, you know you are overweight, I know you are overweight, I love you regardless of your weight, you are beautiful regardless of what size clothes you are wearing but if you are unhappy change it because no one can do it for you. That's when it hit me. I didn't over eat because of my childhood, I did it because my relationship with food was massively fucked up, I wasn't sad because of my parents divorce, I was sad bec...

There are days when life feels like one big suckfest served with a side of shitness (this may or may not be a real word but quite apt I feel). My aim is to show you that joy that can be found even in the most mundane of tasks, lifting every day to a whole new level of non-shitness. Stick with me kids and I'll take you on a journey of joy....... Next post the story of my lightbulb moment and how it changed my life. What in your life do you struggle to find joy in, everything? Anything, comment on your shittiest shitness and together we'll find your joy. Reason to be joyful number 1, this outfit.