Tag Archives: mental health

Monday Mantra: Plan B is Okay!

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I have never failed a class, an exam, a course. I completed five years of a university degree that wasn’t quite the right fit because simply couldn’t quit. (I wouldn’t give up that time for anything of course; those years brought me my best friend Casey, and all the good things that have blossomed out of that friendship.)

This semester I took on a business subject in the course of my master’s degree. I thought it would be a good challenge, a way to stretch my neurons out of their comfort zone, and experience the growth that comes from such a venture. We are supposed to challenge ourselves in order to change we are told.

But sometimes a challenge isn’t right; sometimes we try to force ourselves outside our comfort zone and the challenge isn’t something that will help us grow, it just brings around frustration, stress, and unnecessary pain. I wasn’t quite sure when I first signed up for this class. I was already undecided when I walked into the first class, but I decided to stick it out because I’d made a commitment and cracked open the text book. Week after week my uncertainty grew; the course didn’t seem to be adding anything to the direction I want to take my career in.

Today I sat down to work on an assignment, and I realised that this class wasn’t making me happy (not just the assignment either). Believe me, I know that not all university classes are roses, sunshine, and lollipops – this isn’t my first rodeo after all. I took up my post-graduate studies as a way to extend my career, to move into a different sphere adjacent to my current position, to charge of my life again, and -most importantly – to make myself happy.

Another path is open to me, and withdrawing from this subject would mean I could pursue this path in the next semester of university. Quitting is not something that comes easily to me, and I am brilliant at the ‘self-shame guilt game’. I need to learn that when my Plan A fails there is no shame in taking Plan B, because sometimes Plan B is the right way to go.

So, dear reader, when have you tried Plan A, then had to move onto Plan B? Or Plan C/D/E/F? 

How do you cope with moving on from a challenge, or leaving Plan A behind?

The Scariest Place to Stand

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I think that the scariest place to stand is at the starting line; whether we are at the beginning of a new job, relationship, race, university degree, or whatever the challenge ahead happens to be, the start is always the most frightening place. One of the reasons I find myself scared at the start of things is that I expect myself to know how to do everything perfectly from the get go. I expect myself to know where I want to go, what I want out of this venture, and exactly how to reach the goal.

Goal-setting and problem-solving prior to embarking on an endeavour is a wonderful idea, but often we cannot anticipate every outcome, or learning experience or opportunity that we may encounter along the way.

However, if we fail to start anything until we think we can execute a goal perfectly, or have figured out every barrier or mishap, then we will either never start, or start to late to achieve anything worthwhile.

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I think that while planning is useful, jumping in and getting our hands dirty with real work towards your goals is just as important.

So many times my patients will think they have to have a perfect plan and structure in place before they start making any moves towards losing weight and living a healthier life, but the perfect plan, structure, and moment does not exist. All we have is right now: to make a change, to live like we mean it, and to chase after our better life.

We need to remember that perspiration often precedes inspiration, dedication, and motivation. Sometimes it takes hands-on work to gain a foot-hold to inspire us to keep going or fully dedicate our energy towards achieving our goals.

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So when it gets scary, take a deep breath and forget the fear. You don’t have to be perfect, you just have to be willing to put that first foot forward.

Just start, the rest will follow in good time.

Dear reader, do you get scared at the start? How do you make yourself take the first step?

My relationship with food: Food and family

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I grew up in a family that loves food.

We weren’t ‘foodies’ by any stretch of the imagination, but we always had fresh, home-cooked, handmade, delicious food on our table. My Dad has long been recognised as being the world’s biggest sweet tooth: this man could eat Willy Wonka under the table where confectionary is concerned. My Mum is one of those gorgeous European women who only uses real butter, believes in the power of the potato, and makes the best scones – ever (even according to my farm-raised father).

My sister and I had a childhood filled with happy food memories. We always had homemade birthday cakes; poor Mum has been asked to do many things including, but not limited to, butterflies, witches, and The Emerald City from The Wizard of Oz (that one was mine!). Treats tucked into lunchboxes were made in our family kitchen, and to this day there is nothing better than my Mum’s recipe for chocolate chip cookies (I’ve adapted it so I can eat it too…) or my Dad’s recipe for melting moments (this one is a gluten free work in progress).

We didn’t have a lot of money, but we always ate well. Vegetables every night for dinner, carrot sticks and fruit for snacks, and no sugary breakfast cereals. Going out for dinner was a treat, and my sister and I would get all dolled-up when Mum and Dad took us to the local KFC or Pizza Hut for dinner ‘out’. It might seem funny to other people that we considered these restaurants an occasion to dress for, but when I was a little girl I knew that those were splurges for our family, and so proper attention and care should be paid.

This is a lesson that I have carried through my life. When I go out to dinner, I enjoy the ritual of planning a proper outfit, putting on make-up and perfume, and showing respect for the time I get to spend with my dining companion/s.

Little sis and me in the kitchen

I was a chubby child. Once I hit about eight my height didn’t quite keep up with my weight and so I grew into what I call a ‘pleasingly plump’ child: pure genetics at this point. Until I hit about fourteen it didn’t really bother me overly much. I just accepted that I was larger than my (still) fairy-sized sister, and that all the kids at my school came in different shapes, colours, and sizes. Although there were some at school who would tease me, I was okay. I spent many of my lunchtimes buried in a book anyway. The characters went on adventures where no one cared what brand of clothes I wore, or that I couldn’t play sport, or that I was the child known as ‘teacher’s pet’. King Arthur, the knights at his round table, and I went swashbuckling across England to defend Camelot; Tamora Pierce’s characters showed me worlds unknown; Terry Deary entranced me into non-fiction wonder with Horrible Histories; and, Amy, Jo, Meg, and Beth were female role models when I was looking at what sort of lady my parents would want me to be.

I digress. Up until early high school food was just something yummy. Something I didn’t give much thought to except that I was okay with eating Vegemite sandwiches for lunch everyday, that I liked red apples not green ones, and that I was the chocolate flavoured anything and Jess was caramel.

Food was family meal times, and love packed in a lunch box.

Spring cleaning: the mind

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My enthusiasm for spring has wound its way through my last few posts. They are peppered with references for my love of clear skies, new flowers, bright sunshine, warmer days, and the promising bounty of the season. Another part of spring that I am fond of is spring cleaning. Although I tend to accumulate a lot of stuff (especially books and papers), I actually do enjoy a good clearing out. Shedding the weight of possessions that keep us rooted in past worries is a rebirth that does not have to be reserved for the turn of the season. A few weeks ago I set out on a mission to throw out some old magazines and paperwork that was no longer of any use, and to make room for the magazines that I just can’t seem to stop buying.

Amidst the old university documents (I really don’t need another paper I wrote on nutrition for kidney disease, do I?), assorted recipes (safely filed away now), and screen-printed Google maps for places I now know off by heart, I found evidence of heartbreak. Evidence of malice, punishment, and depression. Documents from an oppressor. Namely, me.

I have had a long and complex relationship with food. There have been stages in my life where it was comfort, and stages where I controlled it to achieve my weight goals. There were times when I used bingeing or restriction as a punishment. As each piece of paper, each record of that time, hit the bottom of the recycling bin I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, a cloud’s shadow blow away from the sun.

Now, with spring and its spirit of new beginnings making a bright and promising start, I feel the need to share my story. Expose the stages I have been through in my quest to live in harmony with food and my body. There is a common irony that many food bloggers have had issues with food, and it is true that many of us choose to share our journey online. Now I too wish to share my story, not necessarily in the pursuit of helping other people (although that would be a nice side benefit) but rather to commit in a public space, to the final clearing out of these cobwebs that have haunted me for so long. To shed the weight not only from my body, but to finally own where I am in my journey, the peace I have achieved and the challenges that I still face with what I put on my plate.

A confession. An absolution. A commitment.

So stay with me over the next few days while I tell you a story. The journey of a girl who circled her way around loving food with some challenges on the way.

I have called it ‘The 5 Fs of my food relationship’:

  1. Family and food
  2. Full of food
  3. Fitness and food
  4. Fear of food
  5. Friends with food

Please, leave comments, and questions, and (if you feel comfortable) your life experiences, in the comments section below each post. Part of a thoroughly nourished life is taking the time to weed the garden in time for the new season’s growth, so here I go.