Ariane Sherine's Blog, page 11
May 3, 2018
Election day
.
I went to vote last night. I probably didn’t need to in order to get the result I wanted, as I live in a solid Labour constituency which is 61% ethnic minorities and immigrants, but I would have felt guilty if I hadn't. It’s important for democracy to be representative.
And then a little voice in my head says ‘Yes, but most people don’t read manifestos or even election leaflets - they’re just voting what their family and friends vote, and what they’ve been brought up to vote.’
Which is true, but it's not really the point. Humanity has yet to come up with a better system, so everybody gets a say, whether they choose to exercise their vote or not.
Anyhow, I like voting. It feels like doing something good for my community, and the people in the polling station are always lovely.
It struck me, as I put my three kisses next to the roses, that the Conservative symbol is a tree, and their leader is called Tree-sa. So Labour should probably be led by someone called Rose.
They kind of need their first female leader, so step up Rose, whoever you are.
I went to vote last night. I probably didn’t need to in order to get the result I wanted, as I live in a solid Labour constituency which is 61% ethnic minorities and immigrants, but I would have felt guilty if I hadn't. It’s important for democracy to be representative.
And then a little voice in my head says ‘Yes, but most people don’t read manifestos or even election leaflets - they’re just voting what their family and friends vote, and what they’ve been brought up to vote.’
Which is true, but it's not really the point. Humanity has yet to come up with a better system, so everybody gets a say, whether they choose to exercise their vote or not.
Anyhow, I like voting. It feels like doing something good for my community, and the people in the polling station are always lovely.
It struck me, as I put my three kisses next to the roses, that the Conservative symbol is a tree, and their leader is called Tree-sa. So Labour should probably be led by someone called Rose.
They kind of need their first female leader, so step up Rose, whoever you are.
May 2, 2018
FaceDate
There's a Chinese proverb that says, to be happy, you must have 'someone to love, something to do, and something to look forward to'.
I have way too much to do, my book* publication date to look forward to, but no one to love romantically.
So I was pleased to learn that Facebook will be launching a dating app called FaceDate. I don't want to use Bumble, Tinder or other hook-up apps, because in my experience, that's all they're good for; and I worry that free sites attract people who aren't serious about dating. However, the best site (Guardian Soulmates) costs £32 a month - so I'm hoping that FaceDate might be a good free solution.
When I told my friend John about FaceDate, he said 'I suppose it's a better name than FaceGrindr'. But I don't mind what it's called, as long as, after my divorce comes through, I meet someone to love.
*Do you know about my book yet? If not, I might as well start plugging it while you're reading. It's called Talk Yourself Better: A Confused Person's Guide to Therapy, Counselling and Self-Help, and will feature interviews with a range of therapists from different therapeutic approaches, as well as interviews with therapy clients including Stephen Fry, Charlie Brooker and David Baddiel. It's out on 25th October this year and I'll be yammering your ear off about it until then!
May 1, 2018
How to Live to 100
At work, I write stories for a health channel I created called How to Live to 100. Having done a tonne of research on health, I thought I'd summarise my findings in this post, along with links to evidence. So, to have the best chance of living to 100...
1. Don't eat meat. Seriously: Harvard says a third of early deaths could be prevented by giving up meat.
2. If you really want to live a long life, give up all animal products and become vegan. Animal products are really bad for you. (Except for honey. Honey's good for you.)
3. Do the following:
- don't smoke (of course)
- drink very little alcohol (preferably red wine) or none at all
- exercise five days a week for 30 minutes to an hour each time
- sleep seven hours a night
- sunbathe
- drink coffee
- drink loads of green tea - 4+ cups a day
- have plenty of friends and close relationships
- eat loads of fruit and veg
- maintain a normal BMI
- get and stay happily married
I fall down on the last two and I sleep a whopping ten hours a night, but I do all the rest.
Of course, if you get hit by a bus (even an atheist bus), none of this will matter! But it's probably wise to live healthily and assume you won't.
April 30, 2018
Why I spoil my daughter (and why I shouldn't)
My daughter is adorable. Here is a picture I took of her when she was two years old. Look at those fat legs!
She's now seven years old, and no longer has fat legs, but is still beautiful.
The problem is, I've spoilt her rotten. This is partly because I feel so guilty for virtually never seeing her - with my childcare arrangement, I only get weekends and holidays. This has given me the freedom to have a career, and with the money I make, I buy her lots of things. She has a telly in her bedroom, an iPad and pretty much everything she could want.
But in the past few days, I've had a wake-up call. First, she complained, "You got me loads more presents at Christmas than for my birthday!"
She's right: for Christmas, she got about 20 presents from me. For her birthday, she got ten, plus £100.
"That's because I gave you £100," I protested.
"Yeah, but stuff's so expensive I can hardly buy anything with it!" she came back. (Bear in mind she also gets presents from her dad.)
She's away from me for a bit, so I decided last night - with her permission - to tidy her incredibly messy room. It's only three metres by two metres, but I found dozens upon dozens of presents still in their cellophane. There were also things out of their wrapping which she'd never used: colouring books uncoloured; sticker albums untouched; sheets of stickers, erasers and pencils intact, etc.
It's such a shame, because now, when she receives a present, her reaction is "meh". She's just not enthused at all. She unwraps it, nods impassively, and then it's on to the next thing.
This is my fault.
When I was a kid, my parents didn't give me soft toys or dolls. There were a few stuffed animal toys around the house (none of them mine, and all rough-textured), but when I was seven years old I got educational stuff: an abacus, books, school stationery. My parents were so strict, they didn't try to please me: they gave me what they thought I should have, not what I wanted. There was virtually no telly, and no radio either. I was so bored, I remember playing with a broken tile in the backyard one dull Sunday afternoon, because there was little else to do.
And because my childhood was so devoid of gifts and joy and love, I vowed to give my wonderful daughter a childhood that was the exact opposite: full of presents and pleasure. I wanted her to have everything she wanted, whenever she wanted it. And in the process, I've created a child who is so dulled by the experience of being given things, it's almost painful.
So I've cleared her room and am giving all the unused stuff to the charity shop, and from now on, she's getting presents at Christmas and her birthday only - and a moderate amount.
She will no doubt scream and cry when she finds out, and say I'm the worst mummy in the world. But I think it'll be good for us both in the long run.
After all, if I'd been starved as a kid, the solution wouldn't be to over-feed her and make her sick, but to feed her a sensible amount. I'm not very good at moderation, but I'm going to try.
She's now seven years old, and no longer has fat legs, but is still beautiful.
The problem is, I've spoilt her rotten. This is partly because I feel so guilty for virtually never seeing her - with my childcare arrangement, I only get weekends and holidays. This has given me the freedom to have a career, and with the money I make, I buy her lots of things. She has a telly in her bedroom, an iPad and pretty much everything she could want.
But in the past few days, I've had a wake-up call. First, she complained, "You got me loads more presents at Christmas than for my birthday!"
She's right: for Christmas, she got about 20 presents from me. For her birthday, she got ten, plus £100.
"That's because I gave you £100," I protested.
"Yeah, but stuff's so expensive I can hardly buy anything with it!" she came back. (Bear in mind she also gets presents from her dad.)
She's away from me for a bit, so I decided last night - with her permission - to tidy her incredibly messy room. It's only three metres by two metres, but I found dozens upon dozens of presents still in their cellophane. There were also things out of their wrapping which she'd never used: colouring books uncoloured; sticker albums untouched; sheets of stickers, erasers and pencils intact, etc.
It's such a shame, because now, when she receives a present, her reaction is "meh". She's just not enthused at all. She unwraps it, nods impassively, and then it's on to the next thing.
This is my fault.
When I was a kid, my parents didn't give me soft toys or dolls. There were a few stuffed animal toys around the house (none of them mine, and all rough-textured), but when I was seven years old I got educational stuff: an abacus, books, school stationery. My parents were so strict, they didn't try to please me: they gave me what they thought I should have, not what I wanted. There was virtually no telly, and no radio either. I was so bored, I remember playing with a broken tile in the backyard one dull Sunday afternoon, because there was little else to do.
And because my childhood was so devoid of gifts and joy and love, I vowed to give my wonderful daughter a childhood that was the exact opposite: full of presents and pleasure. I wanted her to have everything she wanted, whenever she wanted it. And in the process, I've created a child who is so dulled by the experience of being given things, it's almost painful.
So I've cleared her room and am giving all the unused stuff to the charity shop, and from now on, she's getting presents at Christmas and her birthday only - and a moderate amount.
She will no doubt scream and cry when she finds out, and say I'm the worst mummy in the world. But I think it'll be good for us both in the long run.
After all, if I'd been starved as a kid, the solution wouldn't be to over-feed her and make her sick, but to feed her a sensible amount. I'm not very good at moderation, but I'm going to try.
April 29, 2018
It’s like rain on your wedding day
A year ago today, I was in the limo with my wonderful, kind, funny fiancé on the way to our wedding ceremony - and I was crying.
It wasn’t because of emotion, but sadness. Three years previously, my first engagement to him had ended after three days, after he got cold feet. We tried to rekindle our relationship a few months later, but this time I was the one to end things, due to my anxiety.
After all this, I put on three stone in weight. It is really hard to stay a normal weight on my three anxiety meds; they all cause weight gain, and you never feel full when you’re on them.
I realised I missed being with my fiancé desperately when we were apart, and I tried hard to get back with him, explaining that I was now better at dealing with my anxiety. But he wasn’t interested.
Two years later, I lost all the weight due to a meal replacement sachet diet, and returned to my original weight. I gained confidence, and started dating.
Suddenly, my fiancé wanted to be with me again. We got back together and began planning our future, deciding on the thrilling idea of visiting America to get married. We would combine it with his 40th birthday and have a two-week honeymoon in Las Vegas and LA.
Despite having an American passport due to my American dad, as well as voting in US elections and filing US tax returns, I had never been to the States. And the fact that I would be going there to marry this thoughtful, talented, down-to-earth and witty man was wonderful on many levels.
And yet, there was something bothering me. I tried to suppress it, but I knew deep down that there was no way my fiancé would be marrying me if I were still three stone heavier. When I questioned him, he admitted that this was true.
I told myself that everyone was superficial about physical appearance. It was just the rule of nature. And yet, my fiancé and I had known each other for 20 years. I felt that what I was like should count for more than what I looked like - and that, if it didn’t, it wasn’t true love at all.
So on my wedding day, in that limo, I cried, and tried not to smudge my mascara, and said ‘We shouldn’t be getting married. You didn’t want me when I was fat, so our relationship is worthless.’
My fiancé said ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do about it now, but I am truly sorry. I really want to marry you.’
‘Yeah, NOW you do!’ I sobbed. ‘You wouldn’t if I were overweight again. I can’t forgive you for being so superficial - and I won’t be able to stop berating you for it, so we shouldn’t get married.’
And the stereo playlist in the limo, which had clearly just been compiled from a list of songs with ‘love’ in the title, started playing Roxette’s It Must Have Been Love (But It’s Over Now). If I'd believed in omens, which I don’t, it would have been a pretty strong one.
The limo stopped in front of the marriage bureau. It was make-or-break time. I had strong misgivings, but I loved this decent, patient, reliable man, this man I’d been best friends with for 20 years, who had put up with me when everyone else had fallen by the wayside.
I thought he would be a great husband, and a great father to our children. And we’d travelled all the way across the Atlantic Ocean for this, the best day of our lives together.
So I went through with the marriage, and felt totally euphoric afterwards. The chapel was beautiful, the sky was an incredible blue, the sun was hot, and dozens of strangers congratulated us afterwards. We took a photo in the limo on the way back from the chapel; I look so happy.
But I shouldn’t have got married that day. Today, exactly a year later, I'm getting divorced: because I never forgave my husband. I piled on all the weight again in the months after marriage, and resented him because I knew he wished I would lose it. Whenever he praised me for losing weight, I exploded with rage; when he went behind my back and did a favour for a thin, attractive female friend I’d fallen out with, despite my asking him not to, I was incandescent with fury.
I tried so hard to get past the issue: by having weekly therapy sessions, by journaling, by talking to friends. I tried to focus on the positives: he was a great stepdad to my little one, he left beautiful Post-It notes in my laptop every day, he helped me with everything I did.
But ultimately, a little voice in my head kept saying: he doesn't love you. If he didn't want you when you were overweight, despite your two decades of friendship, he doesn't truly want you.
And, even though no little girl grows up wanting to get divorced, it's this truth that stops me from getting back with him. Perhaps it's a failing on my part; perhaps it's a failing on his. Whatever it is, it's incredibly sad. Because I was so angry at him so often, he refused to keep trying for a baby, and our marriage fell apart.
So today, I'm filing for divorce. Because a year ago, it rained down my cheeks on my wedding day, although the sun was shining outside. And I should never have got out of the limo.
A rainy day at the playground
Yesterday the seven-year-old and I met up with old friends and their adorable kids. We went for ice cream and then for pizza (I had salad), but the seven-year-old thought it was 'too cheesy', so only had one slice. She ate two chocolate ice creams though!
It rained all day, but that didn't stop us from going to the playground. The seven-year-old really enjoyed herself. It was one of those lovely days where you can go to sleep at night safe in the knowledge that you did the most with your time.
It rained all day, but that didn't stop us from going to the playground. The seven-year-old really enjoyed herself. It was one of those lovely days where you can go to sleep at night safe in the knowledge that you did the most with your time.
April 28, 2018
How I deal with anxiety
Yesterday I had the most extreme anxiety attack I’ve had in years, since about 2013. It was absolutely paralysing, to the extent that I thought of calling my ex-husband and begging him to come back, because I never got anxiety attacks when I was married to him. I never got ill either.
But fear of anxiety is not a good reason to stay with someone, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't come back anyhow. So I did two things that helped.
First, I forced myself to do everything I would have done anyway, keeping really busy: household chores like laundry and putting away the shopping, taking care of the little one, etc. Aristotle said ‘Nature abhors a vacuum’, and taking action means you have less thought space to dwell on the horrors in your head. It's hard to run around when your thoughts have you in their grip, but I find they loosen more quickly this way.
Second, I took an extra pill of my drug that cycles your brainwaves. It doesn’t allow you to brood on anything for long. So when I woke up this morning, I was feeling - if not exactly normal - definitely better. Kind of foggy, and like I knew something had gone wrong yesterday, but I couldn't access it. I am very lucky to have this drug virtually free on the NHS.
So now I'm able to enjoy my weekend with the little one. I fervently hope the anxiety doesn't return, but if it does, I have these coping mechanisms.
Have a lovely weekend.
But fear of anxiety is not a good reason to stay with someone, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't come back anyhow. So I did two things that helped.
First, I forced myself to do everything I would have done anyway, keeping really busy: household chores like laundry and putting away the shopping, taking care of the little one, etc. Aristotle said ‘Nature abhors a vacuum’, and taking action means you have less thought space to dwell on the horrors in your head. It's hard to run around when your thoughts have you in their grip, but I find they loosen more quickly this way.
Second, I took an extra pill of my drug that cycles your brainwaves. It doesn’t allow you to brood on anything for long. So when I woke up this morning, I was feeling - if not exactly normal - definitely better. Kind of foggy, and like I knew something had gone wrong yesterday, but I couldn't access it. I am very lucky to have this drug virtually free on the NHS.
So now I'm able to enjoy my weekend with the little one. I fervently hope the anxiety doesn't return, but if it does, I have these coping mechanisms.
Have a lovely weekend.
April 27, 2018
My arse is so fat, I just broke the toilet seat
I’ve had three big weight-based wake-up calls in the past month. The first is this cold-flu bug I’ve been unable to shake for four weeks. Apparently obesity lowers your immune system. Who knew?
Next, my jeans split at the crotch. Being permanently on a diet, I’ve been reluctant to buy a new pair only to grow out of them quickly. The split isn’t visible unless you’re looking between my legs, AND WHY WOULD YOU BE DOING THAT, YOU PERVERT?! But still, it’s a sign that I’m heading towards a size 18 - and that’s a really bad thing when you’re 5’2”.
And lastly - most humiliatingly - I sat down on the toilet and heard an ominous ‘crunch’ noise. I looked down, and lo and behold, THE SEAT HAD CRACKED! I have literally turned into a ‘Yo mama’s so fat’ joke. Embarrassing isn’t the word.
Because I got sick when I tried to diet drastically, I’m going to start with 1,800 calories today, then progressively lower them until I’m at 900 - then swap between 900 one day (diet) and 1,500 the next (maintenance) to ensure my willpower and metabolism don’t drop too much.
As my daughter has taught me: it doesn’t matter if you’ve failed in the past. All that matters is that you try, try again; and I am. Even if the toilet seat has been a casualty of my fat bottom.
April 26, 2018
I'd rather be fat than ill
I started my hardcore diet yesterday, going onto meal replacement sachets and dropping my calories to 750 (plus soya milk in coffees). The first sign that all wasn't well came when I felt super-tired, and crawled into the little room to sleep during lunchtime.
When I got home after work, I took Sambucol and Metatone, hoping to keep the ills at bay.
By the time I had therapy yesterday evening, I announced, "I feel really rough." My therapist replied, "I can hear it in your voice." She suggested that I should "feed the cold" in order to cure it.
My theory is that my body is still fighting off the virus it's had for a month, and that by receiving fewer calories, it doesn't have the energy to ward it off.
So I fed it, because I'd rather be fat than ill.
*this post was brought to you by Boring Ill Announcements*
When I got home after work, I took Sambucol and Metatone, hoping to keep the ills at bay.
By the time I had therapy yesterday evening, I announced, "I feel really rough." My therapist replied, "I can hear it in your voice." She suggested that I should "feed the cold" in order to cure it.
My theory is that my body is still fighting off the virus it's had for a month, and that by receiving fewer calories, it doesn't have the energy to ward it off.
So I fed it, because I'd rather be fat than ill.
*this post was brought to you by Boring Ill Announcements*
April 25, 2018
Happy birthday to my inspiration
I’m so proud of my daughter. Last year, she auditioned for the school concert and failed to get in. She picked herself up, dusted herself off and auditioned again this year - and this time, she succeeded! Yesterday she performed the solo song she had written in front of 200+ people. She is a lesson to me in how to deal with failure.
Today is her actual 7th birthday, and it is also exactly six months until my book launch and publication date. To mark this milestone, I am going to set off on my journey to lose 5 stone (70lbs) before the book comes out. Right now, I feel like getting a “Baby NOT on board” badge for the Tube, because my huge belly is so swollen! But that won’t be the case for much longer. This time, I am going to lose the weight in six months and keep it off, and fit into a beautiful size 8 dress at my book launch.
I want to be a good, healthy role model for my daughter, and that means not putting every foodstuff in the world in my mouth. I’ve failed to lose weight a thousand times before, but am going to follow Lily’s example: pick myself up, dust myself off and try again. This time I am going to succeed.
