In a new weekly feature, Her.ie newbie Liz is going to share her weight loss journey. She’ll be filling you in on fighting temptation, her willpower struggles with the cocktail menu and taking painfully slow steps towards regular exercise. All in the name of a dress.
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Hanging on the wall at the end of my bed is the constant reminder I plan on shedding nearly two stone this year. I also plan on marking the trials and tribulations of ‘trying to be good’ – the favourite saying we all tout, and quickly replace when a cake is put in front of us.
Week 36: Feeling festive yet?
On the first day of Christmas my scales did say to me… that I was going to be alright.
And then the party season happened.
I explained last week how I had spent the weekend at a child’s birthday party, and since my return? Well I’ve been having a daily celebration of all things food and drink.
Sure ‘tis the season, isn’t that what they say?
What they don’t remind you is that there’s a week to go ‘til your Christmas party and your lack of outfit choices might have had something to do with the range of desserts you did decide to devour on the weeks running up to said night.
Here’s the thing, Christmas means for three weeks you’re about to photobomb Facebook between every 12 pubs, family catch-up, drinks down the local and Kris Kindle moment you can shake a camera phone at.
Most years I tend to hide out the back of the group shot (one of the many reasons I’m glad to be tall) and pretend it’s for the good of the picture.
Sure who’ll see the rest of the ladies if my head and shoulders are in the way?
What I might not be so quick to let on, is that I dread those photos. That relentless tagging. The dreaded email updates –
“Your friend with no idea of how to shoot an angle has tagged a photo of you on Facebook”.
I have more cop on then to let that function go freely, and of course I monitor my tags.
Vain? Absolutely. But you haven’t seen me cry into a cocktail over an awful shot or a shocking case of the bingo wings, and trust me, this is the lesser of two evils.
Also, one day I’m going to meet the creator of the Christmas jumper and personally shoot them. On what planet did they think adding bells and lights to a jumper was ever going to flatter a figure. I know I’m meant to be more relaxed and find it hilarious, but that’s restricted to Bridget Jones and Mark D’Arcy awkwardness while sipping a glass of wine.
I don’t need a flashing beacon of existence that is the festive pullover.
I know I sound like Scrooge, but I swear there are some things about Christmas I like.
I’m a big fan of the dinner (shocker), and of course spending times with loved ones. And who doesn’t love a holiday where it’s practically TRADITION to polish off a box of Roses after breakfast?
What I’m not so pushed on is a pressure to feel like I need to dress-up and feel slender. To look like I belong on the top of a Christmas tree.
No, I don’t want to rub glitter on my face, but I do want to feel special.
Every girl does.
So this Christmas I want to ban the photos. Not because I don’t love my family or friends, but because I want to enjoy what the holiday is meant to mean and not stress that my hair isn’t right, or my clothes look tight, or my arm is morphing into bird status.
Besides, we might just enjoy ourselves that bit more if we actually live in the moment.
And with that, I’m putting the Weight Watchers on the back-burner this week.
Because life’s too short not to feel festive.
