Why I’m Trying Not To Get Beach Body Ready

Mr H and I have finally booked our holiday this year and I am so freaking excited. We are going to Cuba to lie in the sun on a beach, it’s going to be amazing.

The other day I had that Sunday night WHAT AM I DOING moment when I had a bath after a brilliant weekend of much eating and contemplated my wobbly bottom. I AM GOING ON HOLIDAY IN 6 WEEKS – PUT DOWN THAT BROWNIE.

For anyone that knows me well, they will know that I do not talk about dieting or exercising. If the subject comes up I try to turn it, if someone doesn’t feel like going to the gym I encourage them not to go. This is to cover my massive insecurity that if I properly thought about it, my confident facade would probably crumble to pieces.

I think body anxiety is very contagious.

6 years of sitting on my bottom in an office has changed the shape of my bottom. I cook every meal from scratch, I don’t eat out very often, I walk where possible. Where some people get a kick or a rush from going to the gym or to an exercise class, I never do (I keep hoping I’ll go and get that addicted thing people claim to get?!). I just find the gym SO DULL. If I’m worried or stressed about anything I’ll go to a yoga class but that’s more to look after my head than to strengthen my core. I am a perfectly average size 10ish in my late twenties and my body is not the same as it was in my late teens.

Why do I not think this is enough? I have a nice man who loves me as I am, I am only going on holiday with him. I can decide which photos to share and which to hide away until I am another 10 years older and want to reminisce about how fabulous I probably look (if you need a pick me up always listen to Baz Luhrmann’s Wear Sunscreen).

I am desperate not to conform to society’s belief that a size 8 toned woman is the only sort of woman valid to exist. My favourite way to get body confident is to walk through the sculptures in the V&A museum- when you come in through the tube entrance- and you see the ladies with all their orange peel, wobbly, textured loveliness that were considered the most beautiful thing in nature. My body is like that.

So I’m telling my Sunday night anxieties to be quiet and turning my attention to my packing wardrobe. Trying to concentrate on how privileged I am to even be going on a fabulous holiday. Knowing that if I wasn’t going on holiday I would be hunkering down for the winter warmth of stews and bakes and evenings in. One lucky week in the sun won’t change who I am. Let’s try to keep each other on track.