LIZZIE WRITES

I’ve been obsessed with food my whole life. I’ve been overweight for most of my life. How much food I consume is a daily obsession for me. I feel vulnerable writing these sentences because when I grew up, it was an area of my life I would never talk about. I want to talk about it because I am fed up of burying it. My weight and food is an ever-present storyline in my life that will not end, no matter how many pounds I lose. I Googled ‘over-eating disorder’ for the first time today. I’m not sure why I’ve never done this before. I touched on my weight in therapy but I probably didn’t go into this part of my life deeply enough. As I had lost a considerable amount of weight, I thought it was all behind me. But I realised today that it is still with me very much every day. No matter how many pounds I lose, I still have the insecurities of my former obese self tucked away in my mind. The shame put on me from others and society – that being bigger means you’re lazy, undesirable, not admirable – will probably stay with me forever. It does remind me how far I have come. I am far more confident than the girl I look at in photos of me from my teens and twenties, when I was obese. At my largest I was a size 24. I ate far too much as food was my source of comfort and control in a world where I didn’t feel too great, and I did little exercise. Well, none. I had succumbed to my role in life - the fun, big girl in the friendship group. I wore loud, vibrant clothes that carefully covered my insecurities. I learned how to wear beautiful make-up to highlight my high cheek bones and full lips. Low cut tops would showcase my big breasts. I was a professional at the art of distraction. In some ways, my weight stopped me from living my life. I didn’t go away from home for university and didn’t have the wild student experience my friends had. I felt safer at home with my parents, I guess. However, in my early twenties I worked abroad as a journalist and bar tender. I went out dancing on nights out. I had adventures. All the time I had low self-esteem and had to fight against anxiety each day. Looking back, I’m proud of myself for getting out of my comfort zone. When I needed comfort, I would find it in food. This was something I had been doing from a young age. I started gaining a lot of weight after my Grandma died when I was 11. We would bake together, we would eat together, and her kitchen was always filled with treats that were never restricted. Food equaled happiness and security – and still does. When I was 27 – ten years ago, in fact – I had a relationship with a man who made it clear my size was an issue. This was the trigger for my weight-loss journey. I had dabbled in losing weight but could never find the will power to sustain it. But something deep inside me changed. I couldn’t go on like this. I didn’t want to feel this insecure anymore. I didn’t want my life to be controlled by my insecurities and shame. I didn’t want to be in relationships with men who didn’t appreciate me for who I was as a person. I knew I was with someone who didn’t deserve me but I felt grateful he had picked me even though I was overweight. I mean… I could shake myself now. But I am thankful for that experience. It changed my life for the better but that is down to me, not him. So, I started walking an hour a day, cut out sugar, and ate less processed foods. Try it, it really does work. Diets don’t. When I felt thin enough – eye roll – I started going to the gym and this changed my life, without a doubt. I found a community of people who were focused on their health (and having fun) and I built the confidence to go to classes I never thought I would complete. It became an important part of my day. My focus changed too. I wasn’t going so I could lose weight but to maintain good mental health, which in turn curbed my comfort eating. I saw my body differently. I saw its strength, not just its weaknesses. All the hard work I put into maintaining my fitness made me want to fuel my body properly. I educated myself in nutrition. I worked out what I needed, not just desired. I wore a bikini for the first time. I had never done this before as I cared far too much about what people would think. Even though I was now a socially-acceptable size 12, I still nervously walked down to the shoreline. And guess what? The world didn’t end. I remember worrying about what a week of booze and bread would do to my waistline. It didn’t do much. Nothing bad happened. I just wish I had realised far sooner that I deserved to feel good about myself and my body deserved to be looked after. When you are overweight and receive criticism for the way you look, a lot of shame is put on you that you do not deserve. In therapy, I learned it was important to give that shame back. You have to try and rewrite the negative patterns in your mind. It is so hard to do and something I still battle with. Even when I got to my slimmest, in my head I was still the undesirable fat girl in the bar. And that is why I went to therapy. I had achieved the goal I never thought I’d achieve. I had made myself smaller, as so many people and society had told me it was wrong to be bigger. I assumed life would be better. Yet, my life wasn’t. I was even sadder as I just felt deflated. Over time I have learned to be proud of what I have done to get healthier and have so much more confidence in myself. I feel sad that I put so much focus on how I looked, rather than what is going on inside. Since having my son, my food consumption has changed again. I put weight back on after having Henry. I went through a traumatic birth and stressful pregnancy, so once he was here, I sought comfort in food. I was also exhausted so I went for anything quick and easy. You also have food in the house you wouldn’t normally buy for yourself, so it is all very tempting after a broken night’s sleep. Henry is five now and it has taken a long time to get back into a healthier frame of mind. I create my own healthy recipes and share them on social media. I eat really healthily in the week and let go a little at the weekend. The hardest times for me are the evenings, after he has gone to bed. I treat myself to chocolate – dark chocolate though, it’s healthier. See, it’s still about control. I go to the gym 5 times a week. I love feeling strong in my body again, after I felt it almost failed me during his birth. I used to feel guilty about the time I spent going to the gym but I know it makes me a better parent as my mental health is better than ever. I also want to be around as long as possible. When I can’t get to the gym, I don’t stress. I just make sure I move my body. I just wish my head wasn’t still consumed with how much I consume. I’m fed up of feeling guilty if I have more than two squares of chocolate. So, how do I change this? Perhaps I need therapy focused on this, but that costs money. Maybe food is my battle to be fought throughout my life. I will soldier on with this love/hate relationship.

Before I became a mother, I made sure I had everything my baby could possibly need. A cot, nappies, chemical-free bubble bath and wipes, cute clothing, toys, sleep aids, pram, baby bath… the list was endless. What I didn’t envisage was how irrelevant the materialistic aspects of parenting life would become. As my baby grew, the need for all the latest ‘baby must-haves’ we are told to buy to be a successful parent diminished. What the capitalist world doesn’t talk about is how ‘connection’ is one of the most important aspects of parenting – for parent and child. As the unused nappy bin thingmajig gathered dust, the realisation as to what was really important for me, and my child was true connection within our community. Becoming a parent for the first time is both wonderful yet utterly isolating. Nobody really talks about the grief you experience for your previous life. You have this new beautiful baby to love and who loves you, what could be better? Along with this newfound, life-altering love, comes the loss of spontaneity and freedom. The realisation that you now have to consider another being for every second of your life is overwhelming. Sleep deprivation adds a whole other level of irrational magnitude to these feelings. Yet you come out of the fog and meet other new parents who are going through the same experience or have been through it in the past. You meet people you perhaps would never have met if you hadn’t become a parent. Your paths would never have crossed. But now you have these little people in common, and all the extreme highs and lows they leave in their snot-filled wake. I was lucky to find a like-minded tribe of mums at my son’s nursery, which he has recently left as he heads towards the next journey - school. The connection between the children and us tired-weary mums is strong, and no amount of money could match what connection does for the soul. It costs nothing to take them to the local park and let them run free and play together. Something they missed out on for so many months during the lockdown. The pandemic proved just how important connection and community is, because without it we feel lost and alone, and our mental health begins to suffer. On a much-needed night off in one of our gardens, where we gather together after bedtime is done and we can debrief on life together over one too many bottles of fizz and cocktails in a tin. We talk about our little bundles of joy, but they aren’t the only topic that comes up. We’ve shared stories of our past lives when we weren’t mothers, we moan and groan about work and balancing life in general, and what we’re watching on TV. We discuss openly our fears and hopes for their future, and how we will get through the next phase of their little lives. When are we getting the feet measured for new school shoes? How will we get them to school on time every single day? We’ve been through a pandemic, so I reckon we can get through the first day of school together. Here’s to all mothers and fathers who are taking their first steps into parenthood. It does get easier. Just find your tribe and you’ll be fine.

It’s only when things comes to an end you realise how important and integral they are to your life. The looming closure of my favourite café has hit me harder than I expected. A regular haunt such as this one isn’t just somewhere you pick up a coffee (and cake.) It’s also a place where I have cried, laughed, felt safe, worked on my laptop, and spent hours breastfeeding my son (whilst I laughed and cried). Why Not café opened its doors 3 months after I gave birth to my son, Henry. Before I became a mum cafés were not such an integral part of my life. I would pop into Starbucks when I was shopping or grabbed a coffee and breakfast on my way into the office, but I didn’t have a regular haunt as such. I was more likely to be found in a bar than a café in my twenties, let’s be honest. I think most new mums will agree with me that a café, where caffeine is available on steady supply, is a safe sanctuary away from the four walls of your home you must leave at some point in the day before you lose your mind into complete isolation. I remember the early days of Henry where leaving the house and getting myself to Why Not would feel like a big mission to complete. A hot milky latte would be my reward, and I could safely pop my boob out to feed him in the comfy Chesterfield arm chairs as I watched the world go by or mindlessly scroll social media. It was the perfect place where you could meet your new mum friends and share birth stories and relate to each other over lack of sleep and sore nipples. The vibe was so relaxed you didn’t feel like you were in the way with your push chair and shopping bags from Aldi. As a single mum I was going through some big emotions in those early months of Henry’s life and the wonderful staff members were like my therapists. I could go in there in any state – happy, sad, sleep deprived, anxious - and I would be met with big smiles and plenty of comfort and reassurance. Chelsea, a fellow single mum, gave me honest, helpful advice and could relate to all my co-parenting grief. Nina always knew how I was feeling by just looking at me and would take Henry off me for ten minutes so I could eat my lunch in peace with two hands, which felt like pure luxury. And Molly would fill you in on the latest dramas with her humour and wit, and take you away from any negative thoughts. Taking Henry there most days made him into a social butterfly, giving out gorgeous smiles and getting used to meeting new people. And he would see his mum interacting, something he wouldn’t see so much at home as it was just us two. The loveliest part of being a regular somewhere is being able to walk in knowing there would always be someone you know in there. I think we all learned during the pandemic that being part of a community and having connections is what makes humans happy. And now with more of us working from home, places like Why Not have become such an important place for so many who don’t work well with home distractions and need adult conversation. So as Why Not closes its doors, it’s a symbol of another part of my life closing. The early years of Henry. He will start school in September. He will no longer be a pre-schooler. I won’t have my precious day with him in the week where I get to hang out with him and take him to cafes and gymnastics. I mean sometimes the day doesn’t feel so precious. But I’m conscious that soon he will have a place to go to every week day. He will then be at his dads half the weekend. It’s both exciting and emotional. I get to focus on my career again and he is very ready for school. But it feels very much like the end of an era which a year or so of was stolen away due to the pandemic. Could I just get another six months to prepare? And I won’t have my sanctuary to fall into after that first school drop off. I’ll just have to find another but I don’t think it will be easy. My home away from home will be missed.

I was at the gym the other day and I got talking to a lady I had seen in class a few times. After I told her I worked for myself and was lucky to fit gym classes in during the morning, she asked if I had any children. “Yes, Henry, he is four. I love this age!” I said enthusiastically. “You have just the one?” She asked. “Yes - just the one.” “And you are with his father?” She asked pointedly. Wondering, I guess, why I had “just the one”. “No, we are not together. I’m a single parent.” I said proudly. “Ah.” She replied looking down at the ground with the expression of a disappointed parent. “He’s a very happy boy and he has a great relationship with his dad,” I replied, a little defiantly. I’d had this same conversation many times during the four years of being a single parent. And I had always felt a little defensive because the stigma of being a single parent is still inherently within society, no matter how far we have come in many ways. But then the conversation shifted unexpectedly. The lady smiled and said, “That’s the main thing, they are happy.” That is the main thing. He is happy. I am happy – most of the time but with a hell of a lot of work I’ve been doing on myself. I would not be happy if I was with Henry’s dad. And in turn, Henry wouldn’t be the boy he is today. He’d have grown up with an insecure, unhappy, unstable, sad mother in a house that would have been filled with mistrust, arguments and no stability. Instead he has been raised by a woman who he sees is independent, strong, works hard, has fun, and is at the centre of her world. My biggest passion in life now is raising a boy who will become a man who respects women and can be open about his emotions. I feel like we are on the right path. I truly believe children can have a more consistently happy and stable childhood when they have parents who are separated rather than living in a house filled with arguments and animosity because two people are staying together for the sake of children. I know that is easier said than done in many cases. The guilt of being a single parent is always there but it has lessened in time, but it is still there. When I’m tired and have no patience for his meltdowns, I often think, this is when his dad would come in and take over and he’d be protected from my raised voice and tears. Yet, I realise he has learnt that I’m not always able to be ‘happy mummy’ and that it is okay to show emotions rather than bottling them up. And I feel guilty that Henry doesn’t get to do all the things he would do if he had parents who were together. He doesn’t get to go on days out with both of us as a family unit, he doesn’t get to go on holidays with both of his parents there watching him paddling in the sea, and he has to go from house to house at the weekend, leaving at 9am on a Sunday when he should be able to stay in his PJs watching YouTube. I also imagine how wonderful it must be to share the moments with the other parent. The pride you feel together, knowing you together have created this amazing little human. That’s when I feel alone in this. I rarely feel lonely (I’m never alone!) but I do feel alone in certain situations. Like looking at prospective schools without the other parent, making all the decisions on your own and always being the one who is clearing up snot and sick. Instead, Henry will go to his dads and Henry’s dad and his new wife will experience moments together, like seeing Henry and his little sister playing together and having their first sleepover. Waking up in the morning and giving him his breakfast, knowing they may not know his little ways as much as I do. I’m so proud that I have always given Henry the opportunity to have a relationship with his dad. It was incredibly hard in the beginning but we have come a long way. In turn, Henry has taught me the greatest lesson I have ever learnt in my life: to leave anger and negative energy behind and move forward as it does no one any good. I set aside whatever I felt in the past and I send Henry on his way to his dads and I make the most of that time so I can reset and try and be the best mum I can be. So, there you go. Life as a single parent. I wouldn’t change my experience for anything. If I meet someone then the dynamic will change and Henry will have another person to love. But for now, I’ll soak in our special bond. Just the two of us (and our dog, Mindy).

I recently had to visit my doctor. The doctors waiting room is a place that usually feels a little depressing, because you’re there feeling ill and cold, wanting to be back on your sofa, surrounded by others coughing and sneezing. But today, I hear a baby cry and a journey of life-affirming memories come back to me which are all held in this doctor’s waiting room. The cry begins to calm and I smile at the mum who looks relieved as she comforts her beautiful baby. I unexpectedly feel engulfed by a journey of memories that relay mine and my son’s story so far. Down the hallway opposite, I see the chairs I used to wait nervously outside the midwife’s office after doing the glamorous job of a wee sample. I remember how she told me at each visit that it was now about me and baby, all the other angst I had with his dad didn’t matter anymore. I only fully got that when I held Henry in my arms. Nothing else mattered anymore. We were going to be okay. We had each other. My eyes then wander across to the doctor’s office where I took a four day old Henry to see a lovely GP as I was worried he hadn’t done a poo yet. She was so reassuring and made me feel I wasn’t wasting her time. She showed me techniques to get things moving, and sure enough the next day he did the biggest poo that resembled chicken korma. The doctor wasn't wrong, when they go, they go! Next door was the GP’s room where I went for my post-natal check. Considering I went through a traumatic birth where I nearly needed a blood transfusion, this check lasted only five minutes and you’re never checked again. I was asked if I was feeling happy or sad. Right now? I remember thinking. Well, tired, sometimes happy and then sometimes sad, overwhelmed, and then full of bliss. Those early days were the biggest rollercoaster of emotions. It’s hard to say, really. Am I depressed or just tired? I can’t even remember if they physically checked my stitches. To my left, I hear the baby cry again. The cry reminds me of taking Henry to have his first set of injections. His bare chubby arms being injected hurt my heart, as I couldn’t warn him about what was about to happen. Your mother’s instinct is unimaginably consuming in those early days; you do anything to protect them. I could only use my breast milk to console him and doses of Calpol got us through the night. And finally, out walks the GP I saw when I first found out I was pregnant. I remember how she gave me a card for a Marie Stopes abortion clinic after I told her how I was no longer with the father of the baby. I’d love to tell her how my baby is now four and thriving, not that she ever doubted me but it felt very negative to receive the abortion information after I told her something inside was telling me to keep this baby. There was no information about where to get support if I did make the choice to keep this baby. I would tell her how I’ve finally stopped holding onto my negative birth experience and instead now dwell on how far we have come. How I travelled with him on my own when he was just six months old. How I’ve pretty much done every bedtime and nappy change. How I’ve consoled most of his tears. How I’ve always had to decide on everything regarding his life on my own – nurseries and schools, birthday presents, if his temperature was high enough for a hospital visit, and whether he has too much screen time. I have had no one to bounce off but I’m privileged to make all of these choices on his behalf. People often assume I must be lonely as a single parent, and yes going through a pandemic on your own with a toddler was not how envisaged the early years of parenting - to put it mildly, but since the day I found out I was pregnant, I’ve never once felt lonely. We are a team, as Henry tells me most days. Memories such as these are what we can hold onto when we feel at our utter worse. When we’re burnt out and feeling hopeless - they remind us that you will be okay again. Because parenting is a life of extreme highs and then lows and it can be hard to navigate. So when I feel like a rubbish sleep deprived mum, I’ll take myself back to the doctor’s waiting room and remind myself how far we’ve come. Be kind to yourself and think of your journey.

I didn't expect to be pregnant this year; it was not in my plan for 2017. I had become a successful freelance content writer after quitting my 9-5 marketing job and I had just moved into a new house, all on my own. Motherhood had never really been on the top of my to-do list. I was more interested in becoming a successful writer. And I was now finally doing what I loved for a living and was self-sufficient, relying on myself and no one else. It was a few days after Valentine's Day when I did the test in a pub toilet whilst my best friend waited outside, frantically downing a bottle of white wine. She later told me she knew I was pregnant the moment she saw me - I had that glow apparently. I thought my late period was down to the stress of moving house whilst trying to keep my clients happy. "I'm only f**cking pregnant," I said to Deb as I joined her back at our table, passing the urine-stained positive pregnancy test under the table (sorry Deb - you are the best!). She looked down at the stick with her eyes wide. "Yep, you're definitely pregnant!" And she popped it in her bag. I hope it isn't still there? You really are the best, Deb! My heart was racing, all sorts of thoughts running through my head. This wasn't in my plan. I was single. I worked for myself. I was thinking of getting a puppy, not a baby. How would I tell the father? We had parted ways a week after I conceived because he wasn't ready to commit to more, when I had wanted more. Not, however, the commitment of a baby but perhaps meeting each other's parents or a weekend away together. How would I tell my parents? What would my friends think? What would I do about work? I realised that all the questions to myself were about the consequences of having this baby. Not once did I even think of having an abortion. If I was young and irresponsible with no life experience, perhaps it would have been an option. I was 31, responsible, full of love to give to a child and with plenty of life experience I could pass down to them through advice and guidance. I was ready. The overwhelming surge of love I felt for the tiny feotus inside me was overwhelming. I felt protective of this tiny being. The maternal instinct I wasn't sure I had suddenly kicked in. I had wanted to make a change in my life, who knew that in 2017 it would be having a baby. I am now six months pregnant and spend my nights in bed staring down at my bump as he kicks and writhes in my tummy as we listen to an eclectic mix of Mozart to Madonna. It hasn't been easy and being a single pregnant woman comes with its uncertainties, anxieties and stresses - pretty much like any pregnancy, whether you have a supportive partner or not! It is an isolating time. However, I realised early on in my pregnancy this is the best thing that could have happened to me. I am lucky enough to already have a strong bond with my baby boy. It's me and him now, we're a team. I feel invincible with him growing inside my body and the little things in life don't touch me anymore. I have learnt so much from these six months of being unexpectedly pregnant. And this is only the beginning... People don't think before they speak I am an anxious person, so when pregnant this just escalated. Every time I go to the toilet I think I am going to find blood and he will be taken from me. When I first started feeling his movements at week 17, I worried on those days when they weren't so frequent. I spent four whole days thinking my baby was no more but didn't tell anyone. When pregnant, your body suddenly feels open for observational comments, like it did when I was very overweight before losing it all in 2013. I have been told on numerous occasions that I am not "big enough for 20 weeks" or that "you don't look pregnant". I wasn't sure what to say? Do you want to see the scan? He's in there! This induces worry that my baby isn't growing properly or I am not eating enough and the guilt kicks in. The truth is you only need 200 extra calories in the third trimester. I understand people tell you stories to try and relate to your situation but sometimes it just does not help to hear them. The worst are the stories about miscarriage or illness. "My friend had a miscarriage at 21 weeks, it was awful..." and "I know someone who got cancer when they were pregnant..." I've thought of absolutely every possibility or consequence of being pregnant when I wake at 4am in the morning and it only feels more of a worry when it's reinforced. And don't get my started on people seeming to think they have the right to reveal your secret... There's a reason why I'm not ready to tell the world, respect that! And once it was out, I was so shocked when the receptionist at my gym asked if I was on the pill. You’re life is suddenly very open to opinion and questions from those who aren’t even friends. You realise just how loved you are I will stop moaning now because I have been truly overwhelmed by the support I have received from my friends and family. My pregnancy hasn't been straight forward. I luckily only experienced fatigue, I wasn't sick in the early days and my baby is growing very healthily but my situation hasn't been easy. I've spent nights full of worry, crying with hormones racing through my body that led me down paths of thought I really didn't want to go down. However, I have never looked back and I know I made the right decision to keep this baby and it was my decision alone. What has been reassuring is my friends and family standing by me in that decision, believing in me and telling me I can do this and will be the best mother to this boy. You also find strength from friends you're not particularly close to but motherhood brings you closer. For all the books you can read, advice from mums who have been there and done it really is the best. Just like when you lose a loved one or experience a life-changing event, you do lose friends along the way when you're pregnant. Some people just don't have the support to give or know what to say or relate to me anymore, and that is fine. I've learnt to let go. Maybe one day they'll come back. And that is fine. I finally love my body I have spent most of my life hating my body. I was very overweight throughout my teens and early twenties. I hated my thighs, my tummy and my double chin. I felt ashamed of how big I had become and couldn't find a way out. I finally made a lifestyle change in 2013, adopting a healthier relationship with food and embracing exercise. I was down to a size 12 by 2015. Woo! I still didn't like my excess skin on my tummy and I still picked on things I didn't like about my body but I felt much more confident and healthy. I am finally full of respect for my body. My body is capable of growing a human and it amazes me every day. I thought I would get very paranoid about putting weight back on, especially as my bump grew more rotund. However, I love my bump and feel so proud of it. My tummy was always the part I felt self-conscious about but it's big for a bloody good reason now. Now in my second trimester I have never felt more natural, beautiful or healthy. We shall see if that continues into the third trimester when my legs become tree trunks and my fingers swell to the size of sausages!

In the summer I visited what I call my 'second home', Burgau, a small fishing village located in the Algarve in Portugal, that is loved by locals and tourists for its traditional charm. I was there for a week of pure relaxation, good food and even better booze! Cristiano in Smugglers Bar makes the best gin and tonic... not so great for my waist line but hey, we all need a holiday where we can indulge in our vices. Burgau is the ultimate 'happy place' for me... I first went there aged 20 to work behind a bar with my best friend Joe, knowing no one but each other. It was a life changing decision and I'm so glad I somehow found the guts to do something completely out of my comfort zone at a time when I was shy and feeling insecure in a size 20 body. By the end of that first summer, I was more confident, had made life-long friends and could speak to just about anyone after nights spent serving drunken teenagers. Ten years on, I'm still in love with the village that boasts steep cobbled streets, friendly locals, a beautiful beach, my favourite tapas restaurant, No. 9, stunning cliff top views and a community spirit higher than anywhere else I've visited. Burgau is very special for another reason too. I had some hypnotherapy a year or two ago to get over some issues that were making me a rather unhappy girl following a horrible break up. I was asked to imagine a happy place throughout the process and mine was Burgau beach surrounded by all my friends and family with Bob Marley being played in the Beach Bar. In my head it was like my wedding day, except there was no groom. Just me, smiling in a beautiful white dress, dancing with everyone who I could trust and had always accepted me for my true self, whether I was a size 22 or 12. This particular holiday I knew I would be spending most of my time on the beach. Joe, who came along with me, and I needed a week of pure relaxation. That means lying horizontal on the sand, listening to Madonna on our headphones, and making the occasional trip down to the clear blue sea for a cooling off. Being the fashion conscious girl I am, I wanted to look and feel good on the beach rather than spend my week worrying about my wobbly tummy and having hot sweaty thighs rubbing together as I made my way down the beach. These are the self-conscious feelings I would experience throughout my teens and early twenties, and this summer it would finally be different after dropping numerous dress sizes. My first health and fitness goal since joining the gym was wearing a very fitted pink lace dress to my friend Carrie's wedding, which I did and felt the best I've ever felt. Glowing, happy and, most importantly, healthy. My second goal came in the form of a bikini. One clothing item I have never, ever worn in all of my 29 years on this earth. My friend Katie leant me a stunning polka dot bikini in a flattering style. She knew I felt apprehensive and she thought this particular style would suit me. And she was right! The halter neck bra and fifties-style shorts flattered my figure, which is becoming more hour-glass than potato-like thanks to my time in the gym, and I actually felt good in it! My tummy was still wobbly and had stretch-marks due to the extent of my weight loss, and my thighs were still curvy... but I chose to focus on the positive. My shoulders were looking more toned and upper arms more sculpted, and you could actually see my belly button! A few more circuits and weights, and lots of hot water and lemon, and I would be feeling even more confident... I previously had always worn swimsuits or tankinis on holiday, and had always envied my friends in their bikinis and brown flat tummies. If I looked back to three or four years ago, I would never have believed that I would one day walk down Burgau beach in a bikini - it just seemed too far out of my reach when I was at the weight I was. So the first day of our week in the sun came and I put on the bikini... and I felt so free and happy on that first walk down to the sea. Liberated from that prison of insecurities. I looked around the beach and there were women of all sizes and shapes confidently walking into the sea and playing bat and ball. How had I spent so long worrying about what people thought of my wobbly thighs? You never know, they might have been looking at my cleavage thinking, 'Lucky girl!' I have chosen to post this particular bikini shot, which was taken six days into the holiday, rather than one on the first day where my tummy looked a lot flatter! Due to a few boozy nights and coffees with cows milk and a nibble of bread before dinner, my tummy soon felt the effects... However, it was my week to enjoy and by then, I really didn't give one hoot!

It's coming up to my three year anniversary since I began adopting a healthier and happier lifestyle, which has seen me lose eight stone and five dress sizes. I didn't go on a faddy diet or take slimming pills - sadly there is no magic way to melt that fat away. I basically moved more (I initially began walking an hour a day but my new found love of exercise sees me go to the gym four days a week) and I started to think about the food I was putting into my body. It hasn't been easy and it continues to be a daily battle. Some days are a harder battle than others. The past week has been an emotional one and I have seen my comfort eating habits making a comeback. It scares me as I get so easily hooked back onto the enemy - sugar! I'd always been overweight. Even at infant school I remember hearing the f-word, which I would continue to do so throughout high school and into my twenties. I guess I had a love for food and the more I enjoyed it, the bigger I got and the more criticism I received. So I ate to comfort my shattered emotions. It really is the most vicious of cycles. My self worth and confidence plummeted. I never thought I had the will power to make a change to my lifestyle and eating habits but a bad breakup and lots of heartache was my turning point. I didn't want to just lose the weight that was holding me back but I wanted to work on my self-worth and learn to love myself before meeting anyone else. I have always been lucky enough to be surrounded by friends and family who loved me for me. Now they are pleased to see that I am so much happier in mind and healthier in body. I still have goals I want to reach and I still have weight to lose. I'm setting myself fitness goals at the gym with the help of my amazing gym buddies and trainers, and making sure I meditate every day to ensure my mind is getting TLC too. Over the past three years, as I've gradually lost weight, I've been aware of so many changes - not just in my body but life in general. Here are 10 things that you don't expect to happen when you lose weight... 1. Your skin will loosen and head south. I know, gross. Once you start dropping the pounds, it's also important to be doing plenty of exercises to help with the very tough mission of toning. I'd say it's even harder than denying yourself that piece of toast in the morning. I wish my wobbly tummy would just piss off!! Try yoga and Pilates along with plenty of core exercises. 2. Your boobs will shrink. I miss the fullness of my boobs. Don't get me wrong, they are still a good handful but not quite what they were. However, the weight training I've been doing over the past year has seen them get back to their perkier selves. They are now the boobs I should have had all along. 3. People will encourage you to fall back into old habits. You will notice that some people, perhaps at work or in your social circle, will encourage you to go back to the dark side and give a cheer if you have a chocolate. They will also roll their eyes when you have a salad for lunch instead of a jacket, beans and cheese or when you tell them you actually enjoy going to the gym first thing in the morning. 4. You feel guilty for even looking at a cookie . I'm more relaxed with my eating now but in the first year I would feel so guilty if I ate something 'naughty'. Do allow yourself treats (weekends are a good time for this) but in moderation, of course! 5. Hangover food is a tough business. The other night I had a bowl of soup when I got in after one too many rather than a greasy takeaway... Now that's dedication! However, there isn't wrong with the odd burger so don't feel too guilty for enjoying yourself. Life is too short. Just don't do it every night. 6. You become a bore. I'm sure I've bored friends and family with my nutritional advice as they bite into a sandwich. Sorry. 7. It's hard to constantly come up with delicious yet healthy recipes. It's so easy to grab a sandwich rather than a pathetic looking salad for lunch. So make your meal times fun and interesting. Fill your salads with delicious ingredients that are colourful and have texture. I love pear, walnuts and goats cheese in a leafy salad or roast veg, chicken and avocado. Just remember to cut down on processed foods and eat fresh as much as possible. 8. You have to say goodbye to 'favourite' clothes . I've sold numerous dresses on eBay and many held treasured memories. They were like old, dependable friends which I knew would make me feel good. I have had to buy a whole new wardrobe. It's an expensive business but luckily I am a dab hand at finding a bargain. 9. Losing weight doesn't equal happiness. I still struggle not to see myself as the 'fat girl'. When I look in the mirror I am still drawn to the bits of my body I don't like. Losing weight is only half of the battle, there is a hell of a lot of work to do with your mind. I am getting over my insecurities. I no longer have daily bouts of feeling self-conscious. I can walk down the road with my head held high and back straight, not worrying about the size of my thighs. After all, there are more important things to be worrying about. 10. Even your knee high boots won't fit anymore. Yep. I was walking to work one day and noticed my knee highs slowly gathering at the bottom until they were round my ankle. Not a good look.

I’m sitting in my new favourite café that’s just a short walk from my home. My four-month-old baby boy is bouncing excitedly on my knees. The café, with its friendly, down to earth staff, is an oasis away from the four walls that start to close in come mid morning. Henry is so intrigued by the world and I worry that he isn’t entertained enough at home. We both like to people-watch so it seems easier to head out before my anxiety that Henry could somehow be bored gets the better of me. I realise at this moment how far we have come together. I have no partner yet this baby boy is bouncing with joy, getting admired by strangers and smiling from ear-to-ear. I must be doing something right; even on those days where I cry with tiredness when he urinates over his vest in the middle of the night during a nappy change. Henry and I are a tight team and only now, four months after the end of an emotional pregnancy and a traumatic birth, do I realise how strong this beautiful baby boy has made me. I used to be a walk over when it came to friendships. I’d find it hard to say no. Now I’m a mother, I’m not scared of making decisions anymore; they have to be in the best interests for Henry, not just me. I must say that motherhood has come to me a lot more naturally than I ever imagined it would. You can read all the parenting books in the world but there is nothing more reliable than listening to your gut instinct. I know Henry’s moods and cries in order to work out what he needs. At the end of each day, when he closes his eyes, I feel like I have accomplished something. I’ve kept him fed, loved and happy for another day. It’s not all fun and games, of course. As a single parent, I have no adult conversation in the evenings, I don’t have anyone to hand him to whilst I prepare dinner and I rarely get time to myself to go to the gym or write. Sometimes I am so exhausted I cry because I need to feel some sort of release from the constant care Henry needs. You never fully relax once you have a child. Even when he is asleep, he could wake any minute and it starts all over again. And I have come across the competitive mothers. I am not very competitive so I find it rather amusing. I met one in the café this week. ‘My baby sleeps 10 hours straight AND she is breast fed,’ she said proudly after I told her how Henry was going through a sleep regression. I congratulated her and she then looked shocked as Henry grabbed a toy. ‘Is he four months? My baby does not do that yet!’ ‘All babies are different though,’ I replied reassuringly. Maybe if your baby slept less she might learn how to grab, I said bitchily to myself. I snapped myself out of the tired induced bitchiness and smiled to my fellow tired mother. She went on to talk about how her husband was a nightmare for not hearing the baby cry. I tell her how I am raising Henry on my own. She looks guilty for moaning but I reassure her that it must be more frustrating to have an unhelpful partner than not to have one at all. At least I can just get on with the job at hand. I don’t tend to dwell on the fact I am raising Henry without his father. I think my friends and family are more concerned about the fact ‘I am on my own’ but I know no different. I only realise how much I do for him when my best friend or mother stays over and helps. Any single parent will tell you the loneliest time is the evenings. However, I’m still at the point where my tiredness from four months of broken sleep means I still relish in the joy of eating my dinner on my lap in pyjamas in front of reruns of Friends whilst Henry sleeps. It’s just rather monotonous. I realised that I spend my evenings how I spent my nights as a pregnant singleton. So it’s been a year of TV dinners. Instead of pasta and a mountain of Bolognese, I now have steamed salmon, vegetables and brown rice. That wouldn’t have quite cut it for pregnant me. Instead of a bag of Curly Wurly bites (so good but so addictive!), I have two squares of the darkest chocolate. Instead of my bump, I have my son snoozing next to me. And anyway, it’s really not that lonely. Henry and I have our evening routine; I bathe him, massage him and give him a final feed from my breast before he falls to sleep. It’s our little evening bubble. Guests are invited in but most the time it’s just the two of us. For now. Right now, we’re content.